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domoz · 2 years ago

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Founders have me writing like crazy it seems. Another fic, cw for child abuse in this one. It gets nasty.

It's a beautiful spring evening when Hashirama decides that he needs to kill his father.

When his legs give out for the fifth time, Hashirama isn't able to force himself up again.

To say chichiue had been unhappy with what had happened at the Naka River would be an understatement. Hashirama had kept his head bowed through a long, long lecture, insisted over and over that he hadn't known because ignorance might be the only thing that could save him.

Punishment has been brutal, regardless. He's been taking his smaller than usual meals alone in his room, and even those have been more sparse than usual, because every waking has been consumed with ceaseless training.

"When you see that boy on the battlefield, you'll kill him."

Hashirama shudders and turns his face into the dirt. He won't, and that will probably end up worse for him than this, but that still isn't enough to make him willing to do it.

(Madara was like him. Madara wanted peace. Peace could mean that no one would be forced to do something like this ever again).

For the moment, though, Hashirama can't get his legs to cooperate. Today he'd been training his mokuton ('until you have enough wood to rebuild the whole compound twice over'), and he'd tried, he always tries, but he's never, not in his life, been this low on chakra before. The lack of it makes him feel dizzy and nauseous and cold, seems to amplify all the aches and pains of the last few days. He'd pulled a splinter out of his hand earlier and the spot has been aching and stinging for hours when normally he would have forgotten about it minutes after it happened.

He's exhausted and miserable, and his eyes are burning with unshed tears because letting them fall will mean he probably doesn’t even get to eat tonight. He's already going to be in trouble enough for falling again--

"Boy, you better not be taking a break." Butsuma's voice calls, far away as first but getting louder, "You're not even halfway done."

Hashirama's voice catches in his parched throat -- he's got no idea whether it'll be safer for him to admit the truth or make an excuse. Before he can decide, his brother's voice chimes in, and oh he hadn't even known Tobirama was here.

"Chichiue, he's low on chakra." It's said so matter-of-fact that Hashirama can't tell if he's being judged for it or not. But he's really not the happiest with Tobirama right now and in a poor mood anyways so all he feels at the comment Is a spike of anger harsh enough to send the tears he's been hold back spilling down his cheeks.

Why did you have to tell him that? Why do you keep ruining things?

Butsuma clicks his tongue.

"Shameful. But low chakra is not a reason for him to be on his back. Or crying."

Hashirama can only see the purpling sky, but he can hear the sneer in his father's voice.

"I just don't know what to do with you, boy. Maybe a real punishment is in order. To start with, no meals until you're done with this."

Hashirama stifles a sob. Fuck, but he's hungry. There's a heavy sigh from his father, but it's Tobirama's voice he hears next.

"Chichiue, is that… Wise?"

There is a heavy pause; Hashirama musters the strength to lift his head and is treated to a sight he wishes wasn't familiar. Tobirama's thin back is between him and Butsuma. His arms are crossed this time, but Hashirama knows his intent. His little brother trying to protect him, again.

This is your fault in the first place! A wounded part of his heart screams, but already he feels guilty for the thought.

(How was Tobirama to know who he'd been meeting? How was he to do anything but worry when his brother kept disappearing so soon after their last one had died? How was he to say no to an order?)

"It's just --" Tobirama's voice is uncharacteristically hesitant, "Harsh training is well and good, but if he's not able to recover his strength then he won't be able to act should an emergency happen. Right now, he'd be useless in a battle."

There is a weighty silence, one that stretches on long enough that it makes Hashirama's heart flutter with hope -- maybe Tobirama's words have managed to convince him, again.

"I have no intention of letting him go to battle until I'm sure he's learned his lesson." Another pause, and then "…You're more troublesome than you let on, boy."

Those words aren't meant for Hashirama. Tobirama stiffens just enough to be perceptible, and if Hashirama can see it in the state that he's in, there's no way that Butsuma missed it.

"That's what I thought. Tobirama, on your knees. I think you both need to understand something."

Tobirama hesitates for the barest moment before sinking down. He knows better than to protest in this situation. Hashirama struggles to roll over enough to see what is happening. To see how Butsuma has knelt down across from Tobirama to grab his chin in a bruising grip, how Tobirama's hands are fisted tight in the fabric of his pants.

"When I teach you that shinobi aren't to show emotions, what I mean is that they can't let their feelings affect their decisions." He forces Tobirama's face to turn, to meet Hashirama's wide eyes with his own, "But if you had taken that lesson to heart you would have seen how much better off your brother would be if he understood. You may hide what you feel, but I can see now how much you let those feelings rule you. You'd rather spare your brother pain than have him grow stronger and survive."

Butsuma reaches for a pouch and, and with his other hand he draws out a kunai. Tobirama doesn't struggle as it's pushed to his cheek, but instead goes very, very still. Hashirama's stomach swoops -- he wouldn't, he wouldn't--

"And you, Hashirama… I don't know what to do about that bleeding heart of yours. But you need to understand, if you're going to open yourself up to whatever poor kid with a sob story you meet in the woods you need to be strong enough to make certain that it can't hurt you."

He squeezes Tobirama's face, applies pressure. The kunai bites deep into his brother's cheek. Tobirama jerks in his hold and lets out an awful, warbled whine before cutting himself off.

"Stop." Begs Hashirama, voice breaking, He tries to push himself up only for his arms to give out from under him, "Stop it. Stop it!"

"If you want it to stop --" Says Butsuma, forcing Tobirama's face to turn the other direction and digging the kunai in to the other side, perfectly matching the first cut. "-- Then stop me. Get strong enough to stop me."

But Hashirama can't stand up. There's no sudden burst of strength -- he used that up ages ago. All he can manage is to drag himself a few inches forward through the dirt, fingers just able to reach where a spot of blood (his brother's blood!) has been flung to the ground.

"Please." His voice is hoarse, "Please, I understand. Please stop."

The look Butsuma levels at him is cold, a frown that says he doesn't believe him.

He tilts up Tobirama's head, cuts a final slash into his chin, before letting go. Standing up, stepping back, uncaring of the way his son has dropped to the ground like a puppet with it's strings cut.

"Guard your heart or grow strong enough to keep it safe, Hashirama. Those are your options."

He turns, leaves them alone on the training field under a rapidly darkening sky. It's only when he's out of sight that Hashirama feels sensation return to his limbs, feels just how hard his heart is pounding. Hears the near silent drip of blood onto the ground from Tobirama --

His breath hitches but he can't lose his head yet, his brother, his last baby brother, still hasn't moved.

"Tobi." He calls roughly, but there's still no reaction, "Tobi. Tobirama!"

When he finally pulls himself close enough, he reaches for his brother's hand, ignores the way it's trembling and sticky with blood (so much blood but it's fine, Tobirama has to be fine, head wounds just bleed more than most--). Only when he touches Tobirama does his brother react. Jerks away from him -- finally looks at him, but it's with eyes that are completely empty.

"We can't." Tobirama's voice is quiet. It cracks, but his little brother does not cry, even now, "He's waiting to see what we'll do."

Waiting to see if they'll turn to each other, he means.

"Tobi…" He calls, as Tobirama mechanically pushes himself to his feet, pulls his hand away. He wants to do something, needs to do something, to make this even a little okay, but he knows Tobirama is right, that if they try to help each other now the lesson will only repeat itself.

Tobirama shakes his head, walks towards the main house with his head ducked low, leaving a trail of blood behind him.

And Hashirama still can't force himself onto his feet to follow.

He falls back onto the dirt, throat tight. A few more tears spill out, but not many. He doesn't have anything left in him to cry.

He feels -- empty. He thinks he should be feeling more but all that's left behind his breastbone is hollow. And if he feels like this, than Tobirama must be…

He broke something, Hashirama thinks hysterically, He broke something in me and I think he might have broken Tobirama, too.

There's a bile building in the back of his throat as the realizations hit him. He can't let that happen again, won't survive if it does.

If you want to stop me, then stop me. Get strong enough to stop me.

That had been the lesson. Maybe Hashirama can finally learn this one.

The determination to build peace and a village had made him feel warm. The determination to do this settles like lead in his guts.

If any of his dreams are going to happen, he needs to get strong enough to stop his father.

#oops! no writing tag #tobirama senju #hashirama senju #naruto blog for nauruto things #this is inspired very much by that one comic where tbrm is like I behave like the perfect son so he will be surprised when i kill him #look i just. like the idea of the senju sibs being the ones who killed butusma #(sorrrry butsuma you are very easy to demonize for purposes such as these)#btw. tbrms reasoning for trying to defend hsrm like that is the same. to me #he sees hsrm fall. remembers who it was who sent his brothers out to die #(which is a line i wanted to include in hsrms perspective but couldn't figure out where)#and goes oh. actually the biggest threat to hashiramas life is butsuma. cant let That happen. maybe ill be self sacrificial about it #if i had the stones (ideas) id write a whole story about these two plotting to kill their dad #PS. ALSO. if tbrm and kawarma were twins do you wanna bet they got used as leverage against each other like this???? ARGH #oneshot

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ofstoriesandstardust · 2 years ago

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forever winter (lt. jake “hangman” seresin)

a/n: i feel like we don’t talk about Jake post-suicide mission enough, so i wrote this. honestly this has been the most difficult thing i’ve ever written and i’m so glad to be done with it. i don't know why introspective pieces about Jake give me so much creative trouble but they do

summary: He knows, that on some level at least, he’s not good enough, no matter how much he pretends to be. So he puts on the facade, the “too good to be true” act, and hope no one sees through the cracks. The cracks though, are getting harder and harder to hide. Because he wasn’t good enough, was he? Sure, he saved them, but he still wasn’t enough. And maybe... maybe he’s not good enough to be here. With them. With the Navy. Maybe it’s time he start to figure out life outside the Navy, re-find and meet Jake, a person he hasn’t seen in so long, since the Hangman persona took over.

Because Hangman’s the reason no one likes him, the reason no one wants him around. They say they do now, but all good things must come to an end. It’s only a matter of time.

And then he meets her.

inspired by taylor swift’s “forever winter” and you should definitely listen while you read it.

main masterlist | top gun: maverick masterlist

warnings: kissing, insecurities, swearing, hurt/comfort, angst with a hopeful ending, panic attacks, depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts (if you look very closely), PTSD, child abuse, alcohol, lowkey a character study, as in the relationship is not the main focus, my hometown knowledge pulled through for this one, the author believes men’s mental health needs more attention, gross abuse of italics, i did minimal research about resignation from the Navy

word count: 6,416

The lockers around him open and close as he reviews that day’s training over and over in his head, wondering where he went wrong.

You’re not good enough.

Someone claps him on the shoulder, startling him. He blinks the thoughts away, to see the face of his best friend, looking down at him worriedly. “You coming Hangman?”

He takes a deep breath, running his palms down his flight suit. He still hasn’t changed, the only one.

You’ll never change.

“Nah, nah, I think I’m gonna pass on this one.” Coyote bites his lip, searching for an answer before Rooster’s cutting him off.

“Hangman, you’ve hardly come out with us at all recently. Think you’re avoiding us or something. Decide you’re too good for all us mere mortals?”

Bradshaw’s tone is teasing, meant to be a friendly jab, but Jake’s skin prickles at the teasing regardless. Coyote sighs, grip on his shoulder tightening. His touch burns him.

Coyote deserves better, he knows it. Coyote, who’s been such a good friend, a loyal one. He can already see it, that one day he’ll realize that he’s become so accepted by the rest of the Daggers that- why did he ever really need Jake in the first place?

It’s what Coyote deserves. He wants that for him honestly. To not be dragged down by Hangman anymore, to be confined to the box that puts him in. He hasn’t made it easy for him, he knows.

So better for the break to just be clean, to stop coming around, to stop setting himself up for failure. Sure, they all seem to like him right now, but these things don’t last forever and he knows it’s only a matter of time before they go back to how they were before. He can’t ask Coyote to do that, can’t ask Coyote to go back to living on the island with him, to give up all these great friends he’s made. He doesn’t want to hope that these people might stay his friends, doesn’t know how to.

So he won’t. He won’t let any of that happen. Won’t set himself up for failure once again.

“Hangman?”

It’s Bob’s voice this time.

He swallows, looking up to meet the brown of eyes of the soft-spoken boy of their team. “You good? You zoned out there for a few minutes.”

He stands up, ignoring the looks he’s getting from his team mates, making him want to run and hide. He wants to come up with a witty response, shake the concern, but his mouth feels dry, like it’s full of cotton and he’s blanking on the words that usually come so naturally to him. So instead, he just grabs his shower stuff, shutting the locker behind him, leaving his not-friends-just-coworkers confused and concerned in his wake.

He isn’t sure why he pulled into the parking lot of the bowling alley and arcade, a good twenty minute drive from Miramar without traffic. It’s across town, in El Cajon, and honestly, he isn’t sure why this is where he ended up. He just knows that once he pulled out of the parking lot, drove off base, he picked one direction and drove.

He ignores the fact that he waited for everyone to leave the locker room and even longer in the parking lot to make sure everyone else had gone.

His grip tightens around the steering wheel and then untightens as he swallows, working up the nerve to go inside. He had no business being here, no friends to meet up with.

No friends.

He winces at the thought, letting out a sigh as he turns the ignition off, the car falling silent. He weighs his options, to go inside, to people watch, to eat shitty food, or to go back to an empty home where the silence rages louder than any noisy bowling alley.

The decision is made in a split second and he’s pulling his seatbelt off as he gets out of the car, something fueling every step towards the doors. Pulling them open, he’s immediately greeted by the sounds of bowling balls hitting the lane, the machines returning balls, the music from 2012 only overshadowed by the loud cheers of different groups of friends. He lets his eyes map out the room as he walks towards the food area, stomach jumping at the greasy pizza he can see behind the counter. His eyes skim over the menu, unable to stomach the thought of any of this food.

Never mind the fact that he’s struggled to keep down any food since the mission, unable to bring himself to eat in the first place. He turns, unsure of what to do with himself now that he’s in here. He has no business being here and suddenly it feels like it shows. Like everyone can read him, like everyone knows.

His fingers are twitching as he slides down at a table near the back, looking out at all the lanes. It’s a Tuesday night, so the alley is half-full, maybe. The largest group happens to be at the closest to him, their laughter the loudest thing in the room.

It makes some part of him ache, thinking about how badly he wants that. How badly he doesn’t deserve it.

He thinks of his team, at the Hard Deck, probably a mirror image of the sight in front of him.

They don’t need him.

He blinks, realizing someone’s appeared in front of him. She offers him a small smile as he clears his throat. “Hi.” She says, momentarily pulling one the hands that’s holding her bowling ball to wave at him. “Came to return this, can never pick the right size, but you seem... kind of upset.”

She turns as someone from the group calls her name and she looks over. “Stop talking to strangers!” They shout, laughing. She rolls her eyes, ignoring them.

“Sorry if I’m... being weird or like... creepy? You just seemed kind of upset and you’ve been sitting here all alone, for like, fifteen minutes.”

He blinks, wondering if he’s really been lost in his thoughts for that long. He shakes his head, looking back up to the girl. “I’m good.” He says, forcing a smile. It hurts, makes him dizzy with the force he puts into making it believable.

She tilts her head, clearly not quite believing him. “Well, if you, uh, wanted to join my friends and I, we wouldn’t mind. Unless, you’re waiting on someone, which is totally cool, I just- sorry.” She rushes out, cheeks going an unmistakeable red, even in the dark lighting of the bowling alley.

His chest tightens at the thought of joining her group, the group that’s caught his eye since he got here. Something akin to hope flares in his chest as he realizes she doesn’t know him.

They don’t know you. Not like the team does.

This could be a chance to see if there’s still something in him left worth saving and so he finds himself nodding, standing up from the table. Her smile is bright as she turns, walking back to her table, him trailing a few steps behind. You turn to the group, introducing them all to him. One of her friends, Blaise (he’s pretty sure that’s what she introduced him as), smirks.

“And what’s your friend’s name?”

You pause, turning to him. “I guess I didn’t get your name.”

“Jake.” He says, the words sounding strange on his tongue, so used to introducing himself by his callsign.

They don’t need to know Hangman.

You nod, introducing yourself to him. “Nice to meet you Jake.”

One of the girls, Morgan, joins in with Blaise’s teasing. “So distracted by the attractive man you forgot to get a new bowling ball. It’s your turn, by the way.”

You immediately blush, smiling sheepishly at him. Muttering an apology, you turn and jog back to exchange the ball and jog back in order to take your turn. He takes a few steps back from the group, watching you play as he sticks his hand in the pockets.

It’s not good.

The ball barely stays in the lane before slipping into the gutter as your friends boo. You walk back to the group as Blaise gets up to take his own turn.

“You’re not very good at this.” He says, the words slipping out of his mouth before he can stop them.

He winces, waiting for you to immediately rescind the nice gesture that had been you inviting him over here. Instead, you just laugh, nodding your head. “Oh extraordinarily. But I got outvoted tonight.”

“Outvoted?”

“Oh, we just sort take a vote to decide where we go on nights out. Or nights in, depending. But the consensus was the bowling alley, and I lost 5-to-1. I’d much rather be next door at the arcade. Consider myself a Skee-ball champ.”

“Oh yeah?” You nod, confirming. “Well, why don’t we go find out?” He says, some of his confidence returning to him. He isn’t sure where it’s coming from, haven’t seen it in weeks. Months, if he’s honest with himself.

Not since Mitchell passed him up.

You smile. “Alright, I’ll take you up on that.” You nudge Morgan, telling her where you’re going, and she nods as the two of you head over to the arcade. The arcade is even quieter than the bowling alley, leaving the three Skee-ball lanes completely open for the two of you. He stares at the machine as you wander off to get tokens, realizing he’s never played Skee-ball in his life.

Not like there was all that much in his hometown, and the best escape from his Dad was drives to the next town over, which was only marginally better in that they had a movie theatre that played four movies instead of three.

You reappear at his shoulder, counting through the tokens in the little cup. You hand them to him, setting the rest of your stuff off to the side. “So, how do you play?” He asks nervously, fighting to keep them hidden from his voice. He pretty sure he fails. “We didn’t have an arcade where I grew up.”

You don’t tease him, just explain the game to him as he feels the tokens grow sweaty in his palm. It’s simple enough, and if they let him fly the multi-million dollar planes for a living, he’s sure he can figure out an arcade game.

May not be flying for much longer.

He squeezes his eyes shut at the thought, willing himself to listen to you instead of his thoughts for once.

“So where are you from Jake?”

“Texas. You?”

“I’m a native San Diegan. ‘Bout as Californian as they get.”

He nods. “You should meet my buddy Rooster. He embraces the fact that he’s also from San Diego. Annoys the shit out of our team.”

“Rooster?” You ask curiously, scoring another set of points. You look up at him, raising an eyebrow as he cringes, realizing he’s let the man’s callsign slip, and then looking down at the ball still in his hand. He hasn’t even started playing.

“Work for the Navy as a pilot. We use callsigns.”

You nod. “Oh, gotcha. One of my family friend’s worked on the Midway before it was decommissioned and turned into a museum.”

In all honesty, he hasn’t been to the Midway, even though he’s been stationed permanently in Miramar for the last six months. No point in driving out there to see the inside of a decommissioned aircraft carrier when he’s seen more of those than his own house in his life.

You don’t say anything more. Usually, when girls learn he works for the Navy, they’re drooling at his feet, wanting him to tell them some epic story, usually trying to slip their way into his bed. Usually, it works.

Jake tosses the ball up, finally deciding to start playing.

He isn’t sure how long the two of you stand there playing, but it’s long enough that his legs begin to ache, even though he’s begging himself to ignore it, wanting to stand here for a few minutes more with you. It was easy. You never pushed, always just listening. Returning his competitive streak, you offered him kind smile and a loud laugh when he beat you.

It was simple, not like the push-and-pull of his team. It was a simplicity he could see himself getting used to.

Blaise appears at your shoulder and you turn to him as you pause your throw. “I know you’re enjoying your time with your new attractive man-friend, but we’re headed out and I am your ride.” Before Jake can open his mouth to say he could drive you, Blaise is giving him a once over and turning back to you. “And I’m not in the business of letting one of my friends wander off into a car to be murdered by a strange man she met in the bowling alley, so we’re going.”

Jake turns, trying to remind himself that it’s not personal. Entirely reasonable. He wouldn’t let Phoenix or Halo wander off alone and get into a car with a random man they met in a bowling alley either.

You sigh, tossing the last ball into the machine, the score flashing across the top. He isn’t sure if it’s his ears that are ringing or the machine as you take your purse from Blaise. “Give me a second. I’ll meet you at the car.”

Blaise eyes you and then Jake. “Five minutes and then I’m coming back inside and you’re not getting a choice. I’m setting a timer as we speak.” You concede, waving him off. You sigh, turning back to him.

“Sorry, you date one shitty man and it’s game over.” You shake your head. “Anyways, it was really nice to meet you Jake.” He can’t bring himself to say anything, a lump forming his throat. Can hardly bring himself to breathe. “Um, if you wanted- I could give you my number? I’d love to see you again. Unless this is weird and you think I’m weird and you never want to see me again-”

“I’d love your number.”

You smile through a deep breath, sliding your phone out of your back pocket to let him enter his number. He does, noting the time and swallowing as he saves the contact. “Well, it was nice to meet you Jake.”

He nods, realizing he hasn’t thought about his shitty day since you walked over to his table two hours ago. “You as well.”

He really doesn’t believe you’ll text him. It was just a passing thing, nothing more than a moment. Yet there your text is the very next morning, asking if he wants to join you for the farmers market in La Mesa on Saturday. His fingers fly over the keyboard, confirming he’ll meet you there, bright and early.

It gives him something to look forward to, something outside the team he doesn’t really feel a part of. Maybe this is his chance to cut the cord, to walk away, before someone gets hurt.

He feels himself being pulled back down to Earth by the thought of seeing you, of your texts, sending him pictures of your family dog and the sunset from your backyard. He reciprocates, sending back pictures of the dinner he cooked (because that’s the new thing he’s trying, cooking, as he tries to sort out his life) and the book he picked up after work that day, because that’s the other new thing he’s trying too. Anything to keep the thoughts at bay, from making a decision he can’t unmake. From doing something he’ll regret, even though right now it’s looking like the best thing.

If the team notices a change in his behavior, they don’t say anything, though Rooster is always at his wing when they fly, Javy hovering. Jake hasn’t been to the Hard Deck in days and ignores the Dagger group chat as Saturday morning rolls around.

The farmers market is the perfect balance of quiet and busy, bringing him a moment of calm in a stormy week. Stormy couple of months. The conversation is easy, you telling him about all the years you (and your siblings) went to preschool in the neighborhood as the two of you pick through old records and fresh fruit. He observes the obvious fact that the Saturday farmers market is part of your routine as you chat with the family that sells locally-grown honey. His heart clenches at the thought you letting him slip into your life and routine so easily.

It’s as you’re picking through flowers for your house, asking for his opinion that he realizes this is too delicate, too fragile, to push the boundaries.

When asked if you should get the sunflowers or wildflowers, he blurts out that he can’t date you. He isn’t sure why he says it aloud, although he knows that the words are too true. He’d break you and he’s done ruining things. Ruining people.

You just nod and assure him that it’s okay, that you’re not looking to date either. That you’re always open to a new friend. He swallows and nods, telling you to get the wildflowers. That they suit you.

Wild with a quiet beauty.

The friendship grows from there, a lunch out at the Mexican restaurant just across the street from the market to a Sunday brunch turning into Taco Tuesday to drinks on Friday to another Saturday farmer’s market with lunch afterwards. He finds himself leaning more and more into your friendship, pulling farther and farther from his team mates.

They don’t need him anyways.

Nights away from the Hard Deck turn into weeks as he spends the time with you instead. Sometimes your friends join, sometimes it’s just the two of you. Your friends have warmed up to him, welcoming him into the group naturally. Even Blaise has settled in, joking with him, letting him into what has been a years-long friendship.

He’s sure the Daggers don’t miss him around. Don’t miss his competitive streak, his arrogance, his jabbing and prodding and poking.

They were better off without him.

Maybe Javy does, always feels the man hovering, waiting for Jake to talk about where he’s been disappearing off to when his feet hit the ground. But it’s been a while of this and even if Javy missed him at the beginning, he probably doesn’t miss him now. Too happy with his finally solid friendships to miss the one that had kept him out of the group in the first place.

He’s better off without him.

He knows what he has right now is fragile, delicate. One wrong move could send you spiraling out of his life with the door slamming shut behind you. He tries his best to let you go before he could hurt you, because that’s what he does. You don’t let him though, always encouraging him to stay, to talk about what’s bothering him.

He hadn’t even mentioned that anything was wrong.

He doesn’t mention that it’s been getting harder these days. That everyday he gets closer to walking away from the team, before someone can get hurt, before he can get someone killed.

The only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave.

He knows what he has right now is fragile, delicate. He can’t act on the feelings simmering just below the surface, can’t act on his desires. You’re too good. He’ll ruin you. It’s only a matter of time before you see what everyone else does, before you leave. No one stays.

It’s quiet the night he finally caves, fingers sliding over the call button before he can lose his nerve.

He needs you.

The phone rings once, and then twice, and- shit is it really three am?

He goes to click the red button, to end the call, say it was an accident and sorry for bothering you when it clicks, signaling that you’ve answered.

“Hello?”

He doesn’t answer, suddenly forgetting how to breathe.

“Jake? You okay?”

He wants to answer, but he can’t remember how.

Why had he called you again?

“Jake? You’re worrying me. Is everything okay?”

He begins to pace again, crossing the shitty hardwood of his shitty rental, as he runs a hand up to pull through his blonde hair. Tugs at the roots, as he tries to remember what he wanted to say. “I can’t do this anymore.” He finds himself saying, because it’s true.

He can’t lead this team, can’t be here, shouldn’t be in the Navy. He’s not good enough, never enough.

If was enough, Mitchell would’ve chosen him as wingman. Mitchell would’ve trusted him.

He hadn’t. Had trusted Rooster instead.

If he’d been enough, he would’ve been faster. Wouldn’t have had so close of a shot, would’ve been there with plenty of time.

“Okay... Is it work stuff? You wanna talk about it?” Your voice is soft, kind, and he tugs at his hair harder.

He’s going to ruin you. He’s sure of it.

Only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave.

“I’m sorry.” He says flatly instead. “I shouldn’t have- it’s late.”

“It’s fine.” You say automatically. “I was up anyways. What’s going on? Do you want me to come over?”

“No, I’m fine. I shouldn’t have called.”

“Jake-”

“Goodnight.”

He ends the call before you can protest, struggling to breathe as he lets the phone fall from his grip as he tugs at his hair again. He barely hears the phone clatter to the floor over the ringing in his ears, his chest tightening.

Panic attacks aren’t new to him lately, but this one brings him his knees as he realizes how badly he needs you. How much he doesn't want to let you go. How much he knows he has to.

It isn’t fair to you, to ruin you. To hurt you. He needs to get out, before he can hurt anyone else.

Only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave.

He sits there, back pressed up against the foot of his bed as his ears never stop ringing. The night passes him by, dawn rolling in, bringing pink splashes through the cracks in his blinds.

He should be getting ready for work when the phone rings again. He watches numbly as your name crosses his phone. He lets it ring once, and then twice. It rings a third time and then the screen flashes bright with a text.

I’m worried.

What’s going on?

Jake, are you okay?

Jake, answer me.

His chest aches at the hurt and worry he’s causing you. What he swore not to do.

Fine. Just stressed about work.

Never mind, didn’t mean to worry you.

Sorry.

He clicks the phone on do not disturb, pulling himself up from the ground. His limbs protest, his chest still feeling tight. He shouldn’t fly today, shouldn’t go into work.

Shouldn’t go into work ever again.

He swallows as he changes.

It’s only a matter of time before the Navy agrees.

His skin feels taut as he goes through the motions of the day, running on no sleep and pure nerves.

He started off his day right, slipping the paperwork into Admiral Simpson’s office and ending his pre-flight checks in Mitchell’s office, being asked what the hell is this?

I think you know exactly what that is sir.

He’d fumbled the trainings for the day, leading to Phoenix yelling at him over the comms. All he could hear in his head, over and over again, was Javy’s disappointed sigh over the comms as he left another person behind.

The water of the shower is scorching his skin as it falls over him, his head resting against the tile. Distantly, he can hear his teammates, chatting amongst themselves. His fingers twitch as he thinks about calling you, asking you to come over. He stretches them out as he thinks about what it would like to come home to you, pull you close to him, and just rest.

His chest aches at the thought of all that he can’t have.

He turns the shower off, pulling himself out of his daze as he walks to his locker. He hears the door to the locker room slam open as he pulls his pants on but he doesn’t turn. It catches his attention when his body is being shoved against the locker, causing their team mates to protest and stand up, moving to stand between the two of them.

It’s Bradshaw.

“What the hell man? I thought we were a team.”

Jake raises an eyebrow, ignoring the way his shoulder is protesting at the sudden collision against the metal lockers. “What are you on about?”

Bradshaw, Rooster, is seething. “You know exactly what I’m on about.”

He rolls his eyes, pushing himself off the locker and swatting Payback’s hand away. “If you’re really that mad about training today, get over it.”

Rooster turns to Coyote, who’s watching the two of them warily. “Did you know?”

“Know what?” Hangman almost grimaces as he turns back around, opening the locker up to pull his shirt over his head.

Time’s up. Secret’s out.

“Seresin’s leaving us.”

He forces himself to chance a glance at Coyote, who looks nothing short of betrayed.

“What, decide you’re too good for our team?” Fanboy teases, but he can hear the hurt underneath the joke all the same.

“This why you haven’t been hanging out with us?” Omaha asks, settling on the bench.

“You know, my world does not revolve around me going to the bar with you people and listening to Bradshaw play the same shitty song from the ‘80s and playing the same game of pool over and over again. I’ve got better things to do with my time.”

He’s being cruel now, he knows it. Pulling at any frayed thread, to make the whole thing come unraveling. To say, look it was never meant to work in the first place.

Rooster takes a step back from him. “C’mon man, I thought we were friends.”

“Don’t kid yourself Bradshaw. How do you even know anyways?”

“Mav told me.”

He almost scoffs. “Of course he did.”

“He wants you to stay.”

He wants to roll his eyes and turn away. “That’s not his decision. Nor is it yours.”

“Hangman-”

“You know, it’s really none of your business whether or not I want to stay in the Navy. Nobody’s business where I go after I leave here. We’re not friends.” He snaps, not missing the way Coyote’s body language changes from defeated to guarded.

“So much for all those years we haven’t been friends Seresin.” Coyote mutters, turning away from him.

His heart cracks at that, soul stinging in the way he’d let Hangman take over, to push these people away. “Coyote-”

“Just forget it Bagman.” Bob says, his own hurt coloring the words as his arm slings over Coyote’s shoulder as the two of them turns towards the door. Rooster shoots him one last look before he’s grabbing his bag, following them out the door.

He can do little but watch the way the team filters out of the locker room, all tossing him looks of hurt and anger as they leave for the day. Finally, he sinks down, head in his hands as he thinks about what he’s done.

The only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave.

You’re waiting for him as he pulls into his driveway, sitting on his front porch. He sighs as he slips out of his truck, shutting the door behind him.

He doesn’t want to do this with you now. Not today. Not after he sat in Mitchell’s office, being told he couldn’t resign without a valid reason. Couldn’t look the man in the eye all day after the conversation that morning. He still wasn’t sure how the paperwork had ended up on his desk so quickly, in matter of thirty minutes or less, but the day had made him feel hopeless.

There was no out. Nothing left for him.

The only place you’ll lead anyone is an early grave.

He wordlessly unlocks the front door, leaving it open behind him for you as he walks towards the kitchen, pulling the whiskey out of the cabinet. He hears the front door shut as he knocks the liquid back, gritting his teeth at the burn. He hasn’t medicated the pain away with alcohol since you came into his life but he’s feeling his control slip after the day he’s had.

“Jake.” You say, appearing next to him. He pours himself another shot, but you pry his fingers off the glass before he can down it. He lets you, reveling in your soft touch.

Won’t get that for much longer.

“Jake, you scared me last night.”

“Sorry, won’t happen again.” His words are cold, detached, as he wills himself to do this one last thing.

“Hey, it’s okay. We’re friends. We-”

“You should leave.”

You jerk back, fingers leaving his own as if they had burned you. “What?”

“You heard me.” His voice doesn’t feel like it’s his own, floating somewhere above him as some part of desperately begs him to stop.

“Jake, something’s clearly wrong. I’m not leaving you.”

“Well, I don’t want you here.”

“Well, too fucking bad because you’re my friend and I want to be here for you.”

He cautiously raises his eyes to meet your own.

You want to stay? For him?

Where would he even start though?

I tried to resign from the Navy today?

My Dad used to hit me?

One of my not friends, co-worker at best, almost died because I wasn’t fast enough?

If I stay, someone’s gonna get killed because of me?

“I don’t know what to say.” He whispers and you nod.

“That’s okay.” You say softly, hand returning to his. “Why don’t we go sit down? You don’t have to talk, but let’s just sit.” He nods, letting you guide him to the couch. He thinks he can count on one hand all the times he’s sat on the piece of furniture. You don’t let go of him as you both sit.

He can’t meet your eye, can’t begin to tell you the truth. If you knew, you’d run.

Maybe that’d be best.

“You should go. I’ll only hurt you.” He says quietly, turning away from you.

“Jake.”

“’M not good. I- I hurt people. I ruin them. I- You need to leave.” His voice is begging now, pleading with you to see reason.

“Jake, look at me.” You say softly. “You don’t ruin people. You’re so good, so so good. I can’t believe you don’t see it.”

“I tried to- I need to-”

The words are trapped in his chest and it feels like he’s choking. Like if he speaks the words, he’ll be giving him the rope to hang himself with.

“It’s okay. We don’t have to talk. It’s alright.”

So he swallows, nods, and sits there. Allows himself to let you touch him. To rub your thumb over his shoulder blade as his head falls back against the couch.

It’s some time again before you speak.

“One of my friends in college was in the Marines.” You say quietly. “Not the same thing as the Navy, I know, but still. He wouldn’t talk about it, even if he was asked. I don’t know if he ever learned to talk about it.” He turns to look at you, even as your movements don’t cease. “We had lost touch after we graduated but-” You shift, shaking your head. “Something I’ve been thinking about lately. You don’t talk to me much about your work. ”

He swallows, watching you as you watch him. You don’t say anything more and he realizes you’re opening the door for him to talk about it. About all of it.

“There was this mission.” He feels himself begin to say, voice almost detached from him. He can’t bring himself to look away from you. “Almost a year ago now. Reason I got stationed out here. We- we weren’t meant to come home. One of my fr- coworkers almost died.” You just wait, listening, and he takes that as encouragement to continue. You haven’t run away yet. “He said something, about how the only place I’ll lead anyone is an early grave. Can’t help but feel like he’s right.”

Your touch burns him, eyes staring into his soul as he wrestles with himself to lay it all bare in front of you. He pulls away, standing up to pace the small living room. You let him, simply just watching him.

“I’m going to get them killed. There’s a reason I wasn’t selected to fly the mission. I’m- I’m gonna hurt them, gonna get someone killed. I shouldn’t be there. I’m not good enough and it’s going to cost someone their life.”

His hands reach up to his hair, going to tug at it again, the familiar feeling of trying to ground himself as everything spins out of his control.

“I- I feel out of control all the time. I can’t look them in the eye. I feel like I can’t breathe up there, that the only time I’m safe is on the ground. They don’t need me anyways.”

He chances a glance back to you and every part of your face is screaming pitypitypity

He doesn’t need your pity.

“I wanted to resign from the Navy. My CO told me no.”

You finally break your silence, shifting up. “I’m sorry, he told you no?”

He waves you off, starting a new round of pacing. “He needs a valid reason.”

“A valid reason? What’s more valid than I want to-?”

“Leaving is complicated and there’s a lot of paperwork, you have to have all these forms and a letter-”

“That a big decision, Jake.” You breath out, interrupting his explanation, moving to the end of the couch, looking like you might walk over to him. He hopes you don’t, despite how badly he wants to be next to you. “Are you sure of this?”

He pauses, feeling the tears sting his eyes.

He will do anything to not break right now. Not in front of you.

Bitterly, he can hear his Dad in the back of his head, reminding him how weak he is.

Real men don’t cry.

“I just don’t know what else to do.” He whispers, afraid of the words he’s speaking into the night. “I just need it all to stop.”

That’s what propels you off the couch as you walk over to him, wrapping your arms around him. The feeling of you holding him close makes him buckle as his resolve cracks and crumbles, the tears taking over as his knees sink to the floor. His sobs rack his body as he reaches up to clutch tightly at your shirt. You run your fingers through his hair as you try to soothe him.

“Jake, I-” You swallow, your hand stilling in his hair.

Here it comes. When you tell him this is too much, that you didn't sign up for this, that he should never contact you again-

You kneel to be eye-level with him, pulling his face into your hands. “Jake, I am so sorry. You deserve so much better than that. And I wish there was something more I could do for you, more for me to say. All I can say is that it’s going to get better. Things will always get better and I will be here to help you. I’ll always be here.”

He swallows, wanting so badly to believe your words. He almost does, if he squeezes his eyes shut and forces his Dad’s words out of his brain. “I want to believe you. I don’t know how.”

“That’s okay. I’m here, Jake. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You can’t fix me. You can’t make me better.”

The words are blunt, cruel. You don’t flinch away or move back.

“I don’t want to.” You move closer to him. “I just want to help you. Let me help you.”

Without thinking, he surges forward, kissing you before he can think about the consequences of his actions. He knows in the half-second before you freeze that he’s fucked up.

You pull away, ducking your head as your bottom lip catches between your teeth. Neither of you say anything as your chests heave with what just happened, unable to meet the other’s eyes. Your hands haven’t left his face as you swallow, finally pulling up to look at him.

“Jake-”

He shakes his head, pulling out of your grasp to stand again. “Don’t. Don’t. Please don’t. I shouldn’t have and I’m sorry.”

You stand too, sighing. “Jake, please-”

“Just go.” His voice wavers, cracking, a reflection of how he feels on the inside.

“Jake, this isn’t- Now’s not a good time-”

“Don’t make excuses. You don’t return my feelings and that fine. Just- get out, please.” His back is still turned from you as he waits for your footsteps to signal that you’re going to leave, just like everyone else. He succeeded in driving you away.

He does hear your footsteps but they don’t leave through his front door. No, there you are, figure blurry in front of him through the tears he’s been trying to suppress.

“Jake.” You softly, and he feels his lip tremble as he wraps his arms around himself, wanting to make himself small. “It’s not that I don’t return your feelings and I’m not saying never, but- you’re going through a lot right now. You need a friend, not a new relationship, and I’m happy to be here in whatever capacity I can be for you. You deserve the world Jake Seresin and I’ll be here no matter what.”

Your hands reach to his face and he allows his hands to unwrap from around his body, pulling you close to him. His head falls into the crook of your neck as he takes a shaky breath. “Don’t leave.” The words are muffled against your skin. “Please.” The words are like a prayer as he grips you ever so tighter.

“Never. Believe me Jake, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

For the first time in months, he takes what feels like his real breath, feeling like he isn’t drowning under the waves of his own mind.

For the first time in months, he allows himself to consider that things might actually turn out okay.

#jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin fics #jake hangman seresin fic #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fics #jake seresin fic #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fics #jake seresin x female!reader

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thetaleoflevi · 3 years ago

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Being Human

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Pairing: Levi x fem!reader

Content: NSFW, Modern AU

Content Warnings: 18+ smut, period pains, mood swings, reader feeling invalid as a woman and Levi comforting her, massages, fingering, unprotected penetrative PIV shower sex (BE SAFE), period sex, I still don’t know how to tag things, but it’s 18+ smut! (x2)

Word Count: 3.0k

Description: Reader is on her period and has a breakdown when asked what she wants to eat for dinner. Levi does whatever he can to ensure that Reader is okay. After all, he’s never been squeamish around blood.

A/N: This is pretty self indulgent of me since I wrote this during shark week, but it’s also the quickest thing i’ve written since I first started this blog. I also wanted to say, thanks for all the support on my all my fics. Thank you for 360 followers 💙 Trust me, it motivates me to no end. I’ll post something in honor of those milestones I didn’t show public appreciation for. Much, much, love for you all 💙 Enjoy :)

⭐️Taglist: @urfilgoth

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“What do you want to eat for dinner?” Levi asks, drying his hands with a towel after he finishes washing the dishes. He leans against the counter next to you, watching closely as you ignore him.

“Hello? Am I talking to myself?”

“I don’t know. You choose.” You say, still scrolling through your social media feed.

“I chose yesterday and the day before. Don’t be stubborn. Pick something you want me to make or a restaurant you want food from.”

“Can’t you just pick again? I really don’t care what we eat, Levi.” You reply, a bit coldly.

“Is something wrong?” He asks, bringing a comforting hand to your shoulder when the light of your phone brings out the glossiness in your eyes.

You sniff, wiping a tear away before abruptly standing up.

“Sorry, I need to…” you stop mid-sentence and walk to the bathroom, locking yourself inside.

Levi sighs. He’s not stupid, he knows what these actions are related to. He always tries his best to help you with anything, even maintains his persistent trait when you act uncharacteristically cruel towards him. When you want him to leave you alone, he never really does. He gives you space, but he won’t leave anywhere without you.

You sit on the floor of the bathroom, hugging your knees. Tears continue to stream down your face, the realization that you pushed your boyfriend away jabs at the heart in your heaving chest. It kills you, knowing that you are emotionally unstable and ruthless for about a week every month, and Levi is always at the end of every lash out on these damned weeks.

Levi knocks on the bathroom door three times.

“Talk to me, love. You know there’s nothing you can do or say to make me leave.”

Your eyes start watering again. The sniffling was the cue for him to sit on the floor as well, on the other side of the door. “What’s wrong?” His voice is calming enough to get you to prepare for a response.

You clear your throat before responding fragilely.

“My boobs hurt.”

He fights back a smile at the sound of your voice. In any other situation he would’ve expressed his happiness, but you’re in pain.

He lays his head against the door, waiting to see if you’ll say something else.

“My back hurts, my stomach hurts. I’m a woman, I should know what to do in this situation. I mean, for fucks sake, it’s been happening every month since I was a teenager, but Levi…I don’t know. It never gets easier. Am I less of a woman for not being able to handle this?”

“No. You’re just as much of a woman as any other woman, regardless of not knowing what to do about the ache all over your body. You don’t ever have to handle this on your own when i’m around. I can help you.”

There’s a good minute of silence before you stand up, opening the door. The rattling of the doorknob has Levi on his feet, quickly.

You look like a disaster, tear stains all over your cheeks, puffy, red, eyes looking into softened grey ones. Levi grips the doorframe with one hand, the other coming up to cup your cheek.

“Wash your face, sweetheart, and come to the bedroom when you’re ready.” He gives you a reassuring peck on your forehead before leaving you to clean yourself up.

He grabs a towel from the cabinets just a few steps to the right of the bathroom, and he second guesses whether he should grab another one just incase.

He sits down on the bed, laying the towel over his lap and on the area between his legs, where you will be sitting.

“Hi,” you say, awkwardly, standing at the doorway.

“Hi, lovely. Come sit with me,” he says, patting the towel.

You slowly step towards him, not holding the eye contact he gives you out of embarrassment for your earlier meltdown.

“Can you take your pants off for me?” His voice soothed the storm that brewed in your head while you cried in the bathroom.

“I-It’s messy.”

“That’s okay. I’ll clean anything that misses the towel, after I take care of you.”

You nod, taking your pants and underwear off. You had worn a pad, not wanting to go through the hassle of putting in a tampon. You regretted it as soon as you saw how you stained the edges of your underwear, sighing shakily in embarrassment. You messily folded your pants in a way that covered the pad, having felt ashamed enough.

You sat down on the towel, quickly, in an attempt to avoid dripping on the floor.

“Good job,” Levi whispers, kissing the back of your head.

“This is humiliating. I’m disgusting,” you say, too in your head to notice Levi unbuttoning your shirt.

“No, you aren’t. Clothes can be washed, the floor can be cleaned,” he waits for you to pull your arms out of the sleeves, before folding the shirt and setting it aside. “I need you to ease up on yourself, doll. For me, and for yourself.” His hands splay on the upper part of your chest, gently pressing into the skin with his fingers.

You take a deep breath, and try to enjoy the special treatment provided by your lover.

“Good girl. You mentioned earlier that your breasts hurt. Would it be okay if I massaged them? If there’s too much pain, i’ll stop.” His hands moved onto your shoulders, kneading away the tension.

“Mhm,” you hum, laying further against his chest.

His hands slowly make their way to your breasts, not squeezing them immediately. He covers them completely, pressing his palms into them gently. You wince at the sore feeling, shutting your eyes to take in the sensation of the pain vanishing temporarily.

“I know, my love. I’m sorry.” He kisses your temple, giving you the tenderness you need to contrast the soreness you feel just a few inches lower.

“You okay?” He asks, still kneading your breasts lightly.

“Yeah, I just hate this time of the month. I don’t like the way it makes me feel, or the way it makes me act towards others. Especially, you.” You open your eyes after a minute of being fully immersed in Levi’s touch, tilting your head up to look at him.

“I’m tougher than you give me credit for, baby. I can take it. I know not to take it personal when you burst into tears after I ask you what you want to eat for dinner.” His heart skips a beat or two when the sound of your laughter makes it to his ears. Your shoulders shake against him, and he can’t help feeling like he would do anything for you, logical or illogical. He would follow you into a labyrinth, even if he knew there was no way out and that it would only be you and him forever.

“Scoot up. You can lay your head on my shoulder, if you want to.” He stops pressing into your breasts, moving his hands down to your waist, and lifts you to give you that extra boost.

You look down and see a dark red spot beneath you. Levi felt the warmth against his thigh, but chose to ignore it because it doesn’t matter.

“Don’t look at it. Focus on me.” He says, raising your gaze with your chin between his fingers.

“Levi, I can smell myself,” you say, sheepishly, looking down, immediately getting your head raised by Levi, again. “You’re probably so sick to your stomach, right now.”

“Definitely, not. Can you spread your legs a little wider for me, doll?”

Your heart sank to the pit of your stomach. You know where this is going, and you’re mortified.

“That’s it. Good girl.” The faded red color caked on your inner thighs is more visible, and it still doesn’t scare him.

His hands slide down from the sides of your breasts, to your waist, reaching your hips, and eventually land on your thighs. He brushes his fingertips against the dry blood that splotches your inner thighs, feeling the texture, knowing there will be a major difference when his fingers go inside you.

You’ve never wanted the darkness to consume you more than now, but it does feel nice knowing that he would go to these extents to make sure you’re okay.

“Love you,” he whispers. There’s many reasons for why he would do this, the main one being how much loves you.

“Love you, too,” you mumble.

You shake a little when his fingers reach your cunt, gliding up and down your folds.

“Are you comfortable?” He asks, still moving his fingers in the slow, steady, pace.

“Mhm..” you respond, shutting your eyes. You clutch his arm when his middle finger begins rubbing your clit. You’re very sensitive, and this is already enough to have you shifting against Levi. He knows he won’t have to do much to satisfy you right now, but it’s the thoughts behind his actions that make it worth it.

“Mmm…Levi,” you moan.

“More?” He asks, not changing the pace.

You nod, interlocking one of your hands with his free one, the other gripping the edge of the towel.

His fingers stroke your pussy a little quicker, now. It’s entertaining to watch the way you unravel at the slightest amount of stimulation. Your grip tightens around his hand when you reach the peak of your pleasure.

“F-Fuck… Hold on,” you say breathily, panting just a little. There’s a slight thud in your ears—your heartbeat.

Levi kisses the side of your neck, mumbling affirmations about how well you’re doing, just below your ear. He can only think about how he hasn’t put a finger inside you yet and you’ve already had an orgasm. His thoughts go dark for a second, imagining the expression you would have on your face if he were to fuck you dumb on his cock, taking advantage of how sensitive your pussy is.

He can vividly picture the redness on your cheeks, and the way you would try to avoid looking straight into his eyes. It shouldn’t turn him on the way it does, but he wouldn’t mind completely ruining the towel with you, turning it completely red-

No.

Now is the time for you to feel cared for, to feel secure.

“Want to keep going? Or, have you had enough?” His hand runs up and down the side of your thigh. After a few seconds, he can feel the same dry blood texture on his fingers that he felt on your inner thighs earlier.

“One more, please.” You say, still feeling hazy from the first orgasm rushing through your whole body so suddenly.

“Anything for you, princess. Spread your legs, for me.”

The smell of iron fills your nostrils, bringing back the embarrassment that left your thoughts for a few minutes when your body gave into the pleasure that Levi provided.

Levi’s fingers move against your cunt again. He brushes his middle and index fingers up and down your folds one more time before slowly sinking them inside, pumping them in and out of you. You’re soft—velvety, and warm inside.

“Fuck…. Oh my…” you almost choke on your own saliva at the sudden intrusion. You raise your arms and grip Levi’s shoulders behind you, tightly, almost pinching his skin.

“How does it feel, doll? Describe what you’re feeling.”

“S-So…full—mmm—it’s a lot. I feel hot.”

A sly smile forms on his lips. You really know how to make him feel good about himself.

“Yeah? Are—”

You gasp when his fingers nudge the sensitive spot within you. He chuckles at the adorable interruption. Crimson drips down his knuckles and his palm, mixing with your arousal. You are no longer focused on how much of a mess you’re making, your mind too delved into the feeling of Levi’s fingers doing a beckoning motion inside you.

“You’re so warm, sweetheart. Gonna cum for me?”

“Mhm…Levi, please..” you whine, writhing against him.

You can feel his bangs tickling the nape of your neck when he bows his head to kiss your shoulders. He nips at your ear, whispering the words you love to hear.

“My gorgeous girl. You’ll cum for me, won’t you?”

All you can do is whimper and nod your head.

His thumb rubs your clit as his two fingers continue to fuck your hole. You clench around them, feeling like you’re about to burst.

“U-Um… Gonna cum… Levi… Levi!” You moan breathily, riding his fingers through your orgasm. You squish his hand between your thighs, rolling your hips against it until it’s too much. You still yourself, thighs still twitching slightly post-orgasm. Levi pulls his fingers out, running them through your folds. You stop him by grabbing his wrist, putting an end to the overstimulation.

You sigh, contentedly, rolling up into a ball on top of Levi. He looks at the aftermath of pleasuring you with his fingers and decides that it’s not as bad as he thought it would be. It’s…interesting. The blood is starting to dry, and his fingers feel suffocated.

“Wake up. You need to eat.” He pokes your forehead with his clean hand.

“No, thank you. Sleeping.” You mumble.

“I know how to get you to wake up.” His hand goes beneath the towel, reaching for his belt and unbuckling it.

Your eyes widen when you hear the clanking of the metal, and you quickly stand up, wrapping the towel around you in the process. You bend down to grab your clothes and make a beeline to the bathroom.

Levi smirks triumphantly. He sits up on the bed, looking everywhere on the sheets to see if any blood got on them. None. Nowhere else, either. Except…

He looks down at a dark spot on his trousers. The spot was no bigger than the button below his belt buckle. Maybe it was a stain from earlier when he washed the dishes. He rubbed the spot, knowing what to expect but still was slightly shocked when his finger had a red tint to it. He shrugged it off, quickly going to his dresser to find some comfier clothes to change into. He’s not about to make you feel insecure again by parading around the house wearing trousers that you accidentally stained.

You peek your head out the bathroom doorway, hoping Levi was around. You see him at the dresser picking out clothes. “Hey, i’m gonna shower. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

He shifts his attention from the clothes in his drawer to you. He realizes what he’s thinking is a long shot, but one definitely worth risking.

“Can I join you?”

You know if you let him join you, he won’t let you wash yourself. He won’t let you shampoo and condition your own hair, he won’t let you clean your own back. He’s going to smother you, as if you’re helpless.

“Okay.” You leave the door open for Levi.

He grabs some underwear, a pair of sweatpants, and a t-shirt, before scooting over to your side of the dresser and getting some comfortable clothes for you as well.

He enters the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind him.

His carnal needs only enhanced after helping you. He wasn’t done with you, and it’s something you realized two minutes into your shower. You felt his hands on your waist, pulling you against him. You look into his eyes, hoping to find some sort of answer for his behavior, only to see that his pupils were blown.

“Are you okay, Levi?” You ask, cupping his face.

“I’m so glad you can’t read my mind,” he mutters.

You certainly can’t read his mind, but you can read his body language, and you can feel the thick cloud of lust radiating off of him.

He looks down at the droplets of water scattered on your chest, and you look down at what’s poking your thigh.

“Wh-”

“Sorry, I know you were just trying to take a relaxing shower.” He interrupts, before you ask the question with a very obvious answer.

The heat on your cheeks cools down beneath the water stream.

“Take care of it. Use me.”

He was hesitant, not wanting to hurt you or make you uncomfortable. His uncertainty vanished when you assured him that you would be fine, and he took that green light very considerately.

You held yourself up with your hands on the walls, and Levi wrapped his arms around your waist. He was gentle for the first five minutes, watching your every reaction closely. Your moans continued to fuel his lust until his resolve snapped. He fucked you like you were a doll made to satisfy his needs.

“Fuck, Y/N… I’m sorry…love you—HAH—I love you.”

Your eyes watered due to the intensity of the pleasure. Your legs felt like jelly, but you knew Levi would never let you fall. He has an iron grip on your waist, and it got tighter and tighter the closer he got to his release.

“L-Love you, too, Levi. It’s okay,” you say, shakily. Your hands turned to fists against the slippery wall, sustaining yourself as much as possible on your own.

“Fuck, I’m gonna…—AH—gonna-“ He quickly pulls out of you, whimpering and gasping pathetically as cum spurts out and onto your ass.

You turn around to see the lazy grin plastered on his face. He sighs with satisfaction, pulling you into his embrace and burying his face in the crook of your neck. You hold him tight, playing with his hair as he mumbles incoherent, choppy, nothings.

“You could’ve spilled anywhere else, yet you chose to do it on my ass,” you joke.

He scoffs, trying to look up at you. You laugh, using a hand to keep him where he is.

“I’m kidding, baby. I’m glad you felt as good as I did earlier.”

“I don’t know what got into me, but thank you. Now, let me clean you up.”

—

You stayed in the bathroom a little longer to properly get dressed and brush your hair. You find Levi in the living room afterwards, looking at restaurants to order from.

“What do you want to eat for dinner?” His eyes stick to yours to make sure you don’t break down over this question again.

“Chinese food.”

He sighs in relief at your response, narrowing the search results on his phone down to only restaurants that serve Chinese food.

“Good choice.”

381 notes · View notes

quindolyn · 3 years ago

Note

Hey I was wondering if you could write a sub!regulus X Dom!fem reader fic?

One where it’s angsty as Regulus had been acting different around the reader, and eventually after being questioned about it alone, Regulus breaks down and admitting his parents forced him to get the dark mark (there was nothing he could do about it), and the reader comforts him while they fuck. Regulus had been through a lot and the reader wants him to know that they love him.

Including: praise kink, subspace regulus, scar/mark kissing, aftercare for regulus, riding, and anything else you think would suit this situation <3

Resilience || Regulus Black

Word Count: 6154

A/N: Do I hate this? Yes, most definitely, without a doubt. Did I only proof read 5/15 pages. Yes, again, certainly. But I'm tired and I'm with my friend so it's not gonna get better than this. I love you all and hope you enjoy it

warnings: pretty much included in the ask, can't really think of anything else

Being light on your feet it doesn’t appear as though Regulus notices you tip toeing your way across the Slytherin common room. As you come up behind him you peer over his shoulder; he has his legs tucked beneath him with what appears to be his Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook resting in his lap. Standing over his shoulder you let your eyes scan across the pages laid open and what you first believed to be a chapter on counter curses you realized was actually detailing how to cast the curse.

Realizing what you’d just read you let out a small, involuntary gasp that catches the attention of the boy sitting in front of you.

“(Y/N)!” Regulus quickly exclaims, glancing over his shoulder before slamming the book closed and sliding it into his book bag which sits next to him on the plush, green velvet sofa.

“What was that Reg?” You ask, brow furrowed as your eyes lock onto Regulus’ grey ones.

“Just a book love, that’s all.”

“Your Defense textbook?” You ask, hoping he would slide it back out of his satchel to show you the familiar scarlet cover you’d scratched your initials into on the bottom right hand corner.

“Something of the sort,” He answers vaguely, pushing himself off the couch to face you. Instead of making his way around the couch to meet you he stayed on the other side of the piece of furniture. Feet planted, hands fiddling with each other while instead of making eye contact with you his gaze seemed to be directed just past your right ear.

“Don’t lie to me Regulus,” Your voice is clipped, when you’d come to check in on Regulus after he’d come home from winter break at his dreaded family’s house this wasn’t what you had expected.

Regardless, it was what you’re met with, “What the hell is that book?”

Your voice jumps and you can hear the panic rising in it. Regulus had spent the weeks up to his departure date dreading the time he would have to spend at the Black Mansion. You’d stayed up countless nights, wishing you could somehow keep him from having to go to that hellish house but when it came down to it there was nothing either of you could do.

Finding him pouring over some dark arts book the first time you saw him after nearly two weeks apart wasn’t exactly the reunion you’d been picturing in your head. Nor was it comforting.

You can barely make it out but you believe you hear him whimper something about “it’s nothing” as his gaze drops from just over your shoulder to his toes.

You two stand there for a minute, then two, each waiting for the other to say something, anything to break the tension currently hanging heavy over the room. Regulus silently begging you to let it go, to leave the room and give him some time to stash the book before coming to find you to act as though nothing had happened and it was all fine.

Unwilling to yield, you hold your ground, maintaining your silence while your eyes bore into the top of his head, awaiting his explanation as to what you’d walked into.

You’re the one to finally break the silence.

“If it's nothing, then I’d like to see it Regulus.” It's the second time in the span of five minutes you opt for his full name instead of one of the nicknames coined by his brother, who he’d recently mended things with, and made popular by yourself. You knew it would strike a cord for him but you were scared, you were on the offensive.

With a deep sigh Regulus retrieves his bag from the spot it’d fallen to on the floor, pulling the book from the bag, bound in emerald green, Regulus hold it both far from his body and with a surprisingly tight hold, somehow both wanting it as far from him as possible and not wanting it to leave his grasp.

Though visibly ancient the book appears to be in remarkable condition, engraved on the front cover in gold leaf reads “Mendel's Most Malicious Curses”.

Studying the cover you don’t recognize the book’s title but based on what you’d glimpsed inside of its pages you hadn’t expected to. Even as a fifth year you doubt this would ever be included in O.W.L. curriculum.

Despite knowing better you can’t help but feel a strange, strong attraction to the book, an overwhelming urge consuming you to take that book. Your fingers itch at your sides as you imagine getting your hands on the book, wondering how hard Regulus would fight before relinquishing it from his grasp.

Somewhere in your subconscious you register that these thoughts are not organically your own, that somehow that book is influencing you and that in reality you want nothing to do with it. Frightened thoughts simmer at the back of your mind but they are lost in the shadows of your curiosity regarding the secrets that lie beneath the ornate designs swirling over the cover.

Expectantly you extend your arm, a nonverbal signal for Regulus to hand you the book but your movement throws him into action and has him clutching it close to his chest, both arms cradling the text.

“No no no no no,” He chants frantically, shaking his head as though to shake off the thought of relinquishing the book to you. “I can’t give you this (Y/N),” He swallowed deeply, shining silver eyes seaking out yours, ablaze with conviction.

“And why’s that?” You challenge with a raise of your brow.

Inhaling deeply he seems to be bracing himself to respond, “Because you’re a muggle born, it’s not meant for you to touch.”

You can feel rage bubbling up in your stomach, threatening to spill out your mouth in a flurry of angry words admonishing Reg for his remarks, “What? Is my simple muggle born mind not worthy enough to read words in that precious little pureblood book of yours? Do I need my pedigree intact to understand what it says? Not meant for mutts, is that it?”

You thought you were past this, you thought you’d left the aloof little third year you’d first met who’d called you a mudblood and asked you to move to a different table in the library because he didn’t want you looking at his charms homework behind.

Had the past year and a half of apologies and growth on Regulus’ part all been a lie? Was that hate not as small a part of your boyfriend as you’d thought? Did it really only take just shy of two weeks back with his biggoted relatives for him to start spewing this pureblood nonsense again?

Bouncing around in your head those questions overwhelm you as you try to ignore the most pressing one, pushing at the forefront of your mind.

Does he even love you?

“B-because you’re not a pureblood, this book (Y/N), it can’t be held by anyone not of pureblood,” Reg’s shaking voice broke through the flurry of questions wreaking chaos in your mind.

“God damn it Regulus! I thought we were past this! I thought-”

“It’ll kill you (Y/N)!” His voice is frantic and you pick up on the tears welling in the corners of his eyes, threatening to leak over.

Those words that seemed to carry a fatality in themselves cleared away the din clouding your mind, everything went silent. Too silent even as the implication of those words wash over you.

That book may as well be a gun, cocked and being held steady at your temple as you feel tears of your own begin to well in your eyes, distorting your vision.

The mess of questions doesn’t return to your mind, instead they begin thumping one by one at the base of your brain though they all carry through the same theme.

How could he have brought that near you?

“Kill me?” You curse yourself for how obvious your voice is shaking but the book that just moments earlier you were dying to get your hand on seems to have cast an oppressive air over the room and has you recoiling away from your boyfriend.

Regulus nods, holding eye contact with you as he slips the book back into his bag, sliding it under the sofa before cautiously striding towards you.

“That's why I can’t give it to you to look at, it's cursed and if you so much as bump it you’ll…” His voice trails off, the words too terrible to speak aloud.

Your arms wrap around yourself, clutching as hard as they can as you fight to wrangle your thoughts under control. His response revealed to you that he doesn’t intend to hurt you, not with the book anyways which has dozens of other worries popping up in your head. You’re desperate for answers as to what happened to Regulus at his house. He seems ready to give them to you as he offers to take you back to his dorm away from any prying eyes or ears that may lurk about in the Slytherin common room.

You’d both agreed to arrive back at school two days early hoping to get some alone time in but that didn’t mean that the castle was empty and that anyone couldn’t walk into his common room at any moment.

You stall as he lets you into his dorm, you’ve been there a thousand times, often under the mask of night but your usual spot, atop his always made perfectly bed, seems wrong now. Without answers to your countless questions the entire room feels foregin to you and leaves you standing by his desk, not quite leaning against it but also not quite supporting your own weight.

Regulus seems equally awkward but eventually settles on his bed, perched precariously on the edge of the mattress, he barely looks comfortable.

You stay there so long in silence that after a while your breathing syncs, the singular sound becoming the only noise in the drafty room.

Long after it becomes clear Regulus isn’t going to speak first and you finally tire of the silence you find your voice, somewhere deep inside of you summoning the words to your most pressing worry; “What happened at your house Regulus? What did they do to you?”

Your words have him crumbling, your usually stoic boy folding in on himself until he is but a ball hanging off the bed.

You hesitate for a single second before you’re racing towards him, dropping before him at his knees to cup his face in your palms. Directing his visage upwards to meet yours you feel your heart wrench in your chest as you take in his puffy, red eyes, red nose and flushed cheeks already marred with twin trails of salty tears cascading down his face.

“Regulus,” You choke out feeling tears from earlier resurface as you push yourself off the ground to take your place next to the scared boy beside you.

Pulling him into your lap as much as his size permits you too you take great care in cradling his head, clutching him to your chest as your rock gently back and forth humming into his hairline in hopes to calm his sobs. Raw and ragged they each tear at the fragile, brave exterior you’ve erected in hopes of comforting the boy, giving him something solid to hold onto.

Whispering sweet nothings into his ear you feel him melt into your touch, slowly the breathing becomes stronger and his sobs quiet to weak sniffles swallowed by the occasional gulp.

Feeling him shift under your touch you can tell he’s working himself up to something, he always gets fidgety when he’s trying to summon the courage to do something hard, his movement triggers a memory.

It floods through your mind as you’re reminded of a similarly terrified Regulus, knees bumping against the table at breakfast one lazy Sunday as he repeatedly bounced them, seemingly unable to sit still. He’d spent weeks working himself up to speaking to his brother for the first time in far too long.

The memory of him being so strong and brave even as the entirety of the Great Hall tracked his movement from the Slytherin table to the Gryffindor had you drawing a deep breath. The strength the memory provides you has you summoning the breath to prompt Regulus into some sort of explanation, anything.

“Reggie, your mother gave you that book didn’t she?”

He goes still at your words and even involuntary actions seem to still, his lungs draw no breath and his pulse seems to fade away under your touch.

“Bellatrix,” His voice is hoarse from crying, “Her idea of a Christmas gift.”

“That bitch,” You spit.

“Walburga’s was worse.”

You pause at the mention of her name, there is no doubt in your mind that he is the one who’s actions have sent Regulus into this downward spiral of despair and fear. You’re not even sure if you wanna hear what he has to stay but what you want stopped being important a long time ago.

“Do you wanna show me Reg?” You ask, breathless.

“No,” Comes his meak voice, “But I need to.”

You nod understandingly as you regrettably allow him to slip from your grasp so he can turn to face you, one leg tucked under his bum and the other hanging over the edge of the bed.

His eyes are downcast before he peaks them up through thick, dark lashes to meet your gaze, “Do you promise not to hate me (Y/N/N)? I don’t know if I can do this if you hate me.”

Your brows are drawn together as your response comes emphatically, “I could never hate you Regulus, I could never and I will never.”

“You can’t make that promise,” He says through a watery chuckle, leaving you wondering where the hilarity in the situation was. “I shouldn’t have asked you to.”

“Regulus,” You latched onto his hand before he could turn away from you, “I am incapable of hating you my love, please. Tell me what happened.”

Silver eyes locked with yours as though they would reveal the solidity of your promise. You’re not sure what answer he found in them but regardless he broke your gaze as he snuck his hand out of yours.

You watch as he slowly rolls up his sleeve and an idea as to what he’s going to show you begins to form and you find yourself regretting ever demanding to know what’s going on. You quickly shove those thoughts back down, there's no use in even entertaining them, ignoring your problems won’t make them go away.

Your worst fears are confirmed as Regulus rolls the sleeve of his black sweater to reveal swirling black ink sunk deep into his skin. Even just by looking at it you could feel the permanence of the ink, the meaning behind it causing a chill to shoot through your bones.

In the back of your head this had always been a possibility but not one you’d ever truly considered. You always thought that you would be able to get yourself and Reg away from everyone, from everything. Blood purity, the ministry, his family.

You were going to get out and you’d thought you’d have plenty of time, half way through his fifth year neither of you ever expected him to be forced to take the Dark Mark before his eighteenth birthday.

You were supposed to have until his eighteenth birthday.

Staring at the ink that seemed to pulse with life against the pale white of Regulus’ skin you suppose that it doesn’t really matter what you were supposed to have, what was supposed to happen. Regulus has taken the dark mark.

Godric, Regulus has taken the dark mark.

“Y-Your mother did this to you?” Your voice wobbles, anger, confusion, and terror evident in your voice, each betraying the strong front you’re trying to keep up for Regulus.

“She came for me in the middle of the night, (Y/N/N). First time I’ve ever been woken by her instead of Sirius or a house elf and she forced me up, made me get dressed before taking me downstairs and they were all there,” His voice cracks as a silent sob racks his body, you can only imagine how difficult it must be to relive the horrific events of that night. Hoping to provide him with any sort of comfort you inch closer to him, throwing your arm around his shoulder allowing him to rest his head on yours before continuing.

“They were all there (Y/N), not just her and Father. Bellatrix, Cissa and her husband, the Lestranges,” He pauses to swallow, “ And him. He was there.”

Regulus needn’t clarify who “he” was. The idea that he had even been near Regulus made you sick to your stomach and you could feel the distinct sensation of bile rising tickle at the back of your throat.

“Shhh, it's okay Reg,” You soothe, tightening your grip on him as sobs shake his body, “It’s going to be okay Red we’re going to figure this out.”

“He did this to me,” He sobs as he shakes in your lap, letting the enormity of his circumstances finally sink in after suppressing it for the past week, the fear of your response keeping him occupied.

To say you aren’t scared would be a lie, you’re fucking terrified but holding Regulus’ trembling form you know that this decision was not his. He would never swear allegiance to a group hell bent on destroying you and people like you, a few years ago maybe but not today. Not the Regulus you’d come to love, even if it began despite yourself.

Without hesitation you reach out, wrapping your hand around the skin now stained by dark magic.

Regulus let’s out a hiss at your touch and you feel him tense under your hand, afraid you’ve hurt him you start to pull away, “Does that hurt Reg?” You ask warily.

“Yes,” He spits out through gritted teeth, “But don’t let go please,” He pleads, raising his gaze to meet yours, “Please don’t let go.”

“Not gonna let go,” You promise, keeping your hold on his forearm tight.

Dipping your fingers under the strong bone of his mandible you turn his visage upwards to meet yours, heart breaking at the sadness and pain swimming in those beautiful grey eyes of his. Slowly you lean in before your eyelashes are brushing against the soft skin of his cheeks and your eyes flutter closed as you watch his do the same.

Your lips brush each other’s gently as your hand cups the side of his face, giving you complete control of the kiss as you keep the swipes of your lips light, you can just barely make out the taste of the pomegranate lip balm you’d given him as a part of your holiday gift to him.

“I didn’t wanna take it (Y/N/N),” He sniffles against your lips, “I don’t wanna be a Death Eater, I don’t wanna hurt you.” The sincerity in his voice has more tears welling in your eyes, you just can’t bear to see your beautiful boy in so much pain.

“Oh I know you don’t bubba I know,” You calm him, throwing a leg over to the other side of his lap so that you can perch yourself atop the hard smooth surface of his thighs. Gently pressing kisses along the canvas of his face you feel his arms wrap around your waist and the tips of fingers graze against your ass as his hands hover above it.

“Can I touch you please?” His words are barely audible but his desperation is loud and clear.

You grant permission as you lean forward to capture his lips in another kiss, this one more passionate than the last. Posing little, if any, challenge before letting your tongue delve into his mouth, quickly claiming dominance over his as you feel his palms clutch the globes of your ass, kneading the soft flesh as he holds onto you as tight as possible.

With care you slowly guide him onto his back as your lips trail from his down the column of his throat, in your journey down you leave sloppy hickeys along the delicate skin of his neck. Pulling away slightly you smile to see the various shades of purple and blue painted along his pretty ivory skin.

You know you’re going to have a real conversation about this later, what it means, what the two of you are ready to do about it but right now all you can think about is how you can make your pretty boy feel better, how you can show him that your love for him hasn’t changed. And there’s one way you know how to do that best.

“Do you want me to make you feel good Reggie?” You whisper against his skin as your lips ghost over his collar bone, drinking in his scent.

“Please,” He whimpers, “Need you.”

That’s all you need to hear before your hands are delving under the hem of Reg’s sweater, hands sliding against the smooth planes of his abs, your hands gliding over the occasional ridge of a long healed scar.

Sliding the hem up all the way to his collarbone you look down to see the beautiful lines of his chest and stomach. The scars you’ve become used to seeing a dark but faded pink now shine an almost brilliant purple as though the dark magic imprinted upon his arm had somehow interfered with scars caused by Walburga, most of them when he was much younger. You know for a fact that there are more ones on his back, deeper and darker from taking longer to heal.

“Come on pretty boy,” You coach, propping him up so that you can slip the soft sweater over his head before discarding it over your shoulder, “There we go, that’s a good boy.”

He lets out a low whine at your praising words as his hips thrust up towards yours which are perched directly atop them.

While removing your own sweater you smile, realizing it’s actually one of Regulus’ old Quidditch jumpers from the year prior. With no bra beneath your top your tits are left bare for Regulus’ viewing. His eyes gloss over as lust creeps into the stormy grey of his irises, they’re locked on your tits as though they’re the most beautiful things he’s ever seen.

“Do these hurt more than normal baby?” You ask as your fingertips graze over the raised scars on his chest, if the dark magic of the dark mark made his scars more sensitive you wanna be careful not to hurt him.

“A little.”

Frowning you lean down to press your lips against the puckered scars, your kisses light and fleeting as you trace the dark lines with your lips.

Dancing from one scar to another you hear him exhale deeply and the tension seems to be slowly leaving his body as he settles into the mattress and he becomes malleable under your touch.

“You’re so beautiful Reg,” You praise against his scarred skin, needing him to understand just how much you love him.

“I love you so much,” You look up through your lashes to see Regulus’ eyes already locked on your body.

“I love you too.”

With that your lips are ceasing his once more as you feel the overwhelming need to comfort your boy. Gently, you grind your hips up against his as you become lost in the kiss, savoring the feeling of his lips against yours before you feel a familiar bulge pressing on you.

Your hand ventures back down the hard muscle of his stomach before you bump against the bulge of his erection, straining against the soft material of his sweatpants. You palm gently over his cock as your face buries itself in the crook of his neck, giving him sweet, light kisses while teasing his throbbing member.

“Please,” Comes his choked pleas at being teased, “Please, need more.”

“Of course pretty boy,” You promise as you lift yourself off of him, giving him one last kiss at the waistband of his sweatpants before helping him ease off his bottoms and boxers.

Once he’s devoid of all clothing you too strip down so that you’re both bare naked, your eyes are fixed on the red, weeping head of his half hard cock, sitting against the inside of his muscled thigh.

He whimpers as your hand wraps around his member, pumping up and down his hardening length, brushing your thumb along the sensitive tip of his cock.

“Wanna be inside of you,” He whimpers, hands grappling for your wrist to stall your movements and pull you on top of him but all he succeeds in doing is making you stubble closer to him.

You release your right hand from his cock, instead taking his hand in yours while your unoccupied hands resumes stimulating his member.

“I know you wanna be inside of me, pretty boy, but I gotta get you hard first.”

“But I am hard,” He argues in a pretty little whine, and now that he mentions it you realize that he is harder than he was when you’d pulled him from the tight confines of his pants.

“Your cock’s so gorgeous,” You murmur watching the way he twitches in your hand, “Think you’re hard enough now, yeah?”

He nods his head, squirming as he fights the urge to buck up into your hand.

Making sure that he’s comfortable, propped up against the pillow at the head of the bed you brush away the hair that’s fallen into his face as you straddle his lap, the shaft of his cock pressing against the warmth of your cunt.

Lifting yourself a few inches off his thighs your help guide his prick to your entrance, slowly sinking onto him you allow yourself to take your time accepting each and every inch of him inside of you.

Reg’s eyes are glued to your pussy as he watches himself disappear inside of you, all the way down to his base. His eye brows furrow from the overwhelming pleasure that swims through his veins, sinking deep into his every nerve at the bliss of being completely surrounded by your warm pussy.

Pleasure shoots up your spine at the sensation of slowly becoming full, once you’ve finally taken every inch of him inside you you throw your head back, mouth dropped open as the breath is stolen from your lungs. It feels so good to be so full with him you have to remind yourself to breathe.

“Good boy,” You say breathlessly, rubbing your arms up and down his flexing arms, fists furled with the sheets between them as he too adapts to the sensation that comes with being inside of you.

“You ready for me to move?” You ask once you finally become used to the full feeling.

Desperate nods answered your question, it takes you a minute to find your rhythm but soon you’re grinding his hips against his, lifting yourself slightly off his cock before grinding back down onto him.

Your movements are slower than usual when you fuck Reg, but after the terror he’d gone through in the past weeks you’re deliberate in your gentle movements.

As your hands grip the muscles of his arms you hear him take a sharp breath, your eyes fly open, landing on his face, your movements stalling before you realize that you’re clutching the newly marked skin on his left forearm.

“Oh baby I’m so sorry,” You apologize, loosening your grip on him as your lips frace the dark lines of the ink against his skin.

Seeing that mark on anyone else would’ve made you recoil, have ice shooting through your veins as fear petrified you. While you would’ve preferred never to see that symbol of hate tattooed into Regulus’ skin it didn’t evoke its usual reaction from you. The only fear you have is fear of the future, fear of what lies in wait for the two of you beyond the walls of Hogwarts, but it doesn't matter right now. All that matters is comforting your boy, all you think about as you press your lips to his mark.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when you hear sobs break through Regulus’ lips, quickly you abandon the stain of ink , moving to cradle his head so that your tits are right in his line of vision.

“I thought you were going to hate me,” He cries into your chest, tears wet the soft skin of your tits.

“No baby, I’ll never hate you, not ever.”

You feel the wet warmth of his mouth brush against your right nipple, gazing down you see his tongue lazily circling the pebbled flesh and you’re reminded just how cold the room actually is but pressed up against Regulus it feels like your entire body is on fire.

“You wanna suck on my titty Reggie?”

He responds with a weak nod and quickly you’re easing your nipple into his mouth, helping him find the correct angle all the while stuttering your hips against his.

“You fill me up so good Reg,” Your praise, fingers tangling in the dark mess of curls.

At your praise he begins lifting his hips in times with your thrusts, helping you as you fuck youself on top of him, wanting so desperately to make you feel as good as you make him.

“There we go, that’s a god boy.”

“M’getting close,” His words are muffled by the soft flesh of your tit stuffed into his mouth.

You too are nearing your orgasm as your clit brushes against the hard bone of his pelvis pulling a sharp whimper from you. To better grant Regulus access to your breast you’ve settled on rolling your hips in circles, ceasing the up and down movement from earlier so as to not disturb him.

A familiar tightness is brewing in your belly as Regulus’ hands run up and down your back before gripping the globes of your butt, maintaining as much physical contact as possible.

“Go ahead bubba, go ahead and cum. Fill me up pretty boy, want your cum. Need your cum. Godric I love you,” You ramble, seizing his lips again, needing them against yours as you feel him cum inside you.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” He mutters as your cunt grips around him with the tell tale signs of your quickly approaching orgasm.

“Y’gonna cum with me baby?” You ask as you press your lips to his forehead, his mouth having once more found the plush of your breast.

“Yes,” He nods, “Please.”

You throw your head back in ecstasy as your orgasm washes over you, wave after wave of pleasure racing through your veins as you ride out your orgasm, continuing to move your hips as you simultaneously help Reg through his. Stars flash behind your closed eyelids as the pleasure building up finally releases, sending you into euphoria so intense it seems to cloud your every sense.

The second he felt your cunt squeeze around his cock it tipped him over the edge and as he lost himself in pleasure, rope after rope of cum releasing inside of you, he tried his best to match the movement of his hips to yours.

You flutter your eyes open as the warmth of his cum floods your pussy as you come down from the height of your orgasm, letting yourself collapse so that your chest is pressed up against his.

With your chests pressed so close together you notice the exact moment that your breathing syncs, feeling as Regulus’ arms wrap around your bare torso keeping you close to his body.

“How are you feeling?” You murmur against the ivory skin of his chest, keeping your voice hushed.

“Better. A little happy.”

Glancing up you catch the smallest smirk slink across his lips as he stares up at the vaulted ceiling.

“Happy?”

“You make me happy,” His eyes flicker to yours as he pulls you closer to him causing his softening prick to slip out of your tight hole. You both hiss as the cool air hits his cock and the cum he’d emptied into you begins flowing out yout pussy.

Regrettably you push yourself off of him, pulling his sweater over your head before waddling into the connecting bathroom, being ever so conscious about the sticky white mess between your legs as you wet a washcloth using warm water from the sink before applying it to the insides of your thighs. Ginger touches hastily cleaning up the excess cum before rinsing the wash cloth to take it to Reg.

“Hey pretty boy,” You coo upon reentering the room to find him in the same position you’d left him in, “You ready for me to clean you up?”

“You look so beautiful in my clothes (Y/N/N),” He responds instead of answering your question, pushing himself onto his elbows so that he can watch you, his black sweater enveloping you all the way to your lower thighs.

“And you’re just beautiful,” You smile, sitting next to him on the mattress. You aren’t lying, he looks absolutely gorgeous leaning back, mop of dark hair in tangled tresses, grey eyes glossed over, abs sheening with sweat as are his equally toned thighs. Merlin bless the poor bastard who invented Quidditch.

Dragging up his muscled legs your eyes settle on his softening member, just as pretty as the rest of him.

With care you make quick work of cleaning the cum off his cock, resting your hand on his thigh when he tries to squirm away from your over stimulating touch.

“I know baby, I know but I gotta get you all nice and clean for me.”

“Hurts,” He mumbles in a pathetic pout.

“I know it does pretty baby but look,” You say, pulling the cloth from his skin, “All done already.” Pressing a kiss to his temple you go to stand but you’re quickly pulled back down to the mattress by cold hands wrapped around the warm folds of your waist.

“Don’t go,” He mumbles into your hair as he keeps you tucked into his side.

“Just gotta go put the washcloth back Reggie,” You explain trying to slip from his hold but he’s not having it and just tugs you back against the hard planes of his chest.

“No,” He says simply before reaching over to the bed side table where he’d set his wand, mumbling a quick banishing spell the rag flew from your hand before flying into the bathroom.

Resting your head against his strong shoulder you yank a blanket from the end of the bed up to throw it around your bodies, nestled close together.

“You said you were happy Reg.”

“Mhm,” He responds with a noncommittal hum.

“What else are you feeling, love?”

You hear him take a deep inhale, as his own answer seemed to overwhelm him, “I don’t know. I’m scared, I’m really scared but not so much now that I know that you don’t hate me.”

You nod against his chest, you can only imagine how petrifying that thought must’ve been for him and you can’t deny the tug you feel in your chest at the idea of Regulus ever thinking you would hate him.

“I’m still terrified but I think I’m gonna be okay.”

“I know you’re gonna be okay Regulus, you are capable and strong and smart and the bravest boy I have ever met,” You can feel the blush radiating off of him at your words.

“Thank you (Y/N/N),” He mumbles bashfully into your hair once more.

You were telling the truth, if there was one thing that you know for certain its that Regulus is just as resilient as he has proven to be and if Walburga, or anyone else for that matter thought he was going to take this lying down. If they thought you were going to take this lying down, they have another thing coming. There is no doubt in your mind that Regulus will fight for what he knows to be true and if there was ever a point that he would have obeyed his mother’s every command without question that time was long past.

Reg isn’t to be underestimated. He’s just as every bit courageous as he’s proved to be over and over again. To underestimate him is to dig your own grave; and unlike Walburga you aren’t ready to count him out quite yet. On the contrary actually, your boy wasn’t about to take this lying down and even if it meant total self destruction, the two of you are about to raise hell.

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hotwings0203 · 4 years ago

Text

I feel like Dabi would be the type of dude who would bully you incessantly at the LOV and for the life of you you can’t figure out why. He’s always around you and making snarky comments or pulling your hair, trying to catch you messing up on missions. You’re sure he hates you, and you do well to stay out of his way, or sometimes when you feel bold you’ll offer a quip of your own. The bullying increases whenever you talk to other guys at the bar, especially when you make Tomura crack a smile, Dabi’s breathing down your neck the second your leader leaves, calling you terrible names and pushing past your boundaries.

Cw: language, nsfw, noncon, manga spoilers, some angst?

In a perfect world, Touya would not have been abandoned and rejected by his family. In a perfect world, Dabi would not exist, and Touya would be eating dinner with his family right now as he shows his little brother how to properly wield fire to its fullest extent.

But there was no such thing as a perfect world, and therefore Dabi did exist. And Dabi doesn’t care for anyone, or anything.

Or so he tells himself.

“Slut”

“Nothing but eye candy, and shitty eye candy at that”

It’s nothing you haven’t heard before, but it doesn’t make it any easier to ignore him

“What was that all about, huh? The fuck are you and crusty snickering about?”

Fed up with his continuous antics, you decide to mouth off a little too.

“Oh nothing, just talking about how adorable you and Hawks would make as a couple. And wipe that sneer off your face, it looks like some of your staples fell out of your mouth.”

It’s nothing too snarky, but in a second he’s shoving you in some dark room, forearm pinned against your throat as his hand is lit up with blue flames merely inches away from you, snarling in your face.

“You wanna be funny, bitch? I got jokes of my own too, why dont I show you what happens to dumb little girls who don’t know their fucking place? I think that would be real funny.”

But his hand is stopped from drawing near your wide eyes when you both hear Twice and Toga calling everyone for their next meeting.

He pushes you away from him, giving you a murderous look over his shoulder as he leaves the room, not paying mind to the way you slide down the wall in the dark.

You take extra precaution to try avoiding him for the next few days, not even making eye contact with him when you two get teamed up for tasks. He never mentions the room incident, if anything he acts as if it never happens. It’s like whiplash for you, he tries to weirdly talk to you more but all you offer him is mumbles and hums of agreement.

The conversation is never long, but it starts to be less talk of degrading you and more of begrudging questioning of what you’ve been up to. You never engage, opting to pretend like you never heard him, and strangely enough he leaves it be.

You give him a side eye one day as he joins you at the bar (much to your discontent), downing your glass just to fill another.

He says nothing as he slides into the stool right next to you, and pours a glass of whiskey for himself as well.

It’s awkwardly silent, you’re not sure if you should leave or not, but you’d be damned if you try to initiate small talk with this psycho.

But then, he speaks.

“Is Shigaraki sending you on the mission to get that UA kid?”

His gravely voice rumbles and cracks from his usual lack of use, and he clears his throat after he talks.

“No.”

“Oh.”

This is excruciating, you think to yourself as he mulls over the drink in his hand for a silent minute or two.

Toga calls you over thankfully at the exact same moment, and you breathe out an inaudible sigh of relief as you slip off the stool to join her.

“Wait-“ Dabi grabs your arm and you flinch out of instinct, expecting a slap or a burn to come from him.

He sees your reaction and shakes his head dismissively, letting you go and muttering a “Nevermind”. You don’t ponder over it as you trip over your own feet to join the eccentric blond.

A week passes, and then two. With each day you maneuver your way around him, request to be partnered up with different people in private, and busy yourself in random tasks. Every time you pass him by the bar he lifts his head from whatever he’s doing and tries to maintain eye contact with you, even going so far as to open his mouth to say or ask god-knows-what.

You try to ignore the foreign hopeful glint in his glacial eyes as you walk right past him, ducking your head as you do so.

It drives Dabi crazy.

He can’t handle any more rejection, he thought his family would be the last straw for him to ever want recognition or love validation from again. He wants to talk to you, to hear your voice as it snaps back with witty comebacks of your own that he secretly enjoys so much, even if it means he has to force it out of you with hateful words. He wants to feel your hair underneath his scarred hands, even if he has to mask the soft wanting of you in forms of yanking the strands. He wants nothing more than to see your eyes fill up with no other sight than him and think only of him, even if it means he has to corner you and scare you into submission.

But your silence is something he’s not used to.

Well, to be fair, you weren’t silent completely, but the only sentences he was hearing from you nowadays was when you were speaking to Shigaraki or the other League members.

You were the only idiot who didn’t notice the smoke curling from his nostrils and ears comically when he’d finally see you stop your stoic act just to open up to other men apart from him. Spinner, Twice, and Compress backed off almost immediately from talking to you for too long when they’d see the look on his face as he watched you surrounded by them, but Tomura would merely smirk from behind your shoulders and keep a level gaze with his subordinate, knowing fully well why he was so pissed off.

You began to notice the weird energy at the base soon after the rest of the men would keep curt conversations with you in comparison to your long talks about video games, sex, and life after you would all win the war.

So you thought it would be best to ask the most semi-normal person there that wasn’t fueled with testosterone and aggression.

“I just don’t get it, why are they all being weird? I mean, we all used to talk so much and now they just...try avoiding me. Except for Tomura of course, he’s still normal I guess. But he always has this smirk on his face when I’m with him and I can’t figure out why.”

Toga stops cleaning her blood-laced needle to give you a sly look, all fangs and glinting white.

“And Dabi?”

“What about him?”

She sits back on her haunches and cocks her head at you. “You really don’t know what’s happening here, do ya?”

“No,” you roll your eyes in exasperation. “But I’ll gladly take any theories here, since apparently I’m the only one who doesn’t get it.”

“He likes you.”

You gape at her for a moment and then burst out laughing.

“What? That’s crazy, he doesn’t like me, he hates me!” He can barely stand being in a room with me, all he does is talk shit and harass me.”

The blond curiously licks at a bead of red from the top of the weapon and you cringe when her own tongue rips from the sharp point.

“You say he can’t stand being in a room with you, so then why is it that he’s always there? He might talk shit, but he talks to you out of everyone else right? Regardless of if it’s something mean.”

You’re thoroughly flabbergasted. She had a point, but it was too much to wrap your head around. She cheerfully hums and gets up to flounce around the room, cleaning her already-tidy room up to a T.

“And that little silent treatment act you’re giving him isn’t helping either. I swear, Jin told me Dabi almost burned his mouth off that one day you, him and Spinner were talking about GTA. He totally cornered the poor guy and threatened his life if he didn’t stop talking to you.”

“You’re joking.”

“Am not. He wanted to do the same to Tomura but I figure he wants to keep his job, so he won’t. Doesnt make it any better for him when you’re all chummy with the one person Dabi can’t stand the most, though.”

No wonder your leader was so smug whenever you two were in the same room, your attention solely focused on him.

You run your hands down your face, moaning about the whole situation being fucked. It’s just your luck that you couldn’t take a clue, but to be fair, how could you? Being called worthless and a waste of space wasn’t exactly what you had in mind for flirty banter.

“Soooo what’re you gonna do now? I heard he’s gonna try talking to you for realsies like, tomorrow or something.”

“Tomorrow?” You yelp, jumping up to your feet. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I can’t face him!”

“Oops,” she giggles, twirling with outstretched arms around her room and falling down onto her bed.

“Oh god, I can’t do this. I don’t even know if I like him! He’s such an ass, and even when he tries to come off as normal he’s just so..unsettling. I don’t think I’ve ever had a good conversation with him.”

Toga props her elbow up to rest her chin on her hand, frowning in thought.

“Why not just tell him how you feel?”

You snort and fold your arms. “Yeah, because the psycho arsonist is really gonna take the word no well.”

“Hmm.. I see what you mean. Oh well, whatever you choose, I’ll support you!”

And with that she skips out of the room sing songing for Twice to make a clone for her.

You were fucked.

And sure enough, the next day he approaches you, hands stuffed in his pockets and an almost bored look on his face.

“Yo newbie, I gotta talk to you for a second. Come with me”.

You look blearily up at him through eye bags and mussed hair, a direct telling of your sleepless night. Your stomach drops when you hear his words, but you nod your head and take a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself of the speech you practiced till the sun rose.

No one else is bothering you both today, Shigaraki having gone to visit All For One and the rest of the League left to their own devices. It was something you weren’t so comfortable with, but you doubted a hero would come to save you.

He leads you through the short winding hallways, each step of his growing louder and heavier as the space started growing smaller. Finally, he reaches a dimly lit room and stops outside the door, gesturing for you to go in with a casual wave of his patched wrist.

“After you.”

You raise an unsure eyebrow at his uncharacteristic show of consideration, and do as he says. You’re sweating bullets, fists balled so that your nails are digging into your palms, and vision going in and out of focus as your eyes begin to adjust to your surroundings.

A loud bang pulls you out of your stupor, and you whip around at the sound.

Dabi is already staring back at you with lidded eyes, leaning his weight against the door, his arms crossing over each other.

You shift on both feet, picking at your nails nervously.

“So, what did you wanna talk about?”

He says nothing, but just observes you, his head slightly tilted as if you were some abstract art piece.

“Dabi.”

“You got a lot of nerve, y’know that?”

He pushes himself off the wall and advances slowly towards you, hands stuffed in his trench coat pockets.

You immediately back up with raised palms, sputtering indignantly at his offensive movements coming closer and closer. However you thought his ‘confession’ would go, this was most definitely not starting out like how you planned

“Excuse me? What’re you talking about-“

“I know what you’re doing. You think whoring yourself out to ol’ crusty and the rest of the guys here is gonna make everyone forget just how useless you actually are. What the fuck do you even do here? You fuck up half the missions which I have to come bail your ass out of, you constantly put us in jeopardy by being all friendly with everyone, and you can’t even keep your mouth shut when I need to let off a little steam, as I rightfully should.”

In a perfect world, Dabi would be the light of your eyes, the hero of your world. In a perfect world, Dabi would be able to hold your hand in his smooth one and tell you that he wants you so much that it impairs his rational judgement and makes him say things he doesn’t mean. He’d tell you that your presence is like a weight lifted off his chest, your presence means he doesn’t have to think or worry about the outside world, he just wants you all to himself without anyone interfering.

But this is not a perfect world, and Dabi is not a hero, but rather one of the worst villains.

So he does exactly what one does as a villain.

Instead of a loving look that he knows he’s incapable of, Dabi looks down into your horrified gaze as he traps you against the wall between his scarred arms, spewing misplaced venom at you.

“I don’t know what your problem is, but you need to chill out. First you go ballistic on me ‘cause I talked to Tomura for no reason, then you act all weird and quiet as if you’re some decent person, and now you think you can just bring me in here and tell me how worthless I am? Go fuck yourself, seriously.”

You scoff and make your way to push him but stop when he does what he did a couple weeks ago. You hold bated breath as he casually brings an inflamed hand to scratch at his face as if he can’t feel the hellfire emitting from it, and let out a whine of distress as he lowers his head mere inches from yours, lips almost touching.

“Stop talking to the rest of the guys,” he breaths. “Stop smiling, laughing, or going near anyone who isn’t me.”

You wonder if he knows how insane he sounds. He does, but that’s nothing he doesn’t know already. If anything, it solidifies in his mind that if he is to be as bad as the world has made him out to be, then he is acting exactly fit for the role.

“Why?”

“I don’t need to give sluts like you a reason. It should come as easy, right? What’s putting out for one more person?”

Your eyes are brimming with tears now, your stoic facade showing cracks as you sniffle a little bit.

He eats it up and groans watching salty rivers cascade down your cheeks. Suddenly, he feels as though he can no longer hold back anymore, he feels as though if he thinks for one more second he’ll combust.

So, acting on instinct, he surges forward and presses his lips against yours, swallowing your cries of distress and holding your hands above your head in midst of them frantically beating on his chest.

Your lips are so, so soft compared to his and it’s making him sink deeper into this instinctual daze. He puffs against your writhing lips as he thrusts his hot tongue in your mouth.

You try to bite him but when his hands heat up against your skin you resign to your fate and wail, allowing him to pull his hips flush against yours and start humping your thighs.

He draws back and bites your lips, teeth clacking against yours as he does so. You open your terrified eyes and blanch when you see the look on his face.

Lust is clearly drawn everywhere, from his blown pupils to his heaving chest, all the way to his flushed face and wild eyes. He looks as though he’s about to eat you alive and it’s appropriate that you feel like a lamb about to be slaughtered.

“Dabi, wait, please stop-“

But he cuts your pants off again in favor of slamming his hips against yours again and grinding impossibly hard on your legs, the friction of his jeans catching on your clothed cunt and forcing a mewl out of you.

“I’m not gonna stop. I’ve had enough of you teasing. You’re mine now, and if it takes burning our dear leader alive and this whole place down for you to understand that then I’ll fucking do it.”

He thought that terrorizing you would ease the empty feeling in his heart, that continuously berating you would force him to see you as what he always said you were, just another empty headed cunt. He thought that distancing himself from you and focusing on other things would make him forget about the soft feelings he longed to share with you, feelings he thought perished in the fire he was in when he was a young boy .

Even now, there is an ache in his chest as he hears you beg for him to stop, to let you go, that you’re sorry for whatever you did.

But this is not a perfect world, and not everyone gets their way in life.

You should really learn that, because Dabi already has.

And so Dabi will act accordingly to what life has put out before him .

#dabi imagine #yandere dabi x reader #dabi smut #bnha imagines #bnha smut #mha smut #yandere dabi #tw: noncon #touya #bnha touya #touya todoroki #Dabi #dabi x reader

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sserpente · 4 years ago

Text

Raw Desire

Synopsis: Something is wrong with him. Something none of the Avengers, including Thor, understand. When Loki turns into his Jötun form unwillingly and begins to act in a very primal and aggressive way, their solution for the problem is to lock him up in a cell below the compound until it’s all over. It’s a disease, perhaps, one which only Frost Giants can develop. Only Loki is not sick. Loki is in heat--and his Jötun body will not rest until his most carnal desires have been satisfied...

Words: 9176 Warnings: Jötun!Loki, smut, fluff, symptoms of addiction

A/N: You wanted some Jötun!Loki, I wanted some Jötun!Loki... so here we go. Enjoy, everyone! 😏

Additional NSFW Warnings: breeding kink (a little bit, anyway), Loki is in heat (kind of, duh), lack of aftercare (at first...)

His antagonising scream tore through the entire compound. You flinched, alarmed. Loki. The heart-breaking sound of pain tugging at your nerves was followed by a loud thump—like a heavy metal door falling shut, locked for good. It had come from the cellar, where the Avengers stored weaponry and ammunition; along with provisory but secure prison cells of Wakandan technology for criminals until they could be handed over to the authorities.

When you reached the source of the rousing noise, you almost knocked straight into Thor. His muscly back resembled a thick fleshy wall that would break your bones if you collided with him with too much force and speed.

“What happened?” Out of breath, you moved around him—facing the culprit of the commotion. The eerie flickering camera right outside the cell door showed Loki knocking his fists repeatedly against the metal door. His knuckles were already bloody from the repeated impact, yet the door would not budge. Much more concerning, however, was his appearance. Loki’s skin—every inch revealed to the naked eye anyway—was blue, his otherwise enchanting blue eyes sparkling with mischief of a deep blood-red. Countless, unique and fleshy lines formed a complex pattern on his arms and the back of his hands, even his face and neck. Your lips parted, both in shock and surprise at what your eyesight had revealed to you.

“He’s losing his fucking mind.” Tony responded for Thor before the Thunderer could even open his mouth in defence. He came tramping into the room as mad as you had never experienced him, tapping away on a tablet in the process. “I told you it was bad idea to bring him back here, Point Break! What were you thinking?”

“Can anybody tell me what is going on?! Why is he… like this? Is he in pain?”

“In pain?! He almost killed Nat. If Wanda hadn’t interfered…” Tony did not finish the sentence—regardless, the threat of what consequences there would have been for the God of Mischief was clearly audible.

“This was unlike him. He had no reason to…”

“No? He pounced on her like a… like a…”

“Beast?” Bruce added matter-of-factly. His hands were in his pocket when he approached the scene and patted Thor on the back in an attempt of providing comfort.

“Maybe… maybe this isn’t his fault, Stark. I know my brother, he’s never acted like this before!” The God of Thunder roared in defence, his arms crossed.

“Yeah,” Tony retorted sarcastically. “You know your brother so well he even tried to kill us all. Three times. No. This man is evil. Look at him!”

Petrified, you risked another peek. Loki was downright animalistic, his fists still working the metal cell door. He was getting weaker, worn out—like the fire in his red eyes was slowly being extinguished to make way for weariness. There was something primal in his behaviour; something raw. You would be ignorant to deny it scared you.

“Tony,” you began, forcing your voice to cease the shaking, “What happened? Why did he attack Natasha? Was he hurt?” Your sudden concern for him was going to give you away. No, not sudden. It had always been there, hidden just beneath the surface of your heart. You had only kept it a secret because… because what?

Loki did not know you had been harbouring romantic feelings for him for a significant amount of time now. Dark, tall and mysterious, he matched not only your type but had hopelessly captured you with his melancholic and lonely nature, the grief in his stunning blue eyes. You refused to believe that Loki was evil, that he had ever truly wanted to harm his brother; and you were desperate to be his friend… and even more than that. But the God of Mischief had hidden his heart behind such a hard shell that you were worried you might never get him to open up to you.

You would by no means describe yourself as an altruistic person—but there was a both enamoured and depraved part of you which desired, longed, for him to like you back.

“Talk to me.” You stated, tilting your head when he flung his dagger at one of the battered punching bags in the training room.

“What?” He sounded almost scornful when he spun around to gift you an incredulous look.

“Talk to me, Loki. I want to know what’s going on in your mind. I thought I was… you are always so distant. You disappear in here every other night, you snap at everyone trying to speak to you. You look nervous, like something is trying to break out of you.” Like you are trying to get rid of monstrous amounts of bottled up energy, you added silently. “You seem so restless. What’s wrong?”

“What concern is that of yours?” He spat.

“See! That is exactly what I meant.”

Loki growled. “What do you want from me, (Y/N)?” You flinched when he used your full name as opposed to the nickname everyone called you by.

“Why? Why are you screaming at me, I’m just trying to help! Don’t you get it, Loki? I care about you. And I care about what you think, even if I am probably the only one in this bloody compound who does.” Now that was unfair. But it was also the truth. “Why are you pushing me away? Let me in…”

Desperately, you moved forward in an attempt to reach up and cup his face, only for him to grab your wrists and pull them away harshly.

“Let you in? All I have ever received in return for ‘letting someone in’ was hurt and hatred. Give me one good reason for why I should open up to you,” he mocked, releasing your hands as if they would burn his fingers if they lingered on your skin for too long. “Tell you about my sorrows.” Sorrows. He had sorrows.

“I am not them.” You simply said. “Not any of them. I am not Odin, not Thor, none of the Avengers.”

Blinking, you snapped out of your memory. You had had this tragic conversation only two nights ago. No matter what you had said, he would not tell you what was on his mind. Now you knew.

“Something is wrong with him.” You interrupted the discussion, one you had not paid any attention to, by silencing them with a loud and determined voice.

“You don’t say?”

“No, Tony, you don’t understand… Loki is… he is Jötun. Thor, has he ever voluntarily turned into his Jötun form?”

The God of Thunder thought about it for a moment—then, he shook his head. “No.” You gave him a meaningful look. “So… you think it has something to do with his species?”

You nodded slowly and swallowed.

“Then we keep him in here until he is better.” He concluded. Your eyes widened.

“What? Thor, no… you can’t keep him locked up in there! What if he doesn’t get better on his own? Are you going to incarcerate him forever?”

“That would be an improvement.” Tony tossed in bitterly.

“We have to help him.”

“We? (Y/N)…” Bruce remarked almost tauntingly.

“You’ll find us upstairs. We need to let the others know about… whatever this is.” Tony added. You gnashed your teeth when he and Bruce turned to leave. For an awkward moment, it was eerily still—right until another one of Loki’s screams tore through the uncomfortable silence. You flinched once more. He was howling in pain.

“You think it might be a disease only Frost Giants can get?” Thor asked with concern in his deep voice at last.

You shrugged apologetically. “Maybe…”

“Loki and I were going to return to Asgard next week. I shall ask around, one of the healers should be familiar with Jötun diseases.”

“Go as soon as you can. Your brother is in pain, Thor, can’t you hear that?”

The God of Thunder nodded absentmindedly. But if no one was going to do something about Loki’s suffering—whatever it was—immediately, you would do it alone. So you did what Loki would do first. You dug up his books.

Loki’s room was neat, tidy. The green bed had been made—there was not a single wrinkle in the fabric and the desk was all clean, not giving thin layers of dust only visible in the direct sunlight a chance. The books he had brought from Asgard, old, thick, yellowed and heavy, he had stored on a bookshelf higher than you could reach.

Sucking in a determined breath, you moved the desk chair in front of it. The polished wooden floor to your feet complained with an ear-piercing shriek as you did. Determined, you climbed up to study the titles. All of them were written in Nordic Runes, making you realise that your research would end up being a lot harder than you had initially assumed. You could not speak a word of Old Norse, let alone read those Runes. Never mind that… you needed answers—and Loki needed your help.

It took you two hours to go through the titles and have them translated via a website you had had to pay for (using Tony’s credit card details—desperate times called for desperate measures) to use its allegedly reliable services.

Then, finally, after what felt like half an eternity, you found a suitable page-turner. It was titled Mythical Creatures and Species across Yggdrasil—at least, that was what the website you used told you.

Eagerly, you opened the book searching frantically for the chapter on Frost Giants and began sucking up all the information you could get. The more you read… and the more you compared Loki’s symptoms to the described behaviour of Jötuns in the book, the more aghast you became. One thing was for sure. Loki was not sick. Loki was aroused.

Terror-stricken, you bookmarked the page, grabbed your phone and jumped to your feet, abandoning the pile of books on Loki’s floor. You needed to speak to Thor right now.

He was about to enter the bathroom when you found him, once again almost knocking into his broad form.

“I… I found something.” You choked out.

“What?”

“I found something… about Loki. Thor… he is not ill, not really, he is…” Biting your lower lip, you pushed the God of Thunder into the bathroom, shut the door behind you and sat down on the edge of the bathtub. “He is… aroused.”

“What?” He roared, blushing. “What do you mean he is aroused?”

“Look… I found this book, I…”

“You speak Old Norse?”

“No! I used… I used a translator. Thor, listen, please. It says here that to ensure their continued existence, male Frost Giants, every one-thousand years, experience the primal urge to copulate with females of their kind. Much like wolves or elves, this ‘heat’ usually begins with restlessness, extremely aggressive and possessive behaviour, unusual amounts of pent-up energy as well as an extreme hunger and loss of appetite at the very same time. Loki hasn’t showed up for lunch, dinner or breakfast and… he has been spending extraordinary times in the training room downstairs in the middle of the night lately. He barely sleeps, it seems.”

“Go on…”

“How old is Loki, Thor?”

“He is a little over one-thousand years… old.” He looked up in shock when he realised.

“That’s why he is in his Jötun form, Thor. He can’t control it, it’s not his fault, it’s… in his nature. God…” You had read it all, yet you were still working on processing it.

“This… it would explain why he tried to attack Nat. So… he is not in danger then?” Thor probed.

“No, not necessarily but—“

“So we can just wait until it is over.”

You frowned. “Until what is over?”

“His heat! If what you are saying is true and Loki’s behaviour derives from his heritage… if he cannot control his reactions, we have to keep him locked up and wait. We can’t have him ravish all the females in the compound.”

“But… he is in pain.”

An urgent knock on the bathroom door interrupted you.

“Hey, are you having a soap party in there? Other people need to use the bathroom too!” Closing the heavy book shut again, you rolled your eyes.

“There are at least three other bathrooms in this compound, Tony!”

“What are you two doing in here anyway?” He asked as he opened the door and leaned against the threshold when he spotted you two sitting on the edge of the bathtub.

“(Y/N) found out that Loki is… uh… in heat.”

“In heat?!” Tony repeated. “Like a cat?”

“No! It… has something to do with the procreation cycle of Jötuns. It… is in his nature.”

“Fuck…”

“Hey… language.” If you hadn’t recognised his voice, you would know it was Steve who joined your heated discussion. “What’s going on here?”

“Loki is in heat, like a cat.” Steve frowned.

“No, he isn’t! Not like a cat, this is…” Thor stood again before you could finish your sentence.

“It’s for the best, (Y/N). Down there, he’ll be save from getting himself into trouble.”

“Thor, wait! Loki is suffering! Soon, he will…”

“We can’t risk it, (Y/N)! He almost raped Natasha!” Tony barked. “And if you go near him, I’ll lock you up too. I’ve seen what he’s capable of, (Y/N). I will not let him hurt you.”

“He… he wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t.” You chirped. No. Loki would never deliberately take a woman against her will. If he did… no! Loki had in incredible amount of self-control and composure; and you knew how much he despised his own heritage. He would fight this—for as long as he could.

“Besides…” Tony added. “It wouldn’t be so bad if he got a taste of his own medicine.”

“Stop blaming Loki for your PTSD, Tony. That was Thanos’ doing and you know that.” You growled darkly. The billionaire paused for a moment.

“He is staying where he is,” he concluded then. “Until he’s gone back to normal.”

But you did not want to wait. You couldn’t. You had read about the symptoms in detail. In the book it said that moodiness and aggression were only the beginning. If Loki did not act on what his Jötun body demanded from him and… released, then soon, excruciating pain would torment his loins. Masturbation appeared to be out of the picture. You nibbled on your lower lip. This thought of yours invaded his privacy on a truly shameful level, yet you were certain that if sexual arousal had already been plaguing him for a significant amount of time before this outbreak of his, he would have tried to lay hand on himself already and learned it did not provide the necessary relief.

Sooner or later, he would no longer be able to suppress his erection—and it would not disappear until he… sheathed himself inside a female to fill her with his seed. Under different circumstances, the idea of him claiming a woman… you, in such a possessive manner would have aroused you tremendously yourself. As of right now, however, Loki was in agony. The pain, if ignored for too long, would only get worse—it could last up to months and even then the denial of sexual release could result in permanent damage to his loins and even his potency.

But there was no cure either. No potion or spell to contain a male Jötun’s heat which Thor could have forwarded to Asgardian healers.

It was past midnight when you stopped reading and translating—too appalled by how much more Loki would have to suffer if nothing was done about his… condition. The only way to make it stop… was to act on it.

Your lips parted in realisation. You liked him, very much so—and you found Loki incredibly attractive, dreaming of his hands on your body, even. Perhaps you could help him after all. You were not Jötun but… would his body really make a difference? This most primal part of him wished to mate with a female—and although you had never seen a female Jötun, you doubted they looked much different than you did down there.

You had to wait another thirty minutes until the lights in Tony’s lab finally went out and you could sneak through the compound and downstairs to the cells—and once you had made sure that Vision was nowhere to be found, you switched off the security camera for Loki’s cell and approached the thick metal door.

It was quiet. He had stopped screaming. There was no banging against the walls either. Yet when you unlocked the door and slipped inside, his appearance, cowering on the floor and leaning against the cool wall with bare feet, startled you to the core. Loki’s raven hair was completely dishevelled, his knuckles bruised and covered in dry blood. His Jötun appearance was downright intimidating and close up, even more fascinating. He was breathing heavily, the thin shirt he had been wearing underneath all of his armour torn in several places, revealing blue skin and in his dark leather trousers… there was a remarkable bulge.

You shivered slightly when his red eyes met yours. Slowly, he tilted his head. “What are you doing here?” He growled hoarsely but weakly.

“I… I want to help you.”

The God of Mischief snorted. “You cannot help me.”

Mutely, you shook your head. “I can. Loki… I… I know what’s happening with you.”

He snorted once more. “So do I.”

“Let me help you.” Taking a deep breath, you moved closer to him. He reacted immediately. Loki jerked, greedily, as if to grab you and pull you on his lap. He could barely stop himself. Yet you were convinced that he would not hurt you in this state… much. A wave of courage rolled over you—you were doing this for him; and you wouldn’t be doing it if you did not like him in this way. Regardless of what he thought of you after, if he could even imagine being with a mortal like that… you longed to stop his pain.

“Leave.” He said quickly when you kneeled down next to him, timidly resting your palms on his thighs. “No… I said… leave… while you still can.” You did not. In fact, you ignored his rather sincere warning. Slowly, to not tickle the sleeping dragon, you reached for the buttons of his leather trousers and began undoing them until he grabbed a hold of your wrists to stop you. He was ice cold.

“Have you… lost your mind?” Loki was cut off by a loud hiss escaping his lips when your fingertips brushed against his erection. He was large—much larger than he would be in his Aesir form, you presumed, and his cock too was blue and covered in dozens of ridges.

“It won’t go away on its own,” you whispered. “You know it won’t. It’s okay.”

Braver this time, you stroked him again, creating more skin on skin contact. Loki was still holding on to you tightly but made no move to stop you. The touch of a female… it must have been bringing some sort of relief already. Coming here had been the right decision.

“Loki…” You murmured. Finally, your hand closed around his incredibly hard cock entirely and you began to jerk him off—gently at first, only to pick up speed when his breathing grew even heavier than it already was. Defeated, he dropped his head against the wall, revealing his blue neck to you. “Please let me help you.” You repeated. “It’s okay. I trust you.” Upon those words, Loki’s eyes widened barely noticeably. Perhaps it was all he had needed to hear to lose his self-control and composure entirely.

Growling like a wild animal, he suddenly started at you, pushing you back firmly so you lost your balance like a beetle on its back, wrapped his ice cold hands around your ankles and pulled you into him. Your back collided with the floor, knocking all air out of your lungs. You gasped for air all the while Loki busied himself with your clothes. Any layer of fabric was too much. He wanted you naked for him. His sheer strength petrified you when he tore at your pyjamas and ripped them to pieces until they were scattered all over the cell. You trembled—but it wasn’t the icy temperature of his blue skin that made your limbs shake so much. It was, so you realised when your widened eyes fell on his massive erection, now fully springing free from his tight trousers, your own arousal growing into dizzying heights. This, whatever it was, excited you—maybe even way more than it should.

Once more, the God of Mischief grabbed your ankles, forcing your legs open. Your heart skipped a beat when he laid his blood-red eyes upon your bare pussy. Your lower lips must have been glistening with your juices in the artificial light of the cell. Loki growled, his long and cold fingers gripping your ankles so tightly you could already feel the bruises forming. Eagerly, he positioned himself between your legs, the tip of his hard and ice cold cock teasing your clit. A moan escaped your lips, urging him on. The fire in his eyes had returned, like your body had set his ablaze.

He spread you even further for him, your nails digging into the metal floor beneath you—and then he claimed you for his own. Inch by antagonising inch, he split you apart, sheathing himself so deep inside of you all air was knocked from your lungs yet again. He was ice cold and he was much larger than the average man; and you were beginning to understand that yes, female Jötuns were anatomically different than humans. Human women were not made for taking such long cocks… so why did every single powerful thrust of his feel so good?

Loki pulled out almost completely, with only the tip remaining inside of you, only to plunge back inside only the fraction of a second later, fucking you furiously. Your tight and wet walls appeared to mould around his manhood, gripping him tightly, asking for more despite the almost unbearable coldness against your most intimate parts. No longer were you in control of your arms. They reached up, palms gliding over his bare chest and enjoying the coldness under your fingertips. Fascinated and aroused at the very same time, you traced every single ridge on Loki’s body while he was fucking you senseless, until your eyes rolled to the back of your head, unable to take the pleasure. His long manhood his spots inside of you which you had never known even existed. He leaned down, at last letting go of your ankles, instead taking a hold of your wrists to pin them both down right above your head and pressing his body so tightly against yours that your clit kept rubbing against his pelvis with every single stroke. You moaned, stricken by ecstasy, and arched your back as you kept moving your hips up to meet his thrusts.

Aroused, you looked down, watching how his blue cock kept sliding in and out of you, spreading your lips as they enveloped him welcomingly.

Loki groaned, his attention steering towards your breasts as they bounced with each of his rough thrusts. Hungrily, he lowered his face, his cold breath ghosting over your mounts, and sucked your right nipple into his mouth—hard. He nibbled, suckled pulled and bit until the already hardened nub was throbbing with pleasure and need and he repeated the same blissful procedure with your left nipple all the while he kept rutting into you uncontrollably.

“Loki…” You wondered if, in his current state, he would be able to speak. As of right now, he indeed reminded you of a wolf who would annihilate anything standing between him and his subject of desire, his prey—you.

Your toes curled, the promising and numbing sensation growing in your lower abdomen having you scream his name over and over again. You could already feel yourself clenching around him, your body urging him on to mark you with his seed and impregnate you and when he finally released himself into you, burying his cock as deep inside of you as was physically possible and coating your walls with his load, he triggered your own release.

You came with a loud moan, feeling him twitch against you as your pussy contracted around him again and again until you collapsed underneath him, spent and tired from his vigorous fucking. Loki, on the other hand, didn’t even think about letting you be. Unceremoniously, he pulled you on his lap so you came to snuggle up against his cold and naked chest, your face hidden in his neck. He supported himself by leaning against the metal wall, his cock still resting deep inside of you.

“How… are you… feeling?” You breathed out, barely able to keep your eyes open. Being taken thoroughly by a Frost Giant had been a lot more exhausting than you had initially assumed.

He was panting, his eyes almost shut. His erection inside you, however, was still very prominent and nowhere near ebbing down.

“Better… soon.” He growled into your ear. Soon? A high-pitched scream escaped your lips when he sank his teeth into your neck and bit down hard enough to make you squirm on his lap. You could still feel his ice cold sperm dribbling out of you and coating his own cock when he grabbed your arse and began moving you up and down his cold rut, forcing you to ride him.

“Oh… fuck…” You choked out. You were tender already, sensitive to the touch. This was too much, too soon. Yet Loki was too caught up in his pleasure and urges to give you a break. He took you several more times that night, eliciting orgasm after orgasm after orgasm from you—until you were on the verge of passing out.

You awoke with a hunger unlike one you had never experienced before. Irritated, you crawled out of bed—using the toilet but skipping your morning routine to get to the kitchen to prepare some breakfast. It was only seven. Loki had not… released you until half past six. There was no way your body could have drawn enough rest from this meagre hour of sleep.

Be that as it may—for now, you were hungry. Quietly, you tiptoed into the kitchen, ignoring the sweet ache and tenderness between your legs and resisting the urge to cup yourself through your pyjama bottoms. The white and bright light of the fridge blinded you when you opened it and reached for a package of juice and one of those pre-packed turkey sandwiches Tony kept buying. Unceremoniously, you then closed the fridge with your butt and sat down at the kitchen table to eat. And you kept returning to the fridge until Steve joined you in the kitchen to have a cup of coffee and then go for a run. When had you ever been this hungry before? Was it because of the aggressive sex you had had with Loki? Jesus…

You blushed when Steve asked you how you had slept—and you were rather grateful you had been smart enough to switch off the security cameras before… helping Loki out. He had still been in his Jötun form when you left at long last but he had looked content and… satisfied, in the most carnal manner possible. You would wait until the rest of the Avengers were up to check on him, to not raise any suspicion.

So when Thor staggered into the kitchen with a shit-eating grin on his face, you nearly jumped from your seat.

“Good morning!” He yelled—clearly in a very good mood. He managed to scarf down an entire package of fruit loops before you couldn’t take it anymore and aggressively scratched your fork over your empty plate until the room went awkwardly quiet.

“Didn’t you forget something?” You asked him heatedly. The God of Thunder frowned.

“No! I did flush the toilet this morning, (Y/N).”

Rolling your eyes, you stood.

“Loki. Loki is still one level below you, locked up in a cell, in pain, while you are enjoying your breakfast.” You hoped though, sincerely, that he was no longer in pain.

“(Y/N)… we spoke about this, there is nothing we can do. Down there, he can’t hurt himself or anyone else. I told you I’m going to Asgard soon, I will speak to—”

It was in this moment that your plate broke in half. You had, subconsciously, used your fork to stab it so forcefully it fell apart like a rotten apple. Eyes widening, you mumbled an apology.

“Sorry… I just… no one should be suffering like this. You all heard him last night.”

Bruce gave you a gentle smile. “You’ve always had a big heart for everyone, huh?” You nodded quickly. They did not need to know about your feelings… or the arousing ache between your legs. Your heart was racing. You took a deep breath, hurrying out of the kitchen without cleaning up behind you. Instead, you immediately locked yourself in the bathroom and turned on the tap to splash some cold water on your face. The icy temperature calmed you once it came in contact with your skin, reminding you of him—if only for a moment.

You were shaking. What on Earth was wrong with you? You took a quick shower to wind down, threw on an oversized sweater and then headed downstairs to the prison cells. A glance at the monitor of the security camera made you let out a relieved breath. Loki had indeed gone back to his Aesir form—and he did no longer seem to be in pain. It was, so you wondered, very unusual, however, to not complain and wreak havoc so the Avengers would let him out but then again… would they truly believe him if he told them he had overcome his heat?

With another deep breath, you opened the cell door and slipped inside.

“You were not supposed to see me like this last night. No one was.” He said quietly before you could even open your mouth, not bothering to make eye contact with you.

“Did you know? What was happening to you?”

“Yes.” He snorted, a bitter smile spreading on his thin lips. “I believed I would be able to control it.” Finally, he looked up, his blue eyes locking with yours. “Did I hurt you?” Your lips parted in surprise. Slowly, you shook your head.

“No… I mean… it was quite pleasurable… for me as well… actually.” You choked out sheepishly.

“Hmm… that I could tell,” Loki gave you a light smirk. “Thank you.” He said then—and for the first time since you had met him, you sensed true honesty and sincerity in his smooth voice.

“I’ll leave the door open.” You returned his smile; the planes in your belly flying loops.

“We are… keeping this between us, are we not?” He hastened to ask when you turned around.

“Of course.” After all, no one needed to know you had let Loki mate with you to regain control over his loins.

It was five days after your intimate encounter with Loki when your constant shaking became worse enough for him to notice—and if that wasn’t bad enough already, your body had begun to sweat; a lot. Day in and out, you had to change your sheets as if your bed was your personal sauna—or your personal hell.

You felt like you had been hit by a bus, like an extremely nasty form of the flu had you in its steel grip tightly, unwilling to let you go. Sleep, however, to get some rest and recover, would not come either. Two hours per night at most, three if you got lucky. And instead of getting better, it became worse.

He had been restless ever since. It could not be. After all, it had also never… or had it? Growling to himself, he locked the door to his room, enjoying the quietness and most of all, utter privacy.

Not a soul in the nine realms was aware he was still in the possession of the Tesseract. So when he produced it out of thin air—his large hand momentarily surrounded by a green mist—he made sure to hurry and quickly teleported himself back to Asgard. Heimdall would never open the Bifrost for him if he wasn’t accompanied by Thor.

He was worried about you and his surprise about these particular circumstances was remarkably low. When he closed his eyes, he could still taste your hard nipples on his tongue from when he had suckled on them. He remembered how warm your body felt against his when he had cradled you in his lap and the thought of your tight cunt around his throbbing cock stirred arousal in his leather trousers if only he indulged in reminiscences for too long. Most of all, however, he was unable to forget the sincere smile on your face when you had freed him from the cell the next day… and the mesmerised gaze you had met him with when he had ravished your sweet quim over and over again.

With another deep breath, he disappeared in an ice cold cloud of smoke.

Sneaking past the guards and into the palace library—the one place he had spent hours on end in growing up here, hiding away from Thor, his friends and the world, reading and hoarding knowledge—was pathetically easy. He knew exactly what to look for, what lecture would confirm his worrying suspicions. Once he found what he had been searching, he sat down on the windowsill—another usual spot he found comfort in—and began his research. He had known about the impact of a male Jötun’s seed on his female counterpart, of course; for even though he despised his own race, he, as opposed to Thor, had paid attention during their private tutoring lessons as children. The heavy book in his hands, however, made him, the God of Mischief and Trickery, hold his breath. What Loki had not known was that the repercussion of a male Jötun’s seed did not just occur in Jötun females. It applied to any species—including humans. However, the chances of survival for weaker lifeforms were alarmingly low.

Abandoning the book, he hurried out of the library and into the city. There was someone he needed to speak to.

“With all due respect, my prince but you are not welcome here.” Loki rolled his eyes. He knew it would not be fun, exactly, to seek out his ex-partners and ask about their well-being long after he had left them. The man opening him when he knocked on Sigyn’s door, a woman he had been engaged with for several years in his youth, was about as tall as Thor—his right hand decorated with a golden ring. Husband. Just great. And, judging by his obvious dismay of finding him on his doorstep, she must have told him about their shared past.

“I need to speak to your wife. Urgently. That is an order.” Sigyn’s husband growled, clenching his fists but stepped aside regardless. Loki made sure not to pay any attention to the furniture and his surroundings. Toys were scattered all across the living room, hinting that Sigyn had become both wife and mother in his absence. Her face fell when she spotted Loki standing in the middle of the small room—truly like he would even have preferred Helheim over being here of all places—as pale as a ghost.

“Loki… I mean… your highness. What… brings you here?”

“I need to ask you a few questions.”

“Um… by all means. Sit down. Would you like some ale?”

“No.” Sigyn pointed at the rectangular kitchen table and then sat down opposite of him. Her hands were folded on the surface of the polished wood.

“It is good to see you.”

“Likewise… Now this will sound odd,” he began unceremoniously, ignoring her husband towering above him with his arms crossed. “But I have to know how you fared after we separated. Not… emotionally. Physically.” He emphasised.

“Physically? That is indeed odd. Oh, I… um… let me see, it’s been such a long time. I had quite an appetite after you left,” she laughed, clearly uncomfortable with his presence. Loki sighed.

“An appetite. What more than that?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Except… yes, of course! I fell ill a few days after. The healers never found out what my body was rebelling against. It lasted for a few months. Tiredness, insomnia, attacks of sweat and I could not stop shaking. Why do you ask? Did you… did you experience it too?”

“No,” he replied quickly, a nauseous feeling spreading in his guts. You were showing the exact same symptoms. Symptoms of addiction. “You said it lasted for a few months?”

“I am sorry, your highness but is there a point to this interrogation? My wife has to feed the baby.”

“We’re almost done.” He barked, glaring at Sigyn’s husband from the corner of his eye.

“It did,” Sigyn confirmed. “But then it never returned.”

“Thank you. That will be all.” Loki took a deep breath and stood, resisting the urge to massage the bridge of his nose to clear his thoughts. It was only when he turned on his heel to leave this way too harmonic place that he noticed Sigyn’s husband had left the door open for him. He rolled his eyes.

“Loki! I-I mean, your highness…”

“Loki is fine, Sigyn. We have seen each other naked, after all.” Beside him, he could practically hear her husband gnashing his teeth. He smirked.

“I understand you do not wish to share with me what troubles you but whatever it is, I hope everything will turn out to be alright.”

Loki gave her a smile. It was as honest as he could muster in this tense situation. Sigyn had always known when he was being plagued by dark sorrows, even before he learned about his true parentage. Much like you. You too had been able to tell he had been unwell, both physically and mentally. He swallowed thickly.

“Thank you, Sigyn.”

He had to see Amora, too. They had not exactly gone separate ways peacefully but if she had experienced the same symptoms as Sigyn after their break-up, he had to get back to you immediately. And he had to tell you. The truth, a luxury given his nature, was the very least you deserved.

“Where have you been?” Thor roared as soon as he entered the kitchen to pick up one of those cold drinking chocolates you had introduced him to a while back—the ridiculous amount of sugar would help you, if only for a moment. The presence of Tony, Nat, Bucky, Steve and Thor, leaning against the counter or sitting at the kitchen table, he ignored as best as he could. He would have preferred to be alone now.

Loki quirked his eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Asgard, given that you were unwilling to get help yourself.”

“How? Heimdall wouldn’t…”

“There is a lot Heimdall does not know, brother.” Thor grumbled something he did not understand but it sounded awfully like a curse word in Old Norse.

“Whatever. Have you seen (Y/N)? Her room is down the same hallways as yours, has she left her room lately?” Tony barked at him.

“As far as I am concerned, she has Vision bring her excessive amounts of food, for she is too weak to come to the kitchen herself. No. I have not seen her around.” He replied nonchalantly, with false disinterest. This time, so it seemed, however, his choice of tone, equalled shooting himself in the foot.

“We need to get her to the hospital. None of the medicines I gave her worked even a little bit—and I contacted the best doctors I know.” Loki suppressed a scoff. As if a hospital full of human ‘doctors’ would be able to help you. The only one who could… was he.

“For Fuck’s sake, she has been feeling ill ever since…” Tony’s face fell. “Ever since we locked up your brother.” Belligerently, his gaze wandered over to Loki again. “Okay, Reindeer Games, what did you do to her and don’t even try to lie to me!”

“You do assume, automatically, that I have something to do with it?” He mocked. Tony clenched his fists.

“Loki,” Thor added calmly. “Do you… know something?” The God of Mischief sighed. If he told them, what little trust they had in his capabilities as an Avenger would vaporise like smoke. It mattered not. In fact, he could not care less if any of those self-proclaimed heroes even liked him. Yet if he spoke the truth… surely they would do anything in their power to keep you away from him—which was exactly what they could not do if they wanted you to survive and feel better again as much as he did. He could just take care of the problem on his own… sooner or later, however, they were bound to find out about their intimate encounters, and he was beyond keeping secrets like that. If he wanted to make love to you, then he would, may the Norns help him.

“It is… my seed.” He choked out reluctantly.

“Your… what!? Your… yeah, no, I can’t say that out loud without throwing up… is making her sick!?”

“The seed of a male Jötun is causing… an addiction. Withdrawal will make her weak and ill.” Loki looked up grimly. “Frost Giants live in strictly monogamous relationships.”

“What, like penguins? How did she even come in contact with… did you… did you rape her? I swear to God, I will kill you.”

“I did not lay a finger on her.” Loki replied darkly.

Tony threw his hands up in the air. “So how did your happy juice get inside of her in the first place then!? How did that happen, I wonder?”

“She came to me voluntarily, Stark!”

“But you knew? If you knew it would make her sick, why didn’t you stop her, you selfish asshole!?”

“How!? How, Stark!? Resisting the urge to mate in heat is like attempting to suppress a sneeze. It’s impossible. Don’t bother your pathetic human mind with things you do not understand.”

“Loki…” Thor began warningly. The God of Mischief ignored him with a hostile growl.

“(Y/N) would never do that.” Tony said then.

“Perhaps you do not know her as well as you thought you do.”

“You little shit, I will…” Tony jumped from his chair as if stung by an adder, prompting Loki to draw one of his daggers seemingly out of nowhere when he started at him. Both Natasha and Steve barely managed to hold him back.

“Leave it, Tony. This is Loki. He is just trying to provoke you.” Nat appeased.

Just this one time, however, they were wrong. Loki did, in fact, care about you. It was just he had not realised that until you had willingly offered your body to him when he had been in pain. Glaring at them darkly, he rose from his chair.

“I am going to fix this.” He spat. It almost sounded like a threat. “Not for you. I could watch you drop dead to my feet without so much as blinking. But for her.” Fuming, he stormed out, his right fist still clutching at his dagger in a desperate attempt to calm himself down. And as of right now, Thor knew better than to stop him.

He needed to see you. Remorse and guilt were eating him up from the inside out—and it wasn’t just the fact you had helped him in spite of everything he had done to Midgard only a few years back. It was… you were… Loki closed his eyes for a brief moment. You were his.

When he knocked on your door, there was no response. Now there was a chance you were asleep, yet he somehow knew better than to leave and try again later as to not startle you. After all… he was going to make you feel better.

He slipped inside, locking the door behind him with magic so you would not be disturbed. The sight of you almost broke his heart. You were trembling, buried under a pile of blankets, pale and weak.

“(Y/N)…” He spoke with a quiet voice, approaching you slowly. Your eyes opened when you heard his voice, your weak body barely managing to turn over to look at him. A cough escaped your lips before you could answer him.

“Hey…”

“How are you feeling?”

“Terrible.” You tried for a laugh but could only manage another cough. With a straight face, he sat down on the edge of the bed so he was able to bring his palm to your forehead. You were incredibly warm, yet the sweat made your skin cold to the touch. His heart skipped a beat. Suddenly, he was worried you only had a few weeks left until your body gave up fighting the withdrawal. He would not, ever let this happen.

“I brought you some cold drinking chocolate.”

“Oh…” You chuckled weakly. “Thank you. Is that the only reason you came?”

“No,” he laughed. “I came to check on you.”

“An eye for an eye, huh?” Your eyes fell shut when you smiled.

“Hmm… I’m afraid it is a little more complicated than that.” He purred. You never noticed how his eyes fell on your crotch, even if it was covered by a bunch of blankets. Slowly but determined, he slid his left hand under the layers of fabric until he found what he was searching for. With skilled fingers, he began to massage your clit until he felt you responding to his attentive touches. You arched your back, your sex growing wetter and wetter fast—like your body knew exactly what would follow. Licking his lips, he scooped some of it up to spread all over your quim and create even more friction. You were squirming by the time he removed the blankets entirely and positioned himself between your legs, careful not to shift all of his body weight onto you.

Was he going to… did he… could he possibly… reciprocate your feelings? Your heart skipped a beat, butterflies awakening in your belly. If only you could…

“Loki… Loki, I… I really want to do this again too but… not now, I’m… I really don’t feel well.”

“Shhh…” He would ponder over your words later. You wanted to do this again too? Had it not just be compassion and pity that had driven you to offer him your most intimate parts for relief? And what if you refused him now? You had to trust him. So he shut you up by pressing his lips against yours, capturing them in a passionate kiss and then, once again slowly but determined, removed the blankets and peeled your pyjama from you until he had you naked—fine, he had helped with magic; and he was certainly too impatient to remove his own clothes, so instead contented himself with freeing his growing erection from his trousers only.

A whimper escaped your lips when you caught sight of his arousal, his tip—not blue but the colour of flesh this time—pressing against your entrance. He slid inside you to the hilt with almost no resistance, your warm pussy welcoming him in. Loki moaned when your walls gripped him tightly; it was like your body already knew his release would make it feel better. Only this time, he was in control. This time, he would take his time and make gentle love to you—right until you began to tremble underneath him for entirely different reasons.

Your eyes fell shut when Loki started moving, retreating almost completely only to plunge back deep inside of you fast and passionately. You were too weak to buck your hips, as much as you would have loved to. And despite your weariness, he felt incredible. You were unable to decide which form of his you liked better.

You kissed him again when his nose brushed against yours and his breath tickled your lips, bathing in the intimacy between you. But when he slid his hand down to where your bodies were united to pamper your clit all the while speeding up, hungry for his release, you stopped him, albeit gently.

“I… I don’t think I can, I’m too… but I… it’s okay.” You murmured. “Cum.”

It was a request he could not resist, not any longer. Thrusting forward a few more times, his release was beginning to overwhelm him. He groaned into your ear, his hot breath brushing against your cheek, and let his climax consume him. He was throbbing against your walls, his seed—surprisingly warm and not as cold as it had been the first time—filling you to the brim and until you could feel it dribbling out of you again. Loki stilled, turning you over so you both rested on the mattress on your sides, with his slowly softening cock still inside of you and one of your legs draped over his hips. One heartbeat passed, then another and another. And just like that… you felt like you had been reborn.

“How… I feel so much better.” Loki kept silent. Remorse was sparkling in his blue eyes. Avoiding your curious gaze, he looked down, with a start fascinated with the blue roses on your bed sheets.

“Loki?”

“You did fail to read all of it, did you not?” He stated quietly.

“What… what do you mean?”

“The book you took from my shelf. I looked it up when you got worse. It wasn’t until I left for Asgard that I realised why our… sexual encounter is making you ill.”

“I… wait… Does that mean you believe it has something to do with you? I mean… what we did? Is it… I’m not pregnant, am I!?”

“No. You are not.” He smirked at you weakly. “That, I would have sensed already. No… I’m afraid it is a little more complicated. Frost Giants live in strictly monogamous relationships. They never… switch their partners once they mated during their first heat. If they do…” Loki took a deep breath. “It appears that the seed of a Frost Giant triggers some sort of… addiction for their female partner. They develop a carnal craving for their seed which forces them to keep returning for… more.”

Biologically speaking, this was a downright bulletproof way of ensuring the survival of a species—the Jötuns’ own bodies turning against them and demanding sex. The gravity of his words, however, hit you only a moment later. So this was why you had been feeling so sick lately. You were showing signs of… addiction. Your body had become addicted to Loki’s seed. You swallowed thickly.

“I-is there… is there a way to stop this?”

“I went to speak to my former partners back on Asgard—which, to be frank, does not just sound like a disaster. But I needed to know if they experienced any symptoms similar to yours when we… separated.” You ignored the painful sting in your heart when he said ‘former partners’. Of course Loki had had sex before, had perhaps even been in love. He did not strike you as the type of Norse God who was unexperienced in the art of love making. After all, he had more than just proved this to you. It mattered not, not now.

“And… did they?” You probed nervously.

Loki nodded seriously. “They were both bedridden for months, plagued by uncontrollable trembling and sweating. Their appetite increased, they ate twice as much than they usually would without ever feeling truly full… and they barely slept anymore, tossing and turning for most of the night. Amora added she became increasingly violent as well. They, of course, believed it was a virus which would pass, eventually.” Terrified, you remembered how you had broken your plate in the kitchen the night after your lovemaking. It all made sense now.

But you did not dare ask what this meant. When dreaming of having a relationship with Loki, you had not imaged a partnership out of physical and sexual necessity which would feel like a chore to him; like an obligation now that you had helped him out, after all.

“But they were Asgardian.” He suddenly said, pausing to let his words sink in. “You are human. You are mortal. I am uncertain you would survive…” If I stopped having sex with you. Is that what he had meant to say before he stopped himself abruptly?

Taking a deep and shaky breath, you gathered all of your courage, as weak as it may be.

“This is all my own fault, Loki.”

“It is not—“

“N-no, let me speak. It’s my fault. You couldn’t help it. And I came to you on my own accord. But…” You swallowed. “Even if I had known, I still would have helped you.”

The God of Mischief frowned when you reached for his hand and held it—but it was a downright vulnerable expression.

“Loki… I’m not going to expect you to keep having sex with me if you don’t… I mean…” It was then he began to smirk cheekily.

“And if I do?” Loki had truthfully speaking always been a puzzle—always keeping his deepest thoughts and feelings all to himself. Until now. So he did reciprocate your feelings.

“Y-you do?” His smirk widened.

“It… does get better after a while, once the pair is more acquainted to each other’s bodies,” he continued. “And they are then able to spend more time apart without any signs of withdrawal showing. Ultimately, however, once the male Jötun claimed her, the female is bound to him… if he decides to keep her.”

Despite your weakness, you raised an eyebrow. “That sounds pretty sexist, Lokes.” Loki looked up. His heart jumped when you gave him a nickname.

“Sexist? No. Dominant? Yes.” He growled darkly.

“You’re right. It’s probably not sexist given that male Frost Giants go into heat.” You giggled in response. Loki tickled your sides for that remark, making you wriggle around on the bed. If your hunch was not deceiving your love-drunken mind, then the God of Mischief had just begun to court you.

“Loki?” You mused, raising your voice in a shy manner.

“Hmm?”

“I think I feel fit enough now to have an orgasm.”

The God of Mischief laughed—as heartily as you had never heard him laugh before. “Do you now?”

Next thing you knew he was already on top of you again, covering your naked body with tender kisses.

A/N: Check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my first (to be) published novel! If you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate it so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

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infernalrevenge · 3 years ago

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Hello, hello! I was wondering if I could possibly request your take on Reader and each of the Dimitrescu Daughters with how they show affection? Nuzzles, kisses, hugs/snuggles, terms of endearment, gifts, nsfw, etc. One big fluff-ball. Just bury me in the warm fuzzy. Thank you!

This is excellent timing, anon friendo because I had been thinking of making a Love Languages Headcanon List for some time now, so this is a great way to start on that! I hope this satisfies your mushy fluffy warm fuzzball desires (that I kept relatively PG) :P

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Bela Dimitrescu

Bela felt that she had a reputation to uphold as the eldest daughter of the Dimitrescu family, ever so meticulous yet also eager to please. But she does know her boundaries.

More often than not, she finds herself busy with her mother in helping run the business, hoping to one day become a proper heir. I mention all this so you know her situation -- she's a working gal and you gotta respect that.

However, she is not one to leave her loved ones hanging. The best way she shows her love is by spending quality time with you, doing things that you might enjoy. It gives her a chance to better get to know her love.

Of course she would have her way as well, doing activities she liked such as art, music, and more. You two might even try something new to the both of you, just for some added thrill.

It doesn't always have to be "something" to do though, she's more than happy to just simply be in the same space as you while you do your own thing. That counts as "doing something together", right?

You could be reading a book on one corner of the room and she could be reviewing some important notes on the bed, but you two are just so comfortable in the quiet space you've made for yourselves that it feels like you two are side-by-side.

She just likes to know you're there, your presence alone is a great source of comfort to her. She loves to see you happy and content, especially knowing it's because she's around. Once you get into it, there is no such thing as an awkward silence between the two of you.

I imagine she's not that big on initiating physical affection, but she would be hard pressed to deny you anything. From something as simple as holding her hand, to spooning and cuddling, to a full-on make out session -- all you have to do is ask. She's more than happy to deliver.

Her favorite position is being the big spoon in bed, finding a lot of comfort in knowing that you are in her grasp, safe and sound. She also enjoys planting a few kisses on your shoulder and neck in an attempt to rouse you from slumber.

While she was still courting you (because I like to imagine she's a bit of an old-fashioned romantic, but she would have courted you regardless of your gender), she would often bring you gifts. They weren't extravagant, but they were definitely meaningful, and often related to things you two had talked about in the past.

She didn't use pet names very often but she will call you "love" on occasion, especially if there was a chance you would call her that in return. She may not openly admit it but she just melts every time you call her that -- made it feel like having a crush on you all over again.

Even though she may seem distant on the outside, Bela is truly a woman who makes the most of her time with people she cares about. You are no exception to that, and she wants that to be known to you as much and as often as possible.

Cassandra Dimitrescu

Cassandra, much like her older sister, believes she too has a reputation to uphold within the family. Can't have her be seen going soft for just anyone.

But uh, plot twist: Girl just wants to be loved, and she doesn't even know it.

In private, she really really loves physical affection. She shows her love by clinging onto you as tightly as possible, melding so closely to you that it becomes hard to tell where her body ended and yours began.

She loves pressing her cheek and ear against your chest to hear the calming beat of your heart, the warmth of your skin just under her fingertips, and her head tucked right under your chin while you two lay in bed together.

Truthfully, she started doing this when you first got together because she enjoyed how flustered you seemed when she basically had herself wrapped around you. But over time, the both of you realized just how much she liked being this close to you too. You teased her for it once and she shut you out of your own room for a while. (She only let you back in because she suddenly missed cuddling you.)

This was a trait that kind of carried over from her hunting instincts, but she was very observant of others -- their tics, habits, routines, and all the like. She took notice of a lot of things other people did, didn't do, and couldn't do. It made her very attentive to her loved ones.

This manifested in the form of performing acts of service. Toward you, it ranged from simple things like keeping objects that were usually out of your reach to a more manageable height (either by her own action or an order to a servant) to helping you relax after a long and tiring day, to even performing your chores for you if she knew you were having a hard time with them.

Anything that she could help with to make herself useful, she would do. She wanted her loved ones to move around comfortably and without much worry, and she would take on that burden if that was what it took.

Granted it didn't necessarily mean she did well in these endeavors, but the effort did not go unnoticed. And you would never see the girl try to half-ass anything -- once she started on a task, you bet your sweet ass she was going to get it done too.

Her terms of "endearment" were very teasing and, out of context, could be downright insulting. You would never hear anything so generic as "baby" or "sweetie" (unless she was being condescending.) "Little shit" (affectionate) was more her speed.

If you also called her nicknames with a similar amount of creativity, she would return it with the same enthusiasm. She didn't take those things to heart anyway. If insults were a love language, this would be one of hers.

Cassandra is a little rough around the edges when it comes to love and intimacy, but she loves so fiercely. It's like a fire, raging on the more you feed its maw -- the only difference is that this fire would never die out.

Daniela Dimitrescu

Daniela is the most affectionate and most likely to be a hopeless romantic in the family. She always daydreamed of having a "knight in shining armor" of her own, but honestly she'll take anyone who would love her for herself.

Definitely the type to show off her wonderful significant other, either "subtly" through a bit of PDA, or more overtly through a lot of PDA and more grand gestures of love. Just let her do this, she has so much love to give and she needs that energy to go somewhere.

Even in private spaces, she would never let go of your hand if she had her way. Trying to separate from her when she wasn't in the mood would get you the "kicked puppy dog" treatment from her. It's not her fault you were so warm and nice to be around.

She loves being the little spoon in bed. There's just something reassuring about having a warm presence right behind her, your arms wrapped around her middle. You could even kick a leg on top of her waist -- all she wants is to get as close to you as she possibly can.

When you're working on a desk and sitting on a chair, she will inevitably sit on your lap and snuggle up against you while you try to do whatever it is you're doing. No matter how many times she promises that "you won't even know she's there", it's kind of hard to ignore the way she just buries her face into your neck and the little snores coming out of her if she falls asleep like this.

Calls you very cheesy and almost strange pet names like "honey pie" and "sweetie baby boo". You're never sure if she actually meant them or was messing with you because of her tone, but you can tell she was always amused by your reaction to them, which was part of the reason she kept saying them.

She did also have an inner poet though, so she may suddenly pull lines like "the moon to my night" that would make you stumble and wonder what had possessed your girlfriend. And then you would remember how much she enjoyed reading romance novels, so it made more sense.

Sometimes she'll pull them out early in the morning right as you two were just waking up, limbs entangled with the other's. Then you'd hear her call you "light of my life" in her deep sleepy voice, and you just have to hide the big goofy smile on your face behind a pillow or something.

She also loves to give you gifts, mostly because she liked how your face would light up whenever you received one. Oftentimes, they are little trinkets that remind her of you that she spotted one day and thought to give to you. Kind of like a cat presenting a dead mouse or bird to its owner, but not as gross.

She says "I love you" and any similar declarations pretty often, but the words never lose their meaning. Just know that she always says them with her whole heart, regardless of the tone she takes on when she does.

She also enjoys doing random acts of affection because she likes seeing how you react to them, whether you get all blushy and a little embarrassed, or you return them in kind. Either way, she is very happy and it gives her the warm fuzzies when you play along.

Like I said, Daniela just has so much love to give, and she would be so happy to see that energy enthusiastically returned. Just give her a chance and you'll never have to doubt her feelings for you.

#resident evil village #resident evil 8 #re8 #bela dimitrescu x reader #bela dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu headcanons #cassandra dimitrescu x reader #cassandra dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu headcanons #daniela dimitrescu x reader #daniela dimitrescu headcanons #daniela dimitrescu #gender neutral reader #gn!reader #anon #inbox #headcanon requests

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courseoflove · 3 years ago

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Questions

You have lots of questions for Harry and he tries his best to answer each of them.

a/n: hiiiii, think it’s been almost a year since I last posted my writing and I’m finally back! thanks to @oh-honey-styles‘s new fic slam prompts, I was able to curate something I liked enough to share. usually it’d take me lotssss of drafts to be satisfied and happy with something but this one only took 2! I hope you enjoy it and pleaaaaseee be kind ⭐️😸 I’d love to hear your thoughts!

warning: this is just pureee filth. not really smut, but filthy regardless.

Word Count: 1,775

Harry’s forest eyes ogle straight at you, lips pressed in a tight line and twitching on one side to form a smirk that he tried his very best not to show.

That was definitely the last thing he expected to come out of your mouth. He thought you just needed help with something minuscule, like putting together new furniture, fixing the wifi, or help pick out an outfit; things you’ve urgently called him about before. He never, ever thought you’d call him one day and ask for this, a lesson on blowjobs out of all things.

Luckily, sex has never been a taboo topic between the two of you, considering he’s the first person you yell to when you’re letting out your frustrations about your lack of experiences, or vice versa when he just had an intercourse dilemma that continues to leave an everlasting impact on him. But when you’re asking him about giving good oral pleasure, his brain is suddenly void of any thoughts that should help the situation at hand.

“Quit smirking at me, I’m serious!” Harry flinches when you throw a pillow at him from across the other side of the sofa, instantly wiping the smirk off of his face and instead letting out a soft chuckle when he successfully catches it. You throw him an intense yet jest glare, “just. Today at work. I dunno. I just need to know. I want to know.”

“How d’you suppose I do that?” he asks cautiously, leaning forward to settle his elbows on his knees and prop his chin up with the palm of his hand, “teach you, I mean.”

You’re usually never embarrassed around Harry, despite the many weird and unusual conversations you’ve both had during sobriety and drunkenness. You don’t remember ever feeling even the slightest bit awkward or sheepish when you told him about how IUDs work, or giving him a very vivid description of how exactly you feel during your menstruation cycle. He takes it all in and listens with amusement, sometimes with a bowl of extra-buttered popcorn on his lap.

But right now, in this exact moment, you feel slightly skittish and jittery, as if blowjobs were something you’re just now learning about. He can sense it, especially with the way you’re averting your gaze from his eyes to the silent flatscreen tv nailed on your wall — thanks to him. You’re also doing that thing he constantly scolds you for whenever you’re anxious and nervous, chewing ferociously on your bottom lip and squeezing your fingers into a fist to the point your nails will sink on your palm and pop your veins.

“Stop that, you’ll bleed,” he cuts the silence off, “and answer my question.”

You unclench your fist and turn towards him again, barely making eye contact and instead looking at the lovely framed painting hung on the wall behind him, “maybe just describe it?”

“It’s really not that complicated,” was all Harry said. He leans back against your soft couch, taking both of your feet with his hands and settling them on his lap to crack each of your toes. You flinch a little on his first try, turning your focus and watching his fingers work against your skin, “think of a lollipop. Or popsicles, something of the sorts. You put it in your mouth and just… suck. Lick. Move your mouth, without the teeth.”

Suck. Lick. Move your mouth; the words that tumbles out of his lips causes you to flush, your whole body heating up and turning beet red, the color dancing across your nose and emphasizing your imperfections flawlessly.

What Harry said was pretty accurate. It’s not as detailed as you want but you don’t really know how to ask for that without feeling mortified and even more flustered. He said it exactly how it is; you just put your mouth around it, suction your cheeks, use your tongue and bob your head. But you feel like there was something missing, as if there should be more to that. Well, because there is. You want to know more.

His fingers have started to dance their way to your calf, squeezing the deep tissues there in a tender and leisure massage to try and get rid of your tensed muscles. You’re wincing in between syllables when you finally speak after a couple of seconds, “question. It might be weird. Just… just tell me if you don’t wanna answer.”

His eyes lock with yours when he hums for you to continue, a strand of curl falling over his forehead and tickling his brow while his bottom lip gets caught in between his teeth in concentration. He presses his warm hands on your leg forcefully and harder and it helps calm your nerves and neurons, your habit of overthinking in situations like this disappearing little by little the more he moves. The lack of poise you had minutes ago is lessening and your question is on the tip of your tongue, ready to burst at the seams and be voiced aloud.

With your face turning a lot redder and goosebumps developing on your skin from head to toe out of the blue, you ask with your voice a little lower than it was a while ago, “will you tell me what you like? When.. you know.”

Harry’s movements quickly halt. Another unexpected turn. Another question he never, ever thought would come out of your mouth to ask him.

He lets go of his lip and keeps his mouth agape, irises instantaneously dilating and darkening under your lemon-yellow light and turning them into an even darker shade, like a week old leaf. His brain performs a short circuit for a few moments that passes by in silence before he finally swallows and says, “you want to know what I like when I’m getting head?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, feeling even more ridiculous the more you look into his eyes and open your mouth, “I mean, you have the most experience out of the two of us. That’s why I asked in the first place, but I feel — I feel like your first answer doesn’t really — it’s just not satisfying me. There has to be more to it than just.. sucking, I dunno.”

Sure, you talk to one another about sex casually; what one undergos and encounters and what the other simply has no preconceived notions of. Harry would tell his stories in the least disgusting way possible, knowing you’ll groan out loud and tease him about it if he gives away any sort of detail, but there was almost always zero utterance on your end. No lingering and continuous curiosity. You asking about what he likes when he’s getting head is very much unforeseen and maybe even a bit… amiss, especially for you.

However, he can detect a genuine inquisitiveness in your expression. You’re probably one of the hardest people to read on the surface, but he senses that there was more to that interest than just simply wanting to know. At least, he’s hoping there is.

You cross your arms over your chest, feeling a bit weird now the more he gawks at you and doesn’t make a single move to respond. You open your mouth to backtrack when his hesitancy becomes clear, but before you can even take your question back, he’s already mouthing a three-syllable word out loud, “mouth-fucking.”

A low gasp leaves your mouth and the sound doesn’t miss Harry’s eardrums. He should want to take it back, shove the words back in his throat and never say it again despite not being able to. Still and all, he realizes that he likes what you asked and the fact he gave you an answer, a brief one but an honest and precise answer nonetheless. The way your skin warms against the palm of his hands makes him start to sweat, your bare face becoming even more flushed if possible. You don’t really know what kind of answer your mind presumed, but it obviously wasn’t that.

You’re aware of Harry’s self-confidence and boldness when it comes to sex. He has lots of it and it doesn’t come as a surprise. So when he opens his mouth again to explain exactly what he meant, you were able to hold your second gasp back and instead listen in. You can just imagine how filthy he is in bed, considering the description he gives you seems to be even more graphic and explicit, “like normal sex, but I’m doing it to their mouth. I like the sound, the sloppiness of it all, it fuels me. I like being in control, I guess, and no one wants a dry blowjob. I like it really wet.”

You startle both yourself and him when you utter, “what else?”

Harry clears his throat and looks away from your eyes, not because of discomfort because there was absolutely none, but for the reason that the more he stares the more he pictures you inside his head doing exactly what he was evoking. He blinks a couple of times in an attempt to get rid of the colorful conception, yet it just becomes even more lucid and clear-cut. He tries to distract himself by continuing to answer your questions. It definitely doesn’t help. It just drags the mental image on.

“I like it when they let me come down their throat, then swallow it. Or when — when the aftermath of pure bliss just overtakes my entire body. Like, they just pull away for a second then suck me right back in,” the skin on your legs feel sticky under his hold. You swallow at his dazed appearance and tiny smirk, as if he’s picturing it all in his head. And he is, “yeah. I like that a lot.”

Somehow it’s gotten a lot warmer inside the tiny space of your living room, every corner closing in on the two of you in your peripheral vision and you can’t exactly make out the tingling sensation on the tip of your fingers and in between your thighs. Well, you do. You know you’re undoubtedly turned on but acting clueless and ignoring it would be the best way to handle it.

You ask him one more question, the last one you’ll emit for the rest of the evening, “and how was it for them?”

Harry turns his head, connecting his darkened eyes with yours. There’s an indecipherable message written all over his handsome face. His voice is heavy, raspier and deeper with his accent when he answers for the last time, a specific implication behind his tone, “one of these days, you’ll see.”

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seijorhi · 4 years ago

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Patience of a Saint

An Ushijima x virgin reader commission for the wonderful @hearteyes-candyskies, I hope you enjoy it, bby! 💕

Ushijima Wakatoshi x female reader

TW non-con, nsfw, smut, virgin reader

“Wait, you’re kidding me, right?”

Ushijima simply shrugs, “Why would I joke about something like that?”

Semi and Tendou share a glance, the former hiding a smirk behind the glass rim of his beer bottle. Tendou had been the one to drag them both downtown for ramen in the middle of the night, an impromptu reunion of sorts, now that the volleyball season had wrapped up and Tendou was back in Sendai.

Perhaps his first mistake had been to allow his friend the option to stay with him instead of booking a hotel. Though, truth be told, Tendou would have undoubtedly monopolised his time regardless of where he was staying, and Ushijima would have allowed him to.

They were friends, after all, and that was what friends did. He was just glad that Semi had been roped in alongside him.

When and how the conversation had steered towards his relationship with you, more specifically the details regarding your bedroom exploits together, Ushijima isn’t entirely sure, but he has no reason to lie to his friends.

The disbelieving look on Tendou’s face, however, makes him wonder if he’s said something wrong. “You mean to tell me that you’ve been dating this girl for how many months now, and you haven’t actually slept together yet?”

At that, Ushijima shakes his head. “We’ve slept together,” he corrects, taking a sip of his own beer. He likes sleeping with you, finds an odd sense of comfort he’s never felt before, waking up to find you curled against his side.

Most mornings Ushijima has no trouble getting out of bed for an early start. He’s found that lately, at least on the nights you stay over, that’s no longer the case.

The snort from his right is abruptly cut off into a choking cough as Semi tries and fails to mask his amusement. “He means sex, dude. You haven’t fucked her yet, have you?”

“No.”

The loud cackles from the ex-middle blocker are enough to draw the attention of several other patrons, but Tendou pays them no mind. “Why the hell not? Is she hideously ugly or something?”

“Nope,” Semi answers in his stead, a little too quickly for Ushijima’s liking. But he supposes he cannot blame his friend for noticing your attractiveness. You are, of course, beautiful - he’s told you many times.

A lone, red eyebrow quirks, glittering amusement dancing across Tendou’s face, “Are you… are you having trouble performing, big guy?”

Semi almost chokes on his mouthful, and even Ushijima feels the tips of his ears flush red. “No,” he asserts with a frown. “She…” he pauses, unsure for the first time whether this might be a line that he’s crossing to reveal something so personal between the two of you.

It’s not like he hasn’t discussed sex with them before. He has an almost uncomfortable amount of knowledge regarding the girls the redhead has been with, and Semi is no better.

(Semi was actually far, far worse.)

And truth be told he’s never been shy to share his own exploits with his friends, either. You might be the first girl that Ushijima’s ever loved, but love is not a necessary requirement for sex. He ensured that his partners left satisfied and so did he, there wasn’t anything more to it than that.

But you mean something to him. You mean everything.

“She… wants to wait,” he says quietly. “She’s-”

Tendou’s red eyes widen, his face transforming into an expression of delighted surprise as he puts it all together. “She’s a virgin?!”

“Hey, dumbass,” Semi grunts, smacking his old friend over the back of his head, “you wanna say that a little louder? I don’t think the entire restaurant heard you.”

Tendou waves off his admonishment with a flick of his wrist, his attention firmly fixed on the ace. “So I was right then? You found yourself a cute, innocent little virgin for a girlfriend?”

Ushijima doesn’t reply, he doesn’t need to.

He can still remember the scared look on your face the first time you stopped him, the way your hands shook and your pretty eyes filled with tears as you explained. Did you truly believe he would leave you over something as simple as that?

While he might have been… somewhat disappointed, he understood. He loves you, he’s known that for a while. He could be patient, wait for you to become accustomed to him, wait for you to get over your fears and apprehension.

Not that you make it easy for him. He knows you aren’t teasing him on purpose with low cut dresses and too short skirts, cuddling close in bed at night just so you can grind your ass against the swell of his cock, you’re too innocent for such things.

But that doesn’t make it any easier to ignore the heat that pools in his gut, the stirrings of desire and twitch of his cock every time you bend over in front of him and he’s rewarded with a perfect view. He’s lost count of the number of times he’s had to excuse himself to the bathroom, bracing himself against the wall, bent over and fisting his cock to the mental image of you spread out naked, desperate and begging before him.

“Wait, wait, hold up. I’m still a bit ticked off that you’ve been dating this girl for months and managed to hide her from me, your very best friend. I wanna see pics!”

Ushijima exhales, “You will meet her tomorrow-”

But it’s a fruitless endeavour, as Semi’s already scrolling through his phone to pull up your social media. Dutifully he passes it across the table, and Ushijima can only watch as Tendou’s eyes widen and a wicked grin creeps across his face.

“You, my big, beautiful, brawny friend, have the patience of a saint. My condolences.”

—

He meets you the very next day, and there’s a strange feeling in Ushijima’s chest as he watches you collapse into a fit of giggles at Tendou’s joke, the redhead’s arm slung casually over your shoulders.

He’s pleased that you get along with his old friends, it’s not something he’s ever had to concern himself with with his previous partners. They were nothing more than blips on a radar - not necessarily one night stands, but hardly worth introducing to the people who matter most to Ushijima.

Yet he can’t help but linger on Tendou’s comment from the night before.

You hadn’t told him that you were waiting for marriage. It wasn’t a religious vow you’d taken. It was just that you weren’t ready for sex yet. You asked for time.

And he’d understood. Your relationship was new, and he supposed that for your first time he was perhaps intimidating. You were shy. Nervous.

It was to be expected.

But hasn’t he proven by now that he can be gentle? That he loves you, and he has absolutely no intention of leaving you? You’re the only one he wants to be with - the only one he’ll ever want to be with. If you’re waiting for the right ‘one’ to lose your virginity to, what more does he have to do to convince you that he’s it?

Which makes him consider, watching you smile at him as you duck into his kitchen to grab some more snacks, whether you might not be as invested in this relationship as he is.

He doesn’t doubt that you love him, but even as you sidle up beside him, letting him tuck you to his side where you belong, he can’t help but question whether the true reason you haven’t allowed him to take you as he wants is because you’re still under the assumption that your relationship has an expiration date.

The thought doesn’t sit well with him.

Sex is separate from love, Ushijima knows that, but he’s also firmly of the belief that it can be an act of intimacy, an expression of love deeper than words or other actions can convey. He wants to feel that with you.

He wants to watch you writhing beneath him, your pussy squeezing around his cock, milking it for all it’s worth, lost in the ecstasy that only he can bring you.

He wants to know what sounds you’ll make, what pretty moans and gasps he can draw out from you as he fucks you within an inch of your sanity.

He wants to look in your eyes the first time he makes you cum, wants to take his time, to kiss you slowly, baptise you in pleasure and watch as you surrender yourself completely to the love he has for you.

Ushijima doesn’t have time to waste on romantic flings and relationships that will go nowhere. You are his future, so it does not make sense for you to keep holding yourself back where sex is concerned.

The sound of your laugh breaks through Ushijima’s musing and he’s pulled back to the present as you recount the story of how the two of you met to the redhead. He’s told Tendou before, but somehow the way you tell it made it sound better. You paint him in a better light, make yourself out to be the awkward one, stumbling over your apologies when it was his fault that you’d tripped in the first place.

You don’t have a clue about the weeks leading up to that moment, but it hardly matters. He’s content merely just to listen as you speak, your cheeks warming, long lashes fluttering as you glance up at him with that gentle smile of yours.

He loves you.

Across from the both of you, he catches the pointed look in Tendou’s eye-

It will be good for the both of you.

-and comes to a decision.

Unsurprisingly, the redhead just grins brightly when Ushijima corners him shortly afterwards, telling him that he will have to find somewhere else to stay for the night.

“No worries, I can crash at Semisemi’s,” he sings, rocking up onto the balls of his feet. “You two need your space, I get that.”

Ushijima nods, turning to leave, only for Tendou to reach out and stop him. “Yes?”

“You know, I kinda like her, Ushiwaka. Think she’ll be good for you, so try not to break her in two tonight, yeah?”

He frowns at the comment, causing Tendou to break into a fit of laughter.

By now, he should be used to his friend’s ribbing, but the thought of hurting you even as a joke doesn’t sit well with the ace.

To his credit, Tendou plays his role well. You all but beg him to stay for dinner, but he just mournfully shakes his head, sighing about Eita twisting his arm and forcing him to go watch him and his band play at some local bar.

And then, it’s just the two of you.

In hindsight, perhaps he should have put more effort into making this romantic for you. He’s never had to try with things like that before. He should have cooked dinner, and maybe considered candles and roses, or even music.

Instead, you order takeout and eat it sprawled across Ushijima’s lap, and he cannot find it within himself to mind. The most mundane activities are made better simply for you being by his side, he’s found.

He waits, fingers casually stroking along your arm as you curl up to his side to watch something on TV. You seem to be enjoying it, if the giggles that spill from your lips are anything to go by, but Ushijima finds himself distracted by the gnawing feeling deep in the pit of his stomach, an eagerness that has him twitching to act.

It doesn’t help that he’s all too aware of the softness of your body pressing against his.

But he won’t have your first time together be on his living room couch, of all places. He has enough patience to wait for weariness to set in, and when you yawn trying to muffle it against his shoulder, Ushijima almost smiles. “Why don’t we go to bed?”

You nod, and he presses a gentle kiss to your hair before helping you up.

He knows that you like to shower before sleeping, and while there’s a voice in his head that whispers for him to go and join you, Ushijima simply strips out of his clothes, sits on the edge of his bed and waits.

When you emerge from the steam, smelling faintly of the vanilla and citrus body wash he’d bought after the first night you’d stayed over, he stiffens. Instead of your usual sleeping attire (an old tee-shirt and a pair of sleep shorts) you’re clad solely in one of his fluffy towels, hair still damp, skin glistening with stray droplets of water.

“Hey, sorry I forgot my-” you pause, words trailing off as you take in the sight of your boyfriend, utterly naked. For a split second, you freeze in place, eyes wide and lips softly parted, like a deer caught in headlights.

And then, just as Ushijima moves to stand, you snap out of it.

“Oh my god!” you cry, whirling around and clutching the knot of your towel, hiding yourself from his view and burying your face in your hands. “I-I’m sorry!”

It’s rather adorable how flustered you get by something as natural as nakedness.

“Why wou- you know what, nevermind. I…uh, I forgot my clothes, they’re just on my bag I think, could you, um- could you please pass them to me?”

He spies them, folded neatly on the top of the overnight bag you’d packed. Instead, he reaches out to take your hand and gently tug you back towards him.

“Wakatoshi, what are you-” but your surprised protests are swallowed up as he leans down to kiss you. Yet instead of softening to his touch, allowing him to take the lead as he usually does, you stiffen in his arms, your hands finding their way to his bare chest, trying to push him away.

“Toshi, just- just stop for a second, please?” you gasp, managing to extricate yourself from the kiss.

That won’t do.

He has to be gentle with you, but with anticipation coiling in his gut, his cock stirring at the thought of your almost naked body pressed against his, it’s easy for him to forget his strength as he rids you of the offending material, bends down and hefts you up into his arms.

“Shh, little one,” he says, ignoring your shouts as he takes the three steps over to his bed so he can lay you down. “I know you’re scared, but you have no need to be. I won’t hurt you. I’m going to make us both feel good, I promise.”

He bestows another kiss against your forehead as he climbs over your trembling frame.

“Babe… Toshi, please- I-I’m not, I don’t-” your eyes are wide and filling with tears and you’re shaking your head - it fills him with a flicker of unease, but he knows deep down that this is just temporary.

You need this as much as he does, and once he shows you how wonderful he can make you feel, you’ll thank him.

Cradling your cheek with one large hand, he tries to tell you as much.

But your breath is coming in quick pants, your terrified eyes darting past his broad frame as if you’re trying to look for an escape route while pleas and whimpers spill almost incoherently from your lips, and he realises that words won’t be enough.

He’ll just have to show you.

“I love you,” he murmurs, kissing you once more before turning his attention to the rest of your body. It’s not the first time he’s seen you bared, of course, but it is the first time he’s been allowed the luxury of taking his time to enjoy it.

Your whimpers are soft and distressed as his lips trail down the column of your throat, resisting the urge to nip and suck at the tender skin, and you squirm under him when his mouth finds your breasts. The sounds you make for him, your choked little gasps only feed the pit of hunger deep inside of him. You must be able to feel his cock, big and thick, rutting up against your stomach, leaving a shining trail of oozing pre-cum across your skin as he busies himself playing with your tits.

They’re soft and pillowy, just the perfect size for his hands to grasp and knead, and the way that you keen for him, jerking a little when he sucks a nipple into his mouth and laves his tongue over the pebbling bud is utterly captivating. You’re so caught up in the attention he’s paying to your chest that you miss the hand that trails down your side, snaking between your trembling thighs.

At least until long, thick digits swipe along your folds.

Like a frightened little rabbit, your eyes widen and you jolt into action. “Wakatoshi, stop!” you cry, hands finding his chest once more to try and push him off of you, your legs kicking out uselessly beneath him.

His expression softens, his thumb sweeping against your thigh in what he hopes is a reassuring manner. “Shh, it’s okay. I need to prepare you to take me, otherwise it will hurt.”

If anything, your expression only becomes more panicked. “No, no, no, no-”

“Let me take care of my girl. You’ll feel good,” he murmurs, and already his fingers are sliding back to your pussy. You’re not as wet as he’d like, but it’s no matter, as his thumb finds your clit, his other fingers returning to tease at your entrance.

The soft little moan you try and fail to bite back as one finger slides inside of you sends a rush of blood straight to his cock. It twitches and throbs, aching for relief and perhaps if you were anybody else, he might throw caution to the wind and fuck you right then and there, regardless of whether you were ready or not.

But as you shiver, gasping as he curls the thick digit inside of you, he’s reminded that he needs to have patience. You are not worth rushing, and despite the feral beast inside of him that’s snapping and snarling to sink into your heat, he wants to savour this.

You only get one first time, and he’s determined to make yours unforgettable.

“That’s just one finger,” he tells you, his thumb circling your clit in slow, steady movements. “You’re going to take three before I can fuck you properly, understand?”

He doesn’t want to break you in half, after all.

You still writhe beneath him, shaking and jolting as he teases your shining pearl and coaxes your pussy into accepting another finger, and when he lowers his mouth back to your tits to add to the pleasure building inside of you, a sob bursts free.

“Please- please, Toshi!”

A third finger prods at your entrance-

“Please don’t!”

He almost winces at the sharp hiss of pain that escapes you, but he reassures himself that it will only be for a moment. The stretch and burn will give way to pleasure as he fucks them into you slowly. Your pussy is so warm, so tight, sucking the digits in deeper and when rough fingertips brush against a particular spot on your walls and you cry out, Ushijima allows a small, adoring smile to cross his face.

“Good girl,” he purrs, quickening his pace.

You’ve always been so beautiful to him, but when you cum for him that first time, face flushed and dewy, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you try not to scream in pleasure, he doesn’t think there’s anything on earth that could possibly compare.

The same could be said about the way you taste, he thinks, greedily sucking your juices off of his fingers.

“Wakatoshi,” you beg, lying spent across his bed still reeling from the afterglow of your orgasm as he slides your thighs further apart so he can settle between them. He grunts a little as he wraps his hand around his flushed cock and guides it to your sopping entrance, marvelling at the way you shiver and mewl when he nudges it against your oversensitive clit.

Olive eyes find yours, and he cannot resist leaning down to claim your lips once more as he sinks slowly inside of you.

The sound that escapes him is deep and guttural, but the feel of your warm pussy clenching around his throbbing cock is simply heaven, and he almost - almost - loses control.

Forcing his eyes open, he watches your face as you take his cock, feeling every vein and ridge stretch you out, the pained whimpers that slip from behind clenched teeth. He knows that he’s bigger than average, that his girth is impressive and that even with his foreplay you’re still squeezing around him like a vice, but he forces himself to take it slow, to allow you the time to adjust.

He almost starts when you reach out to grab him, fingers painfully sinking into the muscles of his forearm as you fight off another wave of tears, so he pauses for a beat, peppering your face with more kisses. “You’re doing so well for me, such a good girl.”

When your grip eases, he resumes moving, drawing his hips back and trying not to curse at the friction your slick walls are creating.

“I love you,” he grunts, “so much.”

And then he rocks his hips forward - steadily, filling you up again, allowing you to get used to his girth. He kisses you, trails rough fingertips gently along your skin, teases you finding all the sensitive spots that make you moan for him.

Gradually, he feels you relax around him.

The obscene sounds of his cock sliding in and out of you, the rhythmic slap of skin against skin is drowned out by your soft whines and pants as Ushijima slowly picks up the pace. He fucks you deeply, but not roughly, taking care not to hurt you anymore than necessary.

It’s slow and sensual - your body can’t help but respond to his ministrations, and when you clench around him, sucking him deeper Ushijima can’t help but groan, feeling the tight coil of heat in his core burn as pleasure ripples through him.

He wants more. Needs it.

Ushijima’s hands wrap around your thighs, easing them back towards your chest so that your ankles fall over his broad shoulders. He kisses at your calf when confusion flickers across your face, but doesn’t offer any explanation as he snaps his hips forward once more. The choked scream that leaves your lips is beautiful, but he can barely focus on that when he finally bottoms out, his balls slapping against your ass as another hoarse groan leaves him.

He promised himself that he would be gentle with you, but as your velvety walls quiver and convulse around him and your lips fall open in another soundless scream as your second orgasm hits, he’s not entirely sure that he’ll be able to keep that promise.

There’s a tightening in his balls and he can feel the tether he has on his control fraying little by little as you moan for him, your hips rocking up to meet his fervent thrusts. You’re beautiful, perfect, and he’s losing himself to the feeling of being buried inside of you. It’s indescribable, the way your pussy’s fluttering around him, clenching and pulsing, kissing his cock with sweltering heat - it feels like the very edges of his sanity are blurring as he fucks himself deeper inside of you, his cockhead hitting your cervix with every thrust. He wants to cum, wants to fill you up with his thick load again and again and again, wants you so full it’s leaking out of you-

It won’t be enough, it’ll never be enough.

He loves you, and Ushijima won’t ever be satisfied again without the feeling of your pussy wrapped around him, milking him for every drop that he’s worth.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere ushijima wakatoshi #yandere ushijima x reader #yandere ushijima #yandere ushijima wakatoshi x reader #tw non con #virgin reader

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