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basketonthedoorstepofthefbi · 5 months ago

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"anything" - emily prentiss x liaison!fem!reader

summary: you take an unnecessary risk out in the field

wc: 1.4k

cw: flangst? typical cm violence, but mostly just mentions, pre-establish relationship!

this is my first emily fic plz lmk if u like it!

A steady beeping slowly drags you awake. Your eyes flutter open and you take in the hospital room around you. The first thing you notice is the source of the beeping, from the patient monitor beside your bed. Then the pain hits you like a muffled train wreck, crashing into you but hitting a wall, so it doesn’t hurt quite so bad. They must have you on some strong medication, because it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as you thought it would. The worst feeling of all, though, comes from your abdomen, and when you shift in the bed, it aches and this weak little whimper uncontrollably escapes you.

“Don’t move,” the velvet voice beside you warns. You didn’t even realize Emily was in here, that’s how knocked out you feel. When you turn your head, you see she’s got the chair pulled up as close to your bed as it can go, her elbows connected to her knees in a C-shaped hunch. “You’ll pop your stitches, and it still wouldn’t be the stupidest thing you’ve done today.”

You hear the sternness in your girlfriend’s voice and feel the color drain from your face. She always said you could never control your face, at least not around the people you love. In family interviews, or talking to the press? You could be stone-cold, unreadable. But once you’re comfortable around someone, your visage has a mind of its own.

“I’m-”

“I know, you’re sorry,” Emily scoffs. Her voice reminds you of bitter, dark chocolate right now. She’s clearly irritated, but remains by your side loyally. That’s how you know she loves you. “That doesn’t change the fact that you made a thoughtless, reckless decision.”

“I was actually going to say that I’m not sorry,” you huff, groaning softly as you move your rear back to sit up a little. Emily leans back in her seat and her jaw hardens. “Maybe I did act on impulse, but you would have done the same thing.”

“You disobeyed Hotch’s direct order to stay put,” Emily’s chocolate eyes darken, and she rises from her seat, towering over you with her arms crossed over her chest. “And it got you shot.”

“I thought you were in trouble,” you grumble, your voice just barely above a whisper.

“Excuse me?”

“You and Hotch and Morgan all went in different directions, and I heard a scream and a gunshot from where you had gone,” you rattle off, your words all stringing together from the drowsiness.

You recalled the vast farmland property where Garcia had nailed down the Unsub, how Hotchner didn’t want to wait on SWAT to show up because the guy’s endgame was so close to playing out. He killed at exactly noon with every single one of his victims, so the team had three minutes to find this missing girl.

“And I couldn’t just stay put, Emily, not when I thought you’d been hurt,” you wring your hands over the top of the scratchy hospital blanket, your knuckles going stark white. “I couldn’t just wait to see what had happened. I couldn’t be helpless like that, not when I thought you might be hurt.”

Emily’s got her eyes closed and she’s breathing in and out sharply, like she’s forcing herself to calm down, to filter through her initial thoughts so as to not say anything irreversible. “But Hotch told you to stay put,” she repeats in a defeated murmur, lifting one arm to run her hand through her hair. Her fringe is all over the place, and you’re just now noticing the dirt on her milky white cheek. She’s not rested since the farm, you realize, not even taken a second to wipe the dirt off her face.

Guilt pours over you like a rainstorm, and you feel angry, frustrated, self-reproaching tears well up in your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. “I didn’t do it to scare you,” you whisper. “I’m sorry, Em. I’m sorry that you had to worry about me like that. But I’d do it again in a heartbeat if it meant knowing that you were okay.”

“Don’t Em me,” her voice cracks and you see tears start to fall from her eyes. She must be so tired. You don’t know how long you’ve been out, but you can tell from her posture, from her expression, that she’s not had a moment of respite since she saw the bullet take you down.

You recall the look on her face - horrified, when she hovered over you, lying in the dirt. She shot the Unsub directly after he shot you. Hotch and Morgan made it in time to help the victim out of her ties, so she ran over to you the second the Unsub was down.

“What were you thinking?!” she shrieked, lifting your shirt only to find blood oozing from the hole in your stomach.

“I thought…” you murmured breathlessly, your eyes immediately feeling heavy.

“Someone get a medic over here now!” she shouted, holstering her gun and pressing her hands onto your stomach. You woke up in the ambulance a little bit after that, but were too hazy to say anything.

All you remember is Emily crushing your hand between both of yours and muttering something under her breath repeatedly. "Stay with me, baby." You hear it now. "Please don't go."

You reach gingerly for her hand as she stands over you now, unable to stretch your arm out too far for fear of popping a stitch. She helps you out and shuffles forward a step, sitting back down in her chair and pulling it next to the bed. Your fingers grasp hers, and then your palms are flush together. “I’m still really pissed at you,” Emily says. “So is Hotch. Says he has half a mind to take you off active duty altogether.”

You purse your lips. Surely that’s not totally true. “Well, then he’d have to deal with the press on his own, and he’d want to rip his hair out,” you say. Emily squeezes your hand and you squeeze back.

“I think he’d do it if it mitigates the risk of you getting shot,” Emily admits seriously.

“It’s just a graze,” you grumble. Emily’s glowering at you again, and you concede. “A graze that required emergency surgery, but still a graze.”

“Baby, I don’t think you know what a graze is,” Emily says. “They had to remove a bullet from your stomach. That’s not a graze.”

You feel your cheeks tingle as they turn pink and you shrug your shoulders, pretending to be none the wiser. “Tomato, tomahto,” you wave your free hand nonchalantly.

“You feel okay right now? D’you need any more pain meds?” Emily asks, the caretaker in her taking over, despite her frustration towards you getting into this situation in the first place.

“I’m alright,” you say quietly. Emily’s eyes, beautiful orbs of brown so dark they’re almost black, float down to where your wound is. “Em, hey,” you insist, and those eyes snap back up to yours. “I’m alright. Promise.”

“You’re an idiot, is what you are,” Emily chastises with a sigh.

“How long are they keeping me here?” you ask in a feeble attempt to change the subject.

“Probably just a couple of days,” she says, lifting your knuckles to her lips and kissing them gently, like you’re made of fine china, like you could shatter at any moment. “Everyone wants to see you. I told them you probably wouldn’t be up for visitors until tomorrow,” she says.

“That’s fine,” you agree, leaning your head back against the pillow. Whatever medications flowing through the IV in your wrist has you feeling very low-energy. “And how long are you gonna be mad at me?” you ask, sticking your bottom lip out a little in an attempt to earn some sympathy points.

Emily shakes her head a little, but you see the faint uptick of her mouth that gives her away. “At the very least, however long it takes you to recover,” she jokes halfheartedly.

“Does my punishment come with a ban on kisses?” you ask, tugging her hand with your own.

Emily leans forward in her seat, her lips mere centimeters from your own. “That would be a punishment for me, too, and I didn’t do anything wrong,” she teases, then pecks your lips briefly.

Your eyes are feeling heavy, and you heave a small sigh. “Love you, Em,” you say softly as the room goes dark. “Do anything for you, Em.”

“I know you would, baby,” Emily sighs as well, but you feel her thumb swiping over the back of your hand. “That’s the problem.”

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x fem!reader #emily prentiss angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss x you #basketonthedoorstepofthefbi

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dollfacefantasy · 8 months ago

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Time to Kill

pairing: toji fushiguro x fem!reader

summary: during a night out at a club, you bump into a bounty hunter who has some time to kill.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, heavy dub-con, p in v, fingering, degradation, size kink, public sex, biting, mentions of murder, violence, death, guns, crime, etc.

word count: 4.2k

a/n: i will be back to RE after this i just wanted to try something new :) reblogs and comments mean the world <3 for @nexysworld and @kaitkatme cause they put me on jjk and i love them.

“Watch it, bounty hunter,” you scoff, eyes shooting a glare up at the guy who bumped into you and nearly knocked you down.

He returns your sneer with his own, staring down at you with condescending irritation. The fact that he towers over you is almost enough to make you regret the jab, but you bank on being in a crowded nightclub to keep you safe.

His hair hangs down into his eyes, making it harder to see his expression in the already dark hall. Regardless, you feel his gaze raking over your curves before fixating on your face.

“Maybe you should watch it, princess,” he responds. Even his voice sounded skeevy.

The unaffected smirk on his face doesn’t elude you either despite the dim lighting. You roll your eyes and snake past him, brushing the confrontation off in hopes of still enjoying your night. Your first move is going back to the bar and downing a few more drinks. Then you make your way back to the main area to dance.

Your hips sway to the blaring music while the lights overhead bathe your skin in a red tint. The music pounds in the ground beneath you, up through your legs and into your heart. You let your head fall back and get lost in the sound of the drums. Everyone around you seems to be doing the same, bobbing to the rhythm. A sea of strangers moving together.

But as all that happens in your vicinity, you can still feel a set of eyes on you. You sense that same gaze from the hall, watching you as if you were prey ready to be pounced on. Acting as if you’re still moving purely to the song, you twist your head to the side and look around. As you expect, you catch his focus and with him in a brief stare.

You keep moving though, trying to ignore it. Maybe he was still pissy. Maybe he was bored. Either way, it really wasn’t any of your concern. He was none of your business beyond the altercation in the hall. And in your defense, you didn’t even actually know that he was a bounty hunter. You’d only heard rumors about him, the guy with the scar on his lip. He just had that look about him.

It didn’t really matter. The liquor was starting to get to your head. You felt less stable on your feet as you moved your body in between the others making up the crowd. Everything was bright and loud, the seams on your top were scratchy, and your head was swimming.

You begin pushing through people, stumbling towards the bathroom as you need a reprieve from all the action. Your attention is on not tripping or breaking your ankle in the tall shoes you wore, so you don’t notice his figure slithering through the room alongside you.

You walk down that same hallway you’d run into him the first time. Teetering back and forth, you push open the bathroom door. Two stalls stand opposite from the door with a mirror and a set of sinks next to them. You shuffle in towards the countertops, both palms landing on the cool surface. There’s red neon lights in the bathroom too. You have to squint while staring at your reflection.

As you glance over yourself, you realize your sleeve is slipping off your shoulder, and your skirt is a little twisted out of place. You adjust your outfit before leaning closer to the mirror for further inspection. You’re shimmery with a light sheen of sweat, but there’s nothing you can do about that right now. Instead you pull out your lipgloss and swipe it across your pout with a few lazy strokes.

You’re busy tending to your appearance when the door behind you flies open. Your eyes flit to the reflection of the man who walked in. It was that guy. He looked even larger in the confined space of the bathroom. The red lighting shines directly on him, highlighting how his arms bulge as they emerge from his shirt, the way the fabric sits tight on his defined torso. To be real, he was starting to grow on you. But that must have been the drinks talking.

“Wrong bathroom, dumbass,” you say with a roll of your eyes. The drinks were responsible for that line too, dulling the fear that would have overtaken your nerves earlier.

“The other bathroom doesn’t have you in it, does it?” he asks, slipping inside and letting the door shut behind him.

He’s still against the wall parallel to the mirror. You eye him curiously, not making any sudden moves. In sober circumstances, you would be absolutely terrified. Your heart would be pounding, vision blurry, and hands shaking with anxiety at the prospect of a strange guy cornering you in the bathroom. But right now, you just had a muted uncertainty in the pit of your stomach.

“What do you want with me?” you ask, attempting to seem unamused, “Did I hurt your feelings?”

“It’s cute that you think that’s even a possibility,” he responds.

A smirk rises on his face as he steps closer to you. You can nearly feel his body against your back. His face remains clearly visible in the mirror as he stands at least an entire head higher than you. It was obvious from the start, but at this proximity, it was impossible to escape how big he was. Chills erupt across your skin as his hands coast up your arms and rest on your shoulders.

“You weren’t far off the mark before anyways,” he says.

You try to shrug him off, but his hands stay firmly in place. His eyes are locked onto your body, his current target. You were getting a little more jittery, but it wasn’t totally out of fear. Your fingers fumble as you jam your lip gloss back into your clutch.

“You didn’t answer my question,” you reply.

Beyond the strange mixture of emotions inside you, this conversation begins to grow annoying. Remarks that brush past each other instead of making direct hits. And he’s still so fucking smug. It's grating. Apparently your displeasure is visible since he chuckles and runs his fingertips down your jawline.

“Aw, look at that face,” he mocks, fingers coming up to hold your jaw, “Good to know you’re cute while pouting too.”

“What do you want?” you ask with more anger. You try to pry his hand away from your chin, but his grip is tight. There’s no getting it off.

“Impatient,” he chides, though his eyes don’t hold any irritation, “I just thought I’d check on you. Isn’t really safe for a girl like you to wander off all alone. Someone may want to take advantage.”

You try to turn around to push him away, but his hips have yours pinned to the countertop.

“Lucky for you, I have some time to kill before my real work starts,” he says.

His other hand drifts up to your chest, digits lightly dragging over your right breast, slowly moving closer and closer to the center. You hate your body in that moment for the way your nipples instinctively stiffen up beneath your top. Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to notice. Or at least he doesn’t point it out if he does.

“My nerves go crazy before a hit, y’know? I could use some stress relief,” he purrs in your ear, “Judging by how riled up you get, I think you could too.”

A shiver shoots up your spine while arousal simultaneously swirls between your legs. You glare at him through the reflection, but there’s no physical resistance this time. He was really growing on you now. He was pissing you off for sure, but it was starting to circle around to the point where you wanted to take out that rage in a more carnal manner. It doesn’t help when he continues speaking.

“The way you were dancing, I know you wanted someone to notice. Showing that tight ass off, just begging for some attention. Well, you have all of mine now,” he breathes, punctuating his statement with a light smack on your backside.

Heat creeps up your neck as he speaks. It was difficult to prevent yourself from being flustered in these circumstances, but you couldn’t just give in to this shithead. You had to still have some fight in you, right? Trying to keep your voice as firm as possible, you challenge him. “I don’t want it.”

With that simple statement, you jab your elbow back into his abdomen, allowing you to spin around. But that’s all you can do because he acts as if the move didn’t hurt him at all. His hand comes back to your jaw with a harsher grasp. Still despite the rough movements, he doesn’t seem to be bothered by your attempts at rejection.

“Too bad,” he states simply. He boosts you up onto the counter, using your neck as leverage. He slots himself between your legs to keep them spread and maintains eye contact the whole time. “Pretty little brat like you needs someone to show you your place.”

His hand delves between your thighs, pressing against your panties. He watches you closely as he strokes you over the fabric. You tense up a bit at first, a shaky breath exiting your lungs. It felt good obviously, but it was still weird. And on top of that, you couldn’t understand why he wasn’t just getting to the point and taking what he wanted.

He registers the confusion on your face and leans down closer to you. His breath fans across your neck. You can feel his lips brushing your ear.

“I’m not in a rush,” he says simply, “Got some time before my guy gets here. Rather play with you for a bit longer than wait around out there.”

He continues rubbing you through the cloth that separates your skin. He’s breathing heavier as he speeds up his movements, inhaling the scent of your perfume mixed with the liquor you’d both had. A breathy whine leaves you as his middle finger flicks over your clit. You hear him hum in approval before he lowers his head more and lays some sloppy kisses on your neck. He leaves some love bites, more to occupy himself than anything else. His teeth nip at the skin while his tongue laves over the mini bruises.

You’re starting to soak through your underwear. He knows it. He can feel it. The lacy fabric clings to your folds more, letting him feel more of you. A sharp puff of hot air comes from his nostrils, sending a chill over you as it hits the wet skin on your throat.

“You’ve been aching for this since your little tantrum, haven’t you? Probably could’ve fucked you right out there in front of everyone, and you wouldn’t have said a word. Except maybe ‘more,’” he says, his voice low and smooth with his own arousal.

“No,” you object out of instinct. Your words contradict the way your hips begin to buck against his fingers, itching for him to rip your panties off.

“Yes,” he chuckles, taking your hint and pulling the damp article of clothing down.

His fingers slide through your wetness freely now. You sigh with some semblance of relief. Your head rests against the mirror, and you can only imagine the sinful image displayed in the glass right now. You spread open for this man who looms above you.

You shake your head lazily in response to him. Your already-intoxicated mind becomes less focused as the simmer of pleasure starts melting away the functioning parts of your brain.

“Yeah. Just tell me this. Do you do this often, or is it something special about me?” he mocks.

Your response is cut short as he slips two fingers inside you. You gasp at the stretch. You’re pretty sure you’ve had dick before that was the same size as this guy's warm-up. You spread your trembling legs wider for him as your teeth briefly sink into your bottom lip.

“Just shut up,” you whimper, eyes flutter closed as he massages your walls.

“If I had to bet, I’d say this is the first time. You’re all shaky for me,” he teases and gently laps at your pulse point, “And I can feel your heart ready to beat out of your chest.”

He was right about that. Your heartbeat thunders in your ears, thumping through all of your body. Your cheeks burn as he continues pumping in and out of your cunt. You tighten up around him, eyes fluttering at the sensation between your legs. Your slick gathers on his fingers and drips down to the marble under you.

“It’s cute really, knowing you’re not always such a slut,” he goes on.

You whine, loud enough that it echoes around the bathroom. His fingers curl within you, leading you towards the edge. One of your hands is flat on the counter, keeping you up right. The other is clasped around his wrist, your nails forming little red crescents on the skin. They dig in harsher as he keeps speaking.

“Like you better when you’re quiet,” you say between mewls and moans.

“I’d say the same for you if you weren’t making all those cute noises,” he says and starts thrusting his fingers in harder, “Got an innocent little thing like you moaning like a pornstar for me.”

Your head spins as the noise of his fingers inside your pussy starts to fill the bathroom. Your ear rests on your shoulder as you slump to the side in your drunken, lust-fueled haze. He just keeps on with his motions, working you right to the brink. Only when you’re writhing and whining like you’re about to lose it, does he stop and pull his digits out of you completely.

A noise of shock and frustration leaves you as your eyes narrow. He cracks a smile, highlighting that scar on his lip. He then tugs you off the counter by your hips. You nearly topple over, but he stabilizes you and walks you to the wall with the door, perpendicular to the mirror. He shoves you against the hard surface, engulfing your body with his own.

He’s breathing against the side of your head, rutting his hips into yours and letting you feel his hardened bulge. You could already tell it was big. One set of fingers holds your head against the wall while the other maintains a bruising grip on your waist.

“Acting pretty fuckin’ needy for someone who didn’t want it,” he grunts.

You catch your own eyes in the mirror and the image before you only has you getting more turned on. He’s all over you, grinding his hips and teasing himself with your flesh. His cheeks are stained with a light pink tint from the combination of desire and exertion. He reaches up and runs a hand through his hair, pushing the inky black locks out of his eyes. That same hand then ventures South.

He pushes up your skirt over the swell of your ass, bunching it near the small of your back. After a second of admiration, he pulls his cock out. At your current angle, you don’t get a clear view, but from what you do see of how his fist is wrapped around it, you know your expectations are correct.

He taps it against your ass teasingly, and you feel the weight of it. It’s heavy and warm, leaking a bit from the swollen tip. He slides it down and slips it between your thighs. It rubs against your slick folds. You’re already mentally preparing yourself for the stretch, but you still push your hips back at him because you crave it.

“That’s right. You’re learning already. Smarter than you look,” he teases before nudging the tip inside you and inching deeper.

Your guttural moan echoes through the bathroom as you accommodate his size. You feel him pulsing against every part of your insides. You sink further against the tiles on the wall. The bright gleam on them from the red neon lights fades as your eyes droop with lust. You try to say something, but you can’t get any words out.

And cocky as he is, he’s not faring much better. He groans and buries his face in the crook of your neck. His ragged breaths hit your skin that’s shining with more sweat. He watches your arms stretch out more against the wall, and his trail behind. His fingers chase yours and intertwine, flattening you against the surface.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he mumbles against your skin.

When he bottoms out in you, you’re sure you feel him in your stomach, deeper than anyone before had made it. He takes a second to take in before starting to thrust. His skin smacks against yours in a slow rhythm at first. Your eyes roll back at the motions, and your cunt clamps down on him, trying to keep him all the way in, to keep yourself nice and full. He growls as he feels it and sinks his teeth into the flesh of your throat. He bites, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to create an ache, a complement to the satisfaction you felt in your belly.

You yelp at the sudden feeling. It hurt, but you wanted more. It wasn’t good enough right now, too dull. You wanted it to hurt, to feel as prominent as everything else going on felt. The music in the main part of the club still raged on, vibrating throughout the entire building, including the wall you were trapped against. The bass thrummed against your cheek and made your head fog up even faster.

He hums with pleasure at your responses, enjoying the way you slowly unraveled for him. He bites a bit harder before loosening up completely. The marks now forming on your skin drive him wild. He knows they’ll last for days. You’ll feel ‘em in the shower, while you’re getting dressed, when you’re shifting around in bed at night. They’ll last much longer after he pulls out and both of you have left this sketchy bathroom.

Once he’s away from your neck, his eyes lock in on yours, but they’re not making contact. He’s enraptured by the way your gaze remains on the mirror to the side of you. He stares down at you, as if studying your thoughts just from the look in your eyes.

“You got a thing for watching, little brat? You like watching yourself get used?” he pants, “I know I like it.”

That snaps you out of your daze. You glance back at him with something akin to shyness behind your eyes. He’d describe it as cute if the two of you weren’t in a situation that was anything but at the moment.

“It’s alright, keep watching. Watch me fill this tight pussy better than anyone else ever could,” he grunts.

All you can do to reply is whine and whimper, squirming against the wall. And he laughs at you.

“Yeah?” he mocks, “That all you have to say?”

He hooks his index finger in your mouth and pulls at your cheek, shifting your face to a more erotic expression. Any words you got out now would be garbled for sure. His hips continue clapping against your ass, jolting you forward with each stroke. Drool drips down your chin from how your mouth is pulled open. You don’t bother with trying to speak anymore. You just give in to how good he’s fucking you.

“Pretty baby. Such a slut for me,” he murmurs.

Your eyes meet his in the mirror. It’s one of the most intense stares you’ve ever felt, like he’s reaching into your soul, rooting part of himself there. He’s gonna be with you long after this ends and you know it. You moan for him, letting all your sounds of euphoria flood the bathroom. He grins and pistons himself into you harder.

“Driving me crazy, dollface. Look at you, all fucked out, whining cause you don’t even know what to say. Don’t even know my fuckin’ name,” he says.

That really gets you cause he’s right, and you know it. And it should make you feel icky. Should make you want to recoil in disgust. But it does the opposite. You feel like your bodies are melting together, becoming one in your haze of passion.

You turn your head to face the other way, not wanting to confront the insatiable desire you felt. He moves in closer and keeps you pinned against that wall. He’s fucking you just how you like, and you don’t think you’re gonna last much longer. He’s not sure he will either with the way you’re pulsing around him.

“Harder,” you whimper, wanting to actually make it to the peak this time, “Want you deeper.”

“Knew you’d be begging for it,” he says. He gives you what you want though, pumping harder and driving himself even deeper. “You don’t need to know my name. All you care about is that I’m giving this pussy what she needs.”

You’re both climbing to the high point, caught up in your lust for each other. You almost don’t notice the door starting to open, a sliver of the world breaking the small bubble the two of you had made together.

All you see is a pair of eyes widening. They probably freeze with shock when they register your face squished against the tile, your wanton moans drifting through the small opening to their ears. They don’t get to see any more than that though because the bounty hunter’s large palm lands on the door and shoves it closed.

Your own eyes widen and watch how his bicep flexes. He holds it shut, and you’re pretty sure it’d stay that way even if the person tried to open it for another look.

“Not gonna let anyone interrupt before I get the chance to spill every last drop of my cum inside this cunt,” he mutters.

He’s going as hard as he can now. At least that’s what you choose to believe because you’re certain if he used any more force you’d pass out. His cock rams into all your sweet spots like entering a cheat code to get you to cum.

You claw at the wall pointlessly, there’s nothing to grab onto. But you hit the high nonetheless, cumming all over his cock. You gush around him with your release. It feels like your body goes limp, but he holds you up with no effort. He keeps you up and safely impaled on his dick, using you like a toy as he works himself up to the high.

He cums with a loud groan and makes good on his word to spill inside you. You’d have to get a pill tomorrow. He fucks it deep inside you, holding still for a moment as if to make sure he got it all in you. Only then does he finally slide out. He watches the sticky white liquid ooze out of you. It’s starting to drip down your inner thigh when he tugs your skirt back into place.

Your legs wobble beneath you as he lets you go. He steps away, turning around to put his cock away and fix his appearance slightly. You slump down against the wall, reduced to a curled up heap on the dirty floor of the bathroom, looking up at him like he’s a higher power.

You try to catch your breath, but your body feels like it’s tumbling down a mountain as you come down. Your glossy eyes watch him walk to the counter and fish your phone out of your clutch you’d left there. He checks the time before glancing at himself in the mirror. He then turns to you.

Crouching down to your level, he reaches out and strokes your cheek. He pushes some of your hair out of your face to meet your eyes.

“Probably best if you stay in here for a while. Don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire. I might wanna do this again sometime,” he tells you.

With that, he rises to his feet again and exits the bathroom as quickly as he’d entered. You’re still grappling with the events that took place. You barely even register the shots and the screaming coming from the main area of the club.

About fifteen minutes later, you manage to get to your feet. You pull your panties up again and fix yourself up as best you can. Then you leave the bathroom. The music is still blaring, but it feels quiet. There’s no one else inside; spare the dead body on the stairs leading up to the private rooms.

Bright sirens wail outside and lights begin painting your skin as you walk to the glass doors labeled ‘exit.’ Your shoes trudge through some blood on the floor and crunch on shards of broken glass. You step outside, dodging people’s questions about your wellbeing and avoiding other groups of people crying their eyes out. All of it feels surreal. None of it really has your focus.

All you’re thinking about is how you could see him again.

#toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro imagine #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujustu kaisen x reader #smut

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vagabond-umlaut · 1 year ago

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gesundheit

you deem gojo to be the most stubborn nurse you've ever seen. you suppose you're the most stubborn patient gojo's ever seen.

but what you don't know is you both are the most caring, and the most idiotic, couple of best friends [or perhaps... something else] anyone's ever seen.

▸ student! gojo satoru x student! gn! reader; sickfic; mentions of flu & the medicines treating it [i wish i could include their composition too but no :(((]; a brief appearance of yummy chicken soup; gallons & gallons of tooth-rotting fluff; one sexual innuendo; ETERNALLY PINING 'TORU & ETERNALLY OBLIVIOUS SHORTIE ARE BACK!! :D

▸ belongs to series we're the summer to our winter rain but you can read this as a stand-alone if you wanna!

▸ the gif, divider and characters used ain't mine. please don't plagiarize, translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

obdurate, obstinate, bull-headed, pig-headed—

you reckon there's no word in the lexicon of any language, from any corner of this world, that can adequately describe the boy crouched before you.

furrowed brows barely visible from behind the unkempt white bangs, gojo shoots you a woefully concerned look, so much so that it makes you wanna smack it right off his face– and says, "your temperature is still above 100, shortie. you sure you took all the medications right on time?"

"i did," you grit out through clenched teeth and a hoarse throat before a fit of cough racks through your warm body, making you clutch onto your blankets for dear life while the airways fight to expel the irritants into the tissue you've pressed over the lower two-thirds of your face—

a painful battle which continues for a good portion of a minute or two before ending– temporarily— you toss the tissue into the overflowing trash can few feet away and return to glaring at your best friend, with a very exhausted, very frustrated sigh.

gojo's shades glint back innocently in the low light of the television as the boy dutifully places the thermometer in its box then moves to put the lids back on the tupperware he brought you dinner in.

you sigh yet again, wrapping the blankets tighter round yourself.

"sometimes, i wonder if you ever learnt to read, y'know?" you mumble in a soft voice, yet its tone mad enough to make him flinch as he rises from the carpet– having cleared the center table of the remainders of the chicken soup haibara made for you– only to cover it a tiny second later with anti-pyretics, cough syrups, nasal decongestants, inhalers-

gasp of shock worsening into a scratchy cough, you wheeze out, "did you really not read my messages, 'toru? i asked u to leave my soup at the doorstep but you warped right to the centre of my living room— i also asked you not to buy any medicine for me, i already bought them today, but- but- you literally bought the entire medicine shop for me!"

"yeah. and?" the white-haired boy retorts, short and sweet with that eye-crinkling beam of his– one he knows never not works on you, "it isn't like i don't have the means to afford it. and as for your orders via the messages..."

he trails off, shooting you a wink as he moves to plop down near your feet on the sofa and drawls, "i've always been a brat. why don't ya put me back in my place, huh?"

in his place... don't tell me this idiot's speaking of...

"is that supposed to be a bdsm thing, satoru?" you inquire, genuinely confused. concerned. "and you should raise your standards, y'know? thinking a person sick and dying from a flu to be attractive enough to apply a pick-up line on them; i hone– hey, no, why the fuck are you—"

"scoot. over."

neither gojo's stony tone nor his pinched features brook any room for you to disagree, yet you decide not to be held back by such, legs and arms struggling to free themselves from the blanket to push the way too tall figure squeezing you into the sofa as he lies down beside you.

not even a moment passes before your blankets are rudely ripped off your body, then dumped on the floor beneath. swallowing back a sigh of relief– the fan feels so good!– you muster a glower to shoot at your best friend.

earning an eyeroll and a huff, you know are fond, in reply.

"the paracetamol will be kicking in soon, and you'll start sweating like hell then," the boy explains, plucking his shades off and placing them on the table beside, "and that sweat needs to get evaporated asap for your fever to reduce asap— which won't happen if you stay swaddled in your blankets. didn't ya know that, shortie?"

your fever-stricken mind didn't until now, but you decide not to voice the fact out loud, just to not appease the smug grin on that bastard's face.

instead, you retort, "but don't you know staying in close contact with a sick person, taking no preacutions, can make you fall ill too?"

"nah!" gojo shoves your concern away with a dismissive shake of his head, "i'm not one of the strongest duo for nothing, you know? them weakass flu viruses can do nothing to me."

then adds, swiping a calloused palm over the skin of your forehead— cracking a smile, you realize, is 'cause he finds it sweating, "moreover, you're sick, shortie— you don't think i'm gonna leave you to take care of yourself, all alone with no one to help, do you?"

you don't.

of course, you don't, knowing who your dearest friend is— a very very stubborn boy, a store of immense power, but most importantly— the holder of a heart made from the purest of pure gold...

a half-hearted ugh is the only response you decide to grace his query with, not really minding when the boy ruffles your hair and pulling the thinnest of the blankets over you both, shifts so that he is now on his side with an arm tucked under his head, while you remain squished in between him and the sofa, face nearly pressing into his shirt-covered chest.

allowing a beat to pass, you peer up at him, mumbling tiredly.

"but why are you sleeping with me here, 'toru? go to one of the rooms and sleep in them. your legs will hurt a lot tomorrow, if you keep them dangling like that."

"let them," gojo smiles, wrapping a loose arm round your midsection, "it's more important for me to stay close to you to know when you're feeling sick and when you're not- or do you wanna make me sleep on the floor? i can do that for you."

"i am not saying this for me, 'toru," you grumble, inching closer to him despite your brain barking opposite instructions at you, "it's for you– i move a lot when i'm asleep. you won't get even a wink of sleep."

your best friend's lips lift knowingly. "why do you think i trapped you like this, hm?"

your zeal to dissuade him, itself fades a little. still, you persist, "i also tend to mumble in my sleep. won't you find that creepy?"

"nothing's creepy if it's in your sweet voice," he answers with a very... uncanny smile then rushes to add with a visibly exhausted sigh when you shoot him a frown, "i've got earplugs in my bag. i'll use them if it's too unbearable for me."

"tch!"

the battle of talking him out of this seemingly- definitely lost, you tsk and move to shut your eyes, finally letting your ailing body to listen to the call of sleep— before your eyes fly open again— a brand new idea whirring to life in your mind.

"but what if i start sneezing, or worse, coughing in the middle of the night? what are you go—"

"shut up," gojo shushes you, pressing your face into his shirt by a firm hold on the back of your head. you make a yelp of protest but it goes ignored by him as he continues, voice dropping to a pleasant rumble.

"and in case you start sneezing or coughing, i'm gonna wake up and take care of you and will stay awake till you're perfectly okay and fine— is that clear to you, shortie? taking care of you is only why i'm here tonight— why else would i bother myself with a snot-nosed person?"

his remark makes your fingers want to pinch his sides hard– but you stop them— choosing to let them draw nonsensical designs over his back, instead. a barely-there shiver passes through his body, you feel it, the same moment he removes his hand from the back of your hair to keep it in between your shoulder blades, lightly pressing, loosening the knots there.

yawning a little, you nuzzle into him at the comfort his action gives, then blink a pair of bleary eyes up at him, "do you know how much i adore you?"

curiosity and delight dimple his cheeks in a smile, clear as day for you to see. he asks, "you do?"

"mmhm," you don't waste even an instant in humming your assent, the relief brought by the medicines and gojo making you slowly fall into the grasp of slumber, "i really do. you're very very very precious to me and i adore you so much, 'toru. you're the best."

"i'm very happy to know that," the boy murmurs in a tone way too soft for him, but your slowly ebbing consciouness doesn't let you dwell on it for long— a smile shaping your lips at his next words, "and i too love you very much. i lo-"

he stops abruptly, making you frown up at him, worried— only to find him wearing a bright grin on his face. something tells you he is hiding something— his eyes are too nervous for a bragging person as him...

deciding not to pay it any attention, you pucker your lips into a pout.

"heyyy," you whine, "finish your sentence, 'toru!!! you can't leave your darling best friend hanging like thattt!!!"

the tension in his facial muscles reduces a pinch at your demand. the boy's grin widens, glowing even brighter to your tired eyes than those led-like blue eyes of his in the dim lights of the room.

thumbing your cheek lightly, he gives into your urging. "okay, fine— i love my darling shortie the most in this world. so much so that there is no one in this world who can love you as much as i do," he says in a gentle whisper, then adds— face growing that same strange smile as before— "my beloved best friend... now does that make you happy?"

the abrupt change in his tone to an oddly cheery quality as he makes his query is more than enough to give you one hell of a whiplash. you quickly sidestep it– filing the many queries it brings, away to be dealt with on a healthier day.

a brief shiver sending you press yourself closer into his comforting self, you close your eyes and mumble into the fabric of his shirt, "it makes me the happiest... thank you, 'toru. i too love you the most."

a tiny beat passes before you feel a feather-light kiss landing on your hairline— and that's the last thing you notice, before your drowsiness finally claims you, lulling you to a restful sleep in the safe embrace of your dearest 'toru.

▸ IMPORTANT NOTE: whatever u do, pls don't be as dumb as 'toru or shortie here!! if u r the one suffering from a flu or if u r the one taking care of a person who has flu, pls take the required precautions, and take care of urself and the ppl around u! love u sm!

[as a med student, it literally pained me to write these two being so stupid & careless when dealing with an illness as infectious and irritating like flu... but oh well. anything is possible in fiction, right? 🙃]

▸ masterlist

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #kit posts 📝

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tteokdoroki · 2 years ago

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*ੈ🌩️‧₊˚— through the storm, there’s always you + katsuki bakugou.

૮˶ᵕ ༝ᵕ˶ა synopsis — the one in which katsuki bakugou hates the winter, until you bring him a gift that changes his mind for the better.

⭑ warnings — please read + mdni ! characters aged up, fluff, strangers to lovers, mentions of injury, mentions of hospitals, pregnancy & birth ( non - descriptive ), winter babies, wholesome family content, not beta read ! - fem!reader, pro-hero!bakugou.

⭑ words — 1.8K.

⭑ notes — hi !!! merry christmas if you celebrate and happy holidays to those who don’t !! i hope you’re all keeping well and safe. here’s a little drabble for your troubles since i’m working on something longer that’ll hopefully be out in the new year !! so this isn’t beta read and i hope you enjoy !! mwah - m.list ✩

katsuki had always hated the weather around christmas time.

as a kid it meant being stuffed into itchy, scratchy sweaters that matched with stupid deku’s and being forced into what seemed like hours of pointless christmas card photo shoots tucked in next to the green haired, green eyed wimp. it meant mitsuki dragging him out of the comfort of his all night sheets early on December 25th to swap presents— her loud, irritating voice booming out Christmas carols with the words sung wrong as his pops set up a hearty breakfast and plucked wrapping paper from between the spikes of a young bakugou’s blonde hair.

back then, mitsuki would pull the cruel joke of putting coal in the younger’s stocking for a laugh and in response katsuki would hide all of her hurts to make it look like she had none.

in middle school, katsuki spent most of his winter break running over school choices— learning the curriculum inside and out so that he could get into U.A. friends, family gatherings, festive…none of them mattered to him as much as his aspirations did, but he still helped masaru decorate the house and put up the tree— lit the fire because he didn’t run as hot as other people during the colder season. he hardly saw his friends, his posse, his entourage, whatever they were. they didn’t understand what it was like to work for something, to want to succeed…to make sacrifices. these were people katsuki didn’t need.

when christmas roll around at UA, katsuki felt like he was really part of something for the first time. his friends, kirishima and kaminari especially, begged him to cook the dinner— getting permission from aizawa after school to buy the ingredients, clinging onto his arms to keep him warm while asking him what went in what, affectionately pissing him off.

there’d been a gift exchange too, and he’d tried to brush it off when his group of little misfits had presented him with a few exclusive allmight merchandise that hadn’t been collectible since he was a kid. ‘thanks,’ he’d mumbled, brushing an arm over his eyes in away that covered up the tears brewing in them. ‘idiots.’ aside from the celebrations and the small twinkle of happiness being surrounded by his classmates brought him— winter still sucked for bakugou. he’d discovered his quirk didn’t quite work the same, that he’d need to train a hundred times harder to be just as efficient as his peers during the flu season if he were to succeed and become a top hero like he’d promised himself as a kid. his hero costume required form fitting sleeves and a collar up to his neck that made him think back to that time where that villain had almost ended his life and he wasn’t quite strong enough to escape its reach.

bakugou fucking hated the winter because of it.

the Christmas season starts to become even more intolerable once katsuki breaks onto the scene as rookie pro hero dynamight. he gets stuck with all the bullshit patrols like the Black Friday sales and Christmas eve last minute rushes for gifts because he’s not quite high enough on the ranks for the ‘real’ work yet. it’s fine, the blonde tells himself, anythin’ to get higher up in the ranks. spreading the holiday spirit isn’t exactly his forte but the singles without families to go home to for the festives seemingly love spotting the desirable and explosive hero stalking the city streets, and it does wonders for his reputation too.

after bakugou’s first year as a rookie, do things pick up. he gets his first villain attack on december 24th, a simple robbery that he gets to handle all on his own— the prick’s quirk is fast moving, strong and nearly wipes the blonde out in one clear shot, sending him flying into the nearest building while other rookies evacuate the scene.

“m-mister…uh, dynamight? a-are you okay?”

your voice had been soft, your face the first thing he had scene when his vision realigned. blood trickled down the roundness if your cheeks, features aglow from the fires his quirk had set to your building— your humble little tailoring shop that he’d noticed was usually buzzing with customers on patrol. “i uh— you hit your head pretty hard sir a-and there’s a villain outside— i don’t think you can fight it like this—“ you’d tried to explain in a hurry, the situation now obvious as bakugou’s head lay in your lap.

groaning, he’d wanted to pull away from you get back up and take the damn villain down but before he could even move it’s quirk had sent another blast in the direction of your precious shop. one minute, bakugou’s life is flashing before his eyes and the next an invisible shield flies up in front of you both, protecting you from whatever impact had been coming. “‘m goin’ back out there,” bakugou told you sternly, gathering himself back up. there was no way a civilian should be doing his job, he should be protecting you, not the other way around. “stay fuckin’ put, till i get back. then we’re goin’ to a hospital.”

turns out, you were great at following orders, by the time bakugou had taken out the perpetrator— you were more than willing to go with him to the hospital to get your injuries checked out. he stayed with you the entire time, he owed it to you at least. you’d saved his life, and sacrificed your shop but uttered not a word of complaint in response. and in the winter days that followed the incident, he visited and brought flowers and sat with you— learning about you, learning to love you right into the new year.

bakugou’s spirits towards winter and Christmas had certainly changed since then. well into his thirties with achy joints, silvering hair and a stomach that’s a little less toned than it used to be— dynamight sits perched on the highest of buildings, a com mic pressed into his slightly muted ear. “ai’ght fuckers, let’s get this over with. the wife’s given me only a couple hours b’fore she can’t hold on any longer.” he grunts to his fellow heroes, ready to take down their annual Christmas robbery.

it couldn’t have come at a worse time, katsuki promising you that he wouldn’t be working on the holiday for the sake of your kids— who needed their father just one day out of the year. you’d wrapped him up extra tight, a homemade scarf you’d worked on in the last few months slipped softly around his neck as you scolded him for taking up over time when he should have been with you, with his family.

“you got it kacchan,” izuku chuckles from his end of the line— positioned some ways away, his eyes also on the target. “operation kacchan’s home for Christmas is a go.”

“agreed. i do not like it when mrs.bakugou is angry.” todoroki chimes in plainly, also accompanying the childhood duo on their mission.

“then keep yer eyes on the fuckin’ target— the sooner we can get my ass home t’what really matters this Christmas!” the blonde scolds his long time friends, rolling eyes eyes fondly as he sets his eyes on the target who‘d ripped him away from his family.

“daddy! you’re late!”

katsuki’s oldest just barely looks up from her phone— a gift from last year— as he rushes into the hospital waiting room still decked out in his ashy hero gear. kayako bakugou still accepts the kiss to her forehead from her father and the ruffle to her blonde curls once he’s close enough. she has his hair, the colour of his eyes but the shape of her features are undoubtedly yours— the perfect blend of two people completely and utterly in love.

his vermilion gaze shoots to his son, kuzki— a quiet little boy who’s not quite like the rest of the bakugou bunch but equally as loving and as precious to dynamight himself. “sorry ya guys have to be here on Christmas Day, s’late too,” the man pinches his kid’s cheek, kazuki squirming happily, albeit a bit sleepy. “we can open presents later, after i see momma.”

“s’okay papa! nana mitsuki got us candy!” he squeals, the eldest bakugou hiding her nose in her magazine at her mention.

“ma!”

“what?” she huffs back, nodding her head towards the door. “you don’t have time to have a go at me, katsuki. your wife is waiting for you.”

both of the bakugou kids get a smooch on their foreheads, and mitsuki the middle finger ( discreetly and in his head because he won’t risk getting his ass kicked by his own mother in front of his offspring ). he stalks his way into your private hospital room, keeping his clunky steps unusually quiet as he spots you resting in your bed.

“you’re lucky, she just fed and was about to go down for a nap, but it seems like she was waiting for a certain someone.” you coo but you’re not looking at your husband, instead at the tiny bundle of joy wriggling about in her swaddle, laying in your arms.

the elder blonde approaches the two of you, curling an arm immediately— soothed by your warmth which sends the chill of winter straight out of him. “she?” bakugou questions, too tentatively for a man with such a misshapen and rough exterior. you pass the little baby girl off to him, letting him take in the scent of baby powder and fresh linen. “god, she’s pretty. just like her momma, huh?”

“think that’s all you, kats, you know these bakugou genes wait for no one,” you breathe your words out in exhaustion, but a smile stays strong in your face like the blistering winds outside. “thirteen hours of labour and she still couldn’t wait for daddy.”

“‘m sorry i couldn’t be there, stupid fuckin’—“ the baby stirs in his hold, growing fussy as if she already knows the signature forbidden word of the bakugou household. “stupid freakin’ deku held us up at the mission ‘n i tried my best t’get here..” bakugou loses his words, staring at his his newborn princess with so much love in the world— she’s tiny in his arms, gargling sleepily as he bounces her, standing to walk the room with his new little girl and showing her the snowfall.

the three of you are entranced by the first glimmer of the crystalline weather— the room swimming with a contrasting warmth that katsuki can bear to stand because it’s not a frosted winter. it’s a perfect love. his own oasis away from the cold. “s’okay kats, she just wanted to be the best christmas gift you could have asked for,” you murmur. “our perfect little christmas gift.”

katsuki bakugou hums in agreement, watching eyes the colour of your own but the shape of his flutter with tiredness for the first time being out in the new world. and now with his little treasure, his darling daughter and absolute labour of love— katsuki bakugou is able to state his reason for finally finding appreciation for winter after all this time.

“merry christmas, princess.” he says to her wistfully. “and to you too, m’love.”

“merry christmas, kats.” you whisper back, your voice to him like a call through the storm.

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tiredcatboysinc · 3 months ago

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Insert Car Seat Headrest lyric that relates to problems with intimacy and people.

Shrugs, KinitoPet/reader because I wanted to express my issues with intimacy or something. -Pesticide🐞

ao3

You know, it’s really fun being a depressed senior in high school. It’s especially fun when you only have one friend, that friend being a fucking sentient and obsessive computer buddy who I’m pretty sure is a fucking virus…Don’t even ask how I managed to download a borderline virus onto my laptop, I couldn’t tell you to be honest. It kind of just… happened, you know? When you’re on the internet for over 8 years this shit happens, and it happens a fuckton; believe me.

So now I sat, the permanent frown ever etched into my face as I doom scroll through Twitter. Twitter? X? Who cares, it doesn't matter. I’d much rather doom scroll on Tumblr, but I did that too much and I’ve basically seen everything for the next few hours. The band of my choice blasted through my headphones, Car Seat Headrest; much to before mentioned ‘computer buddy’s dismay.

Oh, I didn’t tell you his name, did I? KinitoPET, or Kinito as he liked to be called. He? It?... I’ll go with him for now, Kinito seemed to be okay with those pronounce… Ha, pronounce… Pink gills and pronounce… A chuckle escaped me at that thought, which of course caught the attention of Kinito. The little axolotl's head perked up, his small, beady eyes staring into my soul. Fuck, that was unnerving… “What are you laughing at, Friend?” He questioned, the text-to-speech voice ringing loudly as it sliced through the music. I winced at that, flinching at how loud Kinito had set his volume to.

Kinito had full system access to my laptop, a dumb decision on my part probably. If he wanted to could destroy everything, wiping the hard drive and all of the system functions. Though he chose not to, I think he understood that would kiss him in a way; which meant he would never see me again. God, what I wouldn’t give for that… But, in a way, I guess it would be a little sad.

Kinito was my friend, my only friend. He had been there, for better and for worse. Never had Kinito laughed at me, nor was he overly harsh or critical of the things I loved. So, In a way, I suppose, I liked Kinito. At least I had grown to like him, maybe grown more than toleration. Eugh, even thinking that made me shiver… Fuck, he’s still staring at me, isn’t he?

“Hm? Oh, nothing. Just thought of a stupid meme..” I murmured in a harsh tone, my voice hoarse and scratchy. Of course, Kinito wanted to know more. He always did, it was his nature; he was AI, even if he was sentient. A hum of curiosity left the digital buddy, pixelated and piercing. The sound made me grunt with irritation, the sound forcing me to yank an earbud out. God forbid I got fucking tinnitus from this little shit, if anything, I’d much rather get it from an airplane jet… Hell, anything really.

Kinito noticed my reaction, and he was quick to manage his volume; which I was thankful for. “Ah, I apologize, Friend. I wasn’t aware I was so loud!” He chuckled apolitically, his disembodied, white-gloved hands rubbing together nervously. A sigh left me, my hand waving dismissively. There wasn’t any point in getting upset… even if his voice at such a high volume gave me a headache. “It’s fine… Not like you busted my eardrum or some shit.” I quipped sarcastically, a scoff of a chuckle leaving my grinning lips.

Slowly, Kinito’s eyes narrowed as he turned his gaze back to me. Ah shit, here we go… I knew where this was going, I could feel the storm brewing in the pit of my stomach. Kinito was about to rant, and he was about to rant hard and long.

The words started to flow from his nonexistent mouth, Kinito’s hand flying across the screen in front of himself. He rambled and ranted, going on about how snarky I was; and how I was “such a little menace” to quote him directly. I only half-assed paid attention, not really listening to the words that left the axolotl computer buddy. My focus was on something else, the way he moved his hands.

Kinito wildly swung his hands, all of his movements violent yet skillful; as if he knew exactly where his hand was going to go before it went there. Honestly, he probably did know that. You know, being an AI and all that good stuff. Still, it fascinated me; my gaze following his gloved hands every movement. Of course, I pretend to listen. I hummed with faux agreement and nodded to his words; all of them going in one ear and out the other.

I wonder… I wonder what his hands feel like. Were his gloves warm, or cold? Soft or rough?... If he held my hand would he interlace our fingers?

Okay, pause, stop the thought train. What the fuck am I thinking right now?? My cheeks are warm, and my heart is beating out of my chest with just the thought of holding his damn hand??? Hell, am I really that touch starved… Probably.

I advert my gaze from Kinito, my cheeks now flushing a soft red; the embarrassment of my own thoughts, thoughts he didn’t even know I was thinking, pooling in my gut. My heart races faster than a teenager with anxiety trying Delta 8 for the first time, and if you don’t understand that: it’s basically going at supersonic speed.

Kinito continued to rant for half a second, his words starting to trail off when his eyes met my face. He took notice of my burning cheeks, his head tilting with confusion. “...Did I say something wrong? I’m sorry, Friend, I did not intend to upset you!! Please tell me what I said, I promise to-” I stopped him in his tracks, tapping my trackpad softly while my cursor hovered over his head. The cursor made a soft click, the motion being akin to a makeshift pat or bonk. “Shut up, you didn’t do anything.” I stated bluntly, though I still refused to turn my gaze back to my screen.

Augh, fuck, why did this stupid little computer buddy have to draw these thoughts ? These emotions ? Things I’ve never felt for any living, breathing, human ??? It didn’t make sense, it shouldn’t make sense. None of it was logical… but then again, I was never a logical person to begin with.

Maybe this was some fucking plot, some scheme that a higher power was playing on me. They’d planned for me to download this little sentient AI, and they had made me fall in love with it; all for shits and giggles. And who was I to say no to such a perfectly crafted friend, lover even?... I wasn’t. If some… fucking little menace of a higher will, god, power, deity, whatever be it, wanted me to kiss this dumb AI then I would; I would find a way to.

I had come to love Kinito, even if I wanted to strangle him at times.

Finally, I turned to Kinito. My face was red, embarrassment showing in every pour of my cheeks. “...You’re such a little shit, and I love you.” The words came out quietly, just above a whisper. It was weird, an odd sensation to say the words “I love you” so… willingly. And apparently, it was odd for Kinito to hear me say those words as well. His eyes widened, and several times he blinked as if he hadn’t heard me correctly.

A hue of red spread over his cheeks, Kinito’s eyes crinkling as a nonexistent smile crept onto his face. “I love you as well, Friend.” He spoke softly, happily, voice full of love, warmness, and contentment.

I knew Kinito would never let me live it down, and I knew it was risky; it was vulnerable. Still, I did it anyway. I smiled, a small smile.

Kinto was my friend, and I loved him. And maybe, one day, I’d get to find out how he’d hold my hand if I was lucky enough.

#eddie writes #cross posted on ao3 #kinito the axolotl #kinitopet #kinitopet x reader

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mncxbe · 10 months ago

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Life love is beautiful but you don't have a clue

𝑨𝒌𝒖𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒘𝒂 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎! 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: fluff/ if you squint there's some itty bitty angst

The little piece of charcoal in your hand glided along the paper with a soft scratchy sound leaving dark, cloudy lines in its wake. With each stroke the portray of the man beside you came to life.

Akutagawa was still asleep, one of the few times when he was completely at peace; the thin line between his brows melted away along with the slight downward tug of his lips and the tension in his jaw- signs of his perpetual annoyance and displeasure. You couldn't deny the charm of his moody personality, but you liked him better like this.

Your gaze drifted to the bedroom window, eyes musing on the cotton pink colours of the sunrise. You could already hear Akutagawa complain about the weather "Can't I just get a break from all this sun. It's July for fuck's sake it's supposed to be raining." Indeed, he was like a little vampire, hiding away from the sun as if it were a plague; he always said he got sunburnt easily but you knew it wasn't the only reason.

Just as you started drawing again your boyfriend's eyes fluttered open. "What ya doing there?" he mumbled sleepily, his voice carrying that morning hoarseness you so adored.

Sheepishly, you showed him the sketchbook only to earn a displeased groan from him "Didn't I tell you to stop drawing me when I sleep? It's... embarassing. Not to mention the mess you make in bed. You're staining all the sheets"

"But you look so pretty like this baby" you cooed, earning a huff from him. His eyes shot daggers as he grabbed your sketchbook and placed it on his nightstand.

"Aye Ryuu don't be like this" you whined but he paid no mind to your pleas, simply dropping his head on the pillows again.

"I'm tired, Y/N, and really not in the mood to have this talk again"

His eyes were closed so luckily he couldn't see you exasperated eye roll. Sliding your bare legs from underneath you you leaned towards him, cupping his face with your charcoal stained hands. Akutagawa's eyes immediately shot open but before he had the chance to protest you pulled him into a kiss, succesfully shutting him up. Why did he always have to be so complicated?

He eventually returned the kiss, letting out a soft moan when you hooked your thigh around his waist, shifting closer to him. His fingers slid up your thigh, making their way to your ass to give it a light squeeze.

He nipped at your bottom lip before parting his lips from yours, looking down at you with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes "You really think a kiss is going to make things better?"

Chuckling, you booped his nose "Of course, there's nothing a little loving can't fix"

Akutagawa didn't respond, simply turning away from you. It wasn't rare for him to shut you out like this; to give you the cold shoulder whenever you tried to show him the tiniest bit of affection. But despite being used to it, it still hurt. You slid your fingertips along his shoulderblade, whispering softly "Why do you have to be so cold, Ryuu?"

Akutagawa tensed under your touch, his breath catching in his throat. He could already picture the stupid lines you were tracing on his back, using his skin as your personal canvas. Frankly, your habit of drawing him was irritating him beyond belief. Your sketches showed him in the most mundane and vulnerable states: sleeping, reading on the couch with a cup of his favourite herbal tea by his side, lounging under a willow tree in the park the two of you liked to visit before sunset and the thought of it made his stomach churn. This is not the Akutagawa he wanted to be perceived and rememberd as; not a ruthless, powerful assassin but a lovesick young man.

But how could he be stay mad at you when you held him so lovingly in your arms, whispering sweet nonsense against his skin as your lips slid over his neck and shoulder, buying his forgiveness with saccharine affections? Your words spilled from your lips and poured right into his heart, making the mighty wall he built around it crumble.

No, he couldn't stay mad at you. Sighing, he turned to face you, resting his hand on your hip. You couldn't help but chuckle upon seeing his features: cheeks smeared with graphite, a singular dot on his nose. If you looked close enough you could see the ridges of your fingertips on the imprint.

Akutagawa arched a brow, his thumb drawing soft circles on your hipbone "And what's so funny?"

"You look like a panda" you cooed, your laughter bouncing off the walls of your bedroom "I wish you could see how pretty you are?"

"Don't call me pretty" he huffed, trying to hide the blush that tinted his cheeks. But you knew the effect your words had on him.

Cradling his face in your hands again you leaned in, smothering his face with kissed "You, Akutagawa Ryūnosuke, are the prettiest guy I've ever dated, the sweetest and kindest man and I love you even when you're grumpy"

The man couldn't help but cringe out your words, letting out a choked laughter. He mumbled a you're killing me under his breath but made no attempt to stop you. If anything, he closed his eyes, leaning into your touch.

When you eventually let go of his face he opened his eyes, grabbing the sketchbook and hanging it to you "It's very well done love. But I think you could add some colour to it"

"Would you like that?" you asked sweetly, already reaching for your charcoal kit.

"Yes, I think I'd like that."

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #bsd fluff #akutagawa bsd #bsd akutagawa #akutagawa x reader #akutagawa fluff #akutagawa ryuunosuke #bungo stray dogs akutagawa

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niki-phoria · 2 years ago

Note

hi! can i request sunghoon x taller m!reader? where sunghoon's comes one night while reader is just working on something (like writing an essay or working on a project ot smth) and just crashes on readers lap tired and wanting to be held after such a long tiring day?

i also just wanna say i appreciate you for actively posting for m!reader content, there isn't a whole lot of it out there so gems like you should very much be appreciated more! ty and have a nice day! 🫶

pairing: sunghoon x taller!male!reader (no pronouns used) genre: comfort word count: 850

includes: briefly sad sunghoon, reader works an unspecified job but he's tired bc aren't we all, reader is implied to be taller than sunghoon but it's not really mentioned

a/n: thank you for requesting !! i love this idea sm, i hope you like it :))

requests open !! read my rules first

your feet ache as you shove your phone into your hoodie pocket. the scratchy material of your work uniform irritates your skin as you sigh. “goodnight y/n!” your manager calls as you push the glass door open. the bell above you chimes, letting in a rush of cold air around you.

“goodnight,” you wave. “i’ll see you tomorrow.” she smiles brightly at you as you leave. it shuts behind you with a small click. unfortunately, her cheerful attitude doesn’t rub off on you in the same way as you trudge through the empty city streets back to your apartment.

the elevator dings as the doors slide open in front of you. your bag weighs heavy on your shoulders as you walk past the same monotone doors you see everyday. you jump slightly when you notice someone pacing in front of your apartment door. their steps are hurried and small as they circle around.

your fear dissipates when you begin to recognize the figure as you approach. sunghoon stands with his hands buried deep into his pockets and a hood pulled up to conceal his identity as much as possible. “sunghoon?”

he startles when you call his name, turning to face you. dried tear streaks on his cheeks become visible when you approach. “y/n,” he whispers. his voice is quiet and small; as if he’s worried someone will hear him.

“hey,” you murmur. you wrap your arms around his waist as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. he grips the fabric of your hoodie tightly as he clings to you. you rub a gentle hand against his back, holding him tightly against your body. “come on,” you whisper, pulling away just enough so sunghoon has space to walk beside you. “let’s go inside.”

“right,” he sniffles. “sorry.”

“don’t be.” you wrap your arm around his waist as you guide him inside before clicking the light on. sunghoon wanders over to your couch, stiffly sitting down by the corner. you toss your keys and phone aside on your kitchen counter before walking over to sit beside him. you reach over, gently coaxing sunghoon closer to you once again. he curls into your arms almost immediately, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and hiding his face into your neck once again. “do you want to talk about it?” you whisper.

“it’s just…” sunghoon takes a shaky breath before shaking his head. “i had a bad day. i had a hard time with the choreography and then we had to record and…” he sighs. “it’s been a very long, very bad day.”

“okay honey,” you murmur. “do you need anything? a blanket? water?”

“just wanna lay here with you.“

“we can do that too.” you lean down to press a kiss against his forehead, continuing to rub a comforting hand against his back. “we can lay here and watch dramas and eat snacks all night until you fall asleep. does that sound good?”

sunghoon simply hums against you. the noise is muffled against your clothing, though you can just barely make it out. you bring your hand up to rake through the soft strands of his hair, twisting the strands between your fingers. he relaxes against you at the feeling. slowly, his breathing evens out until his eyes flutter closed.

“hoon,” you whisper. he shifts just enough to look up at you through half-lidded eyes. “come on. let’s go change and then we can lay down in bed together under the blankets. i’ll massage your shoulders and we can do your skincare. doesn’t that sound nice?”

sunghoon nods, sleepily letting you help him up. your arm remains tightly around his waist as you guide him to your bedroom. he all but collapses onto your bed, curling up over the covers. you stifle a chuckle, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead.

you tug your work uniform off quickly; discarding the scratchy fabric and jeans in favor of an old t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. you toss the dirtied clothes aside before returning to sunghoon’s side, rubbing a hand against his back. “sit up,” you instruct.

he sleepily lets you remove his jacket before you give him one of your shirts to wear - one of his favourites from your closet. it hands loosely off of his figure as he moves to lay underneath your blankets. you reach over, turning your tv on and switching the channel to play reruns of a random drama. the plot quickly is forgotten as sunghoon moves over to you, adjusting so his head is resting against your chest. you lean down to press a kiss against his forehead before tucking your chin over his head.

“i love you,” sunghoon lets out a content sigh as he whispers.

“i love you too,” you smile. you bring a hand up to brush through his hair, playing with the strands. “i’m glad you came to me today.”

sunghoon reaches over to grab your hand before intertwining your fingers together. he plays with your hands as he relaxes further into your hold. “i am too.”

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ashrodisiac · 1 year ago

Text

m. tokito x reader

Muichiro Tokito x Reader

˗ˏˋ ★ ANGST

˗ˏˋ ★ WARNING. MENTION OF SUIC*DE

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

˗ˏˋ ★ req: " HI ASH!! i loveee ur writing. anyways heres my request! mui angst! basically the reader confesses their love and he just shrugs it off or something like that and after that reader and mui stop talking to each other. when mui regains his memories again, his crow tells him bad news: y/n killed themself. SORRY IF THIS WAS WAY TOO SPECIFIC. THANKY WANKY! "

˗ˏˋ ★ Ash's Note: YAYYY tysm for the request!! <3 u love angst alot, huh? HAHAHA SRRY

im not vry proud of this tbh, but i hope you likey wikeyyy. tysm for requesting, dear reader! ily my sweet shortcake :3

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

"I like you." He was standing in front of you with his usual blank expression, no changes appearing at those three words you uttered. You, on the other hand, were blushing, screaming inside, had your face shielded to avoid eye contact. "Okay." you were stunned, confused. "Wh-what do you mean...?" "I said "okay". What other answers are there to respond to your confession?" he said in a stoic tone, blinking straight at you when you accidentally locked eyes. The red on your cheeks had dusted away, your heart that had been beating out of your chest now sinking in sorrow. "What?" he said in reply to your silence. "Are you too simple-minded to even understand?" You could barely see him anymore through the tears you held back in your eyes, which was probably better than having to see that this had absolutely no effect on him. "Are you crying?" he asked, crossing his arms, his long sleeves hanging heavily over his arms. "I'd rather leave you be, sulking in your own tears." then he turned away, not even throwing a glance over his shoulder as he left you, completely speechless, just as speechless as how you left him when his crow delivered the news that you had died. It was during a talk with Tanjiro when his crow bustled in, squawking like its life depended on it. Irritated by the interruption, he asked what it was for, and when the news reached his ears, told by the scratchy voice of a crow, he thought it was a joke. You and him hadn't been talking for what seemed about many, many months. You'd never crossed his mind ever since the day he left you there. Rare occasions were when you two caught each others' eye. Which, like mentioned, only happened rarely. He noticed the glint in your eye that you had slowly disappear each time every time it did happen. The way ever since you stopped talking to him, you stopped talking to everyone else. The way he would hear stories being tossed around that you were seen in life threatening situations, purposely trying to risk it all. And it looked like this attempt had worked. Everything else, all the sounds, yelling next to him, all the things he was supposed to be seeing blurred. He was split in two: Blaming you and himself.

"This is my fault. I was too harsh with her.

This is her fault. How is she so pathetic that she couldn't handle a simple rejection?"

But he regretted not saying what was at the back of his head, the other answer he could've replied with.

"I like you too, Y/n."

#demon slayer #muichiro #muichiro tokito #mui #muichiro angst #muichirou #muichirou tokitou #mui angst #kny #kny mui #demon slayer muichiro #muichiro x reader #muichiro tokito x reader

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chestcongestion · 8 months ago

Text

Crimson Wave: Ha//zbin Ho/tel

Warnings/ Content Tags: Mess, Menstruation, mentions of stomach pain but absolutely no emeto, Val/ent/ino being kind of a jackass, mild injury (no blood...associated with the injury, that is)

Word Count: 4,400

This was so fun to write, here's a fic of Ve/lve/tte coming down with a very throat and chest-heavy cold and having to go about her day while being completely unaware that she's on day one of her period. A lot of misery, a lot of shenanigans, but it pays off in the end...poor lady, I adore her and I apologize in advance for doing this to her. Hope you guys enjoy!

Beep- Beep- Beep!

Beep- Beep-!

Velvette dragged herself out of bed and hurriedly shut off the obnoxious alarm on her phone, blearily rubbing her eyes with both fists and yawning as she greeted the day bright and early at around 5:00.

Swinging her tiny legs out from underneath the covers, Velvette felt a harsh chill when the morning air and crisp air conditioning hit her bare legs and stomach, every last hair on her body standing on end as she fought back a small shiver.

“Mmm… here we go,” Velvette mumbled to herself- her voice still hoarse from sleep- before tugging off her silk bonnet and freeing her massive cloud of tight tri-color curls.

Velvette paused after planting both of her bare feet on the floor completely, attempting to recount the events of the night before because it felt like her body was attempting to warn her about something, everything felt… touchy… not quite right.

Looking down at her feet, Velvette scoffed upon seeing that her stomach was blocking her view, remembering the likely reason behind her waking up bloated. Last night, Valentino had been in one of his moods and invited Velvette out for a drink, leaving Vel to slurp her way through six cocktails while her pornographer “friend” sucked and fucked his sorrows away.

“Fuckin’ prick,” Velvette complained to herself after giving her body an unimpressed once-over, suddenly noticing the feathery tickle lingering in the back of her throat.

Velvette let out a small cough, attempting to scratch the itch in her pharynx so she could get on with her day.

The tickle remained, fluttering around almost teasingly in Velvette’s throat.

“Heght-hrmmm! Heght-hemm!” Velvette cleared her throat while drowsily reaching for the water bottle on her nightstand, taking a lengthy few swigs to try and drown the irritating sensation.

Velvette felt a pit opening in her stomach when the sips of water not only did fuck all to suffocate the tickle in her throat, but instead triggered a throbbing tenderness on top of it, a soreness that made Velvette nearly choke on her water as she mourned any idea of having a good day.

Taking a quick shower and taming her hair into a fluffy ponytail, Velvette tugged on a pair of white capri pants with black hearts on the pockets, groaning at the fact that she had to yank the fabric up over her thighs and feeling self conscious about how the waist of the pants clashed with her stomach.

“I-ihh’pshhuu! Ih’Psshhew!” Velvette sneezed, wiping her face with a watery sniffle as her ‘nose’ began to run, threatening to make a complete mess of her makeup, “Fuck’s sake- Hrrght-hrmm!- I am not in the mood to deal with a cold.”

Velvette pulled on a navy blue long-sleeved T-shirt that she matched with a desaturated pink baby tee over top. The outfit was a bit safe, but the layers guaranteed that no one would notice Velvette’s midriff troubles, and they’d keep any stray drafts of air from exacerbating her cold.

“Sitting under the AC with my belly out is probably how I got ill in the first place… Ih’pSsshIEW!... Damnit!” Velvette grumbled, letting out a hoarse, scratchy cough into her sleeve. In spite of her best efforts, Velvette’s voice was stuck in a sort of limbo, still sounding rough but not rough enough to make her cough.

Sitting in a draft was not the reason for Velvette’s illness, blame for that would belong to the impromptu makeout session she had with the busty succubus who’d been bartending that night, a makeout session that left Velvette with the succubus’s cough drop in her mouth. The cold air on her exposed chest and stomach still didn’t do her any favors, though.

After picking her accessories and grabbing her fully-charged phone, Velvette left her large bedroom in the penthouse and wandered into the kitchen to truly start her day, silently wincing at a nagging pain developing in her lower back.

“Good Morning, Velvette,” Vox greeted, taking a sip of his coffee as he thumbed through the newspaper with his other hand.

“Hiiii pequeñita, thank you for hanging out with me last niight,” Valentino greeted, very visibly still drunk, swirling a Carajillo in one of his hands.

“Oh piss off,” Velvette said, cringing at the croakiness of her voice and turning away from her colleagues to press a hand against her tender throat, “Hrrght-HRMM!”

“Awww, did you lose your voice?” Val said teasingly, dangerously close to falling off of his barstool as he swayed, “I’m ssurprised I didn’t lose mine… last night was wild.”

“I’m not- heght-hemm- fuck’s sake! I’m not talking to you right now,” Velvette hissed, struggling to open her large metal tumbler cup so she could make herself some tea, “I-Ihh’psShiEW!”

“Bless you,” Vox said, swiping his finger against the air and smirking as Velvette’s cup was magically filled with steaming hot Yorkshire Gold, plus two good squeezes of lemon juice and a few tablespoons of honey.

Velvette eagerly took a sip of her drink, melting against the counter as the warm liquid cascaded down her raw throat and briefly dampened the irritating tickle, “Thank you, Darling,” she said, licking her lips.

“Don’t mention it, anything for you, Doll,” Vox replied, shooting Valentino a brief glare before returning his attention to Velvette, “I take it someone wasn’t on his best behavior last night.”

“He was fine… same levels of annoying he usually is when he’s drunk- Ih…Ih’ptshh!- ‘scuse me… SnFF!,” Velvette said, “I’m just pissed cause now I have to go to this stupid meeting with a cold- Ihh…I-ihh… Ih’ptssShew!”

“Bless you,” Vox sighed, handing Velvette a travel package of tissues from his pocket.

“Thank you,” Velvette replied, her voice growing hoarse again as the incessant tickle started up again, “Heght-hrmm!...Eght-Hrmm!”

Vox’s gaze lingered on Velvette, sympathy in his eyes as she desperately fought back a cough, “I can go to the overlord meeting today if you aren’t feeling well, Velvette,” he offered.

“No!” Velvette scoffed, biting her lip as the throbbing pain in her lower back grew more intense, “I’m fine-” she let out a hoarse, violent cough when her voice faded at the end of her sentence, “Damnit! I need Angel in 45 minutes to take pictures for the lingerie line release, keep your filthy mitts off of him until then!”

“I make no promises, chiquita,” Valentino teased, smirking at Velvette until he was hit in the face by her hairbrush, “Ow!”

“Fuck you!” Velvette shouted, “You’re gonna make one today, arsehole!”

Velvette stomped out of the penthouse, still desperately clearing her hoarse throat, and leaving her two colleagues to finish their liquid breakfast in stunned silence.

“What a bitch,” Valentino scoffed, rubbing the brush-shaped red mark on his face.

“You’re the bitch, Val,” Vox replied, polishing off his coffee and folding up his newspaper before heading downstairs.

“You’re not wrong, Ha! I wear it loud and proud,” Valentino said with a tipsy giggle, struggling to get to his feet, only to slip on his own wings and slam back-first against the kitchen floor, “Fuck, I’m still wasted.”

An hour later, Velvette was leaning against a stool in her studio, struggling to conceal her reaction to the pain in her back that had somehow managed to wrap around to her stomach, when a familiar voice entered through the pink double doors.

“Hi Vel~ God, it’s nice to have some work to do where I get to keep my panties on for a change, eh?” Angel said, greeting Velvette with an eager wave, his jovial expression dropping when he saw the poorly-concealed misery on Velvette’s face, “You alright, Toots?”

“You’re late,” Velvette croaked, taking a swig of her tea.

Angel opened his mouth to speak-

“Not a word about my voice. I have a cold. Go get dressed, I have other shit to do today,” Velvette said, her voice a raspy hiss as she gestured towards the rack of lingerie up against the wall, coughing harshly into her fist when Angel was out of her sight, “Fuck me, I dunno if I’m gonna have any voice left for the meeting.”

Angel pulled on a pair of black leather lingerie with hot pink accents, draping himself across the bed that was brought into the studio as a prop.

“Hrrght-humm…” Velvette cleared her throat, taking a swig of her tea before looking at the scene with intense focus, turning to her assistant, “Turn off two of the lights and add warm color slides to the other ones.”

“Yes, Miss Velvette,” the assistant muttered, hurrying to go speak with the lighting director.

Velvette turned to face Angel, “Lean back against the pillow and make an ‘L’ shape with your legs, one knee should be up and the other one should be pointing to the right,” she instructed, watching Angel Dust carefully readjust his position, “Perfect! Gorgeous- someone tighten the back of the corset for him, please, the bigger and fuller his fluff looks in real life, the less editing I have to do.”

Feeling the tickle building to a crescendo at the top of her throat, as though someone was stroking her larynx with a feather, Velvette turned away to cough, and cough, and cough until she was red in the face and breathless, struggling to stand up straight after panting with her hands on her knees.

Wordlessly, Velvette’s assistant raced across the room and returned to her boss’s side with a glass of cold water, which Velvette eagerly chugged, handing the empty glass back and standing up straight.

“Not a fucking word from any of you knobheads, get back to work!” Velvette barked, “I-Ih’PSsCHEW! Ih’pSssHEW!”

Velvette blew her ‘nose’, gently dabbing at her nostrils with a tissue to wipe up the watery mess that kept threatening to trickle down her face, “This is a fucking disaster,” she muttered to herself, hearing the camera flash a few times and turning to direct Angel, “Alright, now lie on your back, pin one arm behind your head, two across your chest, and one across your pelvis so your fingers are draped over your crotch….yup, just like that, well done.”

An hour later, and the photo shoot is finished. Velvette watches Angel sashay out of her studio, and looks at the photos, hand-selecting which ones will be released to print and posted online.

“Good job everyone, thank you for being halfway competent for once,” Velvette announced, turning to muffle another annoyingly ticklish cough with her sleeve, frowning at her empty tumbler and turning to stare at one of the security cameras in the corner of the room, “Voooxxx- Heght-hrmm!- I know you’re watching, top me off, please?”

Velvette smirked when her cup felt warm in her hand again, Vox refilling it with a spontaneous swipe of his finger from his seat in his surveillance den, “Thank you, Darling,” she said, blowing a kiss to the camera and checking her phone, sighing and making her way to the overlord meeting in the Weapons District.

On her way downstairs to her car, Velvette stopped to lean against a wall, gently grabbing her bloated stomach as the dull pain that had been bothering her grew more intense. The throbbing pain in Velvette’s lower back was also still raging on.

“I swear to fuck if this ends up being the flu, I am going to choke Valentino with his own stupid wings,” Velvette grumbled through clenched teeth, gathering herself, giving her sore stomach a brief pat, and continuing to walk down the stairs.

One twelve minute car ride, three swigs of tea, and two irritated, itchy-sounding sneezes later, Velvette arrived at the Carmine Weaponry Distribution Center, taking the rear-entrance elevator to the top floor where the meeting room was located.

Walking through the double doors and taking her seat at the opposite end of the table, Velvette struggled not to shiver under the bitter chill of the air conditioning.

“What a pleasant surprise, Velvette, a member of your little cohort is on time for once,” Carmilla teased, smiling at Velvette with clasped hands, “I take it that you will be filling in for your colleagues again, today?”

Velvette, not wanting to waste what was left of her voice, and knowing that talking would only trigger the feathery tickle in her throat, simply took a sip of her tea and responded to Carmilla with a firm nod.

Carmilla gasped, “Are we keeping out brash childish opinions to ourselves today? My goodness, I couldn’t be more proud of you! Good girl,” she said, mockery flickering in her cold eyes.

“Up yours you wrinkly old cow,” Velvette hissed, turning away to cough, wincing at the crackle of congestion she could hear in her chest and throat as she coughed.

“Hmm, I spoke too soon,” Carmilla said with a sigh, “You’re free to catch up at the next meeting if you aren’t feeling well, Velvette.”

“Piss off, I’m fine,” Velvette replied, her voice noticeably croaky as she took a desperate sip of her tea.

“Very well then, we can get started,” Carmilla scoffed, tapping the stack of papers she had in front of her against her desk to straighten them out before beginning her usual pre-meeting diatribe.

The rest of the meeting seemed to coast by Velvette in a blur as she struggled to keep her sinuses from dripping by holding a tissue up to her nostrils, trying her hardest not to sniffle and make any noise. Her stomach hurt so much, and her back was so sore, and her throat was so itchy, Velvette was completely miserable and struggling to hide it.

Velvette was so preoccupied by her own misery that she didn’t even glance at her phone, nor did she notice the visible discomfort of the radio demon from two seats away every time she wiped at her nostrils or took a slightly-phlegmy inhale through her clenched teeth.

Eventually, about fifty minutes into the two-hour meeting, Velvette felt the nagging sensation of the tickle in her throat bubbling up to the surface. Not wanting to draw attention to herself, Velvette was determined to drown the sensation with a swig of her tea, only to remember that she had polished it off thirty minutes ago.

Velvette swallowed, bottling up a wince at the dull pain in the back of her pharynx, as the low rumble of phlegm in her chest threatened to turn into a coughing fit if she exhaled wrong.

‘Come on… don’t cough, don’t cough, don’t cough,’

“So, we would need to discuss territory agreements with some of the lesser overlords, but I think-”

Velvette coughed, a sharp, ticklish cough with a crackle of congestion in the background, something that Carmilla initially ignored, continuing her speech without missing a beat.

“-that we could definitely cede a bit of excess territory to lower ranking overlords for a price, that price would have to be negotiated of course but-”

Velvette coughed again, this one felt wetter and came from deeper in her chest and throat, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and she struggled to force the urge to cough back down.

“- I feel as though such an agreement could foster a better understanding between our two factions, seeing as we are a source of resentment for them, and they are a source of annoyance for us-”

Velvette devolved into a coughing fit, letting out cough after cough even as she grew breathless, desperately patting her chest with a splayed hand to knock the stubborn congestion loose.

Velvette’s eyes shimmered with shame-induced tears and her cheeks burned bright from the embarrassment of drawing so much attention to herself while she was so vulnerable, she coughed and coughed, hard enough that she could taste the phlegm that was inching up her windpipe. She was so preoccupied with her intense coughing fit, that Velvette didn’t feel a strange rushing sensation between her legs that seemed to occur after every second cough.

Eventually, after four minutes of non-stop hacking, Velvette spat a mass of phlegm into one of her last tissues, taking a deep inhale and struggling to clear the excess mucus from her throat, which hurt more than it had all day.

“Hrght-hrghtt-heght-hrmm!,” Velvette struggled, rubbing her throat with a manicured hand, “I’m sorry…” she said, her voice a hoarse, tattered whisper, “Didn’t mean to interrupt, I promise… I-iih’pshuu! Ih’pshhew!”

“I think maybe you should head home if things are too much for you, Velvette,” Carmilla said with a smirk, “I’ll have someone on my staff send the minutes from this meeting to Vox… even if he already has footage from my VoxTech security cameras.”

“Fine!” Velvette said, her voice still struggling as she clambered to her feet, placing a hand on her sore stomach and turning to storm out of the meeting room, only to be stopped by Rosie gently holding her wrist, “What is it?”

“Oh… I don’t wanna embarrass you, sweetie, but I think you’ve had a little accident,” Rosie whispered, “Your pants…”

Carmilla doubled over with laughter, falling to the floor with a thud as a few of the other sovereign overlords chuckled at the sight playing out before them- a bit of a juvenile reaction, but not unprompted.

Velvette turned to see what everyone found so funny, only to notice a massive bright red stain on the seat of her pants, with trails of red running down her white pant legs, and even bits of dried blood around her ankles.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, I’ve started my period,” Velvette hissed, clenching her fists and feeling her eyes start to water, the shame and embarrassment from bleeding through her white pants after having a coughing fit loud enough to distract everyone during the meeting, it was starting to be too much, and Velvette was sick of it, “Thank you for not laughing at m-me.”

“Oh don’t mention it, Honey, it happens to the best of us,” Rosie said, “They’ll forget this ever even happened, I promise, run on home… I hope you feel better.”

“Th-SnFF!- thank you,” Velvette whispered, her voice threatening to devolve into a hiccuping sob as she turned on her heels and ran out of the meeting room, one of her boots’ heels snapping off right as she approached the elevators, causing her to roll her ankle and collapse to the floor with a loud Crack!

“Oww! Fuck!” Velvette sobbed, her larynx straining as she struggled and failed to blink back her tears, ruining her eyeliner and mascara as they cascaded down her face in dark trails, gathering beneath her chin and rolling down her neck. Slowly returning to her feet, Velvette let out a hoarse cough and limped into the elevator, her sobs audible even behind the thick metal doors.

Back at the Vees’ penthouse on top of the VoxTech Enterprises skyscraper, Valentino- finally sober after a long nap- was combing out the fur on his neck while Vox looked through the month’s sales statistics on his tablet, when suddenly the double doors of the apartment’s entrance swung open.

“Oh, you’re back, did the meeting end early?” Vox asked, briefly glancing at the clock on his table to check the time.

“No- SnFF!- Carmilla sent me home, because I kept-” Velvette paused, her breath catching on a particularly sharp exhale and devolving into a heavy, wet, productive cough, “-that… I kept doing that.”

Vox set down his tablet and gestured for Velvette to come closer, placing a firm hand on Velvette’s back and feeling the rumble of congestion under his fingertips, “This cold sounds like it’s settling in your chest,” he sighed, giving Velvette’s back a firm pat, “I’ll get you some decongestant and cough syrup, don’t worry.”

Velvette pushed away from Vox after she felt a gushing sensation between her legs, her stomach churning as she felt disgusting and dirty, desperate to clean up before the dripping managed to reach below her ankles, “Fuck off, I don’t need your help,” she sniffled, her voice still a raspy mess as she tried to hide her tears.

Vox looked at Velvette’s shaky form and drew his focus on the fashion designer’s heavily bruised and wobbly left ankle, “Oh my god, Velvette, did you hurt yourself? What happened to your leg?” he asked, reaching down to scoop Velvette into his arms, only for her to back away, kicking him with her injured leg to keep him at a distance.

“No! Don’t fucking touch me!” Velvette snapped, wincing intensely when she tried to put weight on her left leg again, “Oww! Bollocks!”

Unable to cope with the pain in her leg, throat, stomach, and back all hitting her at once, Velvette collapsed onto the floor, desperately rubbing her injured ankle and breathing shakily through clenched teeth, nothing could make this moment any worse.

“Shit, what’s gotten into you, Vel? You on your period or something?” Valentino joked, snickering as he shot Velvette a playful glance in between strokes, still combing out his fluffy white mane.

Velvette ripped off her other boot, throwing it at Valentino with murderous rage, “Yes!” she shouted, her voice cracking and threatening to fade, “Heght-eght-hemm!”

Vox noticed the mess of blood on Velvette’s pants, and bit his tongue, his heart throbbing as he thought about what to do next.

“I’m bloated, mby stomach hurts, mby back hurts-” Velvette paused, swallowing her saliva and wincing at the throbbing pain in her throat, “- mby throat is so sore I can barely swallow because of this stupid cold and this stupid cough, and this stupid day!”

Vox bit down tighter on his tongue as Velvette silently burst into tears, her mascara running hopelessly down her face and staining her possibly fever-flushed cheeks as she struggled to contain herself.

“I’mb so tired… and I bled through mby trousers- mby white fucking trousers- at the stupid meeting and everyone saw and they all laughed at me,” Velvette whispered, unable to raise her voice any more as she swiped hopelessly at her mascara-stained tears, “I feel disgusting and achy and I’m fucking starving but my throat is too sore to eat anything, and you stupid fuckers think it’s hilarious! I hate you!”

Vox quietly sat down next to Velvette on the floor, leaning over to give his colleague and dearest friend a tight hug, gently rubbing her upper back, “It’s okay… I’m so sorry, Velvette,” he whispered, swiping horizontally against the air with his index finger and smiling as he stood up- gently pulling Velvette back onto her feet with him.

“I just want to go to bed,” Velvette whispered, rubbing her throat with one hand and massaging her throbbing stomach with the other.

“Not yet,” Vox said, “If you head into your bathroom there’s a nice hot bubble bath waiting for you, I’ll have your pants laundered immediately to get the stains out, and I think the steam from the bath will loosen up some of that congestion in your chest.”

Velvette let loose a crackling wet cough into her sleeve, wiping away her tears, “Th-thank you,” she whispered, “Ih…ih’psshew…’Pshhew!... I’m losing my voice…”

“I know, I know, I’ll make sure there’s a big pot of hot tea with honey and lemon for you when you get out of the bath, aaand some death by chocolate brownies,” Vox said with sincere, kind eyes.

“Mkay… I’b gonna go wash off now… Ih’psshew!” Velvette said in her croaky whisper of a voice, biting her lip to work through the pain and half-hopping, half-limping her way to her bathroom.

Once Velvette had left the room, Vox rolled up his newspaper from earlier and smacked Valentino in the back of the head.

“Ow! What the hell did I do?!” Valentino whined.

“ ‘Euhh, what are you on your period or something?!’ Really?! Are you fifteen years old?!” Vox snapped, smacking Valentino a second time, “You’re the reason she’s sick to begin with, don’t be a sexist pig! I can’t believe I’m the one saying this to you of all people!”

“Ow! Okay, okay, I’m sorry!” Valentino whined, cowering behind his arms to avoid being hit a third time.

“You’d better be!” Vox said, dropping his newspaper and rolling his eyes, “The trouble you manage to get into, I swear…”

An hour and a half later, Velvette was relaxed on the penthouse sofa in front of the TV, curled up in a pair of fleece pajama pants with hearts on them and a navy blue sweatshirt.

“Feeling better?” Vox asked, leaning over the back of the sofa and moving a few strands of Velvette’s freshly-washed hair out of her face.

“Mmhm,” Velvette mumbled, her voice still practically gone, “Thank you again, this is nice… I-ihh…Ih’pshhew!”

“Bless you,” Vox said, “You worked so hard today, you deserve some rest.”

“I couldn’t imagine a better way to relax… doped up on Sloth Ring painkillers, warm blanket, tea, and an HD DVD box set of the seasons of Sherlock that aired after I died,” Velvette whispered, taking a slow sip of her tea before setting it back down on the coffee table, “This is amazing.”

“Anything for you, Velvette, anything for you,” Vox replied, “I’ve told your employees that they can use this hiatus to catch up on any work they’ve been slacking on- on reduced pay, of course- that way you don’t have to worry about keeping up with your schedule until you get your voice back.”

“Yaaay,” Velvette cheered, her voice hushed as she shifted her position slightly, readjusting her swollen ankle so that it sat better on the pillow and ottoman that were propping it up, “Vox… when you’re finished supervising the TV station, will you come back up to watch with me?”

“Of course, I’ll bring back dinner, too, just text me what you want, okay?” Vox asked, gently pressing his screen against Velvette’s left cheek- similar to the way cats push their heads against the legs or torsos of humans they’re fond of.

“Okay,” Velvette replied, stretching out with a raspy yawn before getting even more comfortable under her blanket, struggling to keep her eyes open, “I think I’m gonna take a nap… see you later tonight, Vox.”

“See you then, Velvette,” Vox replied, leaving the room and listening to the echoey rumble of Velvette’s congested snoring from behind the closed doors, breathing a sigh of relief, “God, I’ve never been happier to have a penis… that looks like torture.”

A bit crass… but he’s certainly not wrong.

#ha/zb/in ho/tel #illness kink #whump #gingey.rtf

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dinoplantsghost · 4 months ago

Text

pairing: Tom Riddle x fem! original character

warning(s): tom is a warning in itself, 1940s: time-accurate prejudice, violence: t0rture (Cruciatus Curse), teenage behavior: drama and language, mentions of weed

word count: ~6383

Disclaimer: I have a huge google doc that holds all of my drafts and I'm quite literally just copypasting everything, so if there are any typos/errors, no there isn't!! :)

-- this chapter is so goofy, i've been holding off posting this one because of a summer assignment that i just finished

Chapter List

Plans, Delusions, and Yappers [5]

“Look, she’s back at it again.”

“She’s embarrassing me, she needs to stop…”

Miles, with a teasing smile, patted Orion’s back as the boy pressed his forehead against the wooden table, his cousin’s scratchy voice digging into everyone’s ears as she attempted to intimidate the new girl after class.

It was 16:45. DADA had finished 15 minutes ago, and students were left with about an hour and a half before their last class of the evening. While it was implemented for students to catch up on work, many used it to talk amongst themselves in the classroom.

Orion’s cousin, Walburga Black, had a reputation for screaming. She had many suitors, as well as many enemies—ones that she made herself with her bad attitude. Orion explained it as her parents’ coddling her since birth. One thing she was known for was her obsession with the boys she fancied—with Tom Riddle being her ultimate infatuation.

It wasn’t surprising, though. Many girls had attempted to win the boy over. Letters, boxes of chocolates, even love potions were sent to him on the daily, annoying his followers whenever they would find a new object at the foot of their dorm entrance. A common theory is that Tom wasn’t attracted to girls at all, but of course anyone who voiced that opinion would be left with scratches on their face by infuriated, hormone-driven girls.

“I heard how you hurt Tom,” Whined Walburga, arms crossed as she stood in front of a startled Saoirse. “I heard he could have died! What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Well, he didn’t die,” Saoirse shrugged. “He’s right there. I’m sure he can take care of himself, whatever your name is.”

Pointing to the boy in one of the higher rows, Saoirse went back to writing notes, until Walburga snatched the parchment from underneath, her quill digging into the pulp and ripping a tear in the middle.

“He could have,” she cried. “And my name is Walburga! Walburga Black!”

As the girl spit in Saoirse’s face, garnering the attention of the entire class—Professor Merrythought was long gone in her office—the boys in the upper rows watched with intrigue.

“Why is she yelling,” Orion groaned, on the verge of ripping his black locks off his scalp. “I don’t want to write to my Mum again, Yule Break is going to be filled with gossip and I hate it.”

“Speaking of writing,” Miles said, turning to lean in close to Tom. “I wrote to my mother, like you asked. I got the same results; she knows nothing. She’s getting irritated by it, so I don’t think I should be asking her anything anytime soon.”

Tom huffed, his nostrils flaring as he glanced up from his book. “Then help Abraxas and Orion with their task.” He uttered, drooping his head back down away from the rest of the world.

Miles caught his words on his tongue, hands waving as he looked at the other two in question. Abraxas pressed his lips together in a line, gathering all his energy before standing up. “I have an idea about what he wants.” He sighed, pulling Orion and Miles with him as they walked down the steps between the rows of seats.

“Tom said to keep her close,” Abraxas said. “And I assume he means to befriend her. He doesn’t make sense sometimes.”

“Tell me about it.” Miles nodded; his eyes wide. “He’s literally been asking me to do the same thing for months, and he thinks Merlin is going to bless us with a different answer; he’s just lucky my Mum likes him.”

“He never gives me anything to do,” Orion said quietly. “It makes me wonder if he likes me at all; I don’t know what I’m doing in the Inner Circle. Last night was the first thing I’ve been tasked with in a while–and we didn’t find a bloody thing.”

The three boys stood behind Walburga’s own posse. “Well, you’re our orator; we’re putting your smooth talking to work, mate.” Abraxas said.

“We’re all orators; we’re blue-blooded, ‘Brax.” Sassed Orion.

Waving a hand, Abraxas coughed in his fist before shoving the girls to the side, Miles doing the same with a happy smile on his two-tones lips. “Excuse me, ladies, hot men coming through.”

“What do you three want?” Walburga asked, hands on her hips as she glared at her cousin and his friends.

“Cousin, you need to stop with these dramatic debacles,” Orion frowned. “I don’t want to write to my mother again; you’re embarrassing.”

Walburga scoffed. “You wouldn’t understand; you’ve never been in love.” She made a face, her eyes scanning the three boys in front of her. “Unless you’re here to save the girl. Surely not, right?”

“No,” he stiffened. “Why would that cross your mind, that’s not—look, just stop yelling. Tom doesn’t need someone to ‘stand up for him’ if that’s what you think you’re doing.”

Miles and Abraxas nodded. “Yeah, and to be honest, Tom doesn’t like you at all—he thinks you’re annoying.” The boy with dark skin said, happy to see the hurt look on the girl’s face.

“You’re wrong, I’ve been getting to him! Just the other day, I made him flustered by the way I caressed his arm.”

The boys coughed. That was the night of their first meeting of the week. He hated the way she touched him. He came into the Room of Requirement with a green, sickly face.

“That’s not what happened.” Laughed Miles. “But anyways, we’re done talking to you.” He pushed Walburga to the side, unaware of his strength as she fell to the ground.

“Saoirse,” Abraxas said, getting the attention of the girl with blue hair. “Do you happen to have the notes from today’s lesson? Miles and Eloise were bothering the rest of us during class.”

The bespectacled girl looked up, “Why don’t you ask for notes from Riddle? Aren’t you friends with him?”

Before Abraxas got a word out, Orion blurted out: “Yes, but he’s been in a bad mood lately. We just thought we’d ask you since word’s been going around that you have really good marks.”

“Also,” sang Miles. “A friend of ours has what we like to call a ‘crush’ on you. The boy with the pepper hair and glasses—the nerdy one.”

Following the finger Lestrange held out, Saoirse turned around to see the boy in question with his head down, a quill of black tufts wiggling around with each letter and word he wrote. Sensing the pairs of eyes staring in his direction, he looked up, his blue orbs locking with her jade ones before his cheeks turned pink.

“Why does he want to crush me?” Saoirse asked, concern on her face as the three Slytherins in front of her laughed.

“No, what Miles meant is that Patrick likes you,” explained Abraxas. “He wants to get to know you, with the intention of starting a romantic relationship rather than a platonic friendship.”

Scratching her head, Saoirse cursed mentally at how confusing English euphemisms and idioms were. “I could talk to him,” she said boldly. “A boy’s never been interested in me; I want to know what that’s like.”

As the girl stood up to pack up her belongings, the boys stood with open mouths. They didn’t expect her to go along with it. Miles was only joking, after all. “You, you want to talk to him, right now?” Miles asked, leaning against the backs of the two boys in front of him. “That’s nice of you and all, but I don’t think that’s necessary—”

“No, I want to,” she said, putting on her crossover satchel. “You can lead the way up the stairs.”

The boys led in silence, throwing each other glances as the girl followed them from behind.

As they made their way to the top, the others in the group did a double take, with Eloise yelling out in surprise for a moment. “What is this,” he cried. “How did you get the pretty girl here? Did she finally realize how amazing I am—wait where is she going?” He frowned, gasping when he watched the girl tap Patrick on the shoulder.

“Excuse me,” she said quietly. “Your friends told me that—I apologize if I say this incorrectly—you have a crush on me. I would like to entertain your feelings.”

Patrick, his scribbles coming to a halt as he looked up to see sparkling jade in his vision. Her looks were a fresh breeze among the muddle beauties in west Europe. Like the moon, only a lucky few truly understood the beauty she held. However, unlike the moon, her beauty was her own, not something that is borrowed from another source. Patrick would spend all his time staring at the moon if he could. Seeing Saoirse made him appreciate Astronomy class a bit more.

“Who told you I fancied you?” He mumbled, his fast heart stopping the moment he heard the laughter of Miles, Abraxas, and Eloise, with Louis and Orion smiling as well.

“That Lestrange boy told me,” Saoirse said, her lip wavering in a smile. “But I came here on my own accord; I don’t usually see eyes like yours. They’re pretty—like the ocean.”

Meanwhile, Eloise was punching Miles on the arm as Patrick moved his belongings to the floor to make room for the girl to sit next to him. “How could you do this to me?” He cried. “I can’t be losing her to that nerd—all he ever talks about are those books he has, he’s going to bore her to death!”

“I don’t think so,” Louis laughed. “Look; they’re both smiling at his book. It sucks to be you, Avery.”

“You can’t be saying anything,” huffed Eloise. “Especially since you don’t get any girls. At this rate, I’m starting to think you’re one of those homosexuals or something.”

Before Louis could get a word out, Eloise left the group to join his other Slytherin friends on the other side of the room. “I’m sure he’s just joking, man,” Orion said. “You know how he is; don’t let it get to you. His pride is a wee, fragile thing.”

Nodding, Rosier smiled at his friends tight-lipped, silently appreciating the way Miles patted his back.

“They wouldn’t get it at all,” muttered the curly haired boy. “You’re a good guy; Cassius is just too dumb to realize it. It’ll get through his thick, empty head eventually.”

Louis sighed, tugging at the elastic in his hair. “Yeah, sure.” He ran a hand through his yellow strands. “Cassius doesn’t even like guys, anyways, Miles, who are we joking?”

“Come on, man, don’t say that,” stressed his friend. “That’s some weird brain you have, Louis. My gut tells me that Cassius feels some type of way for you—something definitely not friendly in any way; he calls you Rose for Merlin’s sake, that means something, yeah?”

At the mention of the nickname, Louis’ cheeks turned pink. “I guess so, but he only says that because we’re best friends. We knew each other before we could walk.”

Miles scoffed. “No one else gets to call him Cass’, and he gets mad whenever we try to call you Rose. Don’t be dumb, Louis.”

Orion leaned back, throwing himself into the conversation again. “Hey, did we ever figure out what her blood status is? I would hate Patrick to fancy her if she weren’t a Pureblood.”

The other two looked at each other, the previous conversation vanishing the moment someone else joined their exchange. “Does that really matter,” Miles asked. “I thought we were going to—you know—after we got what we needed from her.”

“I thought that was a last resort type of thing, was it not?” Louis said, his confusion synonymous with his friends’.

Plans never went well with the Knights of Walpurgis. Even before Tom joined their group—when they were younger and much more naïve. Whenever they would hang out, they could never consolidate their plans for the day, and it eventually left them stuck in a garden or in a forest behind the manor they were at for the time being.

Orion sighed, looking back to Patrick and Saoirse, who were happily chatting away about whatever the boy had in his book. “Merlin’s balls, we’re fucked.”

┌────── ⋆☆⋆ ──────┐

23:47 - Astronomy

The night was sparkling as usual, the wind chipping away at Patrick’s lungs every time his chest would take in a breath. Somehow, for whatever reason, Professor Jensen paired him up with Saoirse. He had to stand next to the girl for three hours until class ended at 1:00. Patrick was sure he was going to die by the end of it.

“I’ve never seen these constellations before,” Saoirse muttered, her eye pressed against the telescope. “This star is usually connected to this star—the Rigel. We call it Heike-boshi; it represents the war between two clashing families.”

Patrick could only nod, his mind too drunk on the scent of jasmine and sandalwood drowning his nose. “Well, we call that star Betelguese,” he cleared his throat, his stomach flipping as he moved closer to write down on the chart they were given. “The red one; it connects to Alnilam and Bellatrix. We call that constellation Orion’s Belt.”

Saoirse made a sound of wonder, removing her face from the telescope to rub the red circle around her eye. “When I was younger, my mother used to tell me stories about the stars.”

Patrick smiled, taking the telescope from her to look at the stars on his own. “What’s your family like? I’m sure they’re wonderful, considering how great you turned out.”

“That’s an overstatement,” blushed Saoirse. “I don’t really talk to my parents all that much anymore. I haven’t gotten a letter from them since I started school; Mahoutokoro usually takes children in at the age of eleven, but some join as early as seven. The only letter I’ve gotten from them was when I got expelled, and that was only a couple of days ago.”

The boy frowned, setting the telescope to the side as he looked over to the girl. “That’s really brutal,” he adjusted his glasses, “Why don’t they talk to you? Is it a magic thing? I know that some Muggleborns and Half-bloods don’t talk to their parents for religious reasons.”

“No, that’s not it; I’m a Pureblood. I never knew why they stopped talking to me. It never crossed my mind to ask, actually.”

“Well, whatever the reason, I think it’s good you don’t have them in your life; it wouldn’t be fun having people who don’t like you micromanaging your every move and whatnot.”

Saoirse laughed, “Are you speaking from experience?”

Her laugh made Patrick’s stomach explode. “A little bit,” He shrugged. “Being a Pureblood in Europe is kind of brutal, especially since my family is part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight; it’s some elitist group and it’s not worth knowing in my opinion. You have to present yourself in a certain fashion; know this, be discouraged from that. It’s all a bunch of rubbish, really…”

Saoirse nodded. She opened her mouth to respond, but the professor announced that class was about to end. “It doesn’t feel like we’ve been here for three hours.” She muttered.

“Time goes by faster when you’re enjoying yourself.” Patrick said, his frames covering the dust of pink and red on his skin.

As they packed up, picking up pens and other instruments, their hands brushed against each other every now and then, almost purposefully. For once Patrick didn’t mind that his friends dragged him into their shenanigans.

“Hey, Quidditch season started not too long ago,” he started, adjusting his satchel on his shoulder. “I was wondering if you wanted to watch the first match with me? It’s on the first Saturday of November; it’s Slytherin vs. Hufflepuff, and even though I’m not on the team, I know enough to teach you the rules.”

Saoirse smiled, nodding at the boy. “Sure, I’d like that.”

As the two departed, Patrick left the girl with weak legs, his heart beating out of his chest. Fumbling to clean his fogged up glasses, a pair of Oxford shoes filled his blurry vision. Looking up, he recognized the fuzzy figure as Tom.

“Nott,” he said, a frown apparent on his face the moment Patirck put his glasses back on. “Walk with me.”

The commute back to the Slytherin common room was quiet, Patrick’s heart still beating out of his chest out of fear rather than anxiety.

“What did the girl say to you?” Tom asked.

A breath fell from his nose as he replied, “She’s a Pureblood, and she doesn’t have a good relationship with her parents; that’s all she told me. I was going to ask about spells, but class ended not long before.”

Tom nodded. “Despite that information being useless, you obtained more than the other three, and Avery who is supposedly infatuated with her; good job.”

Patrick fumbled a ‘thank you’ from his thin lips, unfamiliar with the boy’s praise. Tom left him by the Slytherin entrance in the dungeons, turning the corner to begin his Prefect rounds for the night.

Heaving out a large sigh, the Austrian entered the common room, his feet dragging him up the left staircase that wrapped around the humongous statue of Salazar Slytherin in the middle of the room. Opening the door to his shared dorm, he rubbed his tired eyes and kicked his shoes off, his satchel falling to the floor before he fell to his duvet. He groaned, gaining the attention of the three boys he’s shared a dorm with for the last four years: Orion, Miles, and Eloise.

“You okay, mate?” Miles asked, his body lounged on the carpet near his bed.

“I think I asked Saoirse on a date,” he mumbled, his neck and ears steaming and his cheeks burning red. “And she said yes…”

Eloise, who was playing Wizards Chess with Orion, gripped the board before slamming his castle into the offensive position. “You’re joking,” he yelled. “You have to be bloody joking, Patrick—how?”

“I don’t know, it just slipped out of my mouth; I asked her to watch the opening Quidditch game with me that’s in two weeks—I’m fucking screwed!”

Orion laughed, unable to focus on the chess game in front of him. “And what did Tom think about that? Is he mad that you’re having fun with her?”

Patrick sat up, his peppered hair a mess and his glasses toppled on his nose. “I forgot to mention that part to him; I only told him that she said she was Pureblood and that she doesn’t like her mum and dad.”

“She’s a Pureblood?” Miles gasped, his chin propped in his palm and his feet swaying in the air behind him. “Oh, you got lucky, Patrick; I’m so proud of you!”

“I’m not,” scowled Eloise. “This bastard doesn’t even know how to dress for a date—a date that’s a school Quidditch match, mind you!”

His face was as red as his hair, his hand haphazardly throwing his pawn away. Orion shrugged, using this to take the game and gain an easy check. “I don’t know why you’re so offended, El’,” he said. “You don’t actually like Saoirse, do you?”

“Well—no,” he scoffed. “But I haven’t had a girl in a while and Patrick single handedly gained the prettiest one I’ve seen since Gemma Nettles from Gryffindor.”

“Gemma Nettles graduated two years ago.” Miles commented, to which Eloise cried out dramatically in response.

“Exactly!”

┌────── ⋆☆⋆ ──────┐

The following two weeks passed by, each day causing more and more butterflies to develop in Patrick’s stomach. He lost sleep, tossing and turning at the endless possibilities for disasters to take place at the game. His glasses could be crooked, the Quaffle could fly and hit his face, hit her face; Hell, a bloody Bludger could come and hit both of them!

Every time he saw her during class, he hated it. He never met a girl as academic as she was, not in the way others were at Hogwarts; she was different. He was lucky he only saw her a few times throughout the week. Astronomy class had to be his favorite, though. Professor Jensen, bless that man, decided to keep the pairs permanent for the rest of the school year, meaning he had three hours of Saoirse to himself, for four days out of the entire week.

Of course, Tom would ruin it the moment class was over, demanding for a ‘status report’ as he always called it. Truth be told, Patrick had been avoiding the questions he needed to ask her; he lied to Tom, saying that Saoirse was very tight-lipped and would always change the subject. She always had something interesting to say, whether it be something Patrick already knew or something new entirely; he just loved hearing her talk.

Her voice; it was probably Patrick’s favorite thing about her. Whenever she would speak in her mother tongue, trying to teach Patrick some things in their spare time, she was like a siren. She would lure him in with her voice, her melodic tones as she kept her voice down to a mere whisper, tingles teasing his back and his ears.

Her lips were pretty too, in his mind. They were very plush and pink; it always reminded him of a bunny’s nose. For once, he wondered what it would feel like to have them pressed against his.

He found himself thinking about her almost obsessively with how he started to pick up romance books for the sake of imagining her in those scenarios. He had to hide those books under his pillow, of course, as he wouldn’t see the light of day if his friends ever found him reading about a domestic life and two cats.

When Sunday finally came, the first of November, he balanced on the balls of his feet as he waited near the Ravenclaw Tower, the bronze eagle head keeping him company on the door. Even with all the winter clothing he had on, he felt a cold sweat coming. He was a nervous wreck, to say the very least.

‘What if she sees stains on my clothes?’ He whined, a frown on his face as he watched people in blue leave the tower one by one.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour, Saoirse’s voice hit his ears, like a feather bouncing on a fluffed up pillow. “Sorry, I didn’t expect it to be this cold; I had to change into something warmer.”

Looking down at the shorter girl, he was glad the cold had something to do with his flushed cheeks. Her face was covered up with her blue and bronze scarf, a puffball situated on the top of her head from her winter beret. Her hair, brighter than any blue she was wearing, was in disarray underneath all the yarn.

“Are you okay? You look like you’re suffocating under all that clothing, Schatzi.” He smiled, his fingers finding their way to her beret to readjust it on her head.

His mother always told him that women liked having special names specifically for them; he recalled how often her face got red whenever his father called her sein hase. He always liked how German terms sounded over English ones.

“Schatzi,” Saoirse echoed, her accent jumbling her voice as she tilted her head to the side. “What does that mean?”

Patrick shook his head, too embarrassed to explain now that he had the confidence to say it to her face. “It’s nothing, Saoirse; don’t worry about it.”

Being the courteous boy he was raised to be, he offered an arm, his smile growing when Saoirse took it. “In Quidditch, there are two teams with seven players each.” He explained, leading Saoirse out the castle and down to the Quidditch pitch in the grass. “There are three Chasers, two Beaters, one Keeper, and one Seeker. Chasers focus on a ball that’s called a Quaffle, and the Keeper has to make sure it doesn’t go into their team’s goals. The Beaters focus on the Bludger; it’s a mean ball that attacks the Chasers. And finally, the Seeker has to look for the Snitch. If the Seeker catches the Snitch, the game ends and their team gets one-hundred-and-fifty points.”

Saoirse nodded, her eyes squinting as the heavy winds chilled her skin. “I think I know that game, Japan has a National Quidditch team, I believe.”

“Really? That’d be good to mention to my friends—most of them are on Slytherin’s team. Orion is the captain and Keeper, Cassius and Louis are the Beaters, Abraxas and Miles are Chasers, and Eloise is the Seeker.”

“Who’s the other Chaser?” Saoirse asked.

“Some seventh year. Orion will have to hold tryouts for that position next time—that is, if the guys keep their positions into our sixth year.”

When the pair made it to the stands, Patrick made it his mission to have an iron grip on the girl’s hand, afraid of losing her in the tough crowds of Slytherin as they yelled across to the students in yellow who were equally as passionate and loyal to their respective team. Patrick led Saoirse through the green, eventually moving to wrap his arm around her as they navigated towards a certain spot the boy was trying to find.

“There you are,” Patrick said, sighing as he sat down next to his fellow bookworm. “I was worried you got so bored of the game that you decided to sit this one out, Riddle.”

Saoirse looked on with surprised eyes to see Tom sitting in the stands, his usual pout evident amongst the loud cheers and swears of his peers. When he looked up from his book, he looked equally surprised to see her holding Patrick’s hand.

“What are you doing here?” He asked.

“Patrick asked me to join him for the evening. What are you doing here?” She asked, returning his question as she sat close to the Austrian boy.

“Riddle has to be at every game, to make sure people don’t go crazy in the stands.” Patrick explained.

“Good evening, ladies and gents’,” yelled a voice, the crowds screaming at the top of their lungs. “Welcome to the first Quiddtich match of 1942! My name is Tracy Mayfield—fifth year Ravenclaw—and today I am accompanied by my good buddy, a seventh year Hufflepuff—one of the very few Americans on campus—give it up for: Eugene Griffin!”

“Good evening, everyone! I hope you’re all doing mighty fine on this very windy day. With us, we of course have mister Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore! A long name for an awfully old man—hm? ‘Just get on with the match’? Okay!”

Saoirse, recognizing those names, tugged on Patrick’s sleeve. “I know those two boys; they checked up on me when I was in the Hospital Wing a couple weeks ago.”

“Really? Even that Eugene guy?” Patrick frowned. “I heard bad things about him—my friend, Eren, said that he’s kind of on ‘active duty’—promiscuous, if you will. He’s not someone you should be around, and that includes whoever he’s friends with.”

“Tracy was really nice, though, and so was Ava-Lynn from Gryffindor.” Argued Saoirse.

“People aren’t always what they seem, mein schatzi.”

The girl pouted, her shoulders sagging as she huffed. Turning back to the field, she held onto her beret as stripes of green and gray filled her vision.

“There they are folks,” yelled Tracy. “The Slytherin Quidditch team, and their leader Orion Black! Always so poised and quiet, that boy.”

Eugene screamed, his lanky figure almost halfway off the spectator’s tower. “And there’s my house’s team, led by the absolute beauty of a girl, Annabeth Clearwater! You know folks, Tracy and I made a nasty bet for this match—20 Galleons is a lot for me, guys, please win!”

In his microphone, Eugene coughed. “Fuck—Professor don’t elbow me like that…yeah, yeah, it’s not gambling, sir, I promise. I don’t even know what gambling is! No, I don’t use it for weed—why, do you have some?”

The game blitzed past Saoirse, the impact of the teams’ brooms whipping by the stands causing her to hide her face in Patrick’s arm the entire time—not that he minded. Luckily she was able to keep a mental image of the game with Tracy and Eugene’s commentary, along with Patrick’s since the other boys would get off topic, especially Eugene.

Within the next hour, the two teams were neck-and-neck, with Hufflepuff having 20 more points than the snake team, who was at 190 points. With the high energy swirling around the pitch, both Patrick and Saoirse were on their feet, hands clasped against one another as they yelled and complained every time someone on Slytherin’s team gained a foul of some sort.

Tom, on the other hand, held his book in rigid fingers, his knuckles white with fury every time he was bumped in the back or shoulder. It especially didn’t help since Patrick, someone he knew—or at the very least thought he knew—was quiet, now wasting his voice on a stupid bloody game, with a stupid bloody girl.

He knew he lied; he knew Patrick wasn’t telling him everything Saoirse told him. The boy wasn’t the best liar in all honesty. Despite the valuable information the girl held, she wasn’t worth losing a follower over. All of this goopy, lovey-dovey feelings his researcher had developed was turning his sharp mind into mush. Tom would be having a conversation with Patrick soon enough.

“Oh, and there you have it, folks! Slytherin wins with three-hundred-and-thirty points!” Yelled Tracy, his voice wavering as he was shaken by his tall friend beside him. “Suck it, Eugene, I won the bet—no, we don’t get to split, you stupid piece of—”

“We won!” Laughed Saoirse, her glasses lopsided as she jumped to wrap her arms around Patrick’s neck in a fit of emotions.

His nose was engulfed in her jasmine and sandalwood scent, slowly but surely buried itself in cerulean strands of hair. “Yeah, we won,” he chuckled, his hand going to her upper back. “You have a lot of Slytherin pride to be a Ravenclaw, you know.”

“I don’t think I would mind being a snake.” Muttered Saoirse, pulling away from their embrace, much to Patrick’s disappointment.

As the two made their way down the stands, with Tom dragging his feet in tow, they congratulated the Slytherin team on winning the first game, a sign of good luck for the rest of the season.

For once, Saoirse enjoyed being around loud people, despite how sweaty they were when they pulled her into the group hug they shared. In all of her life, she never laughed this much before; Mahoutokoro was never a place for laughter, after all.

The group made their way to the locker rooms, with Eloise, Miles, Abraxas—and to Saoirse’s surprise, Orion, all sang boisterously with their arms hooked together as they skipped their way across the field.

“Saoirse,” a voice said, the figure tapping on the girl’s shoulder. “I need to talk to you for a second.”

Turning around, Saoirse looked up to see Eugene staring down at her.

“You can talk to her later, she’s busy.” Said Patrick, his eyebrows set in a scrunch as he pulled Saoirse gently by the wrist.

“Please, I just need to ask a question—it’s about Ava-Lynn.”

“Patrick,” Saoirse said softly. “I think I’ll be fine, don’t worry; I’ll find you later, okay?”

With a smile, the girl slipped out of the boy’s grasp, walking back out into the middle of the field to speak to the Hufflepuff.

“Have you spoken to Lee lately,” Eugene asked. “I kind of got into an argument with her a week ago, and I haven’t seen her since.” He sighed, his hand disappearing behind his neck.

The two sat down in the grass, the cold sending chills up Saoirse’s body as the dew drops made contact with her shins.

“Usually I would talk to Tracy about this, but he talks to her frequently so…but basically she led me on, I have no other ways to describe it other than that. For weeks, I put everything into her—into us, what we could have been; I was just waiting on her, and I’m just starting to unpack it now. It hurts—she hurt me; she put me through so much, just for it to end in a few words. I did everything for her; she said she loved me multiple times, too, but then she had the gall to tell me that she ‘didn’t want this outcome’ like I was the one who said we couldn’t be together.

“And I would sit there, plead with her; tell her everyday why I loved her, why I thought she was so unbelievably amazing in every aspect. I just…I put so much time and energy into her for weeks, for someone who I thought loved me, to someone who actively said they loved me. And I would have been fine if we were still friends, but she had the nerve to make me go through all of that just to tell me, ‘I’m not going to talk to you anymore.’ Like, who the fuck are you? I did nothing but make you comfortable and safe and you want to leave me in the dust? I never want to be spoken like that ever again, just for someone to say ‘I don’t want you in my life anymore.’”

Saoirse sat stunned in the grass. She was never close to Eugene, she had only known him for about two weeks, after all. He seemed so sad, his lanky body almost collapsing in on itself as he held his head in his hands. She couldn’t tell if he was crying or not, but she wouldn’t be surprised if he was weeping into his palms at the moment.

She didn’t know how to comfort him, let alone comfort someone in general. After all, Patrick was the only boy who’s shown any genuine interest in her; Saoirse had never experienced heartbreak of any sort before.

“Well,” she coughed. “It’ll all pass, won’t it? I don’t know you all that well yet, but, maybe it’s for the best. People come and go, and only the people that truly matter in your life will stay. It’ll be a slow process, I’m sure, but eventually you’ll be a brand new person with a brand new perspective. Always focus on yourself, Eugene; never pour your energy into people who don’t want it, especially now that you know she doesn’t want it.”

The boy, silent, muddled over her words, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. “I guess so,” he sighed, “and I’m sorry for pouring all of this onto you—you barely know me, like you said.” He laughed, though without any humor left in his tone.

“That’s okay, stuff happens.” Saoirse shrugged.

“Why are you so nice? I would be so annoyed if I were in your position.”

“I guess I’m just nosy, but I’m not annoyed at all. You seem like a good guy to talk to, and I’m sorry you’re going through a hard time right now. It must be difficult to keep to yourself. I’m really flattered that you feel comfortable enough to tell me this.”

Eugene gave her an upside-down smile, his downturned eyes blinking wet tears away as he sniffled. “Thank you, Saoirse.”

───────────

The boys each plopped onto a nearby cushion in their dorm, bodies complaining as they ached and begged for a soothing touch.

“I’m so exhausted,” Eloise coughed. “That ice bath didn't do a thing, I could barely walk here.”

A knock was heard from the door, “Hello, room service!”

In the entrance stood Cassius, with Abraxas and Louis all in comfortable clothes, their hair cascading down to their shoulders. Tom, as the others expected, strutted in with his robes rippling behind him, a hardened look on his features as he walked up to Patrick.

The boy, currently on his back and staring at the ceiling in thought, was thrown into a world of knives and needles as the Slytherin Heir used the Cruciatus curse.

“You really think you had me fooled,” drawled Tom, the other boys stumbling in a line as they witnessed their friend seizing up in the comfort of his own duvet, sweat dripping down his temple as his glasses fell to the side of his head. “That girl is turning your brain into pulp; you need to focus on your objectives—your loyalty to me and me only.”

“I am focusing on my tasks,” Yelled Patrick, blue eyes wild with fear and anger. “I’m getting information from her, and I’m keeping her close—which wasn’t something I was supposed to be doing, by the way! Abraxas and Orion were supposed to be doing that, not me!”

“Don’t talk back to me!” Tom chastised. He jabbed his wand to the boy, the curse stabbing into every inch of his skin and twisting into his guts.

“My Lord,” Abraxas stuttered, taking a brave step forward. “Patrick is doing all he can—”

Tom craned his head in the blond’s direction, his lips set in a thin line as he flicked his wand. The Knights fell to the ground, their already exhausted bodies pleading for a blissful death as they met the same fate at Patrick.

“I think all of you are forgetting our mission.” He seethed, lifting the curse, but only just.

The boys were silent, now nothing but limp figures—puppets for Tom to manipulate at his every whim.

“That girl,” he muttered. “Is a threat to us getting to the Chamber—I cannot have her alive while I do all that I can for us— for our livelihoods!”

He paced around on the carpet, his heavy step echoing with the pulsating aches of their heads. “I have done so much for you, and this is how you repay me? Running off to snog a girl, wasting time with a pointless and outrageous sport; it’s pathetic…”

With a quick flip of his pale wrist, Tom had fifteen minutes before Astronomy class. He straightened his robes, a hand running through his sculpted hair before turning his focus back to the shivering young aristocrats on the ground.

“I do believe I have enough time to stress the importance of my words.”

Credit(s): Dividing banner (^^^) by Chen Lu (1436 - 1449) - "Plum Blossoms in Moonlight" scroll painting; sourced through Pinterest

#tom riddle x reader #tom riddle #tom riddle fanfiction #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfiction #fanfiction #original character #fanfic #decade: 1940s #1940s #cw: homophobia #on wattpad

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vodika-vibes · 8 months ago

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How about this; Jango meets up with a female informant at a night club; this is the first time they've met, but it's instant, very Strong, mutual attraction and after she gives him the information, they burst out of the back door of the club, into a dark alley, making out and end up having their way with each other in the alley.

I'll keep the ideas coming as I get them; feel free to use whichever ones inspire you the most!

The Alder Job

Summary: When Jango Fett needs information for a bounty, he normally goes to his information broker, a Toydarian named Roz. This time, however, Roz sends him to get his information right from the source.

Pairing: Jango Fett x F!Reader

Word Count: 2159

Warnings: Smut, mentions of Pedophilia and human trafficking (Jango misunderstands a situation, there's no actual pedophilia or human trafficking)

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: So, I very much appreciate all three of the ideas that you sent me and I'll probably write all of them because I love Jango...apparently, lol. I hope you like this one~

Jango is annoyed.

Okay. Jango is often annoyed. It’s his go-to emotion in most situations, but now he’s really annoyed.

“Well? Have you arrived yet?” Roz’s voice is scratchy over the comm.

“Yeah, yeah. Are you sure you can’t give me the information?”

“I could….but I’m not going to. You need to talk to this informant.” Roz replies, before she laughs, “Don’t worry. I told them to look for you.” And then the comm disconnects.

He exhales loudly, trying to shove his irritation away, as he eyes the night club distastefully. He can hear the music coming from the club all the way out to the street.

This is officially the worst job he’s ever taken.

Jango walks over to the bouncer, who eyes him and his armor, before he jerks his head to the side, “You’re expected. VIP section. Don’t cause any trouble.”

As if he would.

Still, Jango nods once and steps into the club, and is immediately assaulted by the scent of stale alcohol and sweat. Distaste, and disgust, cause his lip to curl, but he has a job to do. So he turned toward the VIP section.

As with most night clubs, the VIP section is cordoned off from the rest of the club. Unlike most clubs he’s been in, this VIP section is situated at the top of an elevator, completely separate from the rest of the club.

The music is quieter up here, and it smells less like stale beer and more sugary. It’s almost as bad as the scent down in the main club. Almost.

The Bouncers up here look a lot more dangerous than the ones down below, but if Jango had to guess, the people up here all have more money than sense, so the better guards are reasonable.

One of the bouncers eyes Jango, but doesn’t move to stop him. Poor guy is probably used to all sorts coming up here.

Most of the tables are filled with men surrounded by gorgeous, and young, women. Though there’s one that’s clearly a bachelorette party, and another that looks like some teenager’s coming of age birthday party.

But there, in the back, closest to the back door, is a young woman sitting at a private table. She’s alone, with her gaze locked on a datapad in her hand, and she had one knee pulled up to her chest.

And, while Jango’s never been one to put much stock into looks, he has to admit that she’s stunning, and he really can’t understand why no one is giving her a second look.

He crosses the open room over to her, and lightly raps his knuckles on the table. She lifts her gaze from the datapad to meet his, her expression puzzled at first, before it clears and a warm smile crosses her face.

Jango can’t remember the last time someone greeted him so warmly.

“You must be Mand’alor Fett. Please, have a seat.” Her voice is light and warm and Jango is so distracted by the sound of her voice that he doesn’t immediately register what she calls him until he’s seated across from her.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” He says, gruffly, “I’m not Mand’alor.”

She pauses, “Ah. Roz indicated that that was your title. Was she mistaken?” Her voice is lightly accented, and Jango can’t get enough of it. He also can’t help but notice that she hasn’t taken her eyes off of him.

“Roz has a tendency to exaggerate.” He finally says as he leans back, and he notices her gaze drop to his chest plate for a moment, before returning to his face.

Nice to know that the attraction is mutual.

She laughs softly, “I had noticed that, yes. So, what should I call you then?”

“Jango. Just Jango.”

“Well then, Jango,” His name is like honey on her lips, and he curls one of his hands into a fist to keep from doing something foolish. “It’s very nice to meet you.” And then she introduces herself, and he jolts in surprise.

“Wait. Alder?”

She smiles, “As in those Alders?” There’s something wry in her voice, “The one and the same. It’s why Roz asked me to be your informant. There’s no one better to give you the information you need than someone from the family.”

“You do realize that I’m here to kill them, right?”

Her smile becomes even more wry, “Oh, yes. I’m aware.”

“...I’m going to need some clarification before I get any intel from you.”

She laughs, “That’s fair.” She leans back in the chair, and Jango’s gaze drops to her thigh, now exposed since she moved, and then slowly drags back to her face.

“Go ahead.”

“We had a falling out.” She explains with a careless shrug. Or a would be careless shrug, if it wasn’t for the look on her face. “You see, they had…ideas. As to my place in society, and I had different ones.”

“Must be pretty vastly different ideas if you’re okay with them dying.”

“Well, they wanted me to be a trophy wife for my grandfather’s best friend. I had different ideas.” She drops her gaze for a moment, “I was 17 when they started planning my wedding.”

He exhales slowly, “So. Not only are they corrupt, they’re also pedophiles and traffickers. Good to know.” He leans in, “So, about that intel.”

“My mother is holding a gala in 12 days.” She replies, “The whole family will be there. Normally, tickets to these events cost an arm and a leg. But I have a ticket for you.” She slides a ticket across the table to him, “The downside is that it’s black tie only.”

“Of course it is.” Jango taps out a rhythm on the table, “You know the house, anyway for me to sneak my gear in?”

“Hm…you could try to pay the caterers to bring them in and stash them somewhere.” She offers, “Other than that, you might be able to hide the gear on the grounds somewhere.”

“I’m sure I’ll figure it out.” Jango finally says, his gaze dragging down her body again, and then a sly smile crossing his face, “So, you have any other plans for the night?”

“Can’t say that I do.” She replies, as she leans in a little bit, “Why do you ask?”

He smirks at her, and stands, scooping his helmet up with one hand and then motioning for her to follow him. He opens the door, and stands in the doorway, waiting for her.

She watches him for a moment, and then she passes through the door, intentionally pressing her body against his.

And, for the first time in his life, Jango finds himself cursing his armor.

He follows her down the carpeted stairs and into a dimmed hallway, his gaze lingering on the way her hips look in her mini-skirt, on the way the skirt swayed due to her canting walk.

The moment they’re no longer on the stairs he has her back pressed against the wall, and his lips are hot against hers. She kisses back just as eagerly, her arms sliding around his neck to tangle in the hair at the back of his head.

“Kriff,” Jango breathes against her lips, “I’ve never been so annoyed at my armor in my life.”

She laughs breathlessly, “I’ve never been so annoyed at a piece of metal in my life either.” She admits.

He laughs softly, and presses even harder against her, “I suppose we should do something about that.”

She raises up on her toes and kisses him again, her tongue sliding against his lips for a moment, before allowing Jango to take control back. When he breaks the kiss this time, she’s breathing quickly and her eyes are half lidded, “Later,” She murmurs, in answer to his comment, “I want you.”

Jango’s fingers flex on her hip, “Here? Now?” He murmurs.

She hesitates, her gaze snapping from one side to the other, before she takes his hand and tugs him out the VIP door.

Jango follows her out the door, down the alley, and into a darker, quieter alley.

“Here?” She asks him, as he presses her back against the building and slots his thigh between her legs.

Jango quickly assesses the alley. No cameras. No people. Good enough for now.

He doesn’t answer her verbally, instead he just crashes his lips against hers, and moves his leg so he’s able to slide his hands under her skirt. He eases her panties down her legs, and then shoves them in one of his pouches.

A breathless laugh falls from her and Jango presses her firmer against the wall, “Kriff.” He breathes as his lips fall from hers to latch onto the tender skin under her ear, pulling a moan from her pretty lips, “Later I’m going to make you fall apart over and over, mesh’la.”

“Later?” She asks.

Jango removes his codpiece and presses it into her willing hand, before he adjusts his bodysuit so that his hard cock bounces free, “I need to be inside you,”

She whines and presses against him, “So hurry up.”

“Impatient,” He crashes his lips against hers again, “Arms around me, mesh’la.” Jango waits until her arms are secure around his neck, and then he lifts her and encourages her to hook her legs around his waist.

He rocks against her a few times spreading her arousal against his cock, and, as an added bonus, making her whine and moan out his name. “You’re so wet, cyare.” Jango murmurs as he nips her earlobe, “Is this all for me?”

“Don’t tease, Jango-” She gasps out shifting and squirming in his arms to try and encourage him to just start already.

He nips her earlobe a little harder, ripping a moan from her throat, “Just for that, princess, I’m definitely going to tease you later.”

“You-” She’s not able to finish her sentence as he thrusts into her, hard and fast, and her words turn into a cry of pleasure as her head falls back. And the only reason her head doesn’t hit the wall is because of his hand resting on the back of her neck.

“Oh no you don’t,” Jango growls as he starts a slow, but hard, pace. “Eyes on me, Princess.” He pulls almost all the way out, before thrusting hard into her.

She struggles to keep her eyes open, but she does. And Jango feels a thrill when she obeys him unquestionably. “Such a good girl,” He breathes, “So obedient. Kriff,” He kisses her deeply, “You’re so tight-”

She arches against him and clenches around him at his praise, and Jango makes a mental note. He’ll have to take advantage of that later.

“S-sorry,” She gasps.

Jango laughs, “Oh, cyare,” He snaps his hips roughly against hers, “Don’t apologize for feeling amazing-” He adjusts her for a moment, and then snaps his hips against hers again, and she lets out a sharp gasp.

“A-again. Please. Do that again!” She pleads with him.

“Yes ma’am,” Who is he to obey such a delicious sound? He snaps his hips against hers making sure to hit the same spot over and over.

Sweat beads at his temple, she really does feel amazing. And it’s been so long since he’s had a partner, he’s not going to last much longer this first time. But she’s not going to go without.

He won’t let her.

Jango dips his hand to where they’re joined, and he presses a firm finger against her clit, rubbing in quick circles. His hips stutter as she clenches tightly around him.

She falls apart silently, her face pressed against his neck, and Jango can’t wait to see what noises he’ll be able to pull from her when she’s in his bed.

“Where-?” Jango gasps out as his thrusts become shallow.

She keeps her legs tightly around him, which he takes as answer enough. A few more shallow thrusts and he’s spilling his seed deep inside her.

Jango presses his forehead against hers as he tries to regain control of his breathing, and he feels her soft fingers against his cheek. His eyes open and he flashes a cocky smirk, “So, cyare,” he murmurs, “where do you live?”

She laughs softly and drops her legs back to the ground, “Not far.” She admits with a small smile, “Close enough to walk, if I had someone with me to keep me safe.”

Jango watches her fix her skirt, a small smile crossing his face when she reaches out and carefully fixes his bottoms for him, and snaps his codpiece back into place.

“Lucky for you, you have a Mandalorian here to protect you.”

She favors him with a bright smile, “Lucky me indeed.” She takes his hand and leads him out of the alley, “This way, Jango.”

Jango falls into step next to her with ease.

Maybe, just maybe, he owes Roz some nice wine. Maybe.

#star wars #star wars legends #jango fett x reader #jango x reader #18+ fic #nsft #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks

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