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hearts4pbaz · 1 month ago

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I Need Your Help (It's Stuck)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Words 3.4K

Warnings: very mild sexual content

Synopsis: A grocery trip. A sudden text. A very unexpected emergency. Between mortifying moments and tender confessions, Paige and Azzi stumble their way toward something more—one tampon crisis at a time.

Notes: i didnt know about this idea at first but i think it turn out ok. lmk if you like it <3

“Yo! Paige! Earth to Paige!”

Paige blinked, the fluorescent supermarket lights momentarily blinding her as Ice shook a bag of Hot Cheetos in front of her face. The fiery red package waving in front of her and the sound of KK’s laughter echoing through the store snapped her out of her haze. Paige, surrounded by the brightly coloured packages of the snack aisle and the overall general bustle of a grocery store on a Saturday afternoon was starting to make her quite overstimulated. And Paige was beginning to regret ever agreeing to drive KK and Ice to the store to get ingredients to make some chamoy, hot pickle, monstrosity they insisted would be good.

“Let me guess,” KK said, her voice dripping with mock sincerity, “you’re thinking about your girlfriend again?”

Paige let out a dramatic sigh, a performance honed over years of enduring her teammates’ relentless teasing. She snatched a bag of Cheetos out of Ice’s hands, and tossed it into the cart with more force than necessary. “She’s not my girlfriend and I’m not always thinking about her,” she protested, though even to her own ears, it sounded less like a protest and more like a flimsy excuse.

“Yes, you are,” Ice countered, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “You just stared at a pack of Doritos for a full minute, Paige. A full minute of profound contemplation over nacho cheese flavored chips. That’s peak ‘thinking about Azzi behavior.”

Paige rolled her eyes, a move she’d perfected right alongside her dramatic sighs. “It’s called zoning out. You guys should try it sometime instead of roasting me 24/7.”

KK wiggled her eyebrows, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “We’d stop roasting you if you’d just tell Azzi how you feel. Or when you manage to not melt into a puddle of goo every time she touches you.”

Paige opened her mouth, a sharp retort already forming on her tongue – something about how KK’s fashion choices were a bigger crime than her admittedly massive crush on Azzi – but her phone buzzed, cutting her off.

She glanced down, and her breath hitched. It was Azzi.

Az 💗: Can you come over right now? I really need help.

Paige’s heart plummeted, a lead weight in her chest. The easygoing atmosphere of the supermarket vanished, replaced by a sudden, cold dread. “Something’s wrong,” she muttered, her voice barely a whisper, already abandoning the half-filled cart as if it were a burning effigy of her carefree morning. “It’s Azzi. I gotta go.”

Ice, usually quick with a joke, sobered instantly. “Everything okay?” she asked, her brow furrowing with genuine concern.

“I don’t know. She just said she needs help. We’re going.” Paige was already halfway down the aisle, her mind racing through every terrible scenario she could conjure. Has she fallen? Was she sick? Had she accidentally set her kitchen on fire trying to make toast again?

“But my pickles!” KK cries in protest.

“I don’t want to hear it Kamorea, we’ll get them another time, right now we’re leaving.”

Paige was already out the door, swinging open the door of her car, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

—

Paige’s heart was still pounding a frantic drum solo against her chest as she fumbled with Azzi’s apartment door. Whipping the door open, the familiar scent of Azzi’s vanilla candles and something vaguely citrusy filled her senses. She could hear Azzi’s voice, a muffled, distressed sound, coming from the back of the apartment.

“In here!” Azzi called out, her voice thin and shaky.

Paige followed the sound, her apprehension growing with every step, until she stopped short at the bathroom doorway. The scene before her was… not what she expected. Azzi wasn’t sprawled on the floor, nor was the bathroom covered in blood like Paige had worried. Instead, Azzi was standing in the middle of the bathroom, her cheeks flushed a bright red, her usual calm demeanor replaced by an expression of palpable distress. Her hands were wringing together, and her eyes, usually so soft and steady, darted around the room like trapped birds.

“Paige,” Azzi said, her voice a small, almost childlike whisper, a stark contrast to the powerhouse she was on the court. “I need your help.”

Paige’s initial surge of fear began to morph into something else – a deep, almost overwhelming concern. “Right. That’s why I’m here, what’s going on? Are you hurt? Sick? Dying? Azzi, you’re scaring me, what is it?” She took a step closer, her hand instinctively reaching out, wanting to offer the younger girl comfort.

Azzi took a deep, shaky breath, her gaze fixed on the tiled floor. Then, she mumbled, almost inaudibly as one word, “Mytamponisstuck.”

Paige blinked. Once. Twice. The words hung in the air, surreal and utterly unexpected. Her mind, still reeling from the frantic dash to Azzi’s apartment, struggled to process the information. “What?” she finally managed to articulate, the single syllable a mixture of disbelief and utter confusion.

Azzi bit her lip, looking utterly sheepish, her flush deepening to a fiery crimson. “My tampon. It’s stuck. I think I put it in wrong or too high or – whatever, I just… I can’t get it out. I’ve been trying for like thirty minutes, and now I’m panicking. Please, Paige, please help.” Her eyes, when they finally met Paige’s, were wide and pleading, edged with a raw vulnerability that twisted Paige’s gut.

There was a long, heavy silence. The hum of the bathroom fan seemed to amplify the quiet, making it almost deafening. Paige stared at Azzi. Her Azzi, standing there, mortified, asking her to… do what?

Then, a small, nervous laugh escaped Paige’s lips. It was shaky, on the verge of hysteria, and entirely inappropriate for the gravity of the situation. “Az, I love you,” she began, her voice a little choked, “but—no. I’m not reaching up your—no.” She shook her head vehemently, the absurdity of the request causing pink to bloom on the back of Paige’s neck and the tips of her ears.

Azzi, clearly at the end of her rope, seemed to deflate. She sank onto the edge of the tub, burying her face in her hands. Her shoulders trembled slightly. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t actually scared, Paige,” she muffled into her palms. “I really tried. And I don’t really want to go to urgent care and explain this to a random nurse. God” Azzi says letting out a noise so similar to a sob Paige thinks her heart nearly shatters into a million pieces.

Azzi rarely admitted to being scared about anything, and the genuine tremor in her voice was enough to cut through Paige’s initial shock and embarrassment. “Can’t you, like, squat and try again?” Paige offered, grasping at straws. “Doesn’t that help?”

“I have, Paige,” Azzi said, her voice muffled, but with a new edge of exasperation. “Repeatedly. Nothing’s working.”

Paige paced a small circle in the doorway, her mind scrambling for alternatives. “Do you want me to look it up? Maybe there’s a trick? Like, a secret handshake for stuck tampons?”

Azzi lifted her head, her face still blotchy but with a glimmer of her usual wit returning. “Google says to ask a friend. So. Hi.” She gave Paige a pointed look.

Paige leaned against the doorway, trying to appear cool, calm, and utterly normal – which was, of course, an impossible feat when the literal love of your life was asking you to perform gynecological rescue operations on her. Her brain felt like it was short-circuiting, sending sparks of panic and a rather unwelcome surge of attraction through her veins.

“I mean, Az,” Paige said, attempting to inject some levity, or semblance of normalcy into the situation. “I’ve seen you shoot threes being triple teamed, draining game winning shots like it’s nobody’s business, but this is what takes you out?”

Azzi groaned, burying her face in her hands again. “Please don’t make jokes, Paige. I’m so uncomfortable. And I’m about to start crying.”

And that did it. The sight of Azzi, her usually composed and fierce best friend, on the verge of tears, erased all of Paige’s reservations. The embarrassment was still there, a simmering cauldron in her stomach, but it was overshadowed by a fierce protectiveness and an undeniable urge to alleviate Azzi’s distress. Paige sighed, a long, drawn-out sound of surrender. She pushed herself off the doorway and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind her with a soft click. She steps forward wrapping her arms around Azzi, despite her heart doing a frantic jig in her chest.

“Okay. Okay. I got you,” Paige said, her voice softer than she intended, laced with a tenderness she usually reserved for internal monologues about Azzi. “But I swear to God, if I die of secondhand embarrassment, bury me with my iPad. And maybe a plaque that says, ‘Died bravely, assisting a friend with… a very personal crisis.’”

Azzi let out a watery snort, a small, genuine laugh bubbling up through her distress. “Deal.”

Paige, still reeling from Azzi’s utterly unexpected request, found herself scrambling. Her mind, usually so quick on the court, felt like a tangled mess of yarn. “Okay, okay, just… give me a second.” She pulled out her phone, her fingers fumbling over the screen, and blurted, “I’m just going to… google directions. To… to help.”

Azzi, still hunched on the tub’s edge, looked up, a bewildered frown creasing her brow. “Directions? Paige, I’m right here. And I don’t think there’s a Google Maps for… this.”

Paige winced. “No, no, not directions here. Directions for… for it. For getting it out. You know, best practices. A user manual.” She typed furiously, her thumb swiping wildly over the keyboard. Her search history was about to get really weird. “‘Tampon stuck help’… ‘how to remove stuck tampon yourself’… ‘is a stuck tampon an emergency?’” Each search felt like a betrayal of everything she thought she knew about being a cool, collected best friend.

Azzi, despite her distress, let out a shaky laugh. “Oh, my God, Paige. You’re really doing this.”

“Well, yeah! You asked me to!” Paige declared, though her voice cracked slightly. Her eyes, glued to the glowing screen, darted across articles with increasingly alarming titles. “Okay, so, ‘Remain calm.’” Check. Paige thought internally “‘Relax your muscles.’” Easier said than done.

She scrolled down, muttering to herself. “ ‘Squatting or sitting on the toilet can help.’ You tried that. ‘Bearing down as if having a bowel movement…’” Paige’s eyes widened, and she looked up at Azzi, who was now staring at her with an expression that was a mix of mortification and sheer amusement. “Okay, Az, the internet says… you might need to… push.”

Azzi’s face, already flushed, turned a deeper shade of crimson. “Paige! No! I am not doing that with you in here!”

Paige’s own cheeks burned. “It’s what it says! I’m just reading the instructions! This is a medical consultation, Azzi, we need to be professional!” She gestured wildly with her phone, nearly dropping it into the toilet. “It’s like when Coach tells us to get low on defense, you just… do it! Except… lower. And more… internal.” She winced again. “This is going great.”

“Paige, you’re making it worse!” Azzi groaned, burying her face in her hands.

“I’m trying to lighten the mood!” Paige squawked, feeling a fresh wave of humiliation wash over her. She cleared her throat, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “You know what, here,” Paige says before she moves over to the shower stepping inside and drawing the curtain closed. “Is this better?” Her voice came out slightly more muffed than before.

“Oh my God. Yeah you stay there,” Azzi quips back shaking her head. And she is suddenly very grateful to have someone like Paige in her life.

“Okay, next step: ‘If you can feel the string but can’t grasp it…’ Can you feel the string, Az? Give me a yes or no. Don’t make me ask follow-up questions about the string.”

Azzi peeked through her fingers. “I… I think so. It’s just so short.”

“Aha!” Paige exclaimed, pointing at the screen triumphantly, as if she had just discovered the cure for all of humanity’s ills. “It says here, ‘You can try to use clean fingers to gently feel around for the string.’ So, Az, you just gotta… get in there. Be brave. Like you’re going for a loose ball, but… you know. Less sweat, more… precision.”

Azzi slowly started to crack a smile at that. A genuine, full-blown smile, despite the dire circumstances. “Paige, you’re impossible.”

Paige felt a nervous flutter in her stomach. “I’m trying to help! The internet is my witness! Okay, now it says, ‘If you still can’t remove it after several attempts, seek medical attention.’ So, this is our last stand, Azzi. You and me. Against the cotton monster. Don’t make me drive you to urgent care and explain this to a receptionist.” She shuddered at the thought. “My reputation would never recover.”

—

Ten minutes later, Paige was sweating like she’d just played a double overtime game in a sauna, and she practically was considering she was still hidden behind the shower curtain. She hadn’t actually touched anything – hadn’t even offered – her strict interpretation of “help” involved a firm boundary on physical contact – but she had coached Azzi through what felt like an Olympic-level event.

“Okay, try again, one more time,” Paige instructed, her eyes squeezed shut, her voice hoarse from the effort of maintaining a calm, authoritative tone. “Gentle. Breathe. You got this, Az.” She pictured Azzi, in her mind’s eye, a warrior facing down a cotton beast, and tried to project confidence.

And then—

“Got it!” Azzi shouted triumphantly, her voice echoing in the small bathroom. Paige flinched, then tore open the shower curtain to see Azzi holding up the tiny piece of cotton between two fingers, like a prized trophy, or perhaps a captured villain. Her face was flushed, but this time with relief and exhilaration, not embarrassment.

Paige collapsed onto the shower floor, back pressing against the cool tile of the shower, letting out a long, shuddering breath. She sat there, staring at the ceiling, the stark white giving way to swirling patterns that looked suspiciously like tiny, cotton-filled horrors. “I’m never going to emotionally recover from this,” she declared. “My therapist is going to have a field day.”

Azzi laughed, a full, joyous sound that filled the bathroom, washing away the last vestiges of stress from her face. She tossed the offending object like a war hero burying her enemy, a silent, triumphant farewell. Then, with a playful nudge, she sat down next to Paige in the shower, their shoulders brushing.

“Now get out of here. I deserve a long shower after that shitshow,” Azzi says, shoving Paige out of the shower.

“Alright, alright, I’ll go,” Paige says walking out of the bathroom, hands in the air in fake surrender.

—

The soft click of the bathroom door finally opening pulled Paige from her semi-catatonic state. She’d somehow made her way from the tiled floor to Azzi’s bed, collapsing face-down onto the familiar duvet, the comforting scent of Azzi’s laundry detergent doing little to soothe her frayed nerves. The last half hour had been… a lot. The adrenaline rush, the mortification, the sheer absurdity of the situation – it had all hit her like a rogue basketball to the face the moment Azzi had triumphantly proclaimed victory over the cotton demon.

Now, as the shower sounds ceased and the bathroom door creaked open, the full weight of what had transpired truly began to settle. Paige kept her face pressed into the pillow, a pathetic attempt to hide from the reality of her own existence, which at this moment felt entirely composed of secondhand embarrassment and a terrifyingly exposed heart.

“Hey,” Azzi’s voice, now light and airy, floated across the room. “Mind if I get dressed?”

Paige offered a muffled grunt in response, which she hoped translated to a casual, “Sure, whatever, I’m basically furniture now.” She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, hoping Azzi would take the hint and simply disappear into her closet.

But Azzi didn't disappear. Paige could hear the soft rustle of fabric, the gentle shifting of weight. The air in the room, already thick with the aftermath of their shared ordeal, suddenly seemed to crackle with something new, something charged.

Curiosity, that pesky little bug, got the better of her. Paige slowly, agonizingly, lifted her head, just enough to peek through one eye.

Azzi was standing by her dresser, bathed in the soft afternoon light filtering through the window. She was wrapped in a plush, white towel, fresh from the shower, a halo of damp hair framing her face. Water droplets still clung to her skin, glistening like tiny diamonds. She reached for a drawer, her movements fluid and unhurried, utterly oblivious to the seismic activity happening in Paige’s chest.

Paige’s breath hitched. Every last bit of self-control, every carefully constructed wall she had built around her feelings for Azzi, evaporated into the humid air. Seeing Azzi like this – so vulnerable, so completely at ease in her presence, after everything they’d just been through – it was too much. The mental image of Azzi, distressed and pleading in the bathroom, merged with this vision of relaxed, post-shower beauty, caused Paige’s brain to short-circuit.

Azzi pulled out a fresh pair of sweatpants, pulling them on, back still to Paige. She then turned, her towel still wrapped around her upper half, and begins to pull a T-shirt over her head. For a fleeting second, Azzi was silhouetted against the window, her body a perfect line, before the fabric dropped into place.

Paige found herself sitting up, then standing, her gaze still fixed on Azzi. Her mouth felt dry, her heart racing a mile a minute.

“God,” Paige says, voice slightly raw. The word makes Azzi turn around and as soon as she is fully facing the older girl, Paige kisses her. Not a tentative, nervous kiss, but a kiss that somehow encapsulates everything Paige has been feeling since 2017. And Azzi kisses her back, hands coming up to cup either side of Paige’s jaw. Azzi then starts to walk them backward towards the bed, mouth still on Paige’s.

When Paige finally reaches the bed falling back letting Azzi straddle her hips on top of her she lets out a noise that’s something between a gasp and cry because she can’t believe this is actually happening. That the girl she has craved since she was 15 is finally hers. Paige thinks her heart might combust on the spot.

Azzi leans down peppering kisses along Paige’s jawline and neck, Paige then reaches up hands fiddling with Azzi’s waistband. Azzi then lifts her head up, her hands simultaneously coming to meet Paige's hands, “P, you know I can’t right now, but I can still get you right,” Azzi says before dipping her head back down to focus on Paige’s neck. Azzi’s comment then reminds Paige of a very critical fact, a fact that makes her curse God for giving her a uterus.

“Fuck, Az, baby, I think you’re forgetting that we’ve been synced since we were like 16.”

Azzi sits up throwing her head back towards the ceiling, “Damnit.”

“Which reminds me…” Paige says trailing off, “I need to change my tampon and I think it’s stuck,” she continues eyes widening in fake horror, as a smirk creeps onto her face.

“Fuck you,” Azzi protests, swatting at Paige’s side.

“Oh, you’ll be able to just not this week,” Paige quips. “Come here, it’s been a long day, I need a nap,” she continues tugging Azzi down to rest her head on Paige’s chest.

“You know I love you right?” Azzi says before snuggling into Paige’s side and closing her eyes

“Yeah, I think I do,” Paige replies, tucking a stray hair behind Azzi’s ear.

Just as Paige is about to join Azzi in their nap, she hears the faint buzzing of her phone on the nightstand. She reaches over for it, careful not to disturb Azzi, checking to see what message awaited her. A text from KK the read:

KK: is everything okay with azzi? just wanted to check in

Paige types out a reply sending it before setting her phone back down and closing her eyes.

Paige: yeah, we’ll be okay

#pazzi #azzi fudd #pazzi fics #paige x azzi #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x azzi fudd #paige bueckers fic #azzi fudd fic

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marauder-misprint · 2 months ago

Note

Hey! I had a Sirius x reader request where the reader is James sister and in a secret relationship with Sirius and the marauders are trying to guess who Sirius’s secret girlfriend is and Sirius is just like “you know her VERY well” and ofc James flips out when he finds out LOL

Hi! Thank you for this request! ❤︎ I love love love a good fluffy piece. Lowkey oblivious Sirius, but let's be real - when aren't boys oblivious?

Hope y'all enjoy ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

'Acceptable company'

Sirius Black x Potter!reader

3.5k words

cw: fluff, secret relationship, pining if you squint

You didn’t mean to fall for Sirius Black. It’s embarrassing, really. Predictable. Your older brother’s best friend? Of course he’s the one who makes your heart flutter. You tried to ignore it, push the feelings down so far that maybe they’d just vanish.

They did not.

Sirius also didn’t mean to fall for you. He didn’t realize he was falling for you until he was in too deep. In his defense, when you arrived at Hogwarts and got sorted into Gryffindor, his first thought was ‘Oh, sweet, another Potter!’

For the first few years, you’d occasionally enter Sirius’ orbit. James would complain about how annoying you were, but Sirius never saw it. You were alright. You would give him a small smile while waiting for James to get you whatever you had requested. Sometimes you’d ask Remus for help on homework when Lily was busy; Sirius thought it was amusing that you refused to ask James for help. And until he joined the quidditch team himself, you sat with Sirius in the stands during matches and practices. You offered him your snacks and sounded like James when you spouted quidditch facts and critiqued the team’s form. Even when Sirius visited the Potter’s home during the summer months, you didn’t hang around him and James much.

Sirius didn’t know what to do with himself when he found himself wishing you would hang around them. When he started looking for you in the stands at his quidditch games and practices. When he suddenly offered to help you with an assignment because Lily and Remus had prefect duties. When he got uncharacteristically upset when you got your first boyfriend. When he realized that he was upset because it wasn’t him.

Luckily for Sirius, it didn’t last. Something about you not giving him enough of your time. You ranted about it in the common room. Loudly. Sirius could recall you saying, “Merlin forbid a girl has friends. And friends that I don’t have any classes with! Sorry I don’t want to eat dinner with him every evening!” James gave you your space despite his muttered threats about this boy.

That night Sirius couldn’t sleep. So he did what everyone does when they can’t sleep: he went to sit by the fire in the common room. And by chance, you were already sitting on the couch, legs tucked underneath you, as you stared into the dancing flames.

“Am I acceptable company?” Sirius asked, standing off to the side.

“Why wouldn’t you be?” you responded. You didn’t even look away from the fire.

He sat down on the other side of the couch before casting a wary glance your way.

“Maybe you have a vendetta against all blokes now. Dunno.”

You gave a dry laugh. “No. Just against gits.”

“Hmm, surprised I don’t qualify for that.” Sirius would be an idiot if he didn’t know that he could use some work on himself.

“Yeah… well… I have nothing against you.”

With your gaze set on the fire, Sirius took the opportunity to watch you. Because why had he been so happy to know that you broke up with that boy? Why had his heart skipped a beat when he saw you sitting by the fire in the deserted common room? Why did he want to smile when you said you have nothing against him? Coming to terms with how much he liked you was more difficult than he’d ever admit.

“I can feel you staring, Sirius.”

“‘M not,” Sirius said, immediately looking at the fire.

You sighed and turned your body so you could face Sirius. He looked back at you, his body still facing forward.

“I know I’m not wrong for wanting to be my own person. I’m not a… a… a thing to be flaunted,” you said, sounding and looking frustrated.

Sirius nodded. “Right.”

“And Sam couldn’t accept that. That’s on him. Not me.” You paused and your expression shifted. “Right?”

“Yes. Some blokes are a bit dense.”

You sighed. Then you fell forward, resting your forehead against the side of his shoulder. He gave you a slightly confused look.

“Are you alright?” You mumbled something into his shoulder. “You know I didn’t understand that.”

With a dramatic sigh, you sat up, but only to move closer to Sirius so you could rest your head on his shoulder without blocking your face.

“Getting there. I’m getting there.”

You sat like that for a while, neither of you saying anything. When you were ready, you thanked Sirius and then went to bed. He sat there for a little bit longer before heading back up to his dorm. He wanted the moment to have lasted longer. Sitting in that easy silence with you was something else.

For a few days, you regretted that night in the common room. Your brain was telling you that you had been too much, an annoying little sister who put Sirius in an uncomfortable position. You should’ve just let him stare and not said anything. Now that you’ve made him uncomfortable, you can tell that he’s avoiding your gaze whenever you’re near each other. Before, when you’d make eye contact with him across the room, you would exchange polite smiles. There was an acknowledgement. Not anymore. He won’t meet your eyes.

You needed to apologize for it, tell him not to worry about you. You’d find him after quidditch practice. You would keep it casual. Because you were James’ cool, confident, easy-going little sister. Not an annoying one.

Like usual, you watched the practice from the stands. You tried to watch all of the players equally, but you kept returning to Sirius. His flying was sloppy and he was missing easy hits. He was obviously distracted and Jame was biting his head off for it. It felt like the practice dragged on forever. But when it was done, you lingered just out of sight of the locker room door. You knew you had to ambush Sirius to get him to talk to you; the only thing that would prevent him from listening to you would be if James walked back with him. Maybe it was good that Sirius was distracted during practice – he wouldn’t want to leave with the guy who yelled at him for like ten minutes straight while on a broom.

You listened as the door opened and closed. James left with Marlene, both ranting about how the practice wasn’t their best work. Perfect. With James gone, you waited a little closer to the door. The seeker left, followed by the other beater, the keeper and the last chaser. Sirius was the last one. You waited for about five minutes before you started getting nervous. You had to keep your wits about you.

You opened the locker room door and knocked on it loudly, to announce your presence.

“Sirius?” you called, looking around.

“What?” he snapped from around the corner.

“Can we talk?”

He peeked his head around the corner, hair dripping and not wearing a shirt.

“Potter? Shit, what are you doing in here?” he asked, his voice suddenly much nicer and almost nervous.

“I was waiting for you,” you said. “Should I go back outside?”

“Um, no, just give me one minute.”

You sat down on the bench in between the rows of lockers and fidgeted with your fingers. You could hear Sirius muttering to himself but the only things you could make out were swears. When he came around the corner, he was wearing pants and pulling a shirt over his head.

“What’s up? Everything okay?” he asked, standing in front of you.

“I, erm, I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable the other night. I’m good. Fine.” You nodded with a small smile on your lips.

Sirius furrowed his brows in confusion. “What made you think I was uncomfortable?”

He didn’t think he had shifted at all when you had your head on his shoulder. Maybe you mistook the quiet as awkwardness, rather than the easiness he felt.

“Oh, um, you haven’t been able to look at me?” Your throat tensed. “Kind of felt like you were avoiding me.”

Sirius nervously rubbed the back of his neck and looked away from you. “I have been avoiding you, but-” He clicked his tongue. “-not because I was uncomfortable.”

“Then why?”

“Because I was comfortable.” You tilted your head in confusion. “Too comfortable.”

“Okay?”

You weren’t getting it. Why was him being comfortable around you a bad thing? Why did it make him avoid you?

“Godric… screw it! Every time I look at you, I want to kiss you. I want to treat you how you deserve to be treated, so much better than how that git treated you. But I can’t ‘cause you’re James’ sister.”

You stared up at him with wide eyes. Oh. You stood up, making Sirius take a step backwards. He thought you were going to slap him. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your pounding heart.

“What if… I wanted you to kiss me?” Your heart was trying to escape out your throat. “We could just not tell James.”

“Not tell James…” he repeated. His eyes flicked between your eyes and your lips.

You took a step toward Sirius and he didn’t take a step back. Instead, he gently took your face in his hands and kissed you. It was soft and gentle and you wasted no time in kissing him back. You were about to thread your fingers through his hair when he pulled back.

“Are you sure?” he asked breathlessly.

“Yes.”

Not telling James ended up becoming not telling anyone. It was too risky. If you told anyone, how could you guarantee that they wouldn’t tell him?

In public, you were just James’ little sister and his best friend. Polite. Cordial. Sharing smiles and eye rolls from across the room. In the privacy of the common room late at night, when you knew his dorm would be empty, in random broom closets, in unused classrooms and the locker room after quidditch practices, you were more than friends. It was more than snogging too. He would read to you. You would bring snacks and have a makeshift picnic. You would sit next to each other, talking about your day and anything else on your mind. But yes, there was snogging.

You were doing a good job at keeping it secret. At least, good enough. Your friends caught on pretty quickly that you had a new someone – it was the only explanation of where you were disappearing to so often and how smiley you were when you returned. Sirius was proud of himself for keeping it from James, given that they had the map. He made sure that he had it with him whenever he was meeting up with you. Remus was the only one who seemed suspicious of his keeping the map so close, but he didn’t say anything.

But then one night after quidditch practice and a heated session with you, Sirius tied his hair up before heading up to his dorm. You had made a good habit of returning to the common room at different times after practice to prevent any rumors. So you weren’t with him to see that you had left a mark. Well, several marks along his neck.

“Merlin’s balls, Padfoot!” Remus gasped when he walked through the door.

“What?” Sirius asked, not looking at Remus.

“Did you get attacked by a colony of leeches?” he asked, now attempting to stifle his laughter as Sirius’ hand flew to his neck.

He forced a laugh. “Something like that.”

“Who is it?” James asked, sitting up a little straighter on his bed.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Sirius answered.

“Hiding his latest conquest… That’s new,” Remus muttered, turning back to homework although he was smirking.

“Yeah, since when don’t you tell us who you’re snogging?” Peter asked.

Sirius put his stuff away in his trunk and got out his own homework. “Since she asked me not to.”

James and Peter exchanged a look that Sirius chose to ignore. He wanted them to drop the topic. If they asked him to describe the girl, it would only take so long before they put two and two together. They did drop it. For that night.

The next day, walking to class, Remus asked, “So who is it?”

“Huh?”

“The girl giving you hickeys.”

“Told you last night. I’m not saying.”

“Ah, come on, Padfoot. It’s just me.”

Sirius shook his head. “Mate, drop it. I’m not telling you.”

“You’ve always told us who you’re with. Never had any shame in it. Why you getting all shy with it now?”

“I said drop it. She asked me not to tell you and… I like her. So I’m not going to tell you anything until she wants to.”

Sirius quickened his pace to get to class, leaving Remus behind. He watched him go with a curious expression on his face. Sirius usually bragged about who he took into broom closets, but he was being protective of this girl and that only made Remus want to know more.

The boys badgered Sirius about his mystery girlfriend more than your friends did with you. It went on for weeks after that night with the hickeys. Whenever Sirius came back to the dorm alone, various questions were launched at him.

“Same girl?” “Any visible hickeys?” “How far you’d get?” “Where’d you snog? The greenhouses? Quidditch pitch? Back of the library?” “What’s she like?”

Sirius brushed them off every time. He wasn’t going to give them anything, but that seemed to egg them on. They were determined to find out who it was. One evening, they started asking Sirius about the girl in the common room.

“Alright, Sirius, is she a Slytherin? Is that you’re so secretive about it?” Peter asked, shoving his Potions homework away from him.

Sirius didn’t answer.

“Is she in our year? Older? Younger?” James asked. More silence from Sirius.

“Ah, give us something,” Remus begged. “You’ve been seeing her for weeks and you’ve told us nothing!”

You entered the common room and Peter, James and Remus’ voices reached your ears. They weren’t being quiet with their interrogation of Sirius. So, naturally, you walked over to them.

“You’re being loud,” you said matter-of-factly.

“We have reason,” James said with an eye roll.

“And that reason is…”

He sighed. “Sirius here has been seeing this girl for weeks and he won’t tell us who it is. He won’t even describe her.”

You smirked and turned toward Sirius, who was already looking at you with a rehearsed neutral look on his face.

“Aw, that’s kind of cute. But come on, Sirius. It’s just the boys,” you said, gesturing to them. “Give ‘em something to get them off your back.”

Sirius swallowed thickly. You had just given him permission to say something. He tried to cover his shock with an exaggerated sigh.

“Fine.” He looked around the group, trying to figure out what to say. “Ah, got it. You lot know her very well.”

“Oh, that narrows it down,” you laughed, turning to leave the group, but you didn’t go far. You picked a spot on the couch nearby and took out your Charms book. You wanted to eavesdrop.

“That’s rubbish!” Peter exclaimed. “We know a lot of people!”

“It’s not rubbish,” Sirius defended with crossed arms. “I just eliminated practically all of the Slytherins.”

“And a fair amount of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs,” Remus added. James and Peter gave him stern looks. “What? He said we know her very well. We know eagles and badgers, but I wouldn’t say we know them all that well.”

“So she’s a Gryffindor?” James asked, turning his attention back to Sirius.

He gave him no answer. Not even a facial expression.

“I think we can assume that much,” Remus said. “And it’s certainly not Lily. I know that much.”

“How?” James asked.

“Been studying with her when Padfoot returns from his rendezvous.”

“She can’t be more than a year on either side of us,” Peter said. “Younger they get, the more scared of us they are.”

“Valid,” James said with a solemn nod.

Sirius just rolled his eyes. He didn’t know if he could relax, but he needed to have a relaxed air about him. He stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned backwards, supporting himself with straight arms.

“Right, so that leaves us with what, twelve girls? We can narrow it down,” James said after mentally counting the girls in their year, the year above and year below. “We’ve already checked off Lily and we can check off my sister and Marlene.”

You hid behind your book so the boys couldn’t see your smile if they looked over at you. James dismissed you as an option right off the bat. They would never get it right at this rate.

“Cross off anyone he’s already been with. There’d be no point hiding it from us if they’ve done it before,” Remus said, waving a hand at James.

Sirius snuck a worried glance your way. He thought his hint was clever, but his friends were going to run through the girls quickly. And once they did, they’d have to go back over the list. There was no telling if they’d come to the conclusion that it was you. You flexed your eyebrows. He needed to turn back around.

You found it amusing as the boys tossed around names and found each one not feeling right. Sirius looked more or less mortified. He lost his relaxed air when he looked at you and couldn’t get it back. It was only getting worse as they moved on from girl to girl and then started renaming girls.

“We’ve listed everyone,” Peter said, sounding defeated. “Are we sure that he didn’t fall into the lake and is just too proud to tell us?”

“Why would he be by the lake after quidditch practice?” James sighed.

Something about what James said made something click in Remus’ head. After quidditch practice. He looked at you, at first with wide eyes of realization and then the wicked smirk of someone about to unleash hell.

“I know who it is,” Remus said firmly, not looking away from you.

All three boys looked at Remus, and then they followed his gaze to you. Sirius went pale. James turned red. And Peter laughed.

“Oh, that’s rich.”

“We do know her quite well,” Remus said.

“Padfoot,” James growled. “For the love of Merlin, tell me that Remus is wrong.”

You looked up slowly. You knew they were looking at you. You heard it go down.

“I can’t,” Sirius said in a small voice.

“At least he had a good reason for not telling us,” Peter said between fits of laughter.

“Yeah, Wormtail? What’s his reason?” Remus asked, clearly enjoying the building tension between James and Sirius.

“He loves his life. Because Prongs is going to murder him.”

“My bloody sister? You are mental?” James yelled, jumping up.

Sirius immediately mirrored him. “Maybe, yeah.”

James turned on you. “You! What do you have to say about this?”

You hummed and flipped a page in your book, as if you were disinterested in their conversation, as if it didn’t completely concern you.

“What the others say is true: he’s good at snogging.”

Sirius broke into a stupid smile because that answer was so you. A little bit of sass to your brother. It was also a compliment to him. James, however, did not like that answer as he turned a darker shade of red.

“I… argh! That’s my little sister!” James shouted at Sirius, and then turning back to you, “My goddamn best friend? Could you have chosen anyone else?”

Still feeling unbothered, you leaned forward and looked at Remus. “Remus is kind of cute.”

“Oi!” Sirius said.

“I said kind of!”

“Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!” James roared.

He glared at you and then at Sirius before storming off to their dorm. You broke into your fit of laughter when he started up the stairs.

“I think he took that well.”

“So, you’re really… together?” Remus asked, watching Sirius run a hand down his face as he stared at the stairs James disappeared up.

You nodded. “When you’d figure out Sirius was seeing someone?”

“Few weeks ago. You left a mark.”

You tilted your head in slight confusion. You left marks on Sirius before only a few weeks ago.

“Oh, he put his hair up.”

“Ah,” you said. Then you looked at Sirius. “He’ll get over it. Let him cool down and come to terms with it. You’ll be fine.”

“He’s pretty pissed,” Sirius said, voice low.

“For now. He’ll get over it.”

“He’s pissed at me.”

“Mate, relax. She’s right. He blows up, but he always cools down,” Remus said.

“Yeah… right…” Sirius muttered before collapsing on the couch next to you. “At least I can kiss you in public now.”

“That’s what you’re excited about? I can’t wait to go on a real date-date with you.”

“Oh, gross… Maybe they should’ve kept it a secret,” Peter said to Remus.

tags: @navs-bhat, @bruxa0007

#marauders #marauders fic #marauder-misprint #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black fluff #request #potter!reader

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witerh · 19 days ago

Text

Learning Cowboy Hat Etiquette || re:di boyfriend!leon

NSFW!

warnings: soft/dom, porn with some (no) plot, fluff and dirt, bites, p in v, sex on the couch, face sitting counts, ride on the tongue, aftercare, leon is mean, he doesn't talk much, leon kinda corny

notes: omg i can't wait for the trailer (which should be) where capcom show us at least jill and leon and my fingers will forget what a vacation is + sorry for mistakes in the drabble i was drank O⁠_⁠o

rating: explicit

summary: a borrowed for you hat and some curiosity of yours about leon's bull riding days brought you both to the point that you don't know etiquette cowboy hat at all. he will fix it.

“Do you ever miss it?” you ask suddenly, turning your gaze away from the tv and the shitty movie they had opted for that evening.

“Miss what?” he leans back, studying your face with a glowing curiosity and pretending to be a fool for you. “Lemme a hint for old man.”

“Rodeo.” you shrug, draping your legs across his lap.

“Hmmm, sometimes, I guess. Why are you asking?”

You had often wondered how much of that part of his past sculpted this body, the way it pushed and pulled and flexed and rippled. Had his years of fighting buck for buck been responsible for the perfect, hard lines of his abdomen? Tanned juicy biceps? The thick ropes of muscle in his arms? In the dark, you wondered shamelessly if it was responsible for the fluid rut of his hips when he fucked her.

“Just wondering. You don't really talk about it much.”

“Well, not sure I mentioned it, but getting kicked in the head repeatedly tends to take the fun out of things.” the corner of his lips twitchs, fighting a self-satisfied smirk at his own joke.

“What do you miss most about it?" It is earnest, the way you press. He shifts on the couch, the chatter of the movie fading idly away. There is something more to the coy look you are wearing, something that made him swallow thickly despite himself.

“I dunno,” his laugh was wary, and he folds his arms close to his chest. He feels, somehow, there was an expected answer, one he is beholden to without knowing. “I dunno. I guess I miss that moment where it just clicks, y'know? You get the rhythm of it, and it doesn't feel like fighting anything, just working with it.”

As he speaks, his features softened, blurred by dreamy memory of a time long enough ago that the rose-colored tinge has nearly disappeared.

“Oh. I thought you would say winning,” you admit with a shrug. “but I guess that's cool too.”

His laugh showers over you, curving your lips contentedly. You lean over to kiss him before standing from the couch and vanishing through the doorway, a breeze perfumed with sunlight and vanilla left in her wake.

He crooks an arm behind his head, thought cinching his brow. Though he is attempting to determine the gambit, decode your game, there simply isn't time before you sauntered back towards the couch, hips taking liberties as they sway. You are clad only in a tee shirt and black panties, slung low on your hips. He draggs his sight up your body, from the long, tender spanse of your legs to the breathtaking flutter in your hips, and finally up to your luminous face. On your head, he nots in sheer delight, is his hat. You toss him a sly glance from beneath its wide. He thought about how much he wanted those smirking lips pressed to his.

“You know, you're breaking all kinds of hat etiquette, sweetheart,” he tuts, the growing strain in his voice rival only by the strain between his thighs. “wearing another man's hat is a no-go. And inside too.”

“I think you could make an exception for me,” you purr, lithe footsteps bringing you directly in front of him. Your lowered register lands on his ear like a sedative, he can feel himself melting and moulding to your mercy. And you are right—an exception can be made, one he is quite willing to concede.

“Well you know what that means then, don't you?” he smirks, fastening his hands to the sloping curves of your waist.

“Tell me.”

"Means you're all mine, sweetheart." he ushers you towards him, your thighs coming to straddle either side of his lap, feverishly painting the hollow of your throat and the curve of your neck with kisses.

"I can live with that. And besides," you manage between sighs, "what else am I supposed to wear when I ride?"

He didn't have to search for meaning in your words, the roll of your hips over his promised wickedness of the highest order. He groans, the edges of his voice running raw. Grip tightening possessively around your waist, he bucked his hips against yours.

“I'll give you something to ride, honey.”

The pulsing at your core was desperate, need dousing your with each snap of his hips. You ground against him, greedy for the friction, greedy for the eager rise you could feel beneath the fabric of his sweatpants.

When he crushed his lips to yours, knocking back the brim of the hat, their kiss was ravenous as a man starved. His fingers slipped up your ribcage, brushing over the curves and contours up to the round of your breasts, a rising pride in his gut as he cupped them, as he felt the peak of your nipples beneath your shirt. He drew one hand higher still, curling it around your neck. His index finger and thumb rested beneath either side of your jaw, poised above your scrambling pulse, his palm pressed to the flushed skin of your throat.

“Think you can take it?” he gruffed, tightening his fingers only slightly, just enough to make your blood quicken, to make your breaths turn ragged and lurid.

“Please-”

“Show me you can handle it,” he inclined your chin towards his face. “show me you can take it.”

You ground against him again, breathless and desperate and hungry. The tug of cotton between them made her whine, the thought of what it kept from your almost too much to bear. One of his hands had anchored at your waist, thumbing the peak of your hipbone and urging with each clothed rut. You whimpered, the words stolen from your as a new flood of desire found its way between your legs. Need was making speech impossible, incoherent mumbles all you could manage. You needed this. Needed him. Needed something to soothe what was careening through your veins like a drug.

“Need some help there?” he chuckled, the gravel in his voice only serving to pull at the threads that made your come undone. Gently, he eased you off, just long enough to rid himself of his shirt, then his pants and the boxers beneath. You were marvelled for a moment at the etched columns of his body, the flexed sinew of his thighs, perfect, tanned skin over fortified muscle. It was enough to make your throat run dry.

Stepping out of your underwear and shirt, you discarded them altogether and clambered back into his lap. The searing line of his hardness was nestled maddeningly beneath your, the staccato of his heartbeat thrumming between their skin.

“Last chance to back out,” he rasped, the solid planes of his body trembling with the effort it demanded to not fuck her straight into the couch. He had to keep his mind steadied on the game at hand, intoxicated by the thought of bygone wins that she so lovingly made him recall.

“I can take it, Leon..." you brushed it off, the ember of lust flickering in your eyes were enough to illuminate his most salacious fantasies.

“Prove it.” he goaded, a broad smirk running recklessly across his cheeks.

Breaching the tightness of your heat, you were already soaked as you took him to the hilt with a feverish whine. Tossing your head back, the tendrils of your hair brushed against your shoulder blades. The hat tipped precariously from your head, and you threw a hand up to clasp it desperately, unable to hear the low, lewd groan he rewarded your with.

You were every fantasy he had ever had made real; hips sweeping against his, lips parted in a euphoric cry, breasts so tantalizingly close he could nip and suck if he tried. But truly, it was the sight of his damn hat on your head. You were a dream. A vision. Something he was almost certain he would have to wake up from, but as he felt the flutter of her walls around him, he knew it wouldn't be any time soon.

“God, baby, you're so tight,” he growled covetously.

You had no control of the indelicate sounds falling from your lips like rain. The only anchors you knew for certain were the sculpted taper of his hips, and the faded, lended hat. It spurred in your a stubborn determination to ride out each and every thrust and aftershock, to clutch a win forged from his own lust.

“Still with me?” the words were little more than a strained groan as he prodded, delivering a wicked thrust that made the fingers of one hand root into the couch cushion behind his head.

“Mhmm...” you are humming, lucidity fleeing with each lope of your pulse.

Thoughts were drowns by the vicious snap of skin against skin, the scent of sweat and sex and whiskey and leather that makes the air around them dense. He felt the air knocking from his lungs at the obscene, divine feeling of unsheathing only to the tip before slamming into the warm, tight clasp of your pussy once more. The drag of his length through your silken walls, his languid withdrawal only to the sensitive, swollen head, drove him wild. It conjured raw, animalistic thoughts; ones that any other time would be chased off by more chivalrous sensibility.

You want to let your thoughts scatter away like stardust, to be carrying off by the carnal bliss, but a thread of competitiveness kept your bound to your goal. You still, after all, have to win. You roll you shoulders, expelling a candied sigh as you rearrange your features into a wanton glower. Some lever in your have been pulled, one that offer resolve in tandem with its unfettered lust. You demand the reigns with each push and pull of your hips, dominating the rhythm that he, until now, have been leading.

He wasn't sure when he had yield to your, when he had allowed the control to slip from his fingers like grains of sand, but he knew he wasn't regret it. Beneath his skin, white-hot pinpricks began to rise. With each thunderous roll of your hips, each sensuous flick, he was contending with his undoing. The valley between your breasts have blossomed in a flush, crystalline specks of sweat like dew rising above the skin.

He leaned forward, dropping his head to trace your sternum with his tongue. The hot, wet trail invited a whine from your, one that made your grip at his hair and pull his face flush with your skin once more. The rise and fall of your hips against him had reached a fever-pitch, the crash of his pelvis against your clit threatening to break your in two.

You were on the precipice, the pulsing ache in your sex shooting like fireworks throughout your body. All he had to do was push, and you would tumble. You were unaware, however, that they were standing atop the same peak. Her assertiveness, the silhouette of your from beneath the familiar brim, the smell and feel of your all around; he was hopeless.

Unwilling to forfeit to his undoing, he steeled, motionless for a moment.

“Hey-” you hissed, prepared to admonish him for breaking the rules, however unspoken they may be, but he unlatched from the shallow of your collarbone to offer your a wolfish grin.

“Let's see you ride something else,” he drawled.

Tilting your head, your brow furrowed. It was difficult to untangle his words from behind your hedonistic veil, but he had already shifted them. He now laid beneath your, having positioned your knees beside his ears.

Though the move was partially out of preservation of his pride, he still found himself craving the sweetness between your legs. A campaign, now, to devote himself to drawing pleasure from your with his mouth, with his hands, like a religion.

You felt the gunpowder in your veins start to ignite with the first long, flat stripe of his tongue along your slit. His glinting eyes were visible from between your thighs, his sight catching yours dangerously. It twisted something in your gut, the steady gaze he maintained while he devoured your. Your knees hugged his ears as his palms braced the round of your ass. Beneath your, his arms were firm, keeping your pinned under his wicked mercy.

Relentless teasing against your entrance made you cry out, the wildfire scorching your body threatening to consume your whole. A delicious pressure sparked as he pressed into your heat, fucking you with his tongue. You keened against the contours of his face, feeling the brush of his teeth at your clit. Her hips jerked, chasing pleasure as it teased and ebbed from his lips. He nipped and suckled and taunted, sending static through your veins. Dismissing a hand from your back, he slipped it beneath your thigh to roll a thumb over the bundle of nerves, tongue lapping hungrily at your dripping sweetness.

You have never felt your molecules turn to vapor before you met him, you have never been reduced to a supplicant, wanton wreck until he first captured your beneath his practiced mouth.

“Shit-” you seeth, writhing and wheeling as he working your swollen bud deviously with his hand. It is a petty distraction from the way he is laving at your glistening pussy with such rapt attention that it cost you the air in your lungs, the thought of anything in your mind other than his name, primal moans ripping from your throat. You have finished with a sharp gasp and a celestial ringing in your ears. Victory flooded down his cheeks and over his lips, wetting his rough bristles, honey and warm.

Even from across the length of your body, between the dip of your quaking thighs, he could see bliss storming features of yours. You are becoming untethered from orbit, spend and exhaust as he orchestrated another orgasm that crashed over like the dark of nightfall. It was cruel, he knows, to drives you to you brink once again, still in a free fall from your previous climax.

“All mine. All fuckin mine...” his lips leave yours for a moment before bitting down your bottom lip.

You were far too gone to even acknowledge his words, focusing on your release rather than anything he was saying.

“So impatient...” he groans roughly, moving his fingers in you to collect your juices, slowly and gently taking his fingers out of you, making you let out a small whimper.

But boyish ego was captaining his mind, taking command of his body, and he drops his hand to part your glistening folds. Spread open for him like a perfect bloom, his tongue once again dipped into your cunt. The bright, heady taste of her pull a shameless moan from the depths of his chest, its reverberations shooting through your. He wanted to worship and revel and languish in your forever.

You have lost count of the times bring your to ruin, though somewhere in your mind you begrudgingly ascertained he has won. Not that it mattered. Not when he had filled you and stretched you with three fingers, crooked as if in beckoning. Not when be was coaxing pleasure from each and every cell in your body, proclaiming his triumph in each whine, sigh, moan, and sob. No energy could be spared to think about their trite game, not when his mouth, hot and adoring, was fixed to your pussy.

How you remain upright, you cann't begin to say.

You feel limp, spend, giddy, but you know you cann't afford to be done just yet.

With what resolve remain and much to your chagrin, you pull free of the work of his mouth and shuffled down on the couch. You align the begging tip of his cock with your entrance and gasp brokenly as you lower yourself, letting him drive home in your. You are sensitive in ways you have not feel before, it dance with pain like a lover, the ache igniting the pleasure, the pleasure fanning the ache.

The buck of his hips are gentle, he has been flirting so dangerously with his own climax long before you bury him in your once more. He is taken by the sight of yours gingerly meeting his pace, hat still perch on your head, eyes glimmering with something beyond love. You are what he has been waiting his whole life for, even if he hasn't known it. When your hand find his cheek, brushing along his temple as you push your hips over his, he feel the coil beginning to snap, wound too tight by your heat, by your love, by your tenderness.

When he comes, it was with a bliss so entire that he was silent for a moment. It is only when the final wave of his orgasm subsides that he finally dragged in a rabid, shattered breath. He is certain you could hear his heartbeat through his sweat-beaded skin, though you can feel it in his groin, feel it hammering against of yours where they were still joined.

He finally surrenders, drawing his softening length from your with a mutual howl. You, in turn, slip the hat from your head on the floor, suddenly overcome by a pervasive vulnerability. You fit yourself into the space beside him on the couch, nuzzling against the crook of his neck with a sated smile, covering your nakedness with whatever the borrowed hat would cover.

“So... who won?” you ask suddenly, the toll of their escapade evident in the grain in your voice.

“Well, me, of course. Who can win beside me, huh?” his grin is rugged.

You swat at him playfully, rolling eyes. “Let's call it a draw. Is... is that how it works?” you giggle, delirium infecting your mind.

He kisses your forehead, the damp line of hair. “No. But I win either way,” he chucked your bottom lip, tilting your face towards his. “Because I have you, my lovely girl.”

#save a horse ride a cowboy #cowboys au #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #drabble #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy fluff #leon resident evil #cowboy hat #witerh

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mr2swap · 5 months ago

Text

Stepdad and son time

-Calm down old man, A cigarette won't ruin “My” body-

My stepfather Steve smiled confidently at me and then flexed his huge arms just to reinforce his point.

-I even think they are a little bigger than the last time you saw them, right Steve?-

Despite being outdoors the powerful aroma that came from the smoke reached my nose, that aroma was so familiar, but at the same time it was different I could remember the taste, however I had never tasted one. It was the old and dry lips of my stepfather, those Who remembered the delicious and soothing taste of that horrible habit.

-Oh! How rude I have been... Do you want any of this?? -

Steve took a couple of steps towards me and held the cigarette towards my face, the same face he had left behind 3 years ago. I'm not sure how he did it, but I have no doubt that he is to blame for what I now look like. As an overweight, middle-aged Southern man, I couldn't resist the soothing taste of a good cigarette.

Suddenly my mind relaxed and all the hatred I felt for the guy who had ruined my life vanished. Steve looks as damn happy and confident as the last time I saw him. We continue fishing, drinking and talking as if we were really a couple. Stepfather and his son having a good time, son of a bitch…

When I lived with my mom, he and I never got along well, sometimes we went days without talking even if our room was only a couple of meters away. To me, Steve was just a lazy idiot who was lucky to find someone like my mom.

Although my mom tried to get us closer multiple times, she didn't succeed, Steve and I were very different. I used to be a sports fan, I spent time with my friends playing all day or sweating in the gym, but all that changed when I turned 21 years old, Steve suddenly began to take an interest in my life in a somewhat obsessive way. He started watching the videos I posted about my workouts on Instagram and looking at my friends' profiles.

But the most obvious proof that he was the cause of all this was that just a week after we "mysteriously" woke up in the other's body, Steve left the house in the middle of the night with my motorcycle, the selfish bastard. The only thing he left me was his social security number and a small message:

“I'm sorry that we couldn't find out what caused us to exchange our bodies, but I think we should both continue with our lives. Take care of your mother and don't worry... I'll go visit.”

Since that day my life has been shit, I don't know what the fuck he did to me, but since that day I've had to fight every day with that little voice in my head That makes me act like an idiot, Sometimes and all I can think about is How damn hot it is in the house and how good I could use a six-pack of beer. I guess he thought he would do me a favor by doing that to me to blend in more, or maybe I'm just his trash can where he dumped his shitty habits including his taste in women and Susan, my mother.

Every night before I go to sleep I try to be so fucking drunk that I forget what I do at night with my own mother and when I can't get my mother to give me money for the beers I masturbate furiously in the bathroom to relieve my desire for the disgusting sex with mom

If you're still horny and want to read more of my m2m bodyswap stories, subscribe to my Ko-fi I have over 250 stories in my archives

#body swap #male body swap #bodyswap #body switch #male transformation

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himasgod · 1 month ago

Note

idk if you'll do this since it isn't rlly a "ship", but i've recently been thinking about a Player/Yuu and Reader friendship or even parental relationship!!! this is technically all inspired by an Ao3 fic where Reader is also in the ramshackle dorm because their cuz so cool and "powerful" the mirror couldn't assign them to a dorm heh, and the year after is when Yuu wakes up (game starts) making Reader a second year and House warden!!!

i think this is a rlly cool concept and wanted to see if there is anything you could add to it cuz i like ur writing ^^

preferably Male of Gn reader!! and Yuu's gender doesnt matter :))

YUU AND READER

Where Yuu arrives new to NRC, and you are in charge of protecting them

I DON'T KNOW IF I UNDERSTOOD THE CONCEPT YOU WERE REFERRING TO, but I really enjoyed writing this, I hope you like it!

The first time you meet Yuu, they’re covered in soot, half-conscious, and gripping a flaming broom like their life depends on it.

You blink. Then blink again.

“Crowley,” you say flatly, arms crossed, “you didn’t tell me you were dumping another stray into my dorm.”

The headmage laughs nervously.

“My dear, you know Ramshackle is practically made for wayward souls!”

You look down at the soot-streaked human. Their uniform is a size too big, and their eyes are wide with confusion. Grim is clinging to their leg like a plushie.

"...They’re not even from here, are they?"

“Technically, neither are you,” Crowley points out.

You don’t dignify that with a response.

That night, you patch Yuu up in the creaky lounge with what little your dorm budget allows: a med kit you bartered from Riddle, a blanket sewn by Deuce (badly), and some tea Trey taught you to brew with dandelion roots.

They keep blinking at you like you might vanish.

“So,” you say, settling onto the other dusty couch.

“You're stuck here. Got no magic. Crowley’s about as helpful as a broken cauldron.”

Yuu nods slowly.

“Then I guess you live here now.”

They blink again. “What?”

“I’m the Housewarden of Ramshackle,” you say simply. "You stick with me, follow my rules, and I’ll make sure you don’t get eaten alive.”

“Is that a figure of speech or a real threat?”

“…It’s NRC. You’ll figure it out.”

Over time, it becomes a routine.

Yuu nearly gets turned into a statue? You’re there before it happens, yanking them out of harm’s way by the back of their collar.

Grim eats too much? You carry his unconscious body bridal-style to the infirmary while threatening to gut Ace if he laughs.

Crowley forgets to give Yuu lunch money? You “borrow” some from Azul’s stash and promise to pay it back.

You’re not always warm. Not the nurturing type. But you are constant.

And when Yuu has nightmares about being stuck in a world that doesn’t want them, you're always sitting in the hallway outside their door—half-asleep, arms crossed, guarding the space like it’s sacred.

One day, after a particularly rough Spelldrive practice, Yuu brings you a flower crown they made out of wild clover.

“For your desk,” they say awkwardly. “Or... for your head. I dunno.”

You stare at it.

It’s lopsided. Messy. Falling apart a little at the end.

You kneel and let them place it on your head without a word.

Grim bursts out laughing.

“You look like a fairy princess!”

You don’t move. Don’t flinch.

“…You done?”

Grim’s wheezing.

You stand slowly. Loom over him.

Yuu smirks. “Run.”

Grim runs.

You chase him across the front lawn, crown still slipping down your head.

You never say it, but it’s obvious to anyone who visits Ramshackle:

The ghosts avoid Yuu now—not out of malice, but respect.

The dorm is cleaner, warmer, decorated with mismatched things you and Yuu both picked out.

And sometimes, when you think no one’s listening, you’ll knock on Yuu’s door before curfew just to say:

“Proud of you. Don’t let the chaos eat you. Sleep before midnight or I’m locking the windows.”

#yuu and grim #yuu and reader #reader x mc #twst x reader #yuu x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst headcanons #yuu twisted wonderland

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alchemistc · 6 months ago

Text

She's not ...entirely sure this is a good idea.

Even as she raises her hand to knock she's second guessing herself.

The thing is - the thing is there aren't a lot of people in her life who don't take one look at her and make assumptions. She's petite, she's blonde, her face is eerily symmetrical.

When people see her, they think they know her.

Cap is great. The sort of man she wishes she'd known more of, growing up. The kind of man who stood in front of the entire crew and doled out cleaning duties and cooking duties to his men and didn't blink an eye handing her inventory, but pulled aside a guy six years into the job to inform him that if he made a snide comment about having to do Mona's job again he'd be looking for a new station. Respectfully.

The kind of man who let his crew cut loose and created a kind of family behind those bay doors, but didn't take their shit when they got out of hand

The kind of man who looked at her and just saw another firefighter.

Cap is great.

It's just...

Well, the guys don't go to Cap for advice, and she knows once upon a time that kind of hurt his feelings, but this feels like one of those things his husband is better equipped to handle.

("It's because he's older, right?" Cap had asked once, failing miserably at holding in a pout while the team around him demolished the roast he'd obviously spent hours prepping the night before.

Fred had still had half a loaf of bread in his mouth when he explained that talking to their boss about their sex lives just felt like an HR nightmare.

"So you go to my boyfriend instead?")

Mona's still considering turning heel and leaving the way she came when she hears whistling around the side of the house, and before she can make a break for it, Cap's husband is rounding the corner of the porch, winding his hands in a grease rag, and he's catching sight of her, raising a brow, slowing his steps.

He must see the panicked look in her eye.

"I can turn back around and pretend you were never here," he murmurs, the slightest hint of a smile on his face, and Mona feels every ounce of flight just seep from her bones.

Yeah. Okay. She gets why the guys all think he's the one to go to when they've royally fucked something up.

There's an ease to him, a gentleness that she knows for a fact was hard fought.

"No, I..."

The brow ticks up a little more.

"I just found a new sour Evan won't touch with a ten foot pole, if you're gonna be here a minute," Tommy says, and any resistance left vanishes. Mona's been to enough of Cap's barbecues to know his husband always has the best beer in the county.

"Yeah, okay."

Tommy crosses the length of the porch and glances glumly at his greasy hands. "You mind grabbing the door? Evan throws a fit every time I leave fingerprints behind."

She's interrupting his day, she realizes. He's a weird sort of semi-retired - flies for the county sometimes during wildfire season, flips classic cars from their huge ass garage around the side of the house, spends a month teaching courses to new pilots every year out of state and it's always the crankiest they ever get to see Cap. People charter his chopper, sometimes, although lately it seems like he only keeps the thing around so he can take Cap up to watch spectacular sunsets because they're the most sickeningly perfect couple she's ever met.

Mona grabs the door. Shuffles in ahead of him when he shows no signs of moving, and makes her way down the hall to the kitchen because she's been here enough times by now not to feel as weird about how welcoming they both were right away.

He uses his rag to pull open the sink cabinet and grab the heavy duty soap from underneath to wash his hands.

The scent rolls over her in waves, throwing her back about fifteen years to her parents tiny little apartment over the shop, her father's rough and callused hands soaking under shitty water pressure, the grease under his fingernails he could never quite scrape clean.

Tommy tips a chin at the fridge. "Grab me one, too? Bottle openers on the side."

There's an ease to the way he says it, like this is a normal occurrence, like Mona's ever stepped foot across the threshold for anything that wasn't a station-wide get together. She supposes for him it probably is. At least a few of the guys act like he's their dad, wandering into the house without even bothering to knock, gathering around him when he shows up at the station like lost little puppies.

He's used to it.

He hums his thank you when she sets one of the bottles on the island beside him, and Mona glances around to distract herself while he's drying his hands.

A couple dozen pictures of Cap and Tommy, in various stages of their lives.

The fridge is plastered with pictures. A couple she recognizes as Cap's sister and brother-in-law, two adorable kids at their knees. A guy standing next to a kid wearing a cap and gown and leaning on two crutches. An older man she's lovingly heard Cap refer to as basically his dad - the reason they eat better at work than anyone has the right to. A couple she'd seen at the wedding, standing with a kid she remembers Cap staring at like he was seeing a ghost. There's so many people that she doesn't know, but - there's the station pictures too. Candids of the boys when they were living in the Captain's house, back when Cap first got here, when she'd still been a year and a half from graduating high school and didn't have a fucking clue what she wanted to do with her life. The Christmas that Fred had cursed them with the q-word and Tommy had spent the day in the station kitchen putting together a meal they'd all stuck around to eat after shift despite the exhaustion seeping into their bones, all of A shift crammed together around a tiny wobbly table to squeeze into the picture.

She gets stuck on the picture of the two of them in hard hats, building what she's pretty sure is the wrap around porch she's snuck a few cigarettes on when the house gets a little overwhelming. There's something about the way they're looking at each other that makes her want to cry, a little.

Fuck.

Damnit.

Tommy leans over to tap the picture with a grin. "We had a blowout fight the night before our buddy took this picture," he says, the deep grooves of his smile stretched wide across his face. "I'd left my job and sold my house six months earlier to chase him across the country and he was convinced if he didn't find a way to turn every half-thought-out desire of mine into a reality that I was gonna vanish in the night. He bought the lumber without telling me and I came home to him and his best friend ripping out the stairs to the front door."

Mona's instantly drawn in.

He makes them sound like a train wreck.

If she's got the math right, that was her senior year. She remembers seeing them around town and thinking they were annoyingly sweet. She remembers her mom baking Tommy a casserole for the excuse of getting all the gossip about the Captain's mysterious paramour so she had the upper hand at her book club that weekend.

Tommy taps another. The two of them under a pergola, the expressions on their faces so disgustingly smitten Mona remembers wanting to blow a raspberry in the middle of the ceremony. She'd been so convinced she'd never let herself be so fucking dependent on another person for her happiness.

"He kept it a secret that he'd invited my father to the wedding until the night before. I spent most of my night with a punching bag instead of Evan." He points out another photo from the wedding. "The photographer tried to murder me when she saw my knuckles. Evan could barely fit the ring over my finger."

"Who snitched?" Mona asks, narrowing her eyes, and Tommy grins, huffs a laugh. He gestures vaguely at her face.

"You've got the look," he tells her, which doesn't really explain a whole lot. "And none of Evan's crew ever makes their first visit anything but love life issues."

"It could be something else," Mona argues, gesturing with her beer, and one of his brows ticks up. "It's not, but it could be."

"You want something to eat? Evan's been experimenting with cakes again, and the red velvet white chocolate escaped the discards."

"Is my so called look that bad?"

He grins. "Mostly I'm looking for an excuse for cake before noon."

Christ, he's good at this. It's actually a little eerie, how quickly he's set her at ease. It's been over a year and the guys still call her prickly when they think she can't hear them, but she never calls them out on it because they're not wrong. It takes her forever to warm up to people.

"Is that how this usually works? You butter us up with Cap's food and get us to spill our guts?"

He's already digging plates from a cabinet next to the stove. She can't see his expression, but she can picture the grin on his face. "Usually they raid my fridge and put their feet up on my coffee table before I've fully registered that they're here. It's sort of a novelty to get to act like a host in my own home."

That checks out, if she's being honest. They're all a bunch of rabid animals who've been emboldened by Cap's open door policy and his infectious smile and his incredibly hot and talented husband. She's never quite sure if the guys want to be him or screw him - not that Tommy's ever looked twice at anyone who wasn't Cap.

"I think I'm broken," Mona admits, the words coming out in a rush, her eyes on the dutch oven tucked under one of the wide kitchen windows.

Tommy slides a slice of fucking delicious looking cake her way and takes a swig of his beer. Waits.

Mona reaches for the fork and spills her guts.

---

"Oh, hey Mo," Cap says, stumbling his way over the threshold, eyes lighting on his husband and his expression going gooey.

Tommy broke into the rack of Banquet's an hour ago and Mona's pretty sure she's one with the couch. It's a good couch. When she'd told Tommy so twenty minutes ago there'd been a gleam in his eye she didn't understand.

She's still a little too buzzed to worry about the fact that she's oozing into the cushions and emotionally wrecked. She hasn't cried in front of another human being in at least six years. Tommy's probably a wizard, or something.

"Everything good?" Cap asks, and she knows that they've got a sort of agreement - unless Tommy thinks something is gonna affect the work, whatever Tommy talks about with them doesn't reach Cap's ears.

"Men," Mona huffs, and Cap pauses, shoots another look into the living room.

"Yeah. Men."

"No Cap. Men," she repeats, and he nods, a corner of his mouth quirking up.

"Oh. Men," he enunciates, and Mona feels the scowl on her face grow wider when the two of them share a sappy look. It's super fucking inconvenient to be surrounded by the proof of true fucking love when she's trying to convince herself she's already too jaded to find it. "If you wanna stay for dinner I can tell you the story of the time Tommy tried to leave me because he thought he could make my decisions for me."

Even Tommy's scowl is sappy as hell. It's gross. Shes having a hard time convincing herself it's not the best thing she's ever seen.

She tips her neck against the back of the couch to glance up at him. "Who snitched?"

Cap's laugh filters through the room, and right across from her, where the whole world and Mona can see, Tommy's expression goes warm and vulnerable, like the sound has soothed a few decades of wounds. "Word of advice? Never leave Harry with a secret and a crowded room."

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan fic #outsider pov #future-fic #captain buck and his house husband #just really wanted to explore the idea of pilot emotional repression being bucks teams go-to like bobby was for the 118 #technically part of my captain buck in the rockies 'verse

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flickering-chandelier · 1 year ago

Text

It’s Cool, We’re Just Friends

Pairing: Azriel x BestFriend! Reader

Summary: Azriel and Reader have been besties for years, until one night has them crossing into uncharted territory.

Warning: Steamy at the end whoops

Word Count: 2.8k

The rooftop garden at Rhysand’s townhouse was one of your favorite places in the world. It was one of the only places that you could often have to yourself when you needed some time for quiet reflection. You loved to lounge up there, especially at night when you could watch the City of Starlight come to life before your very eyes.

The only thing better than having the rooftop all to yourself was sharing it with your best friend, Azriel.

You smiled as he appeared, smoothly landing a few feet from you, his eyes sparkling, his shadows vanishing as he smiled at you.

He dragged the empty iron chair closer to you and settled in, stretching his wings out behind him, placing his hands behind his head, leaning back casually. He only sat this way when it was just the two of you, when he didn’t have to keep up appearances as the Night Court’s spymaster and shadowsinger.

“What did you do today?” he asked, looking out at the light and life of the city.

“Trained with Cassian. Hated my life,” you said, shifting in the iron chair to ease some of the soreness in your back.

Azriel laughed quietly, his eyes flicking to you as you tried to get comfortable. “Cassian always has that effect on me, too.”

You scoffed, lightly swatting at his bare bicep. “Don’t be mean. You love your brother.”

He sighed, smiling lightly at you. “Then what?”

“Mmmm,” you pondered, running through your day in your mind. “Oh! I finished my book!”

“The one about the forbidden love?” He lifted his eyebrow.

“Yes!” you squealed, excitedly. “It was so good.”

“Let me guess,” he said, his voice teasing in that way that he saved just for you. “They finally got together and lived happily ever after?”

“Yes! How did you know?” You teased.

He shook his head, smiling. “Anything else?”

“Not really,” you said, studying him. He was the only person you had ever met who actually wanted to know the answer when they asked you how your day was. “What did you do today?”

Azriel shrugged, looking out at the city again, the flickering lights below reflecting in his eyes. “Not much.”

“Are you kidding me?” You leaned forward in your seat, gawking at him, and he laughed. “I tell you everything about my boring day, and that’s your answer?”

His smile faded though as he leveled a gaze at you, his eyes sweeping over your face. “I wanted to spare you the details.”

Your blood turned cold at his serious expression. Azriel and you had been best friends for years, ever since you had fled your home in the Autumn Court. From your old home, you had gone north, nearly freezing to death in the Winter Court before the shadowsinger found you and gave you refuge in Velaris. The two of you were kindred spirits, hitting it off instantly. His brothers and his other friends had eventually told you that he immediately relaxed in your presence, even from the beginning, and that he had never seemed so comfortable with someone so quickly. You were honored to be his friend, thanked the stars every night that he had found you and saved your life.

He had been fiercely protective of you from the beginning, wanting to shield you from the realities of what his life was like outside of Velaris. You hated to admit it, but you did get squeamish thinking about what you knew Azriel sometimes had to do -- the torture, the blood, the screams. The thought of him sneaking around in dangerous territories, watching enemies, gathering intel on the in’s and out’s of their lives… it made you more worried than you could express.

But, you also hated not knowing what he was doing, if he was safe. It took months, but you eventually convinced him that you could handle at least the vaguest details of the missions he went on. You knew that he would never be willing to tell you the whole truth, knew that he didn’t want you to think of him that way -- the ruthless, unyielding shadowsinger.

“Oh,” you said finally. “Are you okay?”

Still, he would usually tell you something. So, if he was unwilling to tell you what he had been doing today… it must have been something very dangerous indeed.

His eyes softened as he gazed at you. “I am now.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the sweet Illyrian before you. “You can talk about it, you know. If you have to. I’m here for you,” you reached across the space between you, gently taking his hand.

Azriel’s gaze landed on your hand clasped with his, his expression softening to barely detectable sadness that made you heart hurt. “I know you are,” he said softly.

You studied him for a moment, eyes trailing over that beautiful face that you had memorized. He was in his fighting leathers, tattoos peeking out from under his collar, trailing down his bare arms, his strong biceps that were the size of your head, his massive wings stretched out behind him.

And his rough, scarred hand gently holding yours.

You tugged on his hand gently, so his eyes met yours again. “Want to take me for a ride?”

He smirked, an expression that had taken months of friendship to unlock. “You sure you want to?”

“You seem like you could use a distraction,” you murmured.

Azriel held your gaze for a beat longer before he stood up and scooped you into his arms, only pausing for a moment to smile at you before he shot up into the sky.

Flying with your Illyrian friends had taken a long time for you to get remotely used to, and even now it sometimes made your stomach churn. But you knew it helped clear Azriel’s mind, and you liked the time you got to spend with him in the air, just the two of you.

He held you close against him, his arms wrapped behind your back and under your knees. You rested a hand on his chest, reveling in your opportunity to study him while his eyes were trained on his surroundings. No matter how much time you spent with your friend, his beauty never ceased to amaze you.

You could feel the tension in his body slowly loosen as he flew above his city, a light breeze gracing against your skin, running through your hair through the shields that he put up around the two of you.

Dipping his head, bringing his mouth to your ear, he murmured, “Thank you.”

You curled into him, resting your head on his chest. He tightened his grip on you slightly.

Sometime later, he landed back on the roof, setting you carefully on the ground. Despite his gentle touch, you winced quietly as the muscles in your back ached from your training this morning.

Azriel’s brow furrowed, his hands freezing at your waist, his fingers flexing against your body. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” you said, smiling sweetly up at him.

He arched a brow, not believing it for a second.

“It’s nothing!”

He simply waited, knowing full well that you couldn’t keep your mouth shut for long.

“Okay, fine,” you groaned. “My back hurts. A lot.”

His eyes swam with worry, before narrowing in accusation. “You haven’t been doing the stretches you’re supposed to be doing, have you?”

“Well…” you said, your voice rising a few octaves. “Not all of them.”

He growled your name, his frustration evident. “Why not?”

You shrugged. “They didn’t seem that important at the time.”

“What are you doing?” you squealed, trying and failing not to stare at your best friend’s glorious ass, which was now far too close to your face.

Groaning, he picked you up and slung you over his shoulder, heading for the stairs of the townhouse. You shrieked. In all of your years together, he had never done this.

“I’m going to help you solve the problem that you created, because you’re my best friend, and because you clearly aren’t capable of taking care of yourself,” he said, as he stomped unceremoniously down the stairs.

Scoffing, you said, “Is this really a necessary part of it?”

“Yes,” he countered, clearly amused.

You huffed, staying silent as he walked through the mercifully empty halls to your bedroom. He opened the door with his free hand, kicking it shut behind him, before tossing you onto the bed.

“Oww,” you groaned as your back hit the mattress.

The tough guy act faded as soon as you were in pain. His eyes softened. “Sorry.”

“I thought you said you were going to help me,” you grumbled.

“I am,” he said, stalking towards you, his eyes alight. “Lay on your stomach.”

You quirked a brow at him in question, but when he just silently held your gaze, you sighed and did as you were told.

Suddenly, you were very aware of how thin the material of your dress was, how the hem landed just above your knees. You were thankful that he couldn’t see the heat in your cheeks.

The mattress shifted beneath you as he climbed onto the bed. “What are you--”

“Shh.”

Your skin prickled as he settled his calves snug against your hips, straddling you. He remained hovering over your body on his knees. You weren’t sure you were breathing.

“Okay, what are you --”

The air was sucked out of your lungs as his hands found their way to your shoulders, kneading your back with his rough fingers, digging deep into you, working out all the tension that had been building in your muscles for who knows how long.

You weren’t sure if it felt good or if it hurt… both. Definitely both.

He remained silent as he worked out the knots in your back, gradually moving lower and lower, kneading and rubbing.

The lower his hands moved, the more you had to focus not to squirm. You felt the heat of his body, and the things his hands were doing… you couldn't help but imagine what those hands could do in other places.

It’s not like you had never thought about it before. You had always been just friends, but you weren’t blind. He was the most beautiful male you had ever seen. And he was always so sweet and kind and protective…

You couldn’t stop the moan that came out of your mouth.

His hands stilled for the slightest moment before he continued kneading your muscles. “You doing okay?” He asked, his voice thick. It made heat spread between your legs. The legs that he was currently holding down with his body.

“Mmhmm,” was all you could manage.

It was impossible to tell how much time had passed when he finally lifted his hands from your back. “Is that better?” he asked softly, not moving from his position over you.

You twisted around a bit, testing movements that had made you wince before. After a moment you turned to lay on your back, your body touching his in so many places as you did so. “You’re a miracle worker,” you said, your voice coming out raspy.

He continued to hover over you, his expression unreadable. He leaned closer, bracing his forearms on either side of you, his chest pressing against yours, his face only inches away.

“Az,” you breathed, unable to look away from the heat in his eyes.

His eyes sparked and he leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours, twining a hand in your hair as the other gripped your waist.

Your body responded to his immediately, your hands cupping his cheek, wrapping around the back of his neck.

The kiss started out slow. Azriel was taking his time, and when you opened your mouth for him, his tongue slid in gently, exploring your mouth with such tenderness that you wanted to weep.

You gasped as he pulled away to leave a line of sensual kisses down your neck, his hands running over your stomach, your thighs.. “We should’ve been doing this the whole time,” you moaned, breathless.

He laughed into your skin, and you felt the vibration go through your whole body. You squeezed your thighs together and he groaned, nipping lightly at your shoulder.

“Yes, we should have,” he said, kissing his way up your neck. “We’re idiots,” he laughed before taking your mouth with his again, kissing you deeply.

“So stupid,” you said against his mouth and the shoulders you were clutching shook with laughter.

Azriel continued to kiss you slowly, his rough hand drifting underneath your dress, up your thighs…

“Is this okay?” he pulled his mouth back an inch, his eyes studying your face, his body attuned to your every reaction.

“Az, you’re my very favorite person. I trust you with my life. You can do whatever you want to me,” you said, your voice teasing despite how breathless he was making you.

His eyes sparked, his expression one of affection and disbelief before he smirked, his hand trailing up further. “Whatever I want, hmm?” he murmured, his eyes trained on yours.

You could only stare as his hand stilled, a fraction away from where you really wanted him.

“And what do you want, my dear friend?” he said, his voice velvety in a way you’d never heard before.

“Please,” was all you could manage.

He grinned, waiting a beat before he moved your underwear to the side, sliding a finger into your center.

The moan that you let out nearly rattled the walls.

His gaze was trained on you, watching how your body reacted to every move he made. Eventually you tugged his clothes off and he did the same to you, until you were moving together, skin to skin. He moaned your name as he slid into you, setting your body on fire.

He pressed his forehead to yours as he moved inside you, one of his hands holding yours, clutched next to your head, as he kissed your lips gently. He gazed at you when he pulled back, his every movement swimming with affection. “You’re my favorite person,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re the hottest man in the world,” you said just as quietly, your fingers scratching down his back, his wings rippling behind him.

The laugh that rumbled through him made your head spin, and his hips move faster. “You’re the most beautiful woman in the world,” he countered, smiling lovingly down at you.

“I was staring at your ass when you slung me over your shoulder,” you admitted.

“I stare at your ass whenever you leave the room,” he grinned, bending down to nip playfully at your neck, his hips not breaking his steady rhythm.

You gasped, swatting his arm. “You do not!”

“I do,” he laughed, kissing your neck.

“I thought you were a gentleman!” you said mockingly.

He looked at you pointedly, slamming his hips into yours more forcefully. The sound that escaped from your throat was filthy.

“I guess you’re learning a lot about me tonight,” he teased, his eyes sparkling.

You rolled your eyes playfully before wrapping a hand around the back of his head, twisting your fingers through his hair as you brought his mouth down to yours.

You didn’t speak again until some time later, when he was holding you close, your legs entwined, your head resting on his bare chest, his wings enveloping you in their warmth.

Idly, you drew shapes and patterns onto his skin with your fingertip. He shivered. “I think I’ve been in love with you for a long time,” you whispered, your eyes fixed on your finger, moving to trace over his tattoos, too afraid to look at his expression.

His arms tightened around you and he kissed the top of your head. “I’ve been in love with you since I met you.”

Your gaze flicked to him, your eyes wide. He smiled softly down at you. “You have?"

He kissed you gently in response. “How could I not be?” he whispered.

Your bottom lip trembled and he ran his thumb across it. “Don’t cry,” he murmured.

That made you cry. He laughed, his wings wrapping tighter around the two of you, shielding you from the world.

“Such a softie,” he teased, lifting your chin to press a sweet kiss to your mouth.

You grumbled adamantly, burying your face in his chest.

The two of you laid in companionable silence for a while before he broke it. “You’re going to do your stretches from now on, right?”

“If this is the treatment I get when I don’t do them? Absolutely not,” you grinned.

#acotar #acotar fic #acotar one shot #acotar x reader #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel one shot #azriel x reader #azriel x you

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dismalflo · 3 months ago

Note

now we need to know what else is going to happen and form between sirius and reader of shitty IT job and part 2 of it!! Maybe u, sirius and a few colleagues go out to have dinner in a restaurant and a waiter or someone is too obsessed with reader and sirius needs to step in? Or when the dinner is over, the group decides to walk around the city a bit and it’s cold and sirius gives u his jacket? Or maybe reader had an allergic reaction to something in the food? Idk, just some ideas

thankyou for requesting!! <3

Sirius Black x reader who's co-worker can't seem to take a hint ✩ 1.2k words

This work is technically a part of a wider drabble series but can be read as a standalone.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

cw: office au, creepy co-worker (has a history of asking the reader on dates despite being told no before) but Sirius to the rescue, fluff, maybe a touch of angst at the end, pre-relationship

When Sirius got up for his second cigarette of the night, muttering, “It’s the only way I’ll survive this, doll,” the pet name slipping out like second nature in the weeks since he first called you it, you found yourself gravitating toward the bar for another drink. The mandatory company dinner had turned into the dullest event of the year. The only redeeming aspects were Sirius and the free booze—though with the former vanishing into a haze of smoke, it was starting to feel like there's just the booze left to keep you company.

As you wait for the bartender to finish your drink, a figure sidles up beside you, a little too close for comfort. You glance over, instinctively stepping back. It’s Jason from the marketing team. He smiles at you with a lopsided grin that doesn't quite match the look in his eyes, the same one he’s been wearing every time he’s asked you out in the last month.

“So, what’s the deal with you tonight?” he asks, his voice a little too familiar, his arm brushing against yours as he leans closer. “I mean, we could have dinner together sometime, right? I promise I’m not like all the other guys around here. I could make it... interesting.” His words hang in the air, an uncomfortable heaviness that makes your stomach churn.

You give him a tight smile, your fingers gripping the edge of the bar a little too tightly. “I’ve told you, Jason. I’m not interested.”

He laughs, clearly not taking the hint. “Come on, don’t be like that. I’m a nice guy, I swear. Just one dinner—what could it hurt?”

Your discomfort grows, but you force yourself to maintain composure. “Jason, I said no. Please respect that.”

He doesn’t move, though. In fact, he leans in a little closer, and the scent of his cologne overwhelms you. His breath is warm against your ear as he says, “Didn’t think you’d be so uptight, always hanging around that weird IT guy. Just one date. No big deal.”

Before you can respond, an arm slides around your shoulders, and you look up to find ‘that weird IT guy’ himself—Sirius. A rush of relief floods through you as the tension in your body melts away, even as Sirius glares daggers at Jason.

“Are you ready to go?” you know he's talking to you even though his eyes aren’t on you. You agree readily.

As Sirius starts to guide you away towards the door, he stops to shoot Jason the most insincere smile you’ve ever seen, his voice dropping low.

“I’d suggest you learn what ‘no’ means because if you do that again it won't end as nicely.”

With that, he pulls you along, effortlessly grabbing your bag from the table and leading you into the cool night air. The chill feels like a breath of fresh air after the oppressive tension of the room.

Sirius mutters under his breath, “Wanker,” his irritation unmistakable.

“Are you alright?” you ask, wide-eyed and concerned.

He lets out a half-choked laugh. “Are you?”

You shrug, trying to brush it off. “I’m fine. He’ll move on eventually.” Then a surprised giggle escapes you as you think. “Though, I guess you might’ve helped with that.”

At the sound of your laughter, Sirius’s expression softens, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Glad I could be of service,” he says, his tone lighter now, though there’s still a glint of annoyance in his eyes. “Did you walk here?”

“Yeah, I live like ten minutes away.” you reply, while gesturing in the general direction of your flat.

“Come on then.” He starts walking and you find yourself struggling for words.

“You– You don't have to walk me home, Sirius.”

“I know I don’t have to but I want to, so I'm going to.” His confidence settles in the air, and somehow, that’s all the confirmation you need. You fall into step beside him, a comfortable silence enveloping the two of you as you walk.

The walk is peaceful, the distant hum of the city mingling with the soft sound of your footsteps on the pavement. Every now and again Sirius’s hand brushes against yours, it’s an accident you think, but it makes your heart do an odd little flip in your chest each time.

Sirius breaks the silence first, his voice quieter than usual. “He really doesn’t get it, does he?”

You chuckle, the tension from earlier a distant memory. “I don’t think he’s ever heard the word ‘no’ before, honestly. I’m just glad you showed up when you did. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do.”

Sirius glances at you, a slight smirk playing on his lips. “I’ve got your back. Always.”

You smile at him, your steps in sync as you walk down the dimly lit streets. The night air is crisp, but you don’t mind. Not when Sirius is right beside you, his presence almost magnetic.

You arrive outside your flat, standing in front of the door as the sound of the city continues its low murmur in the background. For a moment, neither of you speaks. Sirius’ eyes are soft and searching as he looks at you, as if he’s weighing something. His lips part, but he doesn’t say anything right away. He’s close enough now that you can feel the heat radiating from his body, the faintest scent of tobacco lingering around him.

“Thanks,” you say quietly, looking up at him, not sure what exactly you’re thanking him for but knowing it’s more than just walking you home.

Sirius’s eyes flicker down to your lips for just a moment as you finish speaking, and your breath hitches. His gaze locks onto yours, and you both stand there, the tension between you palpable. You can feel your heart race, your pulse quickening.

And then, as if drawn by some invisible force, Sirius leans in. Your breath catches in your throat. It’s happening. You both know it’s happening.

But just as his lips are mere inches from yours, he freezes, his face tightening as if something inside him has shifted. With a sharp breath, he pulls back, putting just enough space between you to break the moment.

“I… I want to kiss you,” he mutters, his voice strained, “God, I do. But not like this.”

You blink, a mix of confusion and disappointment swirling in your chest. “What do you mean?”

Sirius runs a hand through his hair, looking torn. “I don’t want this to be some impulsive thing. Not when fucking Jasons just done what he did.” He takes a deep breath, his gaze steady on yours.

You stand there, the air suddenly thick with the weight of his words. You feel a strange blend of frustration and relief, unsure how to navigate this unexpected shift in the mood.

Sirius steps back, giving you a little more space, his fingers brushing against his temple as if he’s working through something.

“I—” he starts, then stops himself, clearly grappling with what to say. He looks at you, eyes softer now, like he’s searching for the right words. “Look, we can talk about it later, if that’s what you want, but I’ll see you on Monday, yeah?”

You nod, understanding the distance he's trying to create, but also sensing that the space is temporary. "Yeah. Monday."

He gives you a small, almost rueful smile before turning to leave, his steps fading into the night as you watch him go.

#flo'sfics #marauders au #marauders fics #marauders era #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fic #sirius black drabble #sirius black angst #sirius black fluff #office au #sirius black #sirius x reader #sirius x you #sirius x y/n

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writingpandagoth · 2 months ago

Note

Post war severus is my favourite. So imagine. He survive but noone know and he diaspear to another country. But he was in relationship with y/n and she think he’s dead. After years they accidentaly meet.

Okay sooo I just want to say:

I actually had this story written down some time ago...and I thought,

Post War? check. ✅

Actually alive and not dead? check.✅

Angst with a turn that hurt me writing it?✅✅

So I guess here it is then.

I hope you enjoy and its somehow what you wanted and imagined.

( TW: Mention of Blood )

Ashes and Echoes

It’s been eight years since the Battle of Hogwarts.

Eight years since the world rebuilt itself from blood and rubble.

Eight years since you stood over a shallow, government-dug grave with your hands shaking and your mouth too dry to say goodbye.

Eight years since you buried your heart.

Severus Snape.

You hadn’t planned to return to France. The continent still carries too many ghosts, too many shadows of where the two of you sometimes vanish during holidays but a rare ingredient had led you here—a highly specific strain of powdered dragon’s blood only cultivated in a remote village near the Pyrenees. The kind of thing only eccentric potion masters deal in.

And you’re no stranger to eccentricity.

You'd heard whispers in your professional circles. Quiet mentions of an unnamed reclusive potioneer tucked into the south, brilliant, secretive. No name. No details.

You hadn’t thought anything of it.

Not until you stepped into the shop.

The bell above the door gives a soft chime as you walk in, not announcing you so much as acknowledging your presence like the sigh of something ancient and tired. The interior is warm, dim, and alive with the scents of dried herbs, parchment, and faint incense. Old magic.

The kind you recognize.

You take one step in, and then another. You almost call out.

Then you see him.

He’s standing at the back of the shop, back turned to you, sorting through a tray of ingredients with the same slow, deliberate precision that once drove you mad with affection. His hair is shorter now. His frame thinner but the posture—the quiet gravity of him—is unmistakable.

The floor tilts under your feet.

“…Severus?”

He freezes.

The room holds its breath.

Then, slowly, like a man surfacing from deep water, he turns.

You forget how to breathe.

It's him.

Older. Alive.

Alive.

Your stomach lurches. Your hands go cold. There’s no mistake. You know that face. You know that man. You’ve traced his skin in candlelight and screamed his name into pillows. You’ve dreamed of him, prayed for him, grieved him.

“You’re alive,” you say, and the words don’t even sound like yours. They sound like someone else’s nightmare.

His lips part. He says your name like it means something. Like it hasn’t been collecting dust in his mouth for nearly a decade.

“(Y/N)…”

The sound of it cracks you open.

And then the fury rushes in.

“How dare you,” you whisper, voice trembling with rage so sharp it cuts your tongue.

“How fucking dare you.”

Your voice hits the shelves harder than any spell. Bottles rattle in their places. The air thickens, like the magic in the room recognizes your fury and dares not move against it.

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t even flinch.

He just watches you.

And somehow, that makes it worse.

“I buried you,” you hiss, stepping closer. “I stood over your grave. I watched them lower a box into the ground with your name on it. I cried so hard I couldn’t breathe. I hated everyone who didn’t mourn you like I did. I hated myself for not saving you.”

His mouth opens. A breath. A thought. A weak beginning of a justification.

You cut it off before it can live.

“Don’t you fucking dare try to explain this. You let me believe you were dead.”

You see something flicker in his eyes. Guilt. Regret. Or maybe just the weight of everything he’s refused to face for years. But you don’t care.

You’re too far gone. Too far deep into the pain you’ve carried like a second skin.

“I stopped sleeping,” you whisper. “I stopped living. I stopped everything. I let the world move on while I stayed in that moment—your blood on the floor, your name in my mouth, your death replaying in my head over and over again and all this time—you were here.”

“I thought it would be best” he finally says, and the words land like ash.

You laugh.

Not a real laugh. A hollow, shaking, awful thing that sounds more like heartbreak than humor.

“For who?” you snarl. “For me? Because if you thought that was mercy, Severus, I hope you burn in the peace you bought with my grief.”

He looks down at the table, jaw clenched. Like he wants to disappear again. Like he’s still so good at hiding from things that hurt.

You stare at him—this stranger with a familiar face. This man you would’ve followed into hell… who chose to let you rot in the ruins of a war you both survived.

“I came here for dragon’s blood,” you say, your voice a blade.

You pull a small pouch of Galleons from your cloak and toss it onto the counter.

“Keep the change. Buy yourself more silence. It seems to be the only thing you value.”

You turn before he can say another word.

The bell above the door rings again as you walk out, the sound hollow behind you.

—

The door to your room at the local Inn slams shut behind you. The walls feel too small. The air too still.

You don’t cry.

You’re past that now. Past the tears. Past the shaking. You’re running on fury and exhaustion and the kind of grief that doesn’t even scream anymore—it just exists. A constant pressure behind your ribs.

You pull your bag open, casting a few quiet packing charms. Cloak. Journal. Vial of wolfsbane extract you’d picked up earlier that morning. You move like muscle memory, like instinct, because if you stop to think, you’ll break.

And then you hear it.

A knock at the door.

You don’t answer.

A pause. Then the door creaks open slowly.

You don’t turn to face him. You don’t want to see his eyes. Not now.

“I shouldn’t have let it happen that way,” he says, his voice low, rough. “I told myself I was protecting you. That disappearing would sever the danger that always followed me. That you’d be safe.”

You shove your wand case into your bag with more force than necessary.

“I watched people I cared for die in that war. I watched you bleed for me. I couldn’t let you waste the rest of your life waiting on a man whose name would always be cursed.”

You snap the clasp on your bag closed. The sound cracks through the silence like a spell.

“Say something,” he pleads.

And you do.

“No.”

You lift your bag onto your shoulder and finally turn to face him.

Your eyes are dry. Your mouth is set. You are ice and ruin and every woman who ever carried grief quietly.

“I don’t want your reasons. You gave me silence, Severus and now I’m leaving you in mine.”

You walk to the door. His eyes are desperate now. Pleading.

“Oh. Just so you know, you didn’t just leave me in silence to grieve” you say as you reach for the door, not even turning back. „You left your daughter too.”

You open the door and step into the hall without looking back.

His breath stops.

His lips part—but no sound comes out.

Only silence.

—

The cottage feels smaller when you return.

It’s warm and lived-in—books stacked on the kitchen table, a tea cup left out from earlier, a crooked drawing tacked to the fridge. It smells like lavender and sugar and parchment. Home.

But today, it wraps around you like a cage.

“Mom?”

Her voice comes from the sitting room, uncertain, questioning.

You force your body to relax, to smooth your face into something resembling normal.

She peers around the doorway with wide, intelligent eyes. “You’re back early.”

You smile, just enough to make it believable. “Change of plans.”

She crosses the room and hugs you around the waist. She doesn’t cling—she hasn’t done that in years. But she holds on, and that’s worse somehow. She knows something’s wrong. She always knows.

You brush a hand over her hair and kneel in front of her.

“Everything okay here?”

She shrugs. “Yeah. Professor McGonagall helped me with my essay. She says I need to be more ‘precise.’” She scrunches her face into a stern imitation of Minerva, and it pulls a real, painful laugh from your chest.

“Sounds like you had fun.”

“She made pumpkin tart.” She pauses. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

The question hits harder than it should.

You hesitate.

“No,” you say, finally. “But I found what I needed to.”

She tilts her head. “Are you sad?”

You blink. “What makes you say that?”

“You look like you’re smiling with your mouth, but not your eyes.”

And gods, doesn’t that just shatter you. You pull her into a hug again, tighter this time.

“I’m okay,” you lie. “I’m just tired.”

She believes you. Or at least, she pretends to. You pull back and tuck a curl behind her ear.

“Go get ready for bed, alright? I’ll come read with you in a minute.”

“Okay,” she says softly, and disappears down the hall.

Only when she’s gone do you let yourself sit down on the edge of the couch. Your limbs feel heavy. Like the weight of the last eight years has finally caught up to you.

He knows now.

And now you have to live with the aftermath but you don’t regret telling him.

—

Severus doesn’t sleep.

There’s no point. The moment your words left your lips, the concept of rest became foreign. His mind plays them on a loop, vicious and unrelenting.

“You didn’t just leave me in silence to grieve. You left your daughter too.”

Your daughter.

His daughter.

A little girl who had

Eight years of growing up without him. Of birthdays missed. Of scraped knees he never kissed, nightmares he never soothed.

He doesn’t even know what she looks like. Doesn’t know her name. Doesn’t know anything.

And all that because he left.

He stares at the wall until morning.

And then he runs.

He leaves the apothecary door unlocked for the first time in years. He doesn’t even bother to change. Just throws on a cloak, pockets his wand, and starts moving.

You didn’t say where you were going.

But you didn’t need to.

You’d never stay in France. Not after that. Not with their daughter to protect and a life to return to. Severus apparates back to England the second he steps outside with nothing but a name in his mouth and a storm in his chest.

He scours every village he thinks you might’ve passed through. He checks records, follows cold trails, stumbles through quiet towns with desperation burning behind his eyes.

But there’s nothing.

By nightfall, he’s half-mad with desperation.

You covered your tracks well.

Which means you had help.

Which means only one person could know where you are now.

Minerva.

Of course. She was always your friend, your confidante. The one person who never treated either of you like lost causes.

If anyone knows where you are now, it’s her.

He apparates again but this time straight to the gates of Hogwarts before he can second-guess himself. The sight of the castle nearly stops his breath.

He hasn’t been back since the war.

Since the blood.

Since his almost-death became a hiding place.

The wards recognize him but resist him. It takes effort to push through them. As if even the magic is reluctant to let him return.

When he reaches her office the door flies open before he can lift his hand.

Minerva McGonagall stands in the doorway with fire in her eyes and she is not pleased to see him.

She doesn’t speak just stares at him with her Wand raised at him

“I should curse you where you stand.”

Her voice is low and shaking—not with fear, but with fury. The kind of fury that doesn’t need volume. The kind that comes from eight years of cleaning up the mess he left behind.

“Minerva,” he begins, but his voice fails. It comes out rough. Raw.

She steps aside, enough to let him into her office.

“Don’t you dare say my name like you still have the right.”

He looks at her, the lines on her face deeper, her eyes sharper. She looks like she’s aged and sharpened all at once. A sword honed on heartbreak.

“Did you knew,” she says.

His brow furrows.

“Knew what?”

She stares him down like he’s a ghost she’s debating banishing from the world entirely.

“That she was pregnant when you died.”

The words are a slap.

“I didn’t,” he says, and it’s the truth. The one truth he still has. “I didn’t know.”

Minerva studies him. Hard. As if searching for a crack. And then—

She sees it. The devastation behind his eyes. The hollow ache that’s turned his voice to gravel.

“Eight years, Severus.”

Her voice drops to a whisper.

“She buried you. Carried your child alone. Raised her alone. She had to build a life from the ashes. And you—” she swallows, fury and heartbreak twisting into something jagged— “We believed you dead but in the end you have just vanished.”

“I thought I couldn’t give her what she needed.”

“And that makes it better?” she snaps. “You thought disappearing would save her, so you left her in hell alone? You let her grieve you. You let me grieve you. And now you want what, forgiveness?”

He doesn’t answer because he doesn’t know. No apology could reach deep enough. No excuse could be sharp enough to cut through what he did.

“I don’t expect forgiveness,” he says finally. “I want… I need to try to fix what I did.”

Minerva’s jaw clenches. Her wand lowers a fraction—but her spine stays straight, her eyes fixed like twin blades.

“And what exactly do you think will happen if you do?” she says. “You think you can show up and fix eight years with a few words and a tortured look?”

“I don’t expect anything from her.”

“Good,” she bites out. “Because she owes you nothing.”

Silence stretches between them. Thick. Charged.

“But,” Minerva says eventually, voice softer now, heavy, “she’s not hiding from you. She’s protecting her daughter. That girl has grown up loved. Safe. Happy. And if you go to them now, Severus, you better be sure.”

He looks up at her.

She steps closer. “You don’t knock on that door unless you intend to stay. If you leave again—if you walk away from that child the way you walked away from her mother—don’t you ever come back.”

And there it is. The line drawn in stone.

His choice.

He nods.

—

The garden is quiet in the late afternoon sun.

You sit on the grass, knees tucked beneath you, watching your daughter lean over the flowerbeds with focused determination. She’s got her little herb journal open beside her, carefully sketching the shape of a blooming foxglove.

“Foxgloves are dangerous,” she says, glancing back at you. “Pretty, but toxic. Like powdered moonstone when it’s not diluted.”

You smile softly. “You’ve been paying attention.”

“Of course I have,” she grins. “One day I’m going to be a Potions Master just like Dad was.”

Your heart aches but you smiled.

You raise a brow. “Is that so?”

She giggles and goes back to sketching. You watch her, warmth and pride fluttering in your chest. She’s bright. Brilliant and so much the man who you believed dead.

You’ve worked hard to give her safety and structure. And love. Some part of you still aches when she asks questions about him that you answer without hesitation. Or when her eyes—his eyes—look up at you filled with softness when you read to her.

A breeze rustles the tall grass. The scent of lilac clings to it.

Then, behind you—a knock.

Your body stills.

You rise slowly, brushing dirt from your skirts, heart already beginning to pound. You glance back at her. “Stay here, sweetheart. I’ll be right back.”

She hums in acknowledgment, lost in her sketch.

You walk through the back door, across the wooden floor, and toward the front of the house—wand at the ready. And when you open the door—

Your breath stops.

Severus stands there like something out of a memory. The cloak. The hair. The expression—uncertain and raw.

“Severus.”

You don’t hide the surprise in your voice.

He doesn’t speak right away, just looks at you.

You don’t know what it is—exhaustion, maybe. Regret. Something heavier than he’s ever worn. But you see it all.

“Minerva?” you say quietly.

He nods.

You step back. Just slightly. “Then come in.”

The house is quiet. There’s a kettle warming on the stove, faint music from the wireless. The fire’s already been laid for the evening.

You say nothing as you guide him into the sitting room.

His eyes find the photographs over the mantle first—faded but carefully preserved.

One of the two of you, from years ago. A rare, unguarded moment. He remembers it. The way your hand curled around his. The way you’d laughed when the camera flash surprised you both.

Then the children drawings showing all signs of different process through the years.

His gaze sweeps the room. His old books line one of the shelves. A worn robe—his robe—neatly folded on the back of a nearby chair. Potion bottles with his handwriting. The very first cauldron he had.

And it hits him like a thunderclap, like drowning in light and memory and grief.

He sinks into the armchair, unable to speak.

You watch him from the doorway, arms crossed. Guarded.

“You may have been gone to us” you say simply. “But to us you never left.”

He stares at the fire, silent.

Then it happens. His shoulders shake.

And he weeps.

Not the quiet, noble kind. Not the sort he can bury behind pride.

He breaks.

You look away—not because you’re cruel, but because it’s too much. Because if you watch him cry, you might start too.

He cries like the grief has finally caught up to him.

You say nothing. You let it wash over the room, let it fill the silence he left behind all those years ago. You don’t move toward him. You don’t touch him.

You wait.

He wipes at his face with the back of his sleeve, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse and low.

“I was supposed to die.”

He says it like a truth he's carried every day since the war.

“That was the deal. That was the plan. Dumbledore’s grand finale. My purpose was to get Potter to the end… and die for it. No redemption. No reward. Just—closure.”

You don’t interrupt. Your arms are crossed tightly, bracing yourself. Because you know whatever he says next will hurt. But you also know he needs to say it.

“I was ready for it,” he continues. “I wanted it. I thought… I’d done enough damage. That maybe death would settle the debt.”

He pauses, staring down at his hands. “But I lived.”

He says it like a confession.

“I woke up in a safehouse. Some Order stragglers pulled me out. Didn’t tell anyone. Thought they were doing me a favor. A second chance.”

He lets out a bitter laugh.

“But I didn’t know how to live with that. I didn’t know who I was, without the war. Without Dumbledore pulling my strings. I was just… Severus Snape. And I hated him.”

You say nothing. Your fingers curl into your sleeves.

“I tried to come back but it was to late and I told myself you’d be better off,” he says, voice trembling now. “That mourning me would hurt less than living with me. I thought… if I came back, I’d taint what little you still had. I’d be a shadow you couldn’t escape.”

He looks at you, finally. Not pleading. Just raw.

“I didn’t know about her,” he whispers. “If I had—Merlin, if I had—”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t need to.

You’re standing in the ruins of it.

He swallows hard. “I don’t expect forgiveness. I don’t expect you to want me be part of her life or yours. I just needed you to know… I never forgot you. Not for a second. I didn’t wanted to destroy us.”

You don’t speak at first.

His words settle in the space between you, thick with sorrow and a lifetime of could-have-beens. You sit across from him, heart pounding behind your ribs, throat tight with everything you’ve carried for the last eight years.

And then you breathe.

Slow. Steady. Shaking.

“I’m not angry,” you say quietly. “Not really.”

He lifts his head, surprised.

“I’m hurt,” you continue. “I’m devastated. You left me in a darkness I barely crawled out of. You left me to grieve you when I needed you most. You disappeared, Severus. I mourned you. I buried you. I loved you through the silence and the pain and the bloody war that never ended for me.”

Your hands are trembling now, but you don’t hide them.

“I’m angry because I loved you, and I never stopped. And I hated you for making me keep loving you, even after you were gone.”

You meet his eyes then.

“I would’ve lived my whole life grieving you knowing you died a hero but finding out you were alive and I had to raise our daughter without you…that hurt more than you dying”

He sucks in a breath but he says nothing.

The silence carries on between the two of you for what seemed hours before your voice broke it.

“Her name is Eileen.”

There’s something sharp in his eyes. Recognition. Pain. Wonder.

Your voice is tight, shaking now for the first time since you saw him again. “I gave her the name of the one person I knew you came from. I gave her a piece of you, because I had nothing else to give her from you.”

His head lifts.

“She was born six months after I buried you.”

He closes his eyes.

“She has your hair. Your eyes. She’s sharp and stubborn and brilliant. She corrects my potions instructions and memorized half of Magical Drafts and Potions before she turned six.”

He opens his eyes again—wet, wide, breaking.

“She took her first steps holding onto the edge of your old robe.”

“She has a picture of you in her room. One of the few I ever took of you and every night without missing one night, she talks to it. She tells you about her day, about what she learned or who she wants to be.”

Your voice cracks but you don’t stop.

“She writes you a birthday card every year ever since she was able to do so and lights a candle for you. She draws you as a knight, a king or as a dragon-tamer because to her that’s what you are. She cried the first time she saw the war memorial in Hogsmeade because she didn’t understand why you weren’t on it.”

You take a breath, then another, and it feels like your ribs might shatter.

“She asks me to tell her bedtime stories about you,” you whisper, “Where you’re a professor at Hogwarts and you sneak home every night just to kiss her forehead before going back to fight monsters and brew the best Potions in the whole world.”

“She doesn’t know the man you were, doesn’t know fully just what you did but she says heroes don’t need to be perfect—just loved. And by Merlin’s name she loves you with every part of her soul.”

He is crying again. Silently grieving what he missed.

This time you don’t look away.

“I won’t lie to her and I won’t pretend any of this didn’t happen but I’m not going to close the door on you… not if you’re here to stay.”

You lean forward, eyes locked with his.

„But if you want to stand in this house like you belong, if you want to be part of her life and mine then you fight for it, Severus. You bleed for it if you have to.”

He nods. Eyes full of tears. Hands trembling like a man waking from a long, cruel dream.

“I will,” he whispers. “I swear I will.”

#fanfic #severus snape x reader #severus snape #harry potter

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4milly · 6 months ago

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girl u are FREKAYYYYY. what's life like with bd!zilla? 🙄🙄🙄🙄

i really do imagine he's the type to be so nonchalant about shit tbh. like when you two decided to co-parent your 3 year old son, from that day forth zilla's always put on this act that he never cared about shit you did. you both were single.

nothing new. he did the in the relationship. act like nothing ever mattered. you'd do things to spite him to atleast see if he cared. like doing your hair a different way when you'd drop your son off, wearing a dress too short and posting it to the gram, even sending him thirst traps on "accident".

only to get a dry ass response. barely even that, sometimes he’d just heart the message and move on.

but nothing ever seemed to phase him. you'd catch glimpses sometimes - a fleeting look in his eyes when he thought you weren't paying attention, the way his jaw would tighten ever so slightly when another man's name came up. but he'd always brush it off, act like it was nothing.

one day, you decided to really push it. you showed up to drop off your son wearing that slinky red dress he always loved, the one that hugged every curve. you made sure your makeup was flawless, your hair perfectly curled. as you handed over your giggling toddler, you casually mentioned the date you had lined up for that night.

little did he know, you didn't even have one. you purposely did all this shit so his blood pressure would raise.

for a split second, you saw it - that flash of jealousy, that hint of possessiveness in his dark eyes. but just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by his usual cool indifference. "have fun, babygirl," he said with a wink before focusing on your son

"mama, look pretty?" your son said gleaming towards you

"she does, buddy. so very pretty." he simply stated giving you a once over, stopping at your cleavage.

you felt a shiver run down your spine at his words, at the way his eyes lingered on your body. for a moment, you forgot to breathe. then you caught yourself, plastering on a coy smile. "thanks," you said breezily, "i'm sure my date will think so too."

as you turned to head back to your car , you could feel zilla's eyes on you, burning into your back. you put an extra sway in your hips, knowing exactly how that dress moved when you walked. you heard your son's laughter fade as the door closed behind you.

later that night, after your mediocre date with some guy whose name you could barely remember, you found yourself scrolling through your phone in the bathroom. your thumb hovered over zilla's contact. before you could stop yourself, you fired off a text: "date was a bust. heading home early."

you stared at your phone, waiting for his reply. the minutes that went by were agonizing. just as you were about to toss your phone in your purse, it buzzed.

u wanna come over, mama?

you knew this was a bad idea. you only wanted to spite him — show him you still had it and what he lost. but...damn, you'd be lying if you said you didn't crave to feel that long, girth, samoan dick working inside you, and those hands using your hips bouncing you like a bitch in heat, just like an addict craves their next fix. nonetheless, you responded anyways: be there in 15.

the ride to his place felt endless. second-guessing your decision with every passing streetlight. but when you knocked on the door and saw him standing in the doorway, all doubts vanished. He looked good - too good. his white tank top clung to his muscular frame, and his sweatpants hung low on his hips.

"hey, mama," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "come in."

you stepped inside, the familiar scent of his cologne washing over you. the living room was dimly lit. as you stepped inside, the familiar scent of his cologne washing over you, you felt a surge of electricity in the air. the living room was dimly lit, casting long shadows across the walls. soft music played in the background - was that the playlist you used to make love to? baby making music as they say.

zilla closed the door behind you, his presence looming large. you could feel the heat radiating off his body as he moved closer, his scent suffocating you. "you want sum' to drink?" he asked, his voice husky.

you nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. as he walked to the kitchen, your eyes followed the broad expanse of his back, remembering how it felt to dig your nails into those muscles.

He returned with two glasses of red wine - your favorite. As he handed you yours, his fingers brushed against yours, lingering just a moment too long. you took a sip, the rich flavor exploding on your tongue.

you closed your eyes for a brief moment as you glanced over the room, "so where is our little guy?" desperate to break the silence.

zilla almost didn't hear the question, to occupied in looking at your ass in the dress.

"zilla?" you said more firmly to bring his attention back towards you

"my bad, mama. we watched that paw patrol shit he like and he crashed out not too long ago," he responded before taking a sip of his wine "you look good as fuck, y'know that?"

you felt a flush creep up your neck at his words. "thanks," you murmured, taking another sip of wine to steady your nerves.

zilla moved closer, his eyes roaming over you hungrily. "you r'member first time you wore it?" his voice was low, tinged with desire. "that night at the club, when I couldn't keep my hands off you. had to take yo ass home right then."

you nodded, memories flooding back. the way he'd pressed you against the wall as soon as you got through the door, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing the dress higher, pushing his hand into your panties.

before you could respond, zilla closed the distance between you, his large hand cupping your face. "lemme r'mind you," he growled, before crashing his lips against yours. the kiss was hungry, desperate, filled with years of pent-up longing.

in one fluid motion, he lifted you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. he carried you to the wall, pressing you against it as his lips trailed hot kisses down your neck. your head fell back, a soft moans escaping your lips.

"god, you so fuckin' pretty," he murmured against your skin, his hands roaming your body, reacquainting themselves with every curve. he hitched your dress up higher, his fingers tracing the edge of your lace panties. "these in the way, mama."

with a swift movement, he pushed your panties to the side exposing your wet core, "shit, i missed this pussy. she missed daddy, baby?"

zilla's fingers were replaced by his hard length, rubbing against you. you didn't remember when he got the time to take his dick out his pants, but thank the stars above. you finally were about to get what you've nearly been wishing for and more, "fuck me, zilla. i missed you so much."

he slid into you, filling you up in one long stroke. your eyes rolled back as your body stretched to accommodate him. it had been too long since you'd felt him this way, inside you, claiming you as his own. the way his dick filled you perfectly made your mind go numb. you wrapped an arm around his neck bringing his lips to your owns. you let out a strangled whine as began to stroke, your pussy still getting used to the filling of being so full again.

he started moving slowly, dragging his hips back until you were nearly empty before filling you back up letting you adjust, and repeating the process until the coarse hair at the base of his cock tickled your clit.

"zilla!" you yelped as a particular thrust made him swipe over that special spot inside of you

"shh, shh don't wake him up, mama." he replied throwing a hand over your mouth to keep you moans at bay — careful not to wake your sleeping boy down the hall. "so fuckin' pretty just taking all this dick. I should nut all up in yo pretty ass.”

your moans and screams were muffled into zilla's hand. your eyes rolling towards the back of your head. you were in complete bliss right now. zilla's hips moved with a primal rhythm, each thrust driving you higher up the wall. your dress bunched around your waist, the silky fabric sliding against your skin with every movement. your panties, pushed hastily to the side, were soaked with your arousal — same as the floor beneath you. zilla's thickness stretched and filled you completely, your walls clenching around him, trying to draw him even deeper.

"that's it, mama," he panted, his hips pounding you against the wall. "take this dick. show me how much you missed it."

you arched your back, pressing your chest against his as you sought more friction. zilla's free hand slid down to grip your ass, kneading the flesh as he lifted you slightly, changing the angle. the new position had him hitting your g-spot with every stroke, and you saw stars behind your closed eyelids. you wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, your heels digging into his lower back, urging him on. your nails raked down his muscular back, leaving small rips in his tank top. zilla dipped his head, trailing hot kisses along your collarbone and down to the swell of your breasts.

your breath hitched as your belly started to tighten around his dick. zilla let out a quiet menacing chuckle into your ear, "wassup baby? you wanna cum? keep wettin' this dick up. make that shit spit fa me."

tears pricked your eyes as you shut them tightly. the pressure built up in your stomach and cum dripped down your legs — unable to store all of it in your pussy with his dick pummeling inside of you. zilla groaned, feeling your walls clench around him. "that's it, baby," he praised, his movements becoming erratic as he chased his own release. "fuck, I'm gonna cum. want me to fill you up, mama?"

your eyes were crossed and your head was spent, only focusing on the feeling of cumming all over him and the pleasure radiating through your body.

he let out a groan as he released every drop of his cum into you without thinking twice. his hips stuttering as he followed you over the edge. he gripped your ass, his hips bucking upwards, emptying ropes of his cum deep inside of you—filling you to the brim with his seed. some of it running down his dick, to his legs, and onto the floor. It felt too good to pull out and he wasn’t going to.

as you both came down from your high, zilla slowly removed his hand from your mouth, replacing it with a tender kiss on your bottom lip as you continued to shake and twitch in his arms. the feeling of his warm cum so deep inside you, triggering another mini orgasm. your body continued to convulse as every nerve ending in your body exploded, "yo ass happy you finally got some dick?"

❦:

@caramelcleopatraa @harmshake @msbigredmachine @luvrsluxe @uceyliyahh @angiedawn02 @amandairene88 @cyberdejos2 @queeny23 @empressdede @trentybenty @heauxvibez @whatdoeseverybodywant @shes2real @romansthrone @acknowledge-reigns @southerngirl41 @prettyfilmz @jaza23

don’t forget to like and reblog! <3 drop a comment also! i love reading those. xoxo, cleo.

(think i might make this a series tbh.)

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crimsoncandy04 · 6 months ago

Note

Good day! Tomorrow or later I should say because it's already 10:41 pm, it's my birthday! Dec 29, can you please make Scaramouche is obsessed with us? Like OBSESSED OBSESSED, make this as my birthday gift please! 🥹

As you wish. (I can't say no. I'm now bound by birthday law. When the special boy or girl makes a birthday request, one simply MUST comply. This is what the ancient texts state. Otherwise the stars will declare thee an absolute asshole for at least a year.)

Happy birthday! I hope this is to your liking ;) and may you see many more yearly returns after this!

(I really tried. Usually I take a while to write because my inspiration is slow to come and quick to leave. But I really wanted to give you something. I hope this doesn't read as rushed.)

TW: Paimon abuse.

❤️💜🖤❤️💜🖤❤️💜🖤❤️💜🖤❤️💜

Recently a bunch of strange things had been happening to you and Traveler. First a bunch of your supplies had been discovered missing one morning (Traveler had blamed themselves and believed they had probably just neglected to notice some stuff falling out of their backpack while fighting), but a few hours later, both of you were swore you were being followed too (Traveler could recognize human footsteps but every time they tried to turn around and go scout the area for thieves, there was no one around), after that a few days later, you would discover that your favorite sweater had vanished from your tent, Traveler had their tent knocked over completely one night, and even woke up with their clothing sewn into the floor of it the next day.

If you didn't know any better, you'd have guessed a vengeful spirit was stalking you both. And that these cruel and disturbing pranks were its way of exacting revenge.

But that couldn't be possible right?

Thankfully the activity had ceased for a few days after the last misfortune had befallen Traveler, and both of you had hoped that you could rest easy before finally heading to explore the nation of geo for the first time ever!

It was an exciting idea. However, the night before you two were supposed to set off, something happened again and this time it was serious.

Paimon had been hurt.

It wasn't serious thankfully.

But someone had been cruel enough to think that chucking a rock at her head would be funny and after picking up a bleeding and weeping Paimon from the grass, Traveler had had enough and grabbed their sword and said they were going to catch this monster once and for all. They then left Paimon in your care as they left the campsite and headed into the trees. A look of pure unbridled hatred and silent fury in their golden eyes.

And so after that, you spent a little while sitting next to the tiny sleeping fairy inside Traveler's tent and watching over her.

You hadn't been expecting to suddenly hear footsteps outside of your own empty tent across the small clearing sometime later after nightfall.

You became eerily still.

Something didn't feel right.

It was too quiet.

Why was Traveler just hanging around outside?

You slowly got up and headed for the opening in the tent to see if your friend was okay, but just as you were about to pull back the fabric and look out, something in your very spirit made you stop dead.

Call it intuition.

Or a gut feeling.

But something in you was telling you to stay quiet and not let whoever was out there hear you.

So was this a thief?

You instinctively reached for your dagger in the pocket of your coat. You weren't the fighter here. This was true. You were the healer to Traveler's warrior but that's what kept you guys compatible on the battlefield and friends everywhere else.

However that didn't mean you didn't know how to stab someone in self defense if you needed to.

A strange soft yet sinister voice suddenly caught your attention from outside.

"Your friend has gone to play hero again. Leaving you to care for that...thing."

That voice was familiar. But where had you heard it before?

You clutched your weapon tighter.

"They're foolish. Leaving someone like you to care for the injured. Someone who... can't even manage to grasp their weapon properly."

You barely had time to scream before you realized that the voice was in the tent with you. Strong hands moving to cover your mouth and wrap around your waist as you feel someone's cool breath against your ear.

"Don't fight me. I'd hate to start off on the wrong foot by stunning you." The voice cooed in your ear. You had been trying to turn your head and kick. But your attacker sensed your intention and easily knocked you unconscious with one swift strike to your head.

You woke up later laying in a strange bedroom. The scent of incense and a strange perfume filling the air.

You try to sit up but something prevents you. You feel with your hands and discover that you are quite literally chained to the bedframe behind you. A thick metal collar and chain leash secure you in place. You can roll over but that's about it.

"Sleep well?" The same voice from earlier asks. You look around the dim candle-lit bedroom and see a barely illuminated figure standing at the foot of the bed.

"Why did you bring me here? Who even are you?" You ask cautiously. Afraid of accidentally angering your kidnapper in your defenseless state.

"You caught my interest. So I decided to keep you."

"Are you serious? You can't do that! What about my friend? He'll wonder if I'm dead!"

The figure was on you in the blink of an eye. It was then that you finally see him clearly.

A beautiful young man with thick indigo hair and eyes framed by elegant maroon colored eyeliner. He was breathtaking.

And suddenly you almost didn't care that he was sitting on your stomach and pinning your hands on either side of your head.

"Don't talk about those insignificant beings. Never again. from now on only talk about me okay?" You didn't know if this was jealousy or ego from the way he said it but you really didn't wanna push your luck. However, he seemed to misunderstand.

"I wasn't insinuating anything. Traveler is like my sibling-gah!" Suddenly the pale man's hand wrapped around your throat.

"of course it's them. That annoying pest is always ruining things for me. Listen closely starlight, because I'm only going to warn you once..." He leans down and whispers in your ear.

"I better not ever hear that name leave your mouth after today. I don't want to hurt you, but I will if I need to. Don't push me." He then loosens his hold but doesn't pull away entirely.

Instead shifting in his position and laying on top of you before kissing you deeply. You moan a little as you feel him shove his tongue in your mouth and move to spread your legs so he can be between them. His hardness already catching your attention as you feel him grind against you almost roughly.

"relax. Don't be nervous. I promise I'll make this hurt in all the right ways only~" the man teased as he broke the kiss and began to leave small kisses on your chest and stomach.

Why did this feel good? This was a bad man. You didn't even know his name!

You feel him tugging your underwear aside and giving your clit a gentle lick.

It was enough to make you audibly gasp.

"look at you, making just the most disgustingly cute noises~" he gives your clit more attention. Holding your thighs apart as he sucked and licked at your precious nub even as you started shaking.

"ah~ suck harder ~ please mister!" You feel him hum against your cunt as he hears your wanton plea.

"it's Scaramouche sweetheart. Use it." He then continued to tease your pussy with his lips and tongue as you started to feel your insides flutter.

"Scaramouche~ don't stop! Fuck this is amazing...!" You try to squeeze your thighs but scara keeps them forced apart still. You're stuck as you feel him suddenly shove his tongue deep into your pussy. Tasting your soft and moist inner walls as you suddenly cry out. This sensation pushes you over the edge completely and you end up climaxing harder than you ever had in your entire life.

Scaramouche licks the side of his mouth and grins mischievously at you from between your legs. Mumbling something about how adorable you look when at his mercy.

He isn't finished though.

You watch as Scaramouche begins to remove a few layers of his clothes until he gets to his shorts. Easily tugging them down and freeing his cock afterwards. Your eyes widen.

There was definitely a reason he tried to get you excited first.

Scaramouche was huge.

It felt like a threat on your life actually.

Especially when he teased his tip at your entrance and then finally began to slide more of his enormous shaft into you.

You try to say something but he quickly covers your mouth with his hand.

"shh...you can handle it. Relax."

You wince a little as you feel your body struggling to accommodate Scara's dick. Yet once it's finally in, it doesn't feel as uncomfortable. He gives you a few seconds to adjust before pulling nearly all the way back out and then suddenly slamming into you.

It takes him kissing you again to keep you from screaming as both pleasure and pain overwhelmed every inch of your body.

Why? You were so confused right now. This shouldn't feel good yet...

"scara you're too big! Ah~" he doesn't let you finish before thrusting against your sweet spot. HARD.

He has a smug look on his face.

"I knew you could take it. Fuck. You feel better than I imagined~" he groaned as he wrapped his arms around you and began to pound deeper into your aching cunt. Making you practically mewl as you clung to him as well.

"I waited for so long, for just the right moment...and finally after making that bastard leave...I could have you ~" he grunted as he placed another messy kiss on your lips.

You felt both good and bad shivers run down your spine at his words.

It had been him?

Scaramouche had been the one tormenting you and Traveler for the past week? Why?

He seemed to read your mind.

"because you caught my attention. You... interested me. And I decided to keep you. You're not leaving. Don't ever try." He emphasized his words with an almost painful thrust against your cervix.

You moaned uncontrollably as he then did it again and again.

"This body is mine. I'll use it how I please. I'll breed this pretty cunt every day if I want~"

You feel yourself getting close again.

Why were his words turning you on so much?

Fuck you wanted him to ruin you.

He quickened his pace after a few minutes and you knew he was getting close as well.

His possessive gaze fell on your flushed face and bouncing tits and for a second you swore you saw something reminiscent of affection in his eyes. Yet it was quickly replaced by coldness again and lust.

So that was why...?

Scaramouche loved you...

Maybe that was why this was bearable to you.

Did you perhaps feel a little attracted to him as well? You looked at him through watery eyes and felt your heart race upon seeing his piercing gaze meet yours.

Yes. You did like him. At least a little.

Scaramouche finished inside you not long after this realization of yours. You ended up cumming together and after that he went to actually lay beside you for a bit. Pulling you against his chest as he played with your hair and just seemed to get lost in the feeling of you on his arm.

This wasn't so bad.

The bedroom you were locked in was rather spacious and extravagant looking. You were laying upon soft silken sheets and the perfume from earlier made you feel relaxed and comfortable where you lay.

He could have locked you in a basement.

Clearly it wasn't that bad here.

And Scaramouche wasn't bad either.

You hugged him tightly and fell asleep in his arms.

This psychotic stalker may have gone about his feelings the wrong way. But he seemed to not be a danger to you.

And so for now, you reasoned...

That you could love him too.

❤️💜🖤❤️💜🖤❤️💜🖤❤️💜🖤❤️💜

#genshin impact #smut #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #genshin scara #scaramouche smut #scara x reader #scara #scaramouche x female reader #yandere scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche

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greenandsorrow · 8 months ago

Text

IF THE MONSTER UNDER YOUR BED NEVER HURT YOU, MAYBE IT WAS THERE TO PROTECT YOU. 🎈

Pennywise bonding with a teen!reader/ platonic

-> For technical reasons (for the plot to continue plotting), this chap focuses mostly on the past! Another thing... I appreciate your feedback and comments more than you realise, so don't hesitate to interact with my fics 🥺❣️

-> It's giving Stockholm Syndrome, I'm aware, but that's why it's called fanFICTION.

-> I think it's funny how each chapter turns out to be longer than the last. I'm getting hooked to my own writing I guess.

-> Pennywise the Dancing Clown: A trans-dimensional entity that shapeshifts and feeds on the fear -and sometimes the flesh- of kids and animals. IT hibernates for 25 to 27 years, then wakes up for 12 to 16 months, manipulating reality and slipping past the notice of adults.

Listen to: Ilomilo by Billie Eilish

~ 3 ~

Pennywise's POV 🎈

For five long years he has stayed awake, stalking the streets of Derry... waiting. Pennywise's usual cycle -hibernating after a killing and terrorizing spree- has been disrupted. This time, something -someone- kept him from descending to the deep slumber he usually craves.

He can't fully understand it, but it's because of you -the spark, the tug of connection he isn't familiar with. He's hunted countless children without a second thought. But with you... When he had expected you to cower and break, instead, you had resisted, you had played his twisted games and stared back at him without losing your soul. You had made him so curious. And that curiosity has gnawed at him enough to eat away at his rest, putting him in a sort of restless trance.

Every time he tries to slip beneath the Earth and to return to the darkness he came from, he feels a pull, a shudder that makes him cling to the surface for just a little more, for just another silly, little, stupid, meek year.

But as the years have been slipping by, something else has shifted in him as well -a subtle thing that feels almost like restraint. He still lurks in the shadows, his instincts are still telling him to frighten and to feed… but each time he sees you, that impulse falters. Instead of scaring you, he finds himself watching, almost guarding you from afar.

It feels a twinge of protectiveness -an urge that should definitely not exist in a creature made to hunt and devour. It doesn't get it, doesn't know why It lingers to ensure no danger befalls you, before It vanishes for the usual twenty-seven years. Almost as though, Pennywise the Clown is bound to you by something unexplainable, something that's kept him from retreating to sleep.

And It hates it.

The longer Pennywise watches, the more he wishes he didn't feel this way. But when he does try to stir up the familiar darkness within his core, it's dulled and quieted. All he knows is that his hunger has been overpowered by something else, something… protective.

And this fact is as unnatural as it is inappropriate, for no other than The Eater of Worlds.

1979 Derry, Maine

"Let's play another game..! I... There is... There's one we haven't played!"

The door creaked open and the clown stepped inside with a look you had never seen before on him. He wasn't smiling, wasn't performing... he was serious, unsettlingly so. A reminder that Pennywise wasn't -and isn't- a real clown, not in the way he pretends to be. Drool slipped from his red lips, glistening in the early morning light filtering through a crooked and badly shut window. He had probably just interrupted his breakfast -maybe to see you- and the hunger in his eyes was unmistakable.

"What kind of game?" his voice rumbled low, sending a chill across your skin. Your stomach tightened and you swallowed down the bile that rose. His piercing, yellow gaze left you feeling exposed.

You struggled to think of something, anything that could buy you more time. You had to say something, or else he would just get pissed and maybe have you for breakfast, instead of the one he was -so rudely- interrupted from.

"The first one to… If I can name one friend before you do, I get to leave. If you win… You get to do whatever you want with me." You knew you were cornered, but the words had come out anyway.

A strange look flickered across his face.

"What's your name?"

You frowned at what sounded like an absurd thing to ask out of the blue. "Y/n."

He giggled.

"Oh really?! And I'm Pennywise the Dancing Clown! Now we've both properly introduced ourselves... We can be friends!!!"

The point of the game was for you to win... but he just had to be a smartass.

"WE CAN'T- CAN'T BE FRIENDS!"

Pennywise pouted, almost like a child who's just been told no. You could see the contradiction in him as he considered your words -a clown who loves games, whose eyes practically gleam with excitement... and yet a predator who's always calculating, always one step ahead, keeping his prey exactly where he wants it. He knew you had just tried to outsmart him, yet he stepped closer, drawn in by the idea of another game. Your captor knew way more about you than you had realized -he had been watching you long before he had decided to 'kidnap' you.

Actually, your desperate answer made him leave his spot by the doorframe and advance toward you, crouching down to your eye level. You were paralyzed in fear he could probably smell. Even while holding your breath, you could feel his own on your face... It smelled like a butcher's shop.

"Don't. Shout. At. Me."

You nodded.

His drool was still glistening.

"You're not leaving either."

Another nod.

Then, he left the room.

Later, you'd realize he had let you have your way with that idiotic game purely out of boredom -a way to break up the ancient routine It'd followed since the beginning of time. But in that moment, you were just trying to survive.

What happened next is clouded in fragments, your memory blurred by fear -or maybe it's nostalgia. Somehow, over time, you became something to him. Indeed... a friend... of sorts.

As more days passed, you dared to start speaking more freely, filling the silence between you. You'd mention that you were cold, or hungry and he would tilt his head in that curious way of his. The next day, a bag of chips might appear on the bed. Once, you coughed, your throat parched. Fortunately, you managed to murmur "water". A few hours later, there it was -water in a bowl.

You found your book -Alice in Wonderland- left in a corner of the room. You read to him, each word trembling from your lips but never letting your voice falter fully. Pennywise would sit at the edge of the bed, sometimes even curling up like a cat -making you question if he had any bones-, his gaze fixed on you with an unnerving intensity. You were scared that when you finished reading the book, your life would end along with Alice's story.

But it didn't.

Still, sometimes you made desperate attempts to escape, bolting to the door. But he'd catch you with a taunting grin.

"Tag, you're it!" he'd chuckle, pinning you effortlessly. "Winner gets a prize!" he'd mock, as if the only reward he needed was to see your defeated face. But despite the mocking, the punishing appearances of the enormous cockroach stopped.

Even his gaze softened over time, slipping from the predator's yellow stare to an electric blue. The games also shifted -grew less cruel- and with them, so did he. He no longer seemed intent on hurting you and instead, observed you with a cautious neutrality.

Each day It brought you random bowls of food and water -most likely stolen from unsuspecting housewives... And sometimes, It would linger just outside the door, listening to your voice as you read to yourself.

One evening, you found yourself in the backyard, gazing up at a lilac sky. He had taken you there -unbeknownst to you- because he had brought a little snack inside and didn't want that to scare you.

You missed your old life with a pang that made your throat burn, a feeling so deep you didn't even notice him approaching. Without thinking, you pressed yourself into the clown's chest, burying your face against his ruffled collar. His strange scent -a mix of damp earth and something much older- washed over you and for the first time, you felt… safe with him.

He didn't hug you back, didn't mimic the gesture, but his voice murmured strange words about humans, their fragile nature and then the usual pet name he would call you: "little one".

It was then that you realized -he wouldn't hurt you. Not now. Not after all this time. But the realization broke something in you, a dam holding back all the emotions that had been bubbling under the surface.

"Y- You won. You won!" you stammered, choking back tears. "I'm your friend! Kill me now!"

You collapsed to your knees and he watched -bewildered- as tears streamed down your face. For a moment, he just stood there and watched you cry. Then, tentatively, he reached out in an almost inquisitive manner, to catch a tear with a long, white finger and taste it. He seemed to pause, reflecting on something only he could understand.

And then on another day, another attempt to escape. You had found a tiny window in the basement and tried to squeeze through it. But he noticed, his monstrous form scraping against the window's frame, shattering the glass in a frenzy to reach you.

When you saw the shards cutting into his skin... You froze, guilt flooding over you. You returned to his side while murmuring apologies, your hands trembling as you pulled the glass from his wounds, piece by piece.

He didn't attack you -just stared at you with a seriousness that sent chills down your spine. You knew in that moment, that you had crossed a line, that there was something between you that shouldn't have been there -because you could've left but didn't and because he could've killed you but didn't either.

When you finished pulling out the glass pieces, he was pouting at you. "Meanie..." he said and stuck his tongue out.

In the days that followed, Pennywise grew quieter. He watched you differently, as if seeing you with new eyes -ones that held a warmth you'd never expected. And in a way, it made you feel… comfortable. Comfortable enough that one day, you dared to reach out, brushing a hand along his white cheek.

He froze under your touch, as if unsure how to react -his usually fierce, yellow eyes softening to that strange blue. A low sound rumbled from him -somewhere between a purr and a growl- and he tilted his head, pressing into your hand like a cat, seeming almost… content.

But that wasn't right. He wasn't human and he definitely wasn't a pet. It was something ancient and boundless... and yet here It was, in its favorite form, accepting your touch and even starting to crave it. You pulled your hand away and his eyes opened, watching you in a way that felt unexpectedly intimate.

Time continued to flow onward.

You were now given strange meals in even stranger containers -a cracked bowl, a chipped mug, even a metal dish that you could have sworn was meant for a dog! He didn't seem to understand the details of human routines, didn't quite grasp what you needed beyond food and water. Yet he tried, even if it were in ways that felt utterly alien.

One evening, just as the sun began to dip, you asked if you could go outside again. You hadn't meant it as a real question, but in the morning, you found the door to the backyard unlocked.

You didn't dare leave the property, but you enjoyed how the air was fresh and the grass was soft and the sky a little cloudy. You stayed out until evening came.

Pennywise watched you from a distance, the colors of the twilight reflecting in his eyes, giving him an almost haunting beauty. He joined you, sitting in the overgrown grass... murmuring things in a language that sounded both ancient and musical, like whispers from an old spell.

In the quiet, you leaned against him, letting the stillness speak for you both. And though he didn't return the gesture, just like last time, he didn't pull away either. You looked up at the stars, feeling that deep ache for home... He patted your head in a comforting manner... and in that moment you could almost believe he was a friend.

You were just a kid, but even with your naivety, deep down you knew the truth -he was a monster that had killed before and would kill again. Yet for now, he seemed content with your presence, more curious than threatening. He tilted his head, watching you with softness in his gaze, as if pondering the mystery of your existence.

Somewhere in your heart, you felt the shift. Pennywise, the monster, had grown attached to you. And you… well, you couldn't deny the attachment had become mutual.

The days blurred together even more after that, filled with silly games, with quiet moments and fragments of a bond you could neither define nor understand.

And yet, even as you tried to push away the thought, you feared that someday he might wake up and no longer see you as friend, or even as a curiosity, but as something he was hungry for once more. Still, in the quiet of the night it felt like a small, tragic eternity -two beings from worlds apart, drawn together and held by something both tender and terrifying.

The last days in the house at Neibolt St were the strangest. Pennywise grew quiet, almost pensive, as if some hidden clock was winding down inside him. You noticed how his smiles and giggles were fading, as if the game he'd once delighted in was losing its thrill. Sometimes, he would simply watch you with an unreadable expression, his eyes that odd, bright blue that almost felt... sad.

You felt a pang of sympathy for him. For all his power and for all his malevolence, he was still somehow... alone. You had felt it in those strange moments when -almost wistfully- he'd listen to you talk and read.

The last night felt different, filled with an air of finality.

As you laid on your creaky bed, you noticed him standing in the corner of the room, like some sort of sleep paralysis demon. He was staring at you with an intensity that used to scare you three months ago. You felt the impulse to speak, but you knew he wouldn't respond. Instead, you held his gaze, feeling a strange sense of sorrow settle over you.

When he finally spoke, his voice was almost too soft to hear.

"Little one, when you leave…will you forget about me?"

The question caught you off guard and you didn't know how to answer. You wanted to tell him that you wouldn't, that everything you'd been through would be impossible to forget. But Pennywise knew that memories could fade, that as you grew older, the edges of this nightmare would blur.

You just stared at him, searching for the right words.

His eyes held a strange depth, a rawness you hadn't seen before. But he didn't wait for your answer. He simply turned, drifting back into the shadows as he whispered...

"The game isn't over."

And as he vanished, you were left in the cold darkness, with the silence pressing down around you like a final embrace. You clutched your knees to your chest, feeling the weight of those words settle heavily in your heart. You knew that even if you did forget him one day, some part of him would linger -an echo in the back of your mind, a memory that would never truly die.

That night, as sleep began to take you, you imagined him in the backyard... looking up at the stars and wondering if you'd remember.

It really felt like something precious had been taken away from you too early.

The next morning, you woke up in your own bed, in your home in Witchham Street.

For a moment you thought you'd died... Εveryone around you acted as though you'd never disappeared, as if those harrowing months at Neibolt hadn't happened at all. But there was one particular detail that hinted otherwise... A red balloon, floating silently at the edge of your bed.

That morning, you also got your period for the first time.

Stepping outside, the daylight was so bright and so warm, a stark contrast to the darkness you'd lived in for weeks. You squinted at the light, feeling almost as though you'd stepped into another world. It was hard to believe that just the night before, you had been in his arms -you had been seeking comfort from the monster who had held you captive.

Part of you seriously considered whether it had all been just a dream. Still, for days, you felt his absence like a missing heartbeat.

The world around you seemed much louder and the colors almost too vivid. Sometimes, you'd catch yourself looking for him in the shadows, half expecting to see his shape looming in the corners of your room.

At night you'd lie awake, thinking of his strange question...

"When you leave… will you forget me?"

You didn't know how to answer, even to yourself.

As much as you wanted to return to your old life and to move on from that nightmare, you felt a small part of you ache with the loss. You had lived through something impossible, something that had left you changed.

There was no going back to who you were before.

Over time though, the memory of him faded into something almost surreal. You didn't speak of it to anyone -the words felt fragile and sacred, as if telling the story might diminish it.

But the craziest thing that happened? You continued living as if everything was perfectly normal.

You only thought of Pennywise again that Christmas, in 1979...

The holidays had come to Derry and your family decorated the house with lights and garlands, the scents of pine and cinnamon clinging to every corner. There were gifts under the tree and snow falling outside the windows. Everything was festive and happy.

But when you woke up in your cozy little bedroom -on the 24th-, near the foot of your bed laid a single, crumpled sunflower. It must've been from the patch in the backyard where you'd sometimes sit with him, where the wildflowers had managed to grow despite the gloom. You held it gently, careful not to disturb its fragile petals. It felt like a memento of your time together -a reminder that what you had shared was real, however bizarre and terrifying.

On some nights, when the world was silent, you'd find yourself reaching for that sunflower, feeling the dried petals crumble beneath your fingertips. You'd lie awake, wondering where he was -if he still remembered, if he still waited. And though you'd never say it out loud, a small part of you hoped he did. Because no matter how much time passed, no matter how much you grew or changed, there was one truth you could never deny... He had left his mark on you, a scar that you'd carry forever.

And somewhere out there, you felt certain, Pennywise was waiting.

In the years that followed, you held onto those fleeting memories. They had a strange, magnetic pull -a mix of terror and fascination. You couldn't help but feel that if you let them slip, if you completely forgot, you'd be leaving behind a piece of yourself.

The Losers helped ground you.

They were your anchors to the present, pulling you back to laughter, to familiar faces and to the warmth of friends who shared their own scars and secrets. They never asked about the nightmares that sometimes made you stir, the shadows you occasionally saw out of the corner of your eye. And you never told them.

But there were also moments -quiet and lonely moments- when the weight of it all crept back, haunting you with unspoken questions. You'd wonder if he thought of you, if he missed you in his own twisted way. Did he ever feel the same hollow ache?

And deep down, you even wondered what might happen if he came back. Would he be nice and protecting? Or would he be just as monstrous and alien as before?

On some other nights, when the wind picked up, you swore you could feel his gaze -a distant yet familiar watchfulness that was both comforting and unnerving. It was as though he was still guarding you.

And so you moved forward, feeling the tug of those memories lessen but never fully vanish.

Would he stay away? Or would there come a day when that half-remembered monster with the childlike heart would find his way back to you?

1984 Derry, Maine

You tell yourself you hate Pennywise.

You tell yourself that, because you have to believe it is true, because that's the only way to move on. But deep inside your mind you can still feel him -his question echoing faintly in you, lesser and lesser each year, like a bond stretching thinner and thinner.

Currently, you're pondering over a glass of Cherry Coke. Yesterday, Bill had asked you about your dreams. He wanted to know if the clown that took away his little brother haunted you as well. You had simply shaken your head 'no', but the truth was the complete opposite.

Until you turned fifteen, Pennywise was still in your dreams. You remember those dreams even more vividly than your days in the house on Neibolt St...

You always had a strong imagination, which came with vivid dreams and equally vivid nightmares. In those dreams, Pennywise would come to you whenever you were scared. He'd pull you close in that tender way he never did in reality, fighting off every dark shape in your mind and then wrapping you in a kind of warmth you can't explain with words.

Sometimes, you'd apologize to him in those dreams -feeling an unnamed guilt- and he'd boop your nose with a soft and soothing "It's okie-dokie, Y/n."

Sometimes there'd be a red balloon waiting by your bed when you woke up, or maybe floating outside your school window. And on one specific evening, when the sadness felt like too much to bear, he appeared at the edge of your bed instead of the balloon. He hugged you and stayed with you until morning came, his glowing eyes softly illuminating the darkness. For once, they didn't scare you.

But as you grew up, you began to dream of him differently. In the nightmares, he'd chase you with a crooked smile and eyes that were dark with hunger, until you couldn't run anymore. Then you'd turn, tears streaming down your face, pleading with him and saying you were sorry over and over. You could never remember why you were sorry, but you knew that somewhere deep inside... you had hurt him. And somehow, you couldn't shake the feeling that it was you who'd let him down.

You tried to explain this to him, even though it was only in dreams -your Penny, who had watched over you. But he still seemed sad. So the dreams began to fade and he stopped showing himself altogether. Even then, you could still feel his presence, as if he was looking over you but choosing to stay hidden.

The few glimpses you have left are rather strange. Once, you had a dream with an uncanny intensity. It was the first different kind of dream -a dream where Pennywise was there as well, but puzzled, as you began to see him through a different lens. It left you feeling unsettled. Not sure what it meant, only that it somehow changed everything.

And still, each time you're scared, you call out for him in your dreams. You search, even while knowing he won't appear like he used to. Maybe it's because you had once blurted out that he was a killer, that he took innocent people like Georgie. It's all so blurry now, all these things you can't quite remember but can't entirely forget either.

You miss him.

You know Georgie's disappearance and so many others are somehow linked to that clown. But if his pattern is to stay on Earth for a year and hibernate for two decades (like Ben figured out), why then, hasn't he gone to sleep in five? It's almost as though he can't bring himself to leave.

Maybe you are asking too many questions. Or maybe you are starting to find the answers...

You're just a girl. And he… he's a boy in a strange, unfathomable way.

There are times when you think he's gone for good. But then there are other times -like when Oscar, the thick orange cat you've taken to caring for, curls up by you in a way that feels just a little too familiar. His stare, intense and watchful, feels more like an any ordinary cat.

You call him Oscar, but maybe -just maybe- you know it's him.

masterpost☁️

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teenidlegirl · 1 year ago

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⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ୭୧　　.　　LOVE IN SECRET　　ᤢ　　♥︎

꒰⠀⠀⟡⠀.⠀ceo!miguel⠀𝓍⠀wife!reader⠀.⠀⟡⠀⠀꒱

ᤢ　.　summary　♥︎　੭　everyone at work assumes you and miguel dislike each other. however, they don’t know their boss and his assistant are married and have a daughter together.

ᤢ　.　content　♥︎　੭　modern!au, fluff, established secret relationship, domestic life, tiny suggestiveness but nothing serious, pet names, hispanic/latina!reader

the irritating sound of peter’s voice was making miguel pinching the bridge of his nose for the millionth time. imaginary steam like a train coming out from his ears. face red of frustration. internally swearing to the point of almost speaking aloud.

you recognize that face in a heartbeat. it happens almost everyday at work because some employees seem to stubborn or screw up whatever they are working on. it adds more anger and stress to your boss, or should say, husband. the company don’t know of your marriage with miguel or that you two have a daughter. for the sake of your job, you and miguel established an agreement to keep this relationship a secret. imagine working for your boss who is also your husband and you’re his assistant. yeah, that would turn many heads immediately.

luckily, you’ve been hiding it well for three years.

you decide to hate, or dislike each other as a method to conceal your relationship. always bickering when coworkers are present. during meetings, lunch, happy hours, in the hallways.

but in private? oh you two are love birds. cute kisses, or sometimes heavy makeout sessions which leads to much more interesting things. cuddling or simply embracing each other for comfort, especially if either of you are stressed out. discussing your daughter’s hobbies, school, soccer and ballet practices. plan dates that you two would go on later.

just two people utterly in love with each other.

although, it sucks to hide it during work but at least you see each other everyday. acting like enemies, putting on a show to convince people. it’s been working for three years. no one has suspected, well some do but not everyone.

“peter, i swear — if you keep saying that one more, i’m going to throw you out the room.” miguel mumbled under his breath, rubbing the temples of his forehead with a hand.

“what! i’m just saying that maybe—“

before the man could continue his sentence, a loud slam on the desk makes everyone jerk in their seats. you don’t, this isn’t new to you.

“¡ya cállete! everyone out!” miguel shouts.

to not piss of the boss even more, everyone scurries out the meeting room with fear illustrated on their faces. you simply sit there with folded arms, staring at your grumpy husband with an unimpressed look. of course when he means everyone gone, you stay.

once everyone’s out the room and the blinds closed, you finally speak. “well, that went well.”

a scoff escapes his lips. he loves your sarcasm, one of his favorite traits about you. the only person he could tolerate their sarcasm.

“ese pinche mamón doesn’t pay attention to what i say.” he pinched his nose again. “sometimes i wonder why i even hired him in the first place.”

you huff, getting up from your seat and walking towards him. “he’s your best friend, that’s why.” you stand behind him and gently wrap your arms around his bulky shoulders, chin resting on top of his head.

miguel immediately relaxes in your touch, slouching a bit in his chair. “best friend, sure.” he huffs, rolling his eyes. “still a pain in the ass.”

“that’s how best friends are, whether you like to admit he’s your bestie or not.” you give him a light, comforting squeeze on the shoulders.

a low sigh spills from his lips. “pues si, i guess…”

“but hey…” you unwrap your arms and turn his chair around so he’s facing you. “let’s forget about work and focus on gabi’s ballet recital tonight, ¿vale?” you cup his face, your whole world in your palms.

the frustration vanishes from his face and is replaced with adoration the moment he sees your face, ultimately melting under your touch. “sí, she’s going to be amazing tonight.” his beefy arms wrap around your waist, gently pulling you closer towards him so there isn’t much space between you.

a soft smile forms on your face. “she will be. she’s been practicing for weeks now and she’s so excited about it. also her soccer game on saturday, too.” your thumbs caress his cheeks with such tenderness.

“active girl, como su mamá.” he mirrors your smile, gazing at you with pure adoration. broad hands gently squeezing your sides.

you scoff, rolling your eyes playfully. “ay si, working for her dad keeps me very active.” lots of sarcasm which ends with those heavenly chuckles of your husband that you love so dearly.

“and i tend to keep her mom active.” his hands squeeze your sides again in a teasing manner, earning himself a giggle that is music to his ears. “the recital is at 6:30, ¿sí?”

“mhm. after i get off, i’m picking her up from school and then help her get ready. make sure you leave on time, remember last time?” you shoot him a light glare, quirking a brow.

you can see the guilt forming on his face as flashbacks of last time when he barely made it out the door and was practically sweating when he entered the ballet studio consumes his mind. luckily he managed to get there right when the recital started. you forced him to take a good shower after.

“no te procupes, mi alma. i promise to be out way beforehand.” he smiles reassuringly.

“you better or your dumbass is sleeping on the couch.” you threaten playfully but you’re being serious and miguel knows that fairly well.

the man chuckles, nodding. “si, señora.”

you two smile at each other before leaning closer and collide lips in a passionate kiss. one of the very few moments when you can be intimate. to be a married couple without any worries or prying eyes.

“okay, i gotta go get gabi now.” you say as you break away from the kiss, hands still cupping his face. “see you later? and don’t be late.” you hold on a finger as a warning, lightly glaring at him once again.

he softly chuckles, gently grabbing your hand and bringing it up to his lips to planet a soft kiss on the back of it. “lo prometo, mi reina.”

a soft smile forms on your face. “te amo.” you plant a quick kiss on his lips before moving out of his hold.

“te amo más.” miguel whispers before gently swatting your ass as you walk away, the cheeky action making you smile and roll your eyes.

“is papí gonna show up on time, mamá?” your adorable nine-year-old daughter asks, looking up at you through the mirror as you brush her hair.

“sí, mi cielo. papí promised this time he’ll be out the door way before this time.” grabbing a hair tie from the drawer, you gently pick all of her hair and make a ponytail before turning it into a bun.

the little girl smiles. “remember how sweaty he was when he ran inside? he was so stinky!” she giggles.

you giggle as well, remembering exactly how stinky miguel smelt and you shoving him into the shower the minute you got home that night.

“he was very stinky.” after clipping her baby pink bow on her head, you spray hairspray to seal the bun. “he won’t be stinky this time, that’s for sure.”

the two of you continue giggling before the sound of the front door closing makes you stop. gabriella rushes out of the bathroom and runs down the hallway to greet her father with much excitement. you quickly follow her, eager to see your husband.

“papí!” gabriella squeals as she runs up to her father with a big smile and jumps into his arms so abruptly, which he quickly catches her.

he chuckles wholeheartedly. “hola, mi princesa.”

“you’re home early! yay!” the little girl exclaims.

“sí, princesa. i wanted to come home early so mamá and i can take you to your recital.” he smiles.

“yay! at least you’re not stinky.” she fakes a disgusted face, fanning her face to pretend he smells like he was last time.

a little frown settles on his face, shifting his gaze from his daughter to you. you simply shrug with an innocent smile. miguel shakes his head, smiling.

“no, i’m perfectly clean.” he gazes switched back to gabriella. “look at you, a ballerina princess.”

the little girl giggles, twirling in her puffy baby pink tutu. “sí! i’m the princess and mamá is the queen.” she walks back to you, grabbing your hand.

the compliment melts your heart. your daughter is utterly adorable. your precious baby.

“and you’re the king, papí!” she points at miguel.

the both of you laugh.

“sí, princesa. we’re one happy royal family,” miguel walks up to you. “y tú mamá es la reina de mi vida.” gently cupping your face, he captures your lips in a soft kiss that you happily accept and reciprocate.

his words were just a smudge cheesy but they make your heart flutter. such a romantic dork.

“tonto.” you whisper, making him smile.

“no kissing! save that for later! it’s recital time!”

the sass in your child’s tone makes you and miguel laugh. she definitely gets it from you.

the ballet recital was a success. gabriella did an amazing performance, as well as the other children. you and miguel are proud of your little girl. you went to a diner afterwards and treat her with ice cream of her favorite flavor. now looking forward to the soccer game on saturday. but, you have to deal with work before you could indulge in that.

miguel is in the middle of a meeting when you wander in the room with a file on your hands prepared to give him. you notice his eyes lighting up as soon as you enter, making you almost smile but immediately stop yourself from others noticing.

just as you hand him the file, jessica stops speaking whatever she’s discussing and looks at you two with a skeptical yet unimpressed look.

“forgive me for stopping but come on, you two. just admit you guys are together.”

the meeting room went silent, the statement lingering in the air. everyone turns and face you both with anticipation, waiting for your answer.

well, shit.

you and miguel share a worrying glance before he rises from his seat. a bulky arm sneaks around your waist, gently pulling you closer towards him.

“yes, we’re together.” he states, feeling prideful.

you watch jaws drop and eyes wide in surprise. others, like jess, don’t seem surprise but rather relieved the suspicion is gone and truth revealed.

“we’re married.” you hold up your left hand and show off your big ass diamond ring.

some gasps but mostly aww’s fill the room.

“and we have a daughter.” miguel adds.

now that shocked everyone.

#⠀⠀૮ ྀི ◞ ◟ ა⠀˚⠀.⠀𝒪𝑛𝑒𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑡⠀ ྀ⠀.⠀♡⠀#miguel o’hara x fem!reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o’hara fluff #across the spiderverse

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seleneprince · 2 months ago

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I've had the draft for the next chapter of Tales of Bats and Wolves open for what feels like hours but i've barely advanced because i'm just trying to put in order my ideas and decide what i'm actually going to include in the series because otherwise it'll be too much.

Now, instead of getting anything done, I can't stop thinking of the idea of N! Daughter actually being Catwoman's sidekick for a while as part of her training because seeked the woman out to learn her ways, and they both spend a year running around committing heists together. And ofc, Catwoman made her do it all in heels sharp enough to kill a person and tight leather, because if she you can't committ crimes with style, what's the point?

For this time, no one knows who Catwoman's new sidekick is. Some don't even know she exists, since Selina is actually a decent mentor and keeps her in the shadows because, well, she's only teaching her the ropes, she doesn't have to be involved in the gruesome parts of Gotham's underbelly (the girl does that by herself). Those who do know her call her Catgirl, which N! Daughter dislikes because she doesn't want to be a copy of Catwoman (which it's ironic because the suit she wears during the heists is very similar), but unfortunately, both Selina and Mrs Wayne find it amusing and like it. Suddenly, she's called kitty and catgirl by her mom and her mentor/somewhat mother figure?

It's even better considering Selina and Wife! Darling were friends in their youth until they went separate ways for a while, but Selina was definitely there when she gave birth and got to hold the baby sometimes until she left again. Years later, getting asked by that same baby, now older, to be mentored by her feels like one of the universe's jokes.

Anyway, just keep coming up with scenarios for this. Maybe they cross paths with the batfamily and they just don't recognise Catwoman's new companion (why would they?). She stands far from them and wears her own suit, rarely speaks and vanishes before anyone can catch her. Selina covers for her. After all, Bruce should be capable of recognising his own child. This falls on him.

No one guesses it...except one person.

*After everyone's gone*

The Signal: "Since when do you work with Catwoman, weirdo?"

Catgirl: "Excuse me?"

Signal: "C'mon, sis. I knew it as soon as I saw you. I didn't say anything because i wanted to hear you first. But seriously, what the hell?"

Catgirl: "Look, it's complicated. She's just training me, okay? So what's a couple of stolen goods?"

Signal: "I don't care about that. I meant your outfit. Geez, you look like you're about to star in the cover of a Playboy magazine. Was it really necessary?"

In the end, he keeps her secret because they're besties (and ngl he wants to see how far she can take this before the batfam figures it out).

Spoiler: They never do. She quits when she feels she's learnt enough and wants to go solo, and no one ever finds out her identity.

#i have way too many ideas for this girl but i must decide which of them are actually worthy for the series plot #otherwise it'll be too much #i can't fucking focus in getting the next chapter done because my brain just keeps popping ideas and no actual development for them #it's a nightmare #catwoman #selina kyle #wife! darling #catwoman x reader #selina kyle x reader #neglected family! darlings au #tales of bats and wolves #batfam x reader #yandere batfam x reader #platonic yandere batfam x reader #bruce wayne x reader #dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #tim drake x reader #damian wayne x reader #barbara gordon x reader #cassandra cain x reader #stephanie brown x reader #duke thomas x reader #yandere bruce wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere damian wayne #yandere cassandra cain #yandere stephanie brown

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almostfoxglove · 4 months ago

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I wish you would bless us by writing a lil drabble about Javi

You two dated but you got sent back to the states and he had to stay in Columbia. You go back after a year and pick up where you left off and it's sweet and lovely because so much happened to him in that year

✉️ I wish you would write...

HI HONEY BEE omg. okay. listen. you know how I feel about javi & angst but also javi & love so HEAR ME OUT HERE OKAY, JUST STICK WITH ME. I'm gonna have to pop this under a cut because I've never once in my life been concise.

let's say you're the same girl javier falls for first,

and you used to work at the us embassy, one floor below his desk. spent your days with your head down and no small number of nights waiting up after javier called, telling you he was on his way. you only ever got twenty minutes warning, tops. often less. sometimes you wondered if he'd called you from the car, like he'd taken off toward you apartment before remembering to tell you he was coming.

for a year, you fucked on and off as his job or interest allowed. for you it was the perfect, pressure-free release. for javier, it was torture. having you like that, taking you apart as you unraveled him, always plagued by this nag at the base of his skull, greedy and vicious, that wanted more. he thought you'd eventually ask him to stay the night, or ask him for coffee, breakfast, anything, but you never did.

then your dad got sick. or your mom? he doesn't know. all he knows is that one day he goes into work and on his casual, totally unrelated but necessary loop past your cubicle, you are gone. desk cleared off. that little photo frame of you and another girl—your sister, he always guessed—vanished. your coworker, when they catch him staring, says you had to leave. that someone is dying back home and you went back to be with them while you could.

he nods, maybe grunts, and is gone, a cigarette already lighting itself in the cup of his hand. swallowing the bitter scorn he briefly feels rising in his throat that you didn't tell him shit. didn't even bother to say goodbye.

because you didn't have to, he thinks. he sure as hell hasn't told you shit about his life back in the states. so why the fuck should he care? why does he?

he doesn't have any way to contact you, but javier knows himself. he wouldn't call even if he did.

a year later, you return to colombia and cross the concrete slab outside the embassy. in your absence, escobar has died and the cali cartel has risen like cerberus in his place. you steel yourself as you approach the pewter steps, hoping you might slip back into the routine of the job you left behind without any fanfare. you don't want to explain your absence—you want to pretend it never happened. you just want to do your job.

but javier is smoking on the steps, and he sees you coming. and though neither of you ever really acknowledged each other at work in all the time you slept together—not even passing hellos—you watch in mild horror as he drops the cigarette from his hand, crushes it under his polished shoe, and stomps down the steps in your direction.

he looks different. you've never seen him in a tie, let alone a whole suit. your steps slow as his legs scissor the distance, crossing the courtyard as if nothing at all exists beyond the two of you. your frown doesn't phase him, your halting. nor the half-baked "what the hell are you—" that you get out before he's made it to you and yanks you against his chest.

he reeks of smoke and nerves. the only time you've felt the iron-grip of his embrace this tight is during particularly vigorous fucks, and they always, always unlatched the moment you were both done.

and yet javier is hugging you, tightly. out here in the open, with other people milling about, sometimes turning their heads to catch a sidelong glance at the man who mumbles into your hair, "m'sorry" with a strange awe in their eyes, like he's some kind of celebrity.

his voice, though, carries none of that vanity. he sounds throttled, ruined, wrecked. it is the shock, you think, that has you allowing this display. that has your arms cautiously, loosely wrapping around his waist, too stunned to process anything but a single question: what the hell happened to him.

you don't know what he's apologizing for. you don't know what strange, alternate dimension you've found yourself in. "javi—" you whisper eventually, arms slacking as if to pull away, but javier's grip only crunches tighter around your frame.

you aren't sure why your heart skips over itself.

you aren't sure why a little part of you, dazed as it might be, likes that he won't let go.

"hermosa," he mumbles, his breath hot in your hair. "m'sorry."

#asks #javier pena fanfiction #javier peña #freya speaks #i wish you would write game #ask game #<3 #oops this was mostly angst #but like #do we see the vision #the *potential* for love #HAHA

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