#the feeling of ice running through her veins melts because he is warm and comforting and familiar | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cynettic · 4 years ago

Note

I just read Kitsune reader x yan Scaramouche's fic, may I have gotten hooked on it? and of course, it's just perfect and that's why I'm here to lose a part two with nsfw, thank you in advance and understand if you refuse:3

Link to Part 1

Summary - Taking you captive, Scaramouche continues to see you as a pillar of support. Coming back home to have you there, always. Even if it meant chaining you up.

Pairings - F!Kitsune!Reader x Yan!Scaramouche

Warnings - Smut, slight noncon ( I tried to make it as consensual as possible but its difficult with yandere themes ), fingering, electricity play

Rating - NSFW

Penpal - Ahhh I'm actually beginning to get attached to this series, might end up writing a couple more posts with different hc and stuff. I hope you liked the post though, have a great day <3

A/N - The literal definition of the ‘stoic cruel boy who’s mean to everyone but you.’ Oh well, Scaramouche is ooc af, but I did change a few things in his backstory so its supposed to make sense for this story ;) Also- since we dont know Scaramouche’s actual name, I have the reader still… yknow, call him Scaramouche. Which is kinda weird cause its his harbinger name but oh well. Also, credit to @cycletr4in for proofreading it ;3

Taglist - @cursedraiden

Stay with Me pt.2

Scaramouche was a gentle captor.

In contrast to piercing eyes and harsh stares when it came to others, he had a soft spot for you. Like the ice that encased him whole melted at your touch, craving for the warmth only you could give him. For your arms around him, to play pretend and imagine he were a child, free, fearless, unbound. A child in your arms, safe and protected.

But you were held hostage, which meant that the chains around your wrists and legs held you down and secured you. Like you were bound to one spot like you’d always been, except this time you didn't have a choice.

You weren't waiting for the Kitsune Saiguu.

Hell, you didn't even have your vision.

This brought on resentment for the dark haired boy. You hated him, you despised him for holding you down under his own judgment. But at the same time, all you saw in him was a child, a little kid who hadn't had the time to grow up. The one who refused to do so because it was his only way to survive in the type of world he lived in. Hide behind that same facade he developed as a kid, snide remarks and unrelenting cruelty.

Just to come back to your arms, sobbing because he was still that child. Sobbing because he was still hurt. Sobbing because you were still his beacon of light, of hope.

He depended on you.

And as much as you built up harsh words to use against him, they dissolved in your mouth when you saw him. His vulnerability that he saved for you and you only. A deep part of you cared for him, a little too much.

Gentle fingers brushed through the locks of Scaramouche’s hair, twirling it around and playing with the strands. It was smooth, a small detail no one would have the chance to notice from the distance he put around himself and others. A quiet hum left his lips as he leaned against your chest, eyes fluttering closed against the soothing feeling of you against him.

The lavish silk sheets were soft against your skin, pillow pushing your form to sit up. Just enough to have Scaramouche in your arms, knees on either side of his body as his head rested under your chin. His chest rose and descended, almost on beat with yours, if not just a tad slower.

You hoped he wouldn't hear the way your heart thrummed against your chest.

Warmth, his body flushed against yours, the luxury of a bed and the small candlelight on your bedside. Different from what you’d grown into just on the side of the trail, sitting for decades. Or with your time with the Kitsune Saiguu, it was never this warm, never this gentle.

But this warmth ended at your beating heart, furiously blazing. Sending an urge of adrenaline through your body, whispering ‘run’ through your veins. A primal urge that would've had your hands around Scaramouche’s neck, till he was wrangling and dead.

Till you could escape.

Hand slowly sliding down his jawline, you let your gentle fingers ghost along the soft skin of his neck. Claws outstretched and ready, sharp and pointed with a deadly intent to kill. You could end him so quickly, overturn his trust and make an escape. You deserved it, you deserved freedom. Not a delusional boy who thought himself protector against someone who’s lived decades more than him.

Jolting at the sensation of a soft grip on your wrist, you watched with idle fascination as he simply cupped your wrist in his hold. Not stopping you, not restraining you, he simply brought your hand to his face. To his lips where he pressed the softest of kisses into your palm. So heartfelt and genuine that all you could do was freeze, not even considering clawing his face.

“I love you.”

You both stayed in that position for a few moments more, silence cradling the tension that slowly dissipated from your body. Forlorn eyes watching as he shift the angle of your wrist to kiss your fingertips. He wasn't waiting for an answer, basking in these soft moments where he could hide in your hold. Like a child, forced to grow up too quickly, yearning back for his foolish naivety, yearning for the childhood he missed.

You were that childhood.

Which is why he clung to you so dearly, showed expressions he didnt know he could make, hold you captive under the impression that it was ‘right.’ What he was doing was okay.

Claws retracted, you pursued your lips, holding back the tears of frustration that burned at your eyes. You hated him, hated him for the chains on your wrists, for the disappearance of your vision that you’d given so much value to. Hated him for the warmth he still made you feel.

You hated him.

You felt like a housewife in some respects. Not with the cleaning and cooking part, and of course no children were part of the equation. But in terms of support, you stayed rooted to that room, loose chains too strong for you to break or tug holding you down. Window was too far, and you were stuck moving around the bed and the desk that sat just a little farther away.

Attempts at having your vision back or more freedom in movement had been discussed with Scaramouche, but as childlike and free as he acted with you, he was not an idiot.

“I don’t plan on underestimating you,” was his answer, head resting on the plush of your chest. “You’re strong, always were. But I have to take extremes to make sure you don’t get hurt, some people out there are stronger than you.”

You wanted to point out that there were a ton of people stronger than him as well, but you kept your mouth shut. “Can I at least see the house? I’ve been cooped up here for so long…”

And he cant say no to such an innocent request as that right?

So he unlocks the chains, the vision at his side reminding you that he was strong. You solely knew that he’d been tough as a kid, and under the intensive training he’d seemed to endure, he was much much stronger. You werent willing to give it a go and lose his trust just yet.

Not like he really trusted you anyways-

At the very least, you’d hoped to get some sort of blueprint of the house, and all you’d received was confusion and your mind making up that the house itself was a maze.

“Didnt we… just pass through here?”

Glancing at the obvious frustration on your face, Scaramouche chuckled, pulling your arm through the hallways you swear you’d seen three times prior. “Nope, most of the hallways look pretty similar. The house wasn't built for dumbasses.”

You flashed him a look and were about to make some snideish rebuttal before you saw the smirk. You knew what he was doing, trying to comfort you with casual arguments you both used to have. Consisting of you telling him to work on his people skills, and him calling you a lazy ass. Of course you missed it, but you also knew you couldn't go back to it.

And then there was the issue when you learned that he was a harbinger.

A scene you didnt want to replay in your head, when a maid burst into your room, Scaramouche acting a tad more intimate. He had an awful tendency to do that, hug your waist and press his face against the crook of your neck. Press gentle kisses down the length of your shoulder that had you shuddering. You weren't used to intimacy, and considering you’d watched him grow up, it was just weird.

Stuttering, the maid had demanded that he was requested by the Tsarista. You’d seen the fear in her eyes when Scaramouche slowly turned to her, seen the unshakable immobility of standing under his gaze.

“Do not enter.” He said, “It’s on the door.”

That was the first time you’d seen Scaramouche kill.

You hoped it’d be the last.

But you’d seen death before, so much death in the time of the Kitsune Saiguu. And for a few seconds, you found yourself fearless as you yanked against the chains, yelling at his figure at the doorway.

“Tsarista?” You snarled, standing just a few feet away from him. His hand on the girls neck, clenching around the pretty skin of hers. Disgusted, the chains that held you back from closing the gap and throwing the girl away from him were impossible to overcome. “Why the hell does she need you?!”

‘Let go,’ you wanted to say. ‘Let her go, she’s going to die.’

It worked, because the ironclad grip was gone, the maid tumbling to the ground lifelessly. You’d been too late, and now her blood was on his hands, your hands. This was your fault and you had half the self control not to thrash against the chains with sharp claws, hands on his neck.

The hard steel gaze vanished in an instant, and like he’d regained his senses, he took a few steps to you. Hands clenching to fists before loosening to fingertips brushing against his palms. Confusion, regret and guilt clouded his features like a child waiting to be reprimanded. You didn't back away, stood firm and fierce when standing and keeping a tough front.

You wanted to cry.

“Its… its a long story.” He finally stated to your question, and when you didnt budge, he took a deep breath. In control again, he closed the distance between the two of you, “I’m sorry.” And that same thrum of electricity jolted through your body, sending you into a spiral of the girls lifeless eyes and Scaramouche’s childlike eyes. Till everything went black.

You woke up with the body gone. Scaramouche was gone as well.

You learned that Scaramouche liked to have things his way. Which meant that he was always in control, always had control of every situation.

Even in those short stretches of vulnerability when he rested in your arms, he still held something over you. And you had to adapt, shift for his wishes, coddle him and stay as his beacon. Because he was stronger, and even if you’d find some way to escape, he would find you.

It was odd, and you slowly let go of the image of him as a child, you knew he was a lot older. He’d probably reached the age your body was stuck in, and with every sweet kiss he pressed to your lips, you knew he saw you as some sort of lover. But as someone who wasn't in control, you simply had to play along, just until you found some way to make your escape.

Without killing him.

_-_-_-_-_

“Strip.”

Laying on one side of the bed, your eyes jolted open at the commanding voice. Slowly, you sat up, eyeing the dim figure at the doorway. Without the help of a candle or the moonlight at the window, you could distinguish Scaramouche at the doorway, taking off the large headpiece as he flung it to the ground.

“Excuse me…?” Your voice was soft, rusty after an evening nap.

“I’ll make you feel good,” was his only answer. Slowly making his way to the bedside till he could properly face you. His eyes were soft, but there was an odd sort of determination that you hadnt seen before. You held back his stare, confusion lacing your features when he suddenly started pulling off loose decorations that hung on his clothes. Just till he unlaced the vest and slid off his shirt. “Don’t worry.” But you didnt know quite what he meant until he leaned further to you, catching you off guard.

So you yelped when his hands suddenly slammed down on your shoulders, shifting you to have access to the buttons of your top layer. He was quick when undoing them, simply swatting away at your hands when you protested and tried to pull him away. Throwing it to the edge of the room when he was done, you could only thrash in horror when he undid your trousers just as quickly, pulling them down before you could grab them back up.

“Scaramouche? Hey-”

And then he threw you down on the bed, exposing you in your undergarments in the cool air of the room. Shivers crept up your spine and bristled across your skin, and before you could curl up to at the very least hide away, you felt a tug at your chains. Fear finally settled in when you saw Scaramouche attach the chain to the bedpost, until your hand was lifted up and he began to do the same to the other.

“Wait wait wait, stop and explain what you’re-”

Only then did he pause from what he was doing, slowly looking down to properly face you. His eyes slid up and down your body, and he took a step towards you. “I’ll make you feel good,” were his only words, and you were forced to take them as all he was planning on giving you. Only when he sat on the bed next to you did you realize what he meant, hand settling on your shoulder, waiting.

“Alright,” you said slowly. Painfully, the words bit your tongue, but you were merciless against someone who had control against the situation. You could say no and you knew Scaramouche would stop, he was gentle to you and you only. And even if he’d been firm just before, you knew that he’d still stop if you asked him to.

A part of you felt thrilled to have that power over him.

Another part of you just wanted to escape.

But you didnt have any hope to do so unless you were willing too give him everything. Because he expected everything and would do anything in his power to obtain it. You’d let him fiddle around with this delusion, thinking that he had control. Until he didnt.

Which is why you didnt flinch when his hand gently slid up your stomach, cold against the warmth you’d had under the blankets. Rubbing gingerly against your skin and drawing smooth shapes over before he slowly slid over your body. His eyes seemed to glint under the darkness of the room, lust filled and wanting.

You didnt shift uncomfortably, you pretended to be that doll he expected you to be.

Just staring up at him as he slowly leaned down to kiss you. His lips felt like snowflakes on a winters day, idly swaying side to side to catch one in your mouth. Jolting like electricity when they melted into your touch, red and swollen when he pulled back. You now vividly felt every touch, as if a current flowed and static jittered in the places he briefly brushed his fingertips.

“You always take such good care of me,” he breathed, lips slowly drifting down your chin. Just past your jawline and right on your neck. The space between your head and shoulder, a soft vulnerable spot that had your lips humming at the affectionate pressure. “Its my turn to take care of you.”

And then his lips were everywhere, collarbone, shoulders, cleavage. Just until his teeth were tugging off your bra, face nuzzled in between both breasts. Both of his hands now resided on your hips, grabbing both thighs to hold them up and against him. You could feel him hard, pressing so close to your heated core.

You managed to keep your reactions in check.

Just until he slowly grinded against you, mouth on your breasts as he again pecked the soft mounds, molding his lips against them as if he could remember the texture, memorize the feel. It was just to that point that mindless sounds slipped past your lips, turning to gasps when his hands on your thighs suddenly buzzed, and static rushed in. Your legs felt weak, entire body thrumming in response to the electricity he sent jolting.

He was using his vision.

The realization was numb against his lips on your breasts, hands slowly stroking the skin of your sides, travelling up. He hovered over you for mere seconds before mashing his lips against you once more, different. He was no longer gentle, and it was with the contact on your tail that you lost all control. When he gently moved it out of the way, backing up.

You were a mess.

Not that you tried to be, you’d been doing your best not to enjoy his touch. But it was hard when your core heated up so fast, mashing both legs together in hopes he wouldn't notice. You knew he would, any action beyond that was just you trying to save your dignity.

He sat there like he was enjoying the sight, the first time you’d seen him actually portray any visual confirmation of satisfaction towards the chains. He’d drink dry any ounce of control you gave him, and it was impossible not to give him it all when you were visionless and vulnerable.

But the dignity you struggled so hard to keep shattered when his hands brushed against your inner thigh.

Fingers slowly made their way to the padded fabric of your undergarments, two digits rubbing the area slowly with expertise. You bit your lip, muffling any groan of anticipation, hiding the way your hips tried to rock back into the gesture. Desperate, oh so desperate. Hiding back the whimpers as he slowly quickened the pace of his fingers against your garments. “Archons Y/n,” he murmured. “I haven't even put anything in and you’re already a squirming mess.”

“Shut u-up,” was all you managed, trying to shift away from the pressure against your clit. But his other hand was on your hip, holding in place. You could only watch and press your thighs tightly together as he slowly slid down your panties, resuming hovering over you. Distracting you with kisses, his fingers gently stroked your core, two fingers slowly sliding into your cunt using your juices.

He was gentle when pumping both fingers in and out, too slow when you thrust your hips to meet his fingers, pleading for him to go faster. But he liked hearing your cries, slowing down when you begged, quickening when you whined and just lay there, taking it.

You shuddered the first time electricity jolted from his digits.

It was when he had three fingers that he sent the static up your body, back arching with such intensity that it even had him chuckling. “Oh? You like it that much?” And then it is like something buzzed against your body, fingers vibrating against your clit as your thighs tightened around his hand. So much that you thought you’d crush it, but it didn't matter, not with the electrifying feeling against your body. It felt so odd, so overwhelmingly good that it had your legs sliding up and down the bedside, toes curling as the static grew and you fell paralyzed to his touch.

It didn't take long with his fingers thrusting in and out of you to cum. Moaning mess when he gave you the time to breathe, teeth biting your bottom lip and then mashing against yours. Your eyes grew fuzzy and most happened in a haze, and all you knew the entire time was that you’d given yourself to him, and that it felt good. You couldn't see the childlike wonder in his eyes anymore, not the need of a beacon or of support. No, the look he shared was feral, the smile tinting his lips almost scary. But it felt too good to care, and you let yourself enjoy his ministrations.

He pulled out and suddenly his own shorts were undone, boxers thrown to the side of the room just like all your other clothing. You didn't see how big he was, just felt his hard shaft against your throbbing cunt, pussy dripping and legs open wide and tired after your first go at it.

You expected him to be gentle like he’d been with his fingers. But he pressed the tip against your core, and in one full motion he was in. Teeth grinding against each other, you held back a scream, shock coursing through your body, overwhelmed with pain and discomfort. It hurt. But it was quickly overshadowed by his movements as he slid in and out of you, slow when pulling his hips back, and rocking himself completely inside you each time. A pattern that let you catch your breath and lose it all the same. Like he was continuously having a go at hitting the deepest parts of you, pulling back before fully thrusting into you and sending waves of pleasure and pain alike.

It was expected, but you couldnt hear yourself.

Not with your mind trapped in a haze of how he felt, body still buzzing after how he’d pulsed his vision through you. And now you were at the mercy of his member, hips swaying along with his, no energy for you to rock with him and try to push him deeper.

Archons, you didn't even think he could go deeper.

But you were proven wrong again and again as he kept the steady pace, hands clawing at your ass and hips. Stabilizing himself and trying to press himself against you, as far as he could go. Slowly, his hands drifted up to your hair, playing with the soft sensation of your furry ears. Pinching and rubbing, fingers coaxing the back of them like a massage. So gentle, but it paled in comparison to the harsh treatment of his dick.

You came first, gripping the chain with your hands in an attempt to stay stable. Walls clenching around him one last time before you got your release, your moans turning into cries when he continued to thrust into you. Your body felt numb, all nerves centred on the way he pounded into you, chasing his own release.

When he did, he pressed his head into your chest, his own breaths heavy with pleasure. Not pulling out, you could only lay there helplessly as his seed filled you, warm in contrast to the electricity he’d shot up your body just earlier. He didnt pull out, and laying in your chest, your heavy breathing didnt stop until he was asleep, collapsing on you and using you as support yet again.

Taking only a minute later to regain control of your senses, you shifted uncontrollably at his member inside of you, sending waves of pleasure every time you moved. Your wrists were restrained and you were stuck in this position till morning.

Achingly, you looked down at the boy, wondering how you would ever manage to escape.

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roanniom · 4 years ago

Text

The Night That Follows

Poe Dameron x Reader

Word Count: 8,000~

Summary: While celebrating a successful mission, you and Poe accidently ingest a mysterious beverage that makes it hard to resist one another, helping you forget the stress that weighs you down and the friendship that you’ve been holding between you two as a shield.

Note: This is my first ever non-ADCU fic and it is dedicated to the ever lovely and supportive @paper-n-ashes who urged me to get out of my comfort zone and cheered me on.

Warnings: NSFW, dirty talk, alcohol consumption, sex pollen, drugged drink (it’s drugged with the sex pollen by a 3rd party and not with malicious intent but it still might be triggering), masturbation (f/m), PIV sex, unprotected sex, war-related angst

When people talk about war, they often discuss the paralyzing fear, the numbing depression. Hopelessness that spreads through your veins like cold water as you face immeasurable odds and stare death in the face day after day. And you can attest to these feelings. You experience them with each dawn that breaks, muddy in the sky regardless of the atmosphere shrouding whatever planet you find yourself waking on each morning. Your life is transient, full of ships and bases and camps. The constants are the clothes on your back, the friends in your squadron (those who survive), and the x-wing you hop in each time danger calls.

The other constant is the part of war that people do not discuss. The rush of adrenaline every time you make it out of a tough scrape. Adrenaline that burns your veins, evaporating the icy hopelessness that had flooded you up until the minute your boots hit turf and your jellied knees catch up to the reality that you are still very much alive. The euphoria that crackles in your brain when you spy your best mate zooming down from above, finally landing and throwing themselves into your arms in the hug you never thought you’d experience again after their coms had gone down in a fire fight. The absolute debauchery of a night of celebration after such a fire fight. Because nobody needs to live quite as much as those who may die.

Which is how you find yourself here, on this non-descript jungle planet, the name of which you didn’t catch during your descent because honestly there have been so many jungle planets and they have all become little more than coordinates on a screen to you at this point. You and your squad have been set up with a mini-festival by the resistance-sympathizing locals as a thank you for your recent decimation of their First Order oppressors. The operation had been pretty seamless, thanks in no small part to the excellent teamwork between you and a one Poe Dameron.

Your flying today had rivaled some of his best, which is certainly saying something since Poe prides himself on being the best pilot in the resistance. You certainly gave him a run for his money, outflying TIE fighters and swiveling shuttle cannons in a perfectly choreographed tandem maneuver wherein the two of you manipulated your assailants to ultimately destroy themselves.

As you knock back a burning shot of the local alcoholic beverage, the liquid tingling and warming you all the way down, you search the triumphant crowd for the cocky pilot who had helped you set the stage for this celebration. You wouldn’t dwell on the earlier events of the day much more tonight. Wouldn’t think much of the comrades you’d lost in the struggle. That was an ache that would throb back to life tomorrow. Tonight, the priority is living.

It is then that you lock eyes with Poe Dameron through the throngs of semi-drunken revelers. His handsome face splits into a wide, cocky grin, so you adopt an exasperated smirk in response as he pushes his way towards you. Such is the game you play. A dance, if you will. Poe plays the role of the self-assured, overly confident golden boy while you, his long suffering partner, humble him with your good-natured criticism and ever rolling eyes.

“Alright there, Sweets?” Poe practically drawls as he reaches you, the nickname both a term of endearment and a teasing reference to the sweet tooth that keeps you hoarding candies of all kinds in your bunk, much to Poe’s own benefit. You beam up at him and upend your little glass to demonstrate its emptiness.

“On my way there, Fly Boy.”

“Looks like you’re falling behind, rookie. Like you did on that triple barrel twist today.”

You throw a punch that lands a little too lightly on his shoulder to produce the grunt and showy flail that he graces you with.

“First of all, you’re not allowed to call me rookie anymore. Your dumb ass might need to be constantly reassured that you’re ‘best pilot in the resistance,’ but by now I am, at worst, second best.” Your gut warms and you’re not sure if it’s the drink or Poe’s deep, full-bodied laugh in response. “And second of all, we don’t talk about the day if we make it to the night.”

Poe almost seems to sober at your words, a phrase of his tossed back at him. The smile remains, though, and he tosses an arm around you before dragging you over to the table that’s been set up with refreshments.

“Right you are, Sweets,” Poe agrees quietly. Louder now and injecting you two into the crowd surrounding the cluster of bottles, he continues, “as for you being second best pilot, I’d rather let the squad decide before you go getting a head too big to fit in your helmet.”

This receives a laugh from the crowd as well as another smattering of slaps thrown towards Poe’s chest.

“Dameron, we all know you already have your own helmet custom made so you can stuff that massive ego in there,” your friend Myrna.

“And those curls,” you add, reaching up and ruffling your hand through his hair in that way that always makes his nose scrunch up in mock anger.

“If you must know, there’s something else they also have to custom make me…” Poe says, grabbing your wrist and forcing your hand to slide down his chest towards the bottom of his flight suit zipper and wiggling his eyebrows. You shriek and yank your hand away.

“In your dreams, Dameron.” Poe leans down toward you so that his face is close enough for you to feel his breath fan across your cheeks.

“Or perhaps in yours?”

Suddenly a small, wrinkled face appears between you. It’s an elderly female member of the local alien race and she’s beaming up at you, holding two steaming mugs and smiling around a garbled statement in a language you don’t recognize.

“Oh I’m sorry, I’m not sure I…” you interrupt her, glancing awkwardly between her massive eyes and Poe’s confused ones.

“I might be able to translate!” Myrna cries out, stumbling forward with a newly refilled glass in her hand.

“You sure that’s not just the liquor talking?” Poe asks with a chuckle. Myrna waves him off and kneels unsteadily to listen to the old woman. More garbled speech issues forward as the woman gestures between you and Poe with her mugs. Myrna nods several times and gives little hums of agreement and affirmation. You and Poe trade glances of amusement during the interaction, but you have to look away when the upturned corner of Poe’s mouth begins to distract you.

“Alright alright,” Myrna pipes up. You turn back in time to see Myrna standing back up to her full height, now holding the two mugs, while the woman waddles back into the crowd.

“What’s the deal?” Poe asks, slinging his arm back around your shoulders. You resist the knee jerk actions that come to mind, both to slap his touch away and to lean into it, standing rigid instead.

“She said these are for you,” Myrna says, pushing the steaming mugs into your hands and Poe’s.

“Did she say why?” You peer at the milky, opalescent contents curiously. Myrna has already moved on, however, turning back to the pilot she’d been hanging on before you and Poe had approached. You look to Poe but he shrugs.

“I don’t know, something about you guys deserving it.” Myrna waves her hand dismissively, obviously ready to get back to her own evening. You look up at Poe, unsure, but he’s nodding and smiling.

“Hear that, Sweets? Seems like word travels fast that we’re the top two pilots,” Poe says cheekily, clinking his mug to yours before throwing back his head and downing its contents in one gulp. Your insides ignite at his acknowledgment, as well as the bob of his adam’s apple, but your eyes still flit warily to your beverage.

“We don’t even know what it is and you’re drinking it?”

“Honey, I’m pretty sure that liquor we were taking shots of earlier was actually jet fuel, I don’t think we need to be too worried about this.” Poe smacks his lips and runs his finger around the inside of the mug. “And besides, it’s really kriffing good.”

Watching the way his cheeks hollow out as he sucks the last dregs of his drink from his finger makes a heat boil in the pit of the stomach. You decide you actually are quite thirsty, and since your curiosity is stronger than your apprehension, you knock the liquid back yourself.

“Atta girl!” Poe cheers you on, nudging you. The drink is sweet and thick on your tongue like a melted version of the ice cream you’d tasted once, many years ago. You can still remember the creamy texture, very much worth the credits paid to the traveling vendor who’d brought it to your village during the hottest summer of your childhood. As you swallow this liquid down, however, its cold temperature changes into a burn, similar to alcohol, though smoother than any liquor you’d ever had.

“Good, right?” Poe asks, eyebrows raised. You nod and lick your lips, sure that you’re imagining things when Poe’s eyes flicker down to your darting tongue.

“That was actually pretty good,” you concede with a grin.

“So what have we learned tonight?” Poe prompts, grabbing your mug from your hands and placing it next to his on a nearby table. You shake your head.

“Your cockiness extends to believing locals on a miniscule planet find you special?”

“The correct answer was ‘always give things a chance,’ Sweets, but you can continue being closeminded if you want,” Poe responds with a chuckle. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and makes to walk away.

“Fine!” You reach out and grab his arm before he can leave. When he rounds back on you with a wide smile you roll your eyes and refuse eye contact. “And just so you know, I’m a lot more open minded than you think, Dameron.”

“Is that so, rookie?” You bristle but as the glee raises in his eyes at your reaction you do your best to tamp it down.

“I’m…flexible,” you say, your grin begrudging. A hubbub breaks out beyond you in the crowd as the makeshift band that had assembled to play party music transitions to a particularly festive song, causing both you and Poe to watch as people begin forming an impromptu dance floor. When Poe turns back at you and raises his eyebrows, expectant, you throw up your hands defensively.

“No. Don’t look at me like that, Fly Boy,” you’re quick to say, but Poe’s even quicker, having already grabbed you by the hand and pulled you to him. Your body collides with his and his other hand finds the dip of your waist.

“Oh I’m sorry, what was that I just heard someone say about being open minded?” Poe asks. In a sudden fluid motion he dips you, bending you over so that your back is parallel to the ground and his face hovers over yours. “Being flexible?”

You let him pull you back up and steady yourself with a hand on his chest to catch your balance, dizzy now, most likely from the suddenness of the motion. You’re about to toss back a witty retort, possibly something that will knock him down a few pegs, but then you catch the glint in his eye and a smile spreads across your lips unbidden.

“You get one dance, Dameron.”

~*~

One dance turned into many, as it turns out. The band, upon realizing their audience’s appetite for raucous music, had begun a steady rotation of upbeat tunes. The dance floor had expanded, spilling out of its original confines in the center of the town square and into the concession areas on the perimeter. Resistance members danced and drank, their bodies jumping and moving to the beat in one chaotic mass of excess energy and euphoria. Bodies writhe against one another in all directions as people seek out friction that can confirm to them that they did indeed survive the day’s trials.

You’re experiencing friction of your own in your little portion of the dance floor. Where things had started out innocently – energetic bouncing to the beat and moving in unison – the tone had long changed. At this point Poe is behind you, arms slung dangerously low on your hips to hold you against him, hands pressed right above your pelvis. The feeling of his chest pressing against your back, his hips bracketing your ass – you’ve lost yourself in the sensations. The rhythm of the music shakes through your muscles but instead of tense and tired, they’re loose and buzzing.

Though truth be told, they aren’t the only thing buzzing. The proximity of Poe’s hands to your lower body feels charged like a magnet. Without thinking you press your hands over the backs of his, encouraging pressure on your lower abdomen. You swear you hear Poe growl behind you has his hands pull you further to him, but it could also be the roar of the crowd. Your hips move in sync, your ass grinding against him in time with the music. Escapism in its purest form is what you’re experiencing in Poe’s arms, held against Poe’s body, matching Poe’s motions. It’s heady and distracting and everything you could ask for to make living feel like living, especially in the aftermath of a day centered on death. You’re content to let this moment last as long as the universe allows.

That is until you realize that the increasing beat you’d thought was a shift in the music is actually the rapid crescendo of your own heartbeat.

Swallowing you find your throat is thick, saliva pooling in your mouth inexplicably. You take a deep breath and allow your mind to reel. How long had you been feeling like this? Why hadn’t you noticed these feelings coming on?

One of the large hands at your hip begins sliding up along the plane of your side and you get your answer. The weight of his touch lights your skin on fire as it drags up and across your collar bone. Your breath feels ragged, rattling around in lungs that can’t seem to take in oxygen no matter how high your chest rises and falls. Poe’s hand lingers on your throat for a second so you swallow again, with even less luck than before. His hand reaches up to grip your jaw which he uses to turn your head back toward him.

Oh.

Poe continues to move behind you, his motions controlling you both on the floor, but his face is strained. Sweat dots his temples, gleaming in his curls, and his teeth seem gritted, making his jaw set at a striking angle. His eyes pin you down, however, and they keep your attention as you gaze back, wide-eyed.

“You okay, rookie?” Poe’s voice is deeper than normal, huskier. The way it reverberates through your body makes a rumbling bubble up deep inside your chest. The beginnings of a moan, perhaps? You’re quick to gasp a response before such a sound has a chance to make its way into the air between you.

“I’m…feeling quite strange.”

The hand still at your waist tightens its grip while the other rejoins on the opposite side. You have to gasp again to keep from moaning. Suddenly you’re being maneuvered forward, Poe’s guidance weaving you through the crowd with ease despite the congested revelry.

Neither of you see the way Myrna is watching you both with a knowing smirk from her place draped around her own handsome pilot beau. Or the way the little old woman who’d gifted you the beverage hovers on the outskirts of the dance floor, a proud look on her wrinkled face as she eyes your retreating figures.

~*~

You’re not really able to follow where Poe is directing you, mainly because of how the imprint of his hands on your body seems to be searing into your skin through your flight suit. While your accelerated heart rate was the thing you had been most worried about, now you are equally worried about the dull ache that has seated itself in the pit of your stomach. You bite down hard on your lip to keep the moan from spilling out, the one you’ve been suppressing since the moment you became conscious to your current discomfort.

When Poe’s stride finally slows to a stop only then are you able to take in your surroundings. Blinking, you’re surprised to find that you’re now outside of the town, far from the lights and bustle of the party, walking into the silent clearing that contains the squadron’s parked aircrafts.

“Why are we all the way out here?” you ask, unsettled by how deep your voice sounds in the darkness.

“Needed to get away from the crowd.” You’re even more unsettled by how breathless Poe’s voice is as he says his first words since the dance floor. So unsettled that you turn in his arms so you can finally take in his disheveled appearance fully.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t know, it’s the weirdest thing. One minute everything was fine and the next…”

“You can’t catch your breath,” you finish for him and he nods gravely. Both of your chests are practically heaving, pressing into each other with each exhale. When you become aware of this, it also brings awareness of the way his chest pressed up against yours is also adding pressure to your nipples. Since when were your nipples hard? The night is balmy, a cool breeze barely able to disturb the moist warmth that settles in the jungle terrain. You feel sweat begin to collect on the back of your neck and your hairline, much like the sweat causing Poe to shine a bit in the moonlight. And yet your nipples are hard and a shudder runs through your body, nerve endings clearly ten steps ahead of you, taking in some experience to which you’d yet to catch up.

“Wait a minute, look at me,” Poe suddenly orders, his fingers wrapping around your chin to lift your face toward his. You freeze as he stares down at you, eyes widening at whatever he sees.

“What is it?” you ask, voice urgent, almost frightened.

“Your pupils are wide as planets,” he mutters, distracted fingers drawing up the side of your jaw to press to the pulse point at your throat. “Your heartbeat is out of control.”

“I haven’t been able to calm down,” you say, nodding but getting more worried by the second. “Why can’t I calm down? Are you feeling the same way?”

Poe’s mouth presses into a hard line and he turns away abruptly, head tilting down.

“Oh fuck.”

“What?” You try to pull him back toward you but he doesn’t budge.

“I think…we’ve been drugged.”

Your blood runs cold and a hand flies to cover your mouth. You’d known tonight was too good to be true. Your mind races, making connections out of thin air, trying to place when and where you could have possibly come in close enough proximity to First Order agents to be compromised.

“But what – how – what can we do? What is it? Is it deadly?” You’re cut off by a sound issuing from Poe’s now curved body. You wonder at first if it’s a sob, which makes sense because you’re about ready to cry yourself. But then you realize it’s a chuckle.

“I wouldn’t say deadly. Just exceedingly inconvenient.”

“So you know what it is then?” you prompt, tugging at his shoulder some more to try and see his face. “Tell me!”

“Well for starters I’m pretty sure it was that drink the old woman gave us.”

Fuck.

Of course. What was the one suspicious thing you’d ingested all day? The fact that you hadn’t thought about it sooner makes you want to kick yourself, but you press on instead, anxious to have the matter dealt with.

“What does it do?” You hate the tremor that colors your voice. At that Poe finally turns around and you take him in all at once, trying to assess what he could have been hiding. His tall, wide-legged stance makes it easy to notice after a few seconds. As your gaze moves lower on his body you finally see the massive tent forming below the zipper line of his flight suit.

Without even being able to mentally process what you’re looking at your body responds immediately. A rush of warmth and wetness floods the apex of your thighs and the moan that you’d so far been able to hold in finally makes it way out of your throat. Poe’s eyes, which had recently gone hooded, widen in response to the lewd sound. You clap a hand over your mouth and snap your eyes back up to his face, away from the rigid shape that had made the muscles inside you contract wantonly around nothing.

“It’s made from a plant that’s meant to accelerate sex drive,” Poe says matter-of-factly.

You almost don’t hear him because your eyes have already slid back down his body, feasting on the sight of his impressive bulge. You’d heard stories of Poe’s sexual prowess, many from the man’s own loud mouth. You knew he’d satisfied many members of the Resistance, male and female alike. But you had never truly let yourself consider what he’d be like. What he’d look like. What he’d feel like…

“Why would she possibly give that to us of all people?” You feel like you’re going to cry. The feelings coursing through your body are overwhelming.

“Maybe she went around spiking many people at the party. Maybe she just thought you and I would look hot together? You can’t blame her for that one.” Poe winks at you and it diffuses some of your angst. You let out a tense laugh and shake your head.

“How do we make it stop?” you force yourself to ask, just as you force yourself yet again to look back up in his eyes. Poe averts his own, a sheepish look overtaking his face. When he doesn’t answer you step forward and grab his arm in alarm, trying not to consider the way his bicep bulges under his sleeve. “Poe?!”

“We have to…take care of it.”

You’re launching yourself away from him before he can finish the sentence. You probably knew the answer before you’d even asked the question, but his words still sent electricity through your spine.

“We can’t. That’s…that’s crazy – you’re crazy, Dameron!”

“Hey, you think I like this? Standing here like an idiot with my dick so hard I can barely see straight?”

The sexual nature of his words, spoken so plainly and without euphemism for the first time, makes a new wave of wetness pool between your legs against your will.

“Don’t….talk about it,” you say through gritted teeth, closing your eyes in an attempt to center yourself.

“What? Don’t talk about my aching cock?” he asks, almost as a challenge. He’s frustrated now, egged on by your attitude.

“Stop it.”

“Are you about to tell me you aren’t wet right now?”

You turn your back on him in a childish and fruitless attempt at blocking out his words. When you don’t reply you hear his footsteps as he approaches from behind.

“If we’re both having the same reaction, and I’m certain we are, then I’d imagine you’re practically dripping right now.”

His words would have made your eyes cross if you didn’t have them shut so tightly. A hand molds around your hip while the other grasps at the side of your neck, both working in tandem to pull your back flush against his front. The impact, though gentle, knocks the wind out of you. Or whatever wind had been in you in the first place. His lips are at your ear then and you melt into his touch.

“If we take care of this together we’ll go back to normal.”

“…back to normal?” you ask, simply repeating and not really aware of your words.

“Exactly.”

“I…I don’t know.” Poe’s hardened length is pressing into your ass now, insistent and firm behind you. The hand on your hip migrates lower to pull you against him. A swivel of his hips causes your own to follow the momentum, gyrating in their own right.

“We can be quick,” Poe coos, his voice vibrating over your earlobe where his lips are making contact with your skin. Another low chuckle sounds. “Or I can take my time if you want. Either way, I can promise you’ll enjoy it.”

There’s your cocky Fly Boy.

You wrench yourself from his grasp and take a few steadying steps away before gaining the wherewithal to turn back and face him once more. He looks supremely disappointed, arms still outstretched in the place where you had just been.

“Does this really have to be a…team effort?” you ask, face screwed up with discomfort. Poe runs a hand through his hair and casts a distracted glance about your surroundings.

“I mean I guess theoretically one could take care of themselves – ”

“Great!” you cut him off and stalk around to the other side of his x-wing. Of course he’d brought you to his ship. You look around for your own but when you can’t find it you plop yourself down on the ground.

“Are you kriffing serious?” comes Poe’s angry voice behind you as he stomps over. “We could bang this out and feel better but you’re just going to – ”

“Oh ‘bang’ this out? Real nice, Dameron.”

“You know what I mean.” You can practically hear his eye roll.

“The other side,” you say simply, lowering the zipper on your flight suit. When you don’t hear the sound of his retreating footsteps, however, you pause. “Stay on the other side of the ship, Dameron.”

He grumbles but does as you say. When you finally hear the sound of him throwing himself to the ground, you lift the tab of your zipper again. However, the loud and sudden ziiiip indicating that he’s yanked open his own garment seems ring out then in the clearing and you’re inundated with mental images of what that must look like. Poe sprawled on the ground with his flight suit open and askew. You imagine the expanse of his chest, the way the muscle would ripple in the shadows of the jungle. You’d seen him without a shirt before, the arms of his flight suit tied at his waist as he reclined beneath his x-wing making repairs. Covered in sweat and grease. The memory and the subsequent lurid thoughts have you dipping your hand down into the small opening you’ve made in your clothes, not fully comfortable enough to expose yourself entirely to the elements. When you reach the place between your thighs you have to swallow the gasp that bursts forth at the realization that Poe had been right. You’re not just wet. You’re dripping.

“Fuck.”

You think you say it quietly but a chuckle from the other side of the ship proves otherwise.

“Need any help over there?”

You ignore him and try to focus in on your own body, closing your eyes. You allow a hand to ghost over your breast as you ease a finger through your folds. You feel the insistent thrumming of your pulse even down below and your breath is shallow in your chest. The images dancing behind your eyelids show you flashes, glimpses of things you try to banish from your mind. The angle of Poe’s jaw. His faint, ever present stubble. The arch of his eyebrow. The curve of his smirk. His ass in those pants.

“Sweets…”

Poe’s voice interrupts a whimper you hadn’t even realized you were releasing.

“Poe.” Your voice is small and it cracks around his name. Your muscles are contracting but nothing you do eases the sensation. It just continues building within you. “It hurts.”

“Just come over here. I don’t even have to touch you. Just let me help you through it.”

You ponder the darkness before you, the way it envelops the other aircrafts in this makeshift parking zone. You hear a shick shick shick behind you and your cunt aches. Completely in response to the siren call of Poe Dameron’s building pleasure. You’re immediately intensely jealous. Jealous of the way that, you assumed, he was having more luck getting himself off than you were, despite the fingers inside you right now. Jealous of the way his voice didn’t crack when he beckoned you over.

But most of all jealous of the fact that he’s the one currently touching his hard cock. Not you.

You will yourself to stand up, pulling your hand out of your flight suit but not bothering to zip it back up. On jelly legs you make your way to the other side of the ship. The far side, facing away from the town square and the distant glow of the party you’ve now forgotten.

As you round the edge of the x-wing you bite your lip at the sight before you. Poe is indeed sprawled out with his suit zipped all the way down. His thick member protrudes from the bottom of the opening, a fist moving up and down rapidly, pulling from root to flushed tip in skilled motions. However the eyes that gaze up at you from under his unruly mop of curly hair are not doused with pleasure and satisfaction as you’d imagined. Instead he looks pained, almost agonized. At the sight of you he sits up a bit and does his best to give you a reassuring smile though it comes out as more of a grimace.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful, rookie.”

“That’s the drink talking,” you dismiss, despite the way your stomach swoops as you move to settle yourself down next to him, careful not to make contact. “And you know I hate you calling me rookie.”

“I’ll call you anything you want, baby, as long as you start touching yourself.”

Your cunt pulses at his words so suddenly that you almost double over. Your breathing, already ragged, speeds up as you feel the overwhelming urge to have something deep inside you. Dropping your hand into the opening in your suit you halt, however, watching Poe warily in your peripheral vision. He catches you looking and reluctantly stills the hand moving on member.

“Would sitting back to back help?” he sighs. You nod, scrambling over so that your back is to his.

This is better. This is much better, you think as you dip your hand back between your legs and into the waiting slick. You drag a finger in tight circles over your clit and do your best to calm the racing thoughts that flit back to images of Poe’s body.

The body that is currently pressed to yours, though not at all in the manner you would prefer.

Poe grunts then, making you lose your rhythm.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve wanted you, you know.”

You cut your answering gasp off at the source, not daring to make a sound lest it interrupt this information that you desperately needed to here. He interprets your silence correctly and continues.

“I’ve thought about you. When I’m in the cockpit on my way to some distant planet. When not even hyper speed can get me there quick enough before thoughts of you creep in.” He almost sounds mad, but you get it. The emotions coursing through your body along with the hormones are driving you wild and you don’t know how to feel.

“What…what are the thoughts about?” you can’t help but ask.

“I’d love to say it’s your smile or your brains or something sweet like that. And I do think about those things too, don’t get me wrong,” he says on a hoarse chuckle. “But it’s mainly your body.”

You slip a third finger inside your cunt as he says this, his words and the feeling mixing to cause you to let out an unchecked moan. You feel Poe’s body shudder against you.

“Shit Sweets you’re killing me.” You feel him tense as his hand begins moving faster. “I think about how you look poured into that flight suit. The way your tits and ass jiggle when you hop into your x-wing – fuck.” Another shudder wracks through his body and you can’t take it anymore. The way you’re touching yourself isn’t the way you usually do it. Not in those rare moments where you’ve got the sleeping quarters to yourself and you’re able to get yourself off in your bunk to images of a chiseled jawline, a clothed bulge, rippling muscles, soft, curly hair…

You abruptly pitch yourself forward to balance yourself on your knees and one hand while the remaining hand redoubles its efforts between your legs. The shift in position ends your physical contact with Poe and he swivels to see.

“What are you – ”

“Don’t turn around,” you gasp out. Your new angle works in your favor as your swollen clit becomes more sensitive, pulled down by gravity so that every swipe of your finger becomes more potent. “But for the love of gods, don’t stop talking.”

Poe is taken aback by your sudden forwardness, but he doesn’t let it faze him for long. Instead you hear his renewed efforts at jerking off as the sound of skin swiping across skin, made smoother by spit and precum, gets louder behind you.

“What do you want me to talk about? How much I wish it was your tight little pussy I was fucking instead of my fist?”

The whimper you release at that statement is unlike any sound you’ve ever made and it only spurs Poe on.

“And I just know you’re tight. I know it. And wet too, just like I guessed you were. I can hear it, baby,” he practically growls and you become intensely away of the slick, creamy sounds coming from the rapid in and out, in and out rhythm of your fingers delving into your cunt. “You’re dripping, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” You close your eyes and hear his words and wish the fingers inside you were harder, thicker, him.

“You wish it was my cock inside you, I know you do. You don’t want to admit it but you wish I was pounding into you, making you feel good. Making the ache go away.”

Your answering whine confirms his beliefs and he lets out a triumphant grunt.

“Fuck, baby. I want it, too. Bury myself deep inside of you and fuck you till that drink wears off and you’re still screaming for me, that’s how good it would be.”

“Oh gods.”

“Tell me who you’re wet for.”

“Y-you.” It comes out small. You’re shocked that you even say it, especially with how much you’ve been fighting all of this. You want it. You want it in your bones and in your blood and in your tight, spasming cunt. But you also want Poe’s friendship. Want him to tousle your hair on the way to the hanger. Want him to keep sending you funny messages over your data pad, constantly trying to outdo your own silly riddles and jokes. Want to tease him and eat dinner with him in the mess hall and slap him when he says something stupid and yell at him when he does something dangerous and cry when he doesn’t come back on time from a mission…

A sob finds its way out of your body, sandwiched between two moans. You’re not sure Poe even heard it until his voice reaches your ears again, this time gentler.

“Sweets? Is this working for you?”

You take a shuddering breath before answering.

“No.”

You practically hear Poe slump in defeat, the rhythm of his hand on his length slowing down. You bite your lip before continuing.

“Take me, Poe.”

“What?” Poe whirls around so fast you feel the air woosh over you as he disturbs it. You jump to your feet, still facing away from him and yank your flight suit over your shoulders and down your body, stepping out so it pools on the ground. He watches as you get back down on your hands and knees before him in your underwear, ass in the air, waiting for him to catch up.

“I need you, Poe. Just…just please get inside me,” you say, reaching back to pull the damp fabric of your panties aside, exposing your glistening, swollen folds for him to see.

You don’t have to ask him a third time. He’s on you so fast that you’re confused by his motions. It takes a few seconds before you realize that he’s taken your discarded flight suit and stretched it out on the ground, positioning you over it so that your hands and knees are protected from the dirt. The sweetness of this considerate action is offset by the way his fingers dig harshly into your hips, maneuvering your ass so that it lines up with his pelvis. You tilt forward, aided by pressure on your lower back which raises your click cunt to the level of his cock.

“I’m going to make you feel so good – ”

“No more words, Dameron. Just shut up and get your cock inside – FUCK.” He spears you mid-sentence and you immediately fall down onto your elbows. Your ass still in the air, held in place by his hard grip, receives a smack and you cry out, feeling no pain. Only pleasure as the sting ripples through you and into your clenching cunt. He feels it deep inside you and groans.

“Maybe you’re the one who needs to shut up, baby.” His words issue forth from gritted teeth. “Always fucking teasing me with that fucking mouth.” His hips rut into yours, taking up an unforgiving pace, while the rest of his body folds over yours so his chest pressed flush to your back. One hand closes tightly around your chin, wrenching up your head and dragging a finger over your bottom lip which has grown plump from biting. “This beautiful, bossy fucking mouth. Always telling me off, telling me what to do.”

Your tongue darts out to meet his skin and his other fingers caress your chin in response. It’s a stark contrast to the almost feral way he is still clutching your hip and driving into you over and over.

There’s almost no resistance. You’re tight, cunt clutching onto his throbbing cock in an effort to keep him buried inside, but you’re wetter than you’ve ever been and it’s making his thrusts effortless. You assume it’s a side effect of the drink. But in some part of your brain you can’t believe that a plant could possibly make a man’s cock feel as good as Poe’s does right now inside you. How a plant could cause you to feel pleasure that is not simply rooted in the way his hand drags down from your jaw to wrench your breasts out of the cups of your bra. How a plant could in any way magnify the surely already intoxicating feeling of Poe’s mouth working at the side of your neck, the curve of your shoulder.

“This working, baby? This doing it?” Poe checks in then, not relenting in his thrusts. Never relenting. “You’re squeezing me, so I know your little pussy likes it.”

A shuddering gasp kicks through you before you can answer his question and he laughs. The vibrations go straight from his cock to your clit and you whimper some more.

“Your sounds. I want to record these little sounds you’re making and play them back when I’m flying. Have you fill the space in my x-wing till I can’t take it any more.” Poe presses a kiss to the back of your shoulder, nipping and then laving the skin over with his tongue. “I’m going to hear these sounds in my dreams.”

“It’s…just…the drink,” you practically hiccup, barely able to form thoughts from the way your body has focused all energy, all recognitions of nerve endings to the space between your thighs. Poe slaps your ass again and you keen.

“Just listen to yourself, baby. No drink is making you sound this hot. That’s all you, Sweets.”

Before you can argue further you do take a second to listen. To the way your shallow breaths mix with whimpers and whines. The gurgle in the back of your throat when his cock bounces against your cervix. He’s right. It is hot. You are hot. You reach a hand down to your clit, desperate to increase the already mind-blowing stimulation, greedy for more.

“You feel so good. You’re sosososogood,” you barely manage to slur. Despite your inability to fully speak you make the attempt because you assume that if hearing your gasps is egging him on, your words will amplify it. And amplify it they do. Poe’s hips stutter for a second before he drops down heavier on you, thrusting deeper and from a more primal place. A hand savagely kneads at one of your breasts, playing with the nipple.

“I’ve never been this full. I can’t take it, I can’t…”

“Seems like you’re taking it pretty well, baby,” Poe coos, pressing more kisses to the side of your neck.

“I need m-more,” you gasp, realizing with urgency that the pressure in your core is finally building past the plateau of the last…hour? Half an hour? How long had this been going on? All night? It doesn’t matter because Poe’s inside you and he’s listening to you and suddenly you’re being slammed into with all the force he can muster. He expertly wrings pleasure from your body and you feel yourself careening toward a release that you can’t describe. Just out of reach and full of all the potential energy inherent in an object rocketing toward the moon only to soon plummet back to the depths.

“Poe! I…I…oh fuck…oh gods…I…”

“Go on, baby. Cum.”

“You ha- ahhhh. But you…y-you…” You’re babbling. You’re incoherent, not wanting to leave him behind in the blinding ache that comes before release. Your hands are fisting in the flight suit below you, desperate for something solid, something substantial to hold onto.

“Don’t wait for me, Sweets. Let go.”

And then his hands are closing over yours, fingers interlacing and squeezing down, pinning you to the ground with white knuckles that would hurt if you weren’t squeezing him right back, finally grounded in the way you needed.

And you’re cumming.

And cumming.

You feel every muscle in your body seize and spasm and bliss roils out through you in waves. You shake and stutter under him, feeling fresh wetness gush down around his cock as he fucks you through the feeling. You keep waiting for it to stop but it doesn’t, it only intensifies. It must be a side effect. Of the drink not the man. But when you feel yourself transcending the moment, the way your soul feels like it is literally floating above you, you use the out of body experience to take in the man who is causing this pleasure. The way he cages you in, bracing you through the storm of your orgasm, giving more and more to keep the flame burning as long as possible.

His muscles ultimately seize sometime around when your soul seems to sink back into your body and you’re one again enough with your senses that you can feel him paint your walls with sticky, hot cum. He doesn’t drop his weight on you like other men have after the completion of such exertions. Other men who had focused more on the destination than the journey, leaving you as wanting for release as you were wanting for air under the pressure of their body weight. Instead, Poe pulls you of you and flops to his back in the grass beside you. Without him holding you up you crumble down, face pressing into the fabric of your rumpled flight suit instead of the dirt, thanks to Poe.

A few minutes pass, silent except for the sound of your slowing gasps for air. When your breathing evens Poe sits up on his haunches to guide you back into your flight suit. You’re sticky from sweat and your combined cum, but you couldn’t care less with your bones liquified and your eyelids heavy. Gone is the buzzing ache, in its place a heavy sleepiness. When Poe lays you, now clothed, gingerly back down on the ground you automatically curl into him, allowing him to wrap his arms around your body.

Neither of you shares another word. You don’t have to.

Because shortly after you doze off. And for the first time in a long time your final thoughts before sleep overtakes you are not of the dread the morning will bring, but the solace you found in the night.

~*~

When you wake it’s to a dawn as grey as all the ones before it. Hazy with receding fog and with the promise of all the danger that looms ahead in the hours soon to follow. One of the planet’s suns has already breached the horizon, and you raise a hand to cover your eyes as you peer out from under the x-wing’s protective wing. Looking down you take stock.

Your flight suit is on but fully unzipped, leaving your chest and stomach entirely exposed, all the way down to your lower belly. A large hand covers one of your breasts, fingers twitching against your flesh as the man attached to it continues to dream. You follow the length of his arm to take in his body, tucked close into your own, equally unzipped, his broad torso showing through the gaping fabric. You watch Poe’s abdominal muscles contract with his inhales and exhales for a moment while you check in with your body.

The humming from last night is gone, that much is for certain. This makes you believe that the effects of the drink have worn off. You’re quick to question this hypothesis, however, when Poe stirs in his sleep and his hand squeezes down a bit on your breast. Your breath catches in your throat and fire shoots through your veins. A lingering symptom, you wonder. Or perhaps just a normal, biological reaction to sexual stimuli. You kick yourself mentally because of course it has to be the latter. It couldn’t be the third option which you won’t even allow yourself to fully consider.

You require a shower urgently, it occurs to you suddenly. And food, a realization that coincides with a rumbling in your empty stomach. Knowing you’ll never have a good enough excuse to extricate yourself from this gorgeous man’s arms you steel your nerves and pull away. When you stand, Poe groans and allows an eye to crack open, his hand flying up to shield his eyes from the rising sun. You’re silhouetted against the dawn and he takes in your outline. The curves of you.

“Morning, Sweets,” he says, voice hoarse with sleep this time instead of sex.

“Morning, Fly Boy,” you reply simply with a small smile. You feel a buzzing in the pocket of your suit then and pull out your mini com unit, even more portable than your usual data pad. The message that blares across the screen and you relay it before Poe can reach his own device which had similarly vibrated.

“We’ve got a new mission. Briefing is in an hour and then we take off.” The information feels stilted as it leaves your lips. How can you feel so entirely, earth-shatteringly changed and yet in many ways everything is still the same. The sun still came up. The war still rages on.

You look down at Poe and his intense expression as he watches you makes you think that he’s wondering the same thing.

Your heart thumps in your chest, this time unaided by any drugged drink or the eyes or hands of a man whose existence seemed both your making and undoing. Routine is the only thing that can calm these nerves. Routine is what is required to survive war. Routine and protocol and boundaries.

You zip up your flight suit with finality.

“See you at the briefing?” you ask, though its more statement than question.

“Of course.” Poe’s response is quiet as he continues to watch you from his reclining position. You’re still above him and at a distance, a position he often associates with you.

You smile and give him a good natured salute before turning and making you way back toward the town where you know the rest of the Resistance members are already bustling about and preparing for the day.

Another day you hope you, and Poe, will be lucky enough to outlive.

~*~

Doing a smaller taglist since it’s a Poe fic and I’m not sure if everyone on my usual taglist is into it (Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed for future work!): @paper-n-ashes @mariesackler @tlcwrites @foxilayde @mylifeisactuallyamess @sacklerscumrag @jynzandtonic @millenialcatlady @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @hopeamarsu @direnightshade @leather-flannel-liquor @fizzywoohoo @aliveandlonely @wayward-rose @safarigirlsp @emeraldsiren20 @finn-ray-nal-beads @maryforyou @maybe-your-left

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peachbear88 · 4 years ago

Text

Island of Forbidden Love

Pairing: Attendant!Yelena Belova x Attendant!Reader

Warnings: Dark themes such as death, slavery and more, strangulation, etc.

A/N: Inspired by @roger-that-cap's beautiful Greek Mythology fic that you should all check out. Also, apologies it's not as good as I wanted it to be because it's kind of rushed and I suck at writing sad endings. :)

Summary: Wanda (Circe) runs a magical island full of beauty treatments, magic and more. Paradise. But what happens when her faithful attendants fall prey to a more ancient magic then she could ever hope of possessing?

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"And that's you all done miss!" You chirp and the blonde girl in front of you flashes you a smile. Your cheery smile falters when your eyes meet hers. Beautiful, honest hazel eyes that sparkle in the sunlight of the cavern.

"Thank you," she replies graciously and you gulp, an unnatural feeling tickling your neck, like someone poured a bucket of ice water down the back of your flowy, satin dress.

"Y-Your welcome," you sputter, busying yourself with a mundane task in an attempt to hide the blush coating your cheeks.

Another attendant bursts into the room. Carol Danvers. She nods at you briefly, before pulling her mask back on, approaching the girl.

"Ms. Belova," Carol smiles, curtseying to the hazel-eyed beauty. "Our mistress awaits you." The girl nods before following Carol out of the room. 'Wanda has something special planned for her,' Carol mouths as she exits the room swiftly, the girl trailing behind her.

A feeling of dread washes over you and you abandon the moist towelette you were clutching, dashing after the two girls.

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You hitch your dress up, slipping through the shadows of the cave as you approach the mouth of the cave. Disappointment is clear on your face when you peer into the cavern to find it empty, no Carol, no mistress and certainly no mystery girl.

Your shoulders slump in defeat and you slink off back to your living quarters, unaware of the dark green eyes piercing your back.

"A nosy one she is. Keep on eye on her for me, will you?" A silky smooth voice purrs. Carol nods her head vigorously.

"Yes mistress."

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"Everyone!" Your head snaps up, turning your attention to the doorway. "Meet your new co-worker!" Carol announces, moving to the side and flailing her arms dramatically to reveal none other then the mysterious, hazel eyed girl.

She rubs her arms nervously.

"H-Hi." She shrinks under the expectant gazes of your fellow attendants.

"Girl, you have to tell them your name," Carol snickers and the girl flushes bright red.

"R-Right. I'm Yelena." She waves. Everyone else grumbles, turning back to whatever they were doing and she slumps, clearly expecting some kind of welcome.

You wave back at her enthusiastically and you see her face light up before contorting into rage.

"You!" She tackles you and Carol lets out an exclamation of surprise. "Ты. Маленький. Сука!" She screams, each word accentuated with a forceful punch as Carol tugs her off of you. You lay on your bed, frozen in fear. (You. Little. Bitch.)

"Wha- What did I do?" Her facial muscles twitch.

"Plumped her up like a cow getting ready for slaughter I s'pose." Carol interjects dryly.

"Oh come on!" You exclaim. "You know if I had the choice, I wouldn't even be here!"

Yelena lets out a frustrated huff before storming over to her new bed. You sigh, tentatively making your way over to her, ignoring the insinuating glances sent your way by the other girls in the room. A strong arm gently tugs on your wrist and you look back.

"Let her be for now. You know how rough it is for the new ones to accept their fate." Carol coaxes you back to your bed and you sigh, running your hands through your hair.

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"No! Let him go!" You cry, wrenching your arms out of Carol's steely grasp. Wanda tuts, running a finger along your brother's jawline. He hisses.

"Such a handsome young boy," she smiles sadly at him. "Shame he won't be around long enough to enjoy it the benefits of beauty." A wicked glint flashes through her eyes as she snaps her fingers, a rope of red mist surrounding his neck, constricting him.

His eyes bulge, the veins in his neck popping. You scream, as he chokes and sputters, the light in his eyes growing dimmer with every passing moment.

Wanda squeezes her hand into a fist and the mist seemingly tightens even more.

"I'll do what you want! Anything! Please just let him go!" She arches an eyebrow, tightening her fist even more. Your brother begins convulsing, toppling over from his seated position. "Anything!"

"You swear?" You gulp. She rushes over, gripping you by the neck violently, forcing you to stare into her dark, clouded eyes. "Swear it on Styx!"

"I swear, I swear!" You plead and the red mist disappears. You rush over, bending over the semi-unconscious form of your sibling. "Are you okay?" He nods weakly. You turn back to the sorceress. "Now give him safe passage out of here." She smiles patronizingly at you.

"My child. I never swore on Styx I would let him go. You pledged your loyalty to me. I never promised you anything." Your eyes widen as she tightens her fist once again.

Your brother floats off the ground, his eyes wide, hair splayed out.

"And now, his blood shall be on your hands, all because you couldn't use that pretty little head of your to think."

You fall to your knees, your eyes wide in horror as your brother stares down at you, a final plea in his eyes before his head falls back, limp.

"Get her out of here," Wanda snips and Carol shuffles forward dutifully, grabbing you and hauling you out of the dark cavern.

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A warm figure shuffles into your bed, clutching your waist. You turn groggily to find Yelena there, a frightened look in her eyes.

"I'm sorry it's just- I just-" She struggles to find the right words. "I haven't been able to sleep properly after today's..." Horrors? Nightmares? Brutal murder and manipulation? "Events." You smile sympathetically at the younger girl.

"It's alright." You pat the space next to you. "Come, come." She curls into the empty spot beside you, clutching your waist tightly. "I'm not going anywhere."

"'M sorry for blowing up at you," she mumbles quietly. "Wasn't your fault." You run your hands through her hair gently in hopes of soothing her.

"Shhhhhhh... Go to sleep." You whisper as her eyes droop slightly.

"'M sorry."

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The dynamic between you two changed after that. Lingering glances were exchanged, words of comfort whispered in the dead of night.

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You run along the beach, relishing in the feeling of the sand against your bare feet.

"Вернись сюда идиот!" Yelena sprints after you. (Get back here idiot!)

You shriek in surprise as she tackles you, sending the two of you flying.

"Give me back my shoe!" She exclaims, shaking you playfully.

"Never!" You cry, rolling over so she's pinned under you. She arches a perfectly trimmed eyebrow at you.

"No? Then I guess you'll just have to deal with the consequences!" She yells triumphantly, her hands coming up and tickling your ribs. You drop, landing on top of her, laughing.

"Y-Yelena, please, stop!" You cry desperately, tears streaming down your face.

To your utter surprise, she stops. You open your eyes slowly to find Yelena staring at you.

"W-Why are you staring at me? Do I have something on my face?" You quickly wipe at your face, feeling slightly self conscious.

Instead of laughing, Yelena surges forward, wrapping her nimble fingers around your neck and pulling you down to meet her in the middle.

"Mmph!" Your cry is smothered by her lips. You melt into the kiss, letting her pull you even closer as she slips her tongue into your mouth.

Eventually, the two of you break away from each other, gasping for air. She smiles at you dopily.

"That was nice." You burst into laughter.

"Only nice? Hmph. See if I ever let you kiss me again," you pout and she frowns.

"Noooooo! I'm sorry!" You smile, pinching her cheeks. "So does this mean I get another kiss?"

-----------

Words of comfort turn to stolen kisses as the two of you sneak around, stealing moments, moments that feel like something from someone else's life.

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"Y/N." Your head shoots up to find Carol.

"Yes?"

"Mistress would like to see you." Her tone is cold, unforgiving, sending shivers down your spine.

You follow her wordlessly, fidgeting with a small obsidian ring on your middle finger. A gift from Yelena.

Carol knocks on the entrance of the cave.

"Come in," a sultry voice replies. You gulp, recognizing the voice of the person responsible for all your trauma, your enslavement, your pain. Carol, enters and you trail behind her meekly.

"Ah, I see Y/N has decided to join us." Wanda turns gracefully on her heel to face you, her red dress flowing.

"Yes mistress. What would you have me do?" You snap, not bothering to keep the venom from your voice. Wanda shakes her head disappointedly.

"Few years on this island hasn't taught you any manners yet I see," she comments coldly. "Maybe this will sober you up."

She steps aside to reveal Yelena, bloody, battered and bruised on the floor, barely breathing.

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Each breath is ragged and painful as you race over to Yelena.

"You wouldn't." She smirks.

"Oh sweetie, you don't know the half of what I would do."

You press a gentle kiss to her forehead before standing up, shielding Yelena with your body.

"I'm not going to let you harm anyone anymore." Yelena tugs weakly at the hem of your dress but you ignore her pleas for you to stand down, smiling down at her sadly.

"A sweet but foolish gesture." You draw your silver pairing knife, brandishing it at the witch in front of you. "Please, a knife?" She sighs dramatically. "You were one of my favorite attendants you know?" She paces the room, turning her back to you. "So hardworking and diligent." She raises her hands. "But it's time for you to die now!"

Snapping her fingers, she whirls around, a murderous glint in her eyes as the dark energy shoots towards you.

Time seems to slow as it hurtles towards you. You close your eyes, ready to embrace the arms of death, knowing that you stood by the love of your life in the last minutes on this traumatic island. You wait and wait but the mist never seems to hit you.

Your eyes flutter open just in time to see Yelena jumping up and the red magic catch her in the chest, making her crumple in your arms.

"Lena!" You cry, catching her before she hits the ground. A dribble of blood escapes her mouth as she coughs.

"It's okay. My only regret was not being able to spend more time with you. The Fates are so very cruel but do not fret. Maybe in another life we'll be able to truly live." She coughs violently, hocking up a bit more blood before wiping the tears streaming down your eyes. "I'll see you on the other side."

She flashes you one last smile before her once bright, lively eyes glaze over, her hand dropping from your face.

Waves of anguish wash over you as you watch the life fade from her body, bit by bit.

"Touching. Very touching. A useless sacrifice however. I'm afraid it's time for you to die." Wanda snaps her fingers. "Carol." Your friend shuffles forwards obediently. "Kill her."

You can only imagine the betrayal flashing through your eyes as your former friend approached you, silver knife in hand.

With nothing left to live for, you press one last kiss to your dead lover's forehead before embracing death with open arms, knowing that Yelena awaits you on the other side.

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Taglist: @username23345 @musicinourlips @gingerbreadcookieforlife @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @trikruismybitch @ima-gi--na-tion @nicole-rayleigh-hot @olsensnpm @peabrain112

#yelena belova x reader #greek mythology

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chokemeanakin · 4 years ago

Text

Give Me Love

Chapter Ten

Wc: 2.7k

MASTERLIST

“Master,” Anakin faltered on his way to the piloting chair. His eyes lingered on you for a long moment, unreadable. “I was wondering where you’d run off to after Grievous fled. Looks like you’ve earned yourself another vacation.”

Grievous had thrown him off a building? You’d heard legends about how awful the part-human mostly-droid General was, but you’d never been at the same battle as him before. A small part of you wished to see if the stories people told about him were true-- if he really was the feared Jedi-killer he was known for being all across the galaxy.

“That won’t be necessary this time,” Kenobi was thankful for the banter. It gave him an excuse to get his mind off the searing pain in his arm. “Thankfully, I have Y/n here to fix me up good as new.”

“You’re right. She is extremely capable, isn’t she?”

His eyes twinkled, just slightly so that only you could catch it. You smiled, chest blooming with warmth as your fears were all washed away. Things weren’t different because he’d been gone for so long. He still cared for you, the same as you cared for him. The war couldn’t change that.

“I would trust no one more with my saber arm,” Kenobi grunted again as you began to wrap gauze around his shoulder, fitting it into a makeshift sling.

“Enough flatter,” you hushed them both, though the smile was evident on your face. “Keep this ice on your shoulder and take it off if it goes numb. And don’t move too much-- we won’t know if you broke a bone until we get you x-rayed.”

You let him take over holding the ice pack to his shoulder, reaching into your medcase for some painkillers. You were scraping the bottom of the bottle, honestly surprised you even had any left to spare.

“Lucky you, you get the last two.”

Kenobi grunted in an attempt to laugh, and swallowed the pills you gave him. After waving off your attempts to get him to lie down somewhere, he stood with a groan and braced himself on the back of Anakin’s piloting chair. He began to heckle him, trying to kick him off so you could have a look at his head.

“What’s wrong with your head?” Your heart stuttered in your chest. You had seen a trickle of blood on his cheek, but that was it.

“It’s nothing,” Anakin growled at Obi-Wan, but gave his seat up anyway so the injured man could sit. He pressed a few more buttons on the piloting interface, putting the ship on autopilot as he stepped away. “Y/n, I’m fine.”

You were already pushing him by the shoulders to sit on the chair Obi-Wan had previously been occupying. He sat with a huff, crossing his arms childishly as you turned his face in your hands.

“See?” he mumbled. “Nothing to worry about.”

His forehead had been gashed open, from the top of his hairline to the tip of his eyebrow. Your blood began to beat thicker in your veins, the panic causing your stomach to knot as you got to work dabbing the blood away with some alcohol cloths. It looked worse than it was-- the cut wasn’t deep enough to require stitches, but it had bled a lot. Head wounds always do.

He winced slightly as you cleaned the wound, the half-second of pain crumpling his face causing your movements to freeze.

“I’m sorry,” you stroked his jaw with your other hand, the one that was holding his face steady. You hoped it would distract him from the sting.

Those blue eyes stared at you the entire time, unperturbed. “It’s okay, really. I’ve had worse.”

You assumed he was right. If this scratch was all he’d come out with after weeks on the battlefield, he was either really lucky or really skilled. You guessed it was both. The evidence of less fortunate encounters rested on his right thigh, clad in a leather-buckled glove. You couldn’t even imagine what that pain had been like.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” you said this quietly, so Obi-Wan wouldn’t hear. Anakin brought his flesh arm up to hold your hand to his face, closing his eyes and relishing in the feel of your soft, smooth skin. He had desperately missed your touch, your voice, those steely eyes and that gentle strength. After so long wishing you were there to curl up beside him in the off chance he got to rest, you were finally here. Now, he was going to be selfish and make up for that lost time.

“We’ll be right back,” Anakin called to Obi-Wan with his eyes still closed, hand still holding your palm against his cheek. “Y/n’s going to come to engineering with me to help repair my arm.”

“Your arm? You mean the metal one? I didn’t know it was damaged.”

“Just a little waterlogged. Shouldn’t take too long… or maybe it will. We’ll see.”

Anakin stood, the tips of his fingers tickling yours. He led you out of the room, through the halls of the cruiser, slipping into an unoccupied resting room and slamming the lock on it.

“If you’re expecting me to know how to help you with your arm, you are very mistaken,” you admitted. “I know nothing about mechanics.”

Anakin blinked at you, and then laughed. That glorious, glorious laugh. His arms fell to his waist, where he unclasped his belt and then discarded it on the desk. His tabards came next, and then the robes underneath. You ogled him as he stripped, a steady flame rising to your cheeks, thawing out the weeks of grey-nothingness.

“Umm.. Anakin.. what are you doing?”

It was suddenly very hard to swallow as his bare middle was exposed to you, rippling with muscle. You wanted to reach out and touch him, but you were frozen in your spot, unable to do anything but stare.

“I’m getting out of these wet clothes so I can properly hold you,” he explained, bending down to dig through the drawers underneath the metal cot. He turned to eye you up and down, shamelessly lingering on every inch of your body. “I suggest you do the same.”

“Huh?” You looked down, seeing the blood stains splattered all over you. “Oh.”

He was pulling a loose-fitting recreational shirt over his head, the same kind that was supplied in all resting rooms for people to wear if they wanted to sleep in something more comfortable. You were still rooted in your spot, forcing yourself to gather enough wits to unzip your field suit.

All you were wearing underneath was a black undersuit, tight enough to leave little to the imagination. It was meant to keep you warm and wick away moisture, not to be seen in by any incredibly sexy Jedi Knights. Your heart hammered in your chest, skin beginning to sweat as his eyes probed into you.

“You need help unzipping?”

“Uh… I got it,” your fingers snapped to your zipper, now that he was watching you, you didn’t want to be a fumbling idiot.

You were glad for when he seemed to become enamored by the state of his clothes, and you knew it was for your sake. Still, it did little to calm the pounding of your heart as the suit dropped to your ankles, every inch of your black-spandex clad body now available to his eyes.

Get it together. Your chest was visibly moving up and down as you fought to control your breathing, almost panting with anxiety. It’s not like you were naked. What a fucking virgin.

He turned from his pile of clothes, those blue eyes making no effort to hide the way they scanned you up and down. All you could do was stand there at his mercy, burning under that stare.

You expected him to frown. To snarl and pull away and tell you to get dressed again. How disgusted, he should be, you thought. How appalled.

You knew you didn’t have the best body. You’d been to enough nightclubs, seen enough people naked in your workstation, watched enough programs on the holonet to know that. You had always wanted to be like Ahsoka and Sabè— they were slim and toned, long and graceful. Their cheeks were sharp, their fingers elegant, and waists tiny. Your thoughts turned to Padme— his past lover— horrifying you further.

You were nothing like her.

That tiny frame, the beautiful face, and the perfect body. She was so smart, so important, and shaped so womanly. You were nothing to compare.

How could he even stand to look at you?

“Okay, I guess I’ll come to you then,” that silky voice teased, and suddenly you were wrapped in a pair of big, strong arms. It took a moment for your breath to return to your lungs before you realized he hadn’t pushed you away, and instead he was clutching you to his body like a starving man.

“I missed you,” he breathed into your ear, cementing this reality. Your body erupted in a flurry of butterflies, warming you from the inside out.

He didn’t care. He didn’t care. He still liked you. He missed you. Even after seeing your body like this.

“I missed you, too,” you returned his words with emotion thickening your voice, bringing your arms up to wrap around him as well. He sighed at the feeling of your arms on his back, melting further into your neck.

“Wanna move this to the bed?”

He did most of the work shuffling your embrace onto the metal cot, lying down and pulling you so that you were on top of him. You were beginning to think you actually just had a heart condition, because it was beating out of rhythm constantly now, your pulse spiking and temperature rising at this new position.

You loved it.

He was hard, and warm, and strong beneath you. You were able to lay your head on his chest, stare at the exposed skin of his neck as he rested his chin on your head. Your legs slotted between his, so long in comparison to yours, while his arms secured you to his body around your back.

You’ve never felt safer in your entire life.

Still… you couldn’t help but wonder. Were you crushing him? Was he uncomfortable? What if he was and he was just too polite to make you get off? These thoughts caused you to tense up in his arms, suddenly rigid with fright.

“What’s wrong?” He caught onto your worries immediately. His hand smoothed up and down your back, hoping to soothe your tense muscles.

Maker, you were sick of being the insecure one in this relationship. You wanted nothing more to lie on the man you adored’s chest. Anyone else could do it. Why couldn’t you?

Relax. You hissed at yourself. Relax relax relax relax relax—

“Am I making you uncomfortable again?” The pieces clicked in his head, and the brush of his hand against your back stopped. “I’m moving too fast, aren’t I? I’m sorry, I should have asked—“

“No.”

You wiggled your body, wordlessly begging him to resume his motions. You clutched tighter to his shoulders, dug your head deeper into chest, even turned to plant a small, lingering kiss to his collarbone.

“You’re fine. I’m fine. We’re okay.”

“Yeah?” The smile was evident in his voice.

“Yes.”

You could never ask someone to make more of an effort to make you feel comfortable around them than Anakin did. And he did it with no price held over your head, no expectations, no pressures. If your timid nature put him off, he never let you see it. Honestly, you were surprised he was still here. Any other guy, you wholeheartedly believed, would be running in the other direction when they realized you couldn’t even hold eye contact with them for longer than 5 seconds.

But this shyness— it was exclusive to Anakin. You wouldn’t be this way with anyone else, and it frustrated you to no end.

The least you could do was prove that his patience was paying off, and take a leap yourself.

You planted your hands on either side of his body, pushing yourself up so that you were hovering right over his face. Your knees followed, holding your weight as you sat yourself onto his lap.

Scandalous, for the amount of clothes you were wearing.

A surge of confidence ran through you at the surprise that crossed his features. His eyes were wide, confused, as you took his face in your hands, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

This was your domain. You had always been the mynx of the group, luring men in and then leaving them cold. You loved the power it gave you, the ability to promise everything and then take it all away. It left them yearning for you, begging for you. And you loved it.

Sabè and Ahsoka were entertained to no end, watching you string along guys all night just to leave them hanging by the end. It was all a game to you, the flirting and teasing and wooing. You loved to feel needed, to feel wanted, but you never actually planned to do anything more with them.

So when the night ended, and you wanted to go home, you would break the game off and leave them feeling cold, and angry, and cheated. That’s when you’d get cussed out by egotistical whiny men, demeaned and degraded until their little hearts felt satisfied. To be fair, you never promised that anything would happen. It was simple flirting. It was completely on them that they expected things to go any further than that.

That’s why when Anakin came around, you felt like you had been run over by a speeder. He was the only one capable of making you feel like a bug next to him. Every moment he had you tripping and stumbling, your heart stuttering out of time, your cheeks burning with bashfulness, you hated yourself. How could you let one man have that kind of effect on you? It was pathetic.

But now, you were determined to get a little part of your old self back. You wanted to feel in control again, to have that power. He was just a man, after all, and most men were the same. You just needed to dangle, and they’d be all over you.

You continued to smooth his bangs away with the tip of your finger, ignoring the adorable look of confusion he had on his face. Actually, he seemed to really be enjoying himself despite not understanding where this was coming from, so much that his eyes were closing and he was thinking about maybe taking a little nap.

With his eyes closed, it was easier to lean your face in further. Your eyes zeroed in on those perfect pink lips, so full and inviting and soft, even after weeks of brutal combat. You wondered how they would feel on your own, how he would respond to you kissing him. You could imagine the way he might sigh and cup your face, pulling you closer and kissing you deeper. Sharp pangs of longing twisted your stomach into knots.

Anakin could feel your soft breath on his lips. His heart thrummed in his chest, fingers tightening on your waist. Were you going to—?

He was ready for it, no matter what it was.

Just as he was sure you were going to press your lips against his, you pulled away, planting a teasing kiss to his cheek instead. With no explanation, you fit your head back onto his shoulder, lying down against his body again.

What was that all about?

He opened his eyes, glancing down to see you resting with your head buried in your neck. You were like a kitten, breathing quickly and softly, a small smile curling your lips.

He dismissed the thoughts to analyze for another time. Right now, his body ached and his head throbbed. Your figure was soft and warm against his, and your calming presence was making his eyelids grow heavy. He decided to take your lead, and followed you off to sleep.

Taglist:

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Join the taglist!

#give me love #anakin x fem reader #anakin fic

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woahitslucyylu · 4 years ago

Text

NSFW Alphabet - Erik ‘Killmonger’ Stevens

Author’s Notes: A few days late, but here it is. I write my alphabets as if I am talking to my frands (which I am), so enjoy it, loves!

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A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Don’t expect much if it’s casual - you knew what it was when he was two fingers deep in the Uber. He will be polite, cordial, and a decent host, but don’t expect to lay up. He will absolutely ask you for your number, because he loves options, and is generous to his friends - passing along recommendations of girls worth remembering, buttttttttt, frand, if he loves you…

You. Are. A. Motherfucking. Princess.

He will shower you with cum and cuddles and then leave you to soak in the jacuzzi tub while he rubs your shoulders. He’s a Daddy, so he’s going to take care of you in all aspects after an intense session.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Erik’s favorite body part is his face. His smirk is predatory. A glinting gold-fanged smile leaves a lasting impression.

On his partner, he loves thick - here, there, and everywhere. Big boobs, fat ass, thick thighs - love, love, love; whether it is one or all. Erik is a hunk - muscles for days, and he will easily handle allllll you have to offer.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum)

Anywhere you let him?

He’s a freak, so it’s been all over your body. His favorites though are in you and your face. He is really into ownership and dominance, and when he has you in the most vulnerable positions, that’s when he gets off the most.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He lost his virginity late - 17, a week before his senior year of high school started. A girl three blocks down from the corner store in his hood. She stayed with her grandma and he had to sneak in through the window. He didn’t start fucking until college and well, those scars are from killing pussies too. Meme

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s for the streets, unless you’re the real deal. Erik is incredibly loyal, because he expects it from you - a true ride or die. If he’s not in a relationship though, well, he’s running trains.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying)

Back shots are his go-to. Watching your ass bounce against his chiseled hips, your lips stretching over him as he glistens from you will have his eyes hooded as he grips your hair reminding you to be a good girl.

Sliding behind you while you do your make-up, hair in a bonnet leaves you late at least twice a week. He presses his dick into your ass as his hands cup your breasts through your chenille robe.

“Just the tip, ma. Just let me feel you.” Pro-tip: It’s never just the tip.

But, even Kill needs intimacy from his girl though, sooo…

If your Baby Girl, he will slow stroke you so deep with your legs draped over his shoulders as he says you look so pretty taking your dick. The pad of his thumb pressed against your throbbing nub. He will bury his face in your neck - nipping your tender skin and burying himself in you.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Erik finds humor in your proverbial suffering, when you’re whining and whimpering for more or for a break, but he isn’t cracking jokes and dropping one liners.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

He’s groomed and he smells like a man. I get Dior Sauvage vibes from him.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

This is a privilege, but if you’re lucky enough, you’re spoiled. Candles lit, flowers, soft sheets, expensive lingerie - making love is an art for him. He will degrade you in the most loving way as he lets you cum first, second, and third. Your pleasure and your worth make him feel like a man. Loving you correctly is a source of pride for him, and that means you are emotionally taken care of, even in the nastiest scene.

J = Jack/Jill Off (Masturbation headcanon)

When you first teased at a FaceTime show, you didn’t know you’d love it so much. Watching Erik left you so overwhelmed, you came hard - moaning his name as you pushed the toy in and out. He loves when you initiate. Knowing you want him validates him and indulging you is something he enjoys doing, so when he’s away for business, he treats you to the shows.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Sex is Erik’s kink. There is very little he doesn’t enjoy in the pursuit of pleasure. Not surprisingly, kinky Kill is reserved for his girl only. It’s a privilege to be tied up in his bed as his heavy hands run over your body, whispering the filthiest thoughts. It’s a privilege to role play in the bar on a spur-of-the-moment trip to New York with a blonde wig and end up bent of the bathroom sink as the game melts into real fucking. It’s a PRIVILEGE to have his submission - the times when he sinks on the bed, calling you with a finger, and he begs you to ride him leave you with heart eyes as you sink onto him, getting drunk on his moans as your ass bounces against his thighs.

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

Erik is a sucker for baecation sex.

Your melanated skin sparkles in the sun as you lay topless in the southern Pacific sun. The ocean breaks gently against the private dock and the soft R&B lulls your eyes shut behind your large sunglasses. Erik leaned against the door frame, watching your curves against the aquamarine seascape and his dick throbbed. He finished the rum - the sweet liquid icing his throat as he swallowed thickly and padded to your lounged body. His dick rested heavy against his thigh, already hard under his swim trunks, as his hulking frame shadowed you.

“Babe, what are you doing?” You raised your glasses and squinted in the bright sun - a wide smile on your face. He dropped between your knees - your legs falling open to accommodate him as his fingers danced over your warm skin. Your breath caught as the pad of his thumb brushed over your nipple - raising it under his touch, “Oh, so we’re doing that?” You mocked as he lifted your leg over his shoulder, his breath warm against your now-wet bikini bottoms.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Erik’s motivation in life is to dominate, and in the bedroom, that’s no different. He wants to own you in every sense of the word, and vice versa - he wants to be owned by you.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Cleanliness is next to godliness, so anything that is actually dirty, Erik is not into. On another note, disloyalty, shadiness, or any evidence of fuckery really just piss him off.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Not all pussy gets eaten, and that’s just really how it is, but for you, giving head is Erik’s solution to most problems and you don’t hate it. Bad day at work? Need attention? Broke a nail? All of it can be solved with his mouth. He loses his breath at the sight of your sticky lips and swollen clit as he brushes his nose against your folds before licking, sucking, and kissing all the places that make your pussy cry with joy.

Overpowering Erik’s dominance is rare, but you on your knees will make him relax and watch as you take him down your throat, gagging and slurping, as your tongue slides over each vein, swirling his mushroomed tip against your full lips. His hand will fist your hair, holding you still, as he thrusts into your throat - saliva dripping as you moan against him. The vibration leaves his dick throbbing as he lets you swallow, greedily enjoying your prize, hard earned from Daddy.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

There’s a time and place for it all and Erik reads the room.

You’ve been acting out, talking shit in front of his friends, kissing your teeth, and stomping through with a bratty attitude, and the only remedy for you is arched on the bed as his heavy hand lands hard on your ass and thighs. The cracking sound of your skin echoes through the room as you count in a weak voice - wetness pooling between your thighs, as he spreads your cheeks. “You just fucking up, so Daddy can fuck you up? Hmm?” He questions as he pushes into you. His question answered with a string of curses sprinkled with moans. “Don’t got shit to say now that I’m deep in my pussy, huh?” He fists your hair, holding you against the comforter, “If you wanted a little dick, just say it, ma.” His chuckle is sinful as his hips snap against you making you forget why you ever had an attitude in the first place.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

If Erik wants you, he will have you. Periodt.

The same, however, also goes for you, and the moments when you just. can’t. wait. leave Erik bustin’ earlier than he wants.

As Erik reached for the door, the locks snapped, leaving the door shut as he tossed you a side glance. This was the fourth stop of the night and your eyes were glassy from liqour as Erik shuffled you between kickbacks. “Come here,” Your hands reached for him, sliding down his t-shirt, resting on his crotch. “Just let me touch it, daddy.” You stretched the syllables as you pulled at his belt, urging it lower. “Come on, no one can see.” His hips rose, jeans sliding down as you pulled him from his boxers. “I just want a little bit.” Your hand jerked him slowly as you slid over him - your thick thighs pressing against the console and the door. He pulled his bottom lip through his teeth - his golds glittering - as you sank slowly onto him. “Just a little bit? You taking the whole thing,” His shirt was pulled under his chin as he watched his dick disappear into you with each rock. “It’s mine. I can take it all.” Your head lazed as Erik’s powerful thrusts took over and your soft moans filled the car.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Erik’s whole life is a risk, sex isn’t any different. Threesomes, orgies, tying people up, being tied up - all of it can find a place in his life.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Realistically, he can go two-three times in a row. During a day, you could give it five or six times if you really wanted it.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Toys aren’t for children and Erik uses them to his advantage. Plugs, vibrators, ties, restraints, lube - all in the drawer beside the bed waiting to be chosen to work your body into a puddle.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Before Erik, you never knew the beauty and power in a delayed release, and with Erik as a teacher, you learned the lessons of edging quite well. He’s a general tease - the build up is half the fun, and unless you’re being punished, he always delivers for you.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Erik is nasty and his words alone leave you dripping. His dirty talk is another level of freak, and he leaves you speechless when he says things like…

“Is this my pussy, ma?”

“Your shit drippin’ all over me.”

“Where did you learn to suck dick like this, baby girl?”

“Come on, give me my nut.”

“This tight pussy all mine.”

“Daddy knows the spot, ma.”

The filth that falls from his beautiful mouth leaves you begging for more, but the only thing that matters to you are his moans - hard earned and coveted from being a good girl. The throaty sounds that escape as he bottoms out or you squeeze him gently leave you panting and craving more.

Your acrylic nails raked over his scars - a sharp hiss escaping his mouth - as he pulled your leg over his hip, deepening his thrust. A flex of your walls shut his eyes - a guttural moan slipping out as he stilled himself above you. Your eyes drank in the heavenly sight above you. Loose dreads hung over his face, his lip caught between his teeth - his amber eyes glazed, “Quit playing, baby.” It was barely a whisper as he pulled back, slowly inching from you, when you squeezed him again and another moan echoed through the room.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Intimacy, for Erik, comes in the form of non-sexual activities. Almost anyone can get the dick, but not everyone gets their hand held at the Farmer’s Market while he shops trendy black-owned farms for fresh vegetables, not everyone gets to drive him to urgent care when he chilled with a fever, and not everyone gets the privilege of cleaning on Saturday mornings with 70s funk narrating the choice to use Fabuloso or Pine Sol.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

8-9 inches

Thick

Curved

It bounces when he walks

And it smells good.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

He enjoys sex and it keeps him even. He wants you all the time. Of course, there’s real life responsibilities, but in the house, if he wants you, he will take you.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

This is assuming he only has sex at night or in a bed, but generally, he sleeps when he wants to and that includes after sex too.

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toosicktoocare · 4 years ago

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OKAY SO IM CURRENTLY VERY INTO MANDALORIAN. and i’ve been thinking of a point in time where maybe din & grogu are alone, off in space somewhere or grounded on a planet, and din gets sick, assuming he can take care of himself. but it turns into something much more serious, and eventually grogu manages to find the distress button and cara or someone gets it, and can’t contact din so they go to find him and help him because the poor baby has exhausted himself trying force heal? something in that vein! (i’m a big fan of all your stuff btw!! keep up the good work!)

I’m going to have this set in between seasons 1 and 2, so I’m going to go with Cara and Greef Karga.

It’s becoming apparent to Din that he’s struggling to discern between the most basic of concepts. Take up from down as an example: When he looks up, if anything to just determine if it’s still day or if his world has blurred to night, his vision doubles vertically. The image of the sky above him, sometimes darker than any shade of black he’s ever seen and sometimes bright enough to burn his skin past his helmet, splits into two wavery scenes, and the bottom half is heavy. It presses against his neck until his head is lolling downward, and suddenly, he’s looking at a snow-covered ground and not the sky. Wasn’t he just looking up?

What’s less apparent, at least to Din, is how he exclusively underestimated this virus, or rather, how severely he overestimated his sheer ability to care for himself.

It started as a nusicance poking at the back of his throat, nothing more yet nothing less. It was a minor, scratching pain that was only present enough to make sure he was aware of it. He considered that he was getting sick, but under the guise that he’s far too preoccupied to be ill, he brushed it off as allergies. Sure, his helmet’s filters are incredibly advanced, but, he’s still one to succumb to seasonal allergies.

But, as quick as pushing the Crest into hyperdrive, his symptoms heightened until they were plowing over him, pushing against every muscle, bringing aching pain that dances amongst heat that could melt the snow beneath him and amongst the ice that could frighten the chill around him.

Terrible, which is the only word his muddy mind can supply, doesn’t seem to bring justice to whatever foreign virus is running rampant through his insides. It’s vicious, all-consuming, and more than anything, he wants to sleep. He wants to yank his helmet off, toss it far away from the heat coloring his cheeks, and he wants to curl up on a cot and sleep until this virus runs it’s course, which, right now he’s thinking, might truly be eternity.

A small, shaky coo brings forth a brief, harsh burst of clarity, and Din looks down to see the kid tapping lightly on his leg. He should bend down and pick the kid up because, per the inconsistent temperature spikes his body’s currently exhibiting, he’s suddenly well aware of how cold it is, and he shouldn’t be making the kid walk in the snow. Bending, however, requires a movement that, for him, appears as climbing down a mountain. And then, he’ll have to climb back up, with added weight.

He drops heavily to one knee, and then he teeters. He tries to reach out to the kid, to snag him, but gravity’s conspiring with the virus, and he’s not aware that he’s fallen onto his side until the cold of the snow beneath him begins to chill his armor.

He opens his eyes, and the kid’s poking at his helmet, dark eyes crowding his vision. Din’s not one for reading expressions, but, if he had to guess, he’d easily say the kid’s worried for him.

Shit.

“Sorry, kid,” he rasps out, and he doesn’t even recognize his voice. It sounds heavy, just like the rest of him. Heavy, tired, and shaky. He tries to push himself up because he has to.

He’s not sure if the kid can understand him, but he promised food nevertheless. He intentionally landed the Crest a miles walk from a small village, and he has to make it there. For the kid.

The second his arm’s supporting his weight, he blacks out.

He’s not sure how long this time, but when he pries his eyes open, his helmet’s beginning to frost over, and the kid’s focused in front of his vision, both small hands raised, eyes closed, and face scrunched up. Din thinks he’s seen this before, but then the pain in his head is reminding him that unconsciousness is much better, and he’s drifitng off.

He wakes the second time to shouts that he can’t quite make out, shouts that carry across a too-cold wind. He’s freezing, yet, the skin stretched across his face is relishing in the ice creeping underneath his helmet. The kid’s still in front of him, but he’s no longer standing, and his large, dark eyes are drooping. Something’s wrong, Din thinks. He reaches one hand out, his glove brushing against the kid’s foot, and then he’s being dragged underneath the virus once more.

When he wakes again, it’s because he’s warm, and though his mind is struggling to wrap around sentences that are even remotely coherent, he knows that the warmth isn’t normal, considering he’d almost gotten used to the cold.

Still, it’s not unwelcome, by any means. It’s comfortable, the only comfort against his otherwise struggling core, and he’s nodding back off when two thoughts abruptly burst across his mind: the kid and his helmet.

He jerks forward, eyes practically bulging, and the gasp that rips down his throat is coming back through harsh coughs that crowd the inside of his helmet. One hand flies up to his face, thankful to feel the now warmed metal against his gloves, and his eyes shift, alert, until they fall on two backs.

“The kid,” he rasps around deep, hollow coughs.

“Beside you,” Cara says, back still turned. “Insisted on it, really. Hope he’s got an immune system of steel.”

Din glances down to see the kid curled up at his side, sleeping, his small face faintly scrunched up still. He breathes a shaky breath in around his coughs, allowing the filtered air to settle his lungs, and then he ghosts two fingers over the kid’s face, right above the small furrow temporarily etched in his forehead.

“We won’t turn around,” Greef Karga calls out, and Din whips his gaze back up, happy to see that he’s able to look in an almost straight line.

“We wanted to make sure you weren’t dead under that shell first,” he adds, and Din thumbs at the bottom of his helmet.

“We imagine you’ll be much more comfortable without it. Plus, you’ve got medicine you must take.”

Din spares a glance to the wooden cup of green liquid at his side.

“What is this?”

“Some weird concotion of ingredients I promise you don’t want to know,” Greef Karga replies, and Cara sighs loudly.

“Just drink it, so you don’t die.”

Din brings the cup up to his face, squinitng down at the less than appetizing liquid. “What happened?” he asks, abandoning the cup at his side.

“You,” Cara starts, dragging out the word, “were lying half dead in the snow. Somehow, the kid called for us, used one of your devicies, I think, and when we arrived, I think...”

“He was attempting to heal you,” Greef Karga finishes lowly, and Din whips his gaze back down. Memories flood his mind until it’s swimming, and he shakes his head with a low sigh that gives way to a few coughs.

“I don’t...”

“The proper terminology is ‘thank you,’“ Cara interrupts, and though she doesn’t turn around, Din can easily picture the light-hearted scowl stretched across her lips.

“Thank you,” he says, and he means it. His life is one thing, but the kid’s... That’s a life that’s in his hands, that he willingly put in his hands, and he can’t jeopardize that. He won’t.

“We’ll be just outside the tent,” Greef Karga starts, stepping to leave. “We’ll make sure no one comes in, so you should really consider losing the helmet for a bit.”

“And taking the medicine.” Cara adds, and Din watches as the two leave. His hands move toward the base of his helmet, and he waits until the flaps of the tent’s entrance still before he slowly slides his helmet off, setting it aside with a long sigh that’s been swelling in his lungs for days. A few coughs trail behind it, and he tugs one glove off and presses the back of his hand to his cheek.

The contact is hot, burning even, and he drops his hand to his neck for just a moment. He can’t let himself get this bad again, he thinks to himself. This... was careless. Dangerous, and somehow, he’s been dealt the best, possible outcome to a corner he backed himself into.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he downs the cup of medicine in one gulp, grimacing at the odd mixture of flavors, and then he’s sinking back down against the makeshift bed of furs and woven pillows. Instinctively, he feels for his blasters. Still there, so he can still be prepared, even in his current state.

He still feels horrible. His body’s still too heavy, and everything’s aching almost loudly. He knows he’s got another few days before his fever gives, and he’s sure the cough, a new development from what he could last remember, will linger. But right now, in this warm second, he’s safe. The kid is safe. And, in a moment of unscripted vulnerabilty, he tugs the kid a little tighter to his side.

Perhaps it’s the fever distorting things yet again, but he swears the kid’s face softens, even just a little.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #sickfic #baby yoda #grogu #the mandadlorian #grogu djarin #whump #mandaddy #whumpfic #hurt/comfort #greef karga #cara #a) i didn't actually intend on writing and finisthing this tonight #b) do people call greef karga just greef? like? is greef his first name??#it felt super weird to only write greef #hence why i didn't do it lmao

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fredweesleyismyslut · 5 years ago

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Name of the Game - Neville Longbottom x Slytherin!reader

A/N: This was a request from the lovely, @obsessedwithrandomthings and I hope I did you justice with my writing!! This request just gave me warm butterflies as a Slytherin and just because as much as I love Fred, hence my name, I have a little soft spot for Neville. Anywho, I hope you guys enjoy this potato of a writing and enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it and pretending as if I was writing a masterpiece and acting as if I was Shakespeare writing Romeo and Juliet. Welp, now I’m gonna go back into my hermit cave and stress over how I probably didn’t do great on my psych midterms because I like self sabotage.

“Hey, Longbottom,” you said, smiling up at the boy who denied your attention each time. Neville clenched his jaw slightly as he quickened his pace to walk away from you, “Awwww come on Longbottom don’t be like that between us.” He turned quickly on his heels, face slightly red from most likely what you would assume was anger, “There’s nothing between us, Lestrange.” Then, he turned around walking faster and into the Gryffindor common room, which you were quite surprised as he usually forgot the password to get in, was he that determined to not be in the same space as you? Trying to not let the rejection get under your skin you shrugged softly, “One day Longbottom, one day.” You weren’t necessarily surprised at Neville’s hate for you, one: you were a Slytherin while he was Gryffindor, which didn’t necessarily mean he had to hate you but there definitely was a lot of rivalry between the two houses, two: the big, unforgettable fact that you were Bellatrix Lestrange’s daughter. Bellatrix Lestrange, one of the death eaters who tortured Neville’s parents into insanity, you knew about this as it was a fact that Neville would never forgive you for, you knew he didn’t necessarily hate YOU just the idea that you were Bellatrix’s daughter was what made him disgusted by you. Ever since school first started you were immediately drawn to the quite awkward, clumsy boy from Gryffindor, not just because you felt awful for what your mother did to his parents, but also he just had an aura that made him unforgettable to you. Every time he rejected your advances it hit a pang in your heart as if someone was poking the heart of your voodoo doll somewhere to cause you searing pain. Neville didn’t know but you did visit his parents whenever you could, not out of charity or because you thought it would make you look good to Neville, but because you wanted to make up for what your mother did. You wanted to somehow make up for what your mother did, although nothing could fix it, and eventually, you started to really like spending time with his parents and started to actually look forward to your visits with them.

Next thing you knew in a week everything flashed by as Hogwarts started preparing for a war with Voldemort, or as most called him “The one who shall not be named”. You were running around helping out your friends as much as you could, which was harder than expected as some held a great suspicion of you at the beginning especially Neville, sadly, thinking that you were working together with your despicable mother who was on the wrong side of the war. Once the war started, however, people started to believe in your actions on how you fought bravely, protecting those you loved from Voldemort’s army. Over the sounds of people shouting and some screaming blood-curdling screams on both sides as the life escaped their bodies, you heard the sound of your mother. Her voice made your blood run ice-cold, as adrenaline pumped through your veins you ran towards the sound. She was screaming something unintelligible through the noise surrounding you, blood pumping through your ears along with the soft ringing that ran through your head, probably from the hit you got earlier. Pushing through you found your mother duelling with Molly Weasley, whom you saw as more of a mother figure than your biological one. Mrs Weasley had taken you in as basically a second daughter once you left the reigns of your mother’s toxic brainwashing and insanity. Seeing Bellatrix attack Mrs Weasley set a type of blood broiling anger inside of you that you had never felt as you stormed up. “Bellatrix!” you shouted, your mother and Mrs. Weasley turning their heads toward you, Mrs. Weasley’s eyes widened with horror as you knew she was horrified at the aspect of you being harmed by your mother. You gave her a reassuring nod as you walked up, head high and shoulders back, “I was wondering when you would show your face y/n darling.” Bellatrix said, eyes glinting with what you could only describe as pure madness as she took a defensive stance in response to yours. “You don’t get to call me darling, you bitch.” you seethed, as she cackled softly, “Oh sweetheart, you can’t talk to your mother like that.” She tsked softly as she waved her wand playfully as if reprimanding a child for throwing a tantrum, “You’re not my mother, you’re just a crazy bitch who can’t even think for herself.” She cackled again, clearly not taking you seriously, “I’m not scared of you anymore, Bellatrix.” She was about to respond until you took the chance and quickly pointed your wand at her and shouted, “Petrificus totalus!” Her eyes widened as her body froze, limbs unmoving as you proceed with your spell, “Reducto!” her body exploded into dust as you swear you could hear her wailing in your ears. As the action was finished you dropped to the ground body shaking as tears fell down your cheeks, “Oh, y/n, sweetheart.” Molly said as she came running as she engulfed you in a hug. She whispered shushing noises in your ears calming you down as the hiccups decreased, “I don’t even know why I’m crying, I hated that bitch.” Molly patted your hair down, trying to pat down stray hairs in a calming motion as she replied, “You’re just relieved, darling. You finally don’t have that bitch of a mother looming in your life.” You tried not to smile at the sound of Molly cussing as you hugged her back, “We need to check on everyone and the wounded.” Nodding she gathered everyone as you stood there for a second, “Take that you bitch, guess I won this time.” you muttered softly to the wind.

As the war came to an end you looked around at the despair, people crying over loved ones and the wounded, you especially went around the Weasleys as Fred had died, although not related all of them were family to you and that broke your heart. You comforted Molly as pain flooded your heart, the war was over and your turmoil with your mother was over and yet you would all still feel the effects of the devastation, and for what cost? Sitting alone in a corner to catch your breath a finger poked your shoulder, you turned to see the tear stricken face of Neville, he suddenly wrapped his arms around you. The only intelligible words that you could make out was, “I’m sorry, y/n.” The sound of him using your first name melted your heart as you pulled him close as well. “I know what happened with Bellatrix.” he finally said, gulping to catch air. “Yeah, she’s caused enough pain in this world, someone had to stop it.” you patted his shoulder, “Neville, I know this probably isn’t the best time to say this but I just want to tell you before I regret not saying anything…” You took a second to take a deep breath before continuing, “I-I’ve always loved you, Longbottom. I don’t know why I love you. My name is the one thing that causes you so much pain and yet here I am, falling deeper and deeper in love with you and I’m so s-sorry I never meant to love you I just wanted to make up for my mother’s actions and yet…” Neville cut you off, kissing your forehead and staring into your eyes, “I love you too y/n. I never meant to be so harsh to you throughout the years but...I just couldn’t accept the fact that I had fallen in love with the daughter of the monster that tortured my parents...and yet here we are.” He glanced down at your lips before looking back up as if for permission, you nodded as you leaned in closing the space, “I love you, Neville Longbottom. Please don’t leave me.” you sobbed out, shoulders shaking from the sobs of stress and despair from all the pain you had felt in the short span of the war that felt like an eon, as Neville pulled you closer, “I promise to never hurt you or leave you, Lestrange. I truly love you y/n Lestrange.”

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ffangirlingsince2001 · 5 years ago

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Stone Cold

anonymous asked:

(similar to frozen) Geralt x Reader where he has been mean to her lately because he's had a bad week. Reader was born with ice powers. He lashes out at them during a small argument turned into a fight. He tells her to leave. She runs to the moutains, builds a ice palce (her hair turns white from fully using her ice powers). A few hours later during the night, he tracks her scent to the mountains. He's worried at first but when he finds them, they tell them about their ice powers. He apologizes?

A/N: Sorry for the wait, I wasn’t sure how I wanted to write this and I hope the direction I chose is to your enjoyment!

Geralt x Reader

Warnings: angst, description of smut

He had never known someone so cold. It wasn’t that you didn’t care for him or others, you did, so much so that it often felt forced, heavy with an attempt to seek recompense for something he was unaware of. It was just how you were. He had never felt someone with such cold skin. Even with the first handshake he had wanted to recoil, icy flesh a shock against his warm hand. You had laughed and apologized, explaining that your hands had that affect on everyone. He soon learned that’s just how they were.

It wasn’t just your hands either.

The first time you had laid together he had found it impossible to warm your skin. He had slid your dress from your shoulders, slow and tantalizing, lips leaving a trail across cold skin. His hands had found the apex of your thighs, and he was surprised to find that even at your center you were cold.

‘Are you cold?’ he had whispered, and you had shaken your head, eyes filled with a fire that didn’t match the rest of your body. You had moaned and screamed like the rest, nails raking down his back with each thrust. It had gone for hours, the ferocity of two cats in heat, but when you arched your back for the final time and he pulled himself from your body, dropping to your chest with a lover’s exhaustion you were still as cold as when you had begun. He didn’t mention it then, or anytime after that. He simply continued to hold you close, fighting to hide the shivers that yearned to run up his spine every time you snuggled against him.

You were so loving and tender, hands always gentle when they held him, but the tinge of winter was always present. It was hard to be warm when you were made of ice. He tried so hard, but it seemed that every time he dared to get close, a sliver of ice would lodge itself within his heart and something cold and deep within him would begin to creep up his throat. He would find himself shivering every time you brushed against him. And the cold seemed to linger, etching itself in his veins until he was shivering when she wasn’t even around. He’d even found himself shivering beneath layers of wool while wrapped in the warmth of a pub. He would feel the colds tendrils wrapping around his ribs, crawling into his tones like snakes constricting before a meal. He would pull away, go hunting and try to warm himself, but it never seemed to work. And then he would return, and something would happen, small and irrelevant most days, but not when he was cold and restless. And then, before he knew it he was yelling and you were crying.

That was the only emotion you ever seemed to show him. Sadness and frustration while he howled in anger, trying to melt whatever had wedged itself inside him. She would scream back, tears running down her face. Even feet apart there he could feel the chill.

They were always fighting, screaming until their throats raw. And it would only get colder, sometimes it even seemed that snow around them would fall faster and faster, whipping through your hair, catching against his cloak, pushing you further and further apart until the clearing was between you and the sound of your screams could barely be heard over the sound of the wind. It was so foggy, a dark echo across a tempest, he could barely hear you let alone understand you, but the final words he uttered in the argument were loud and clear.

“Just leave.”

The snow and the wind stopped for those two words, as if someone had held out their hand with a malicious grin and demanded that only ultimatums make it through the snowstorm. You stared at him, icy eyes filling with tears once more. You nodded slowly and took off into the woods, leaving a frustrated Geralt behind you. He slammed his fist into the nearest tree, and for the first time in months, screamed at something other than you.

Startled black birds sprung through the trees in grand contrast and he leaned against their home, taking a deep breath. Part of him screamed to run after you, to pull you into his arms no matter how frigid, but another part whispered how much warmer he could be if he simply let you disappear.

It was easy the first few days, he traveled into town and ordered a drink, reveling in the way that the liquor burned like an inferno as it settled in his gut. When he wrapped himself in blankets, he finally felt their warmth. And the women who accompanied him to the sheets were just as warm, hot and heavy as they rolled around in the darkness. The tips of his fingers were no longer numb, and his toes finally felt comfortable in his boots. He relished in the heat for days, basking in a warmth he had been pulled from, but soon the novelty disappeared, and he was left with a gaping hole far worse than the cold. It rested in his chest, ugly and black, aching for the thing he had forced away. He ignored it at first, telling himself it would go away with time, and he would be free to enjoy life as he once had, but it didn’t. Soon the warmth felt artificial, nothing in comparison to the smiles you sent him from your horse or the way you stared at him when his scars were on display. So, he began to listen, hunting for any news of strangely cold girl settling in a town.

When the town where he resided had nothing, he set out in the direction you had run, smelling for the familiar essence of pine and holly. It took two weeks before anything caught his attention. At first he was sure that his mind was playing tricks on him, taunting him as he grew delirious with loneliness. Then it grew stronger and stronger until he was sure that only the real thing could create something so beautiful.

He urged Roach forward, the clearing of the forest nearing. He prayed you were there, your cold hands and all, but as he stepped from the trees he was not greeted with a campsite or a town, but a palace so magnificent it seemed it had been carved from diamonds. It was not until he drew closer that he realized it was ice. He touched it with tentative fingers and admired the craftsmanship. Each line was precise, carved with the utmost skill. As the sun crept over the trees it lit into a magnificent white fire, glittering with energy. Spring was growing nearer and with the heat of sun, he wondered how the integrity of the structure did not falter. He wondered who had built such a thing, and then with searing hope, he wondered if you were inside, taken in by this magnificent architect.

He climbed the stairs, gripping the handrails as if his life depended on it, and finally with an unshakeable resolve knocked against the icy door. It creeped open and he slipped inside, tugging his cloak around his shoulders.

The beauty was not limited to the outside, and the structure only grew more wonderous as he drew closer to its center.

“Geralt?” came the familiar voice from above and his eyes snapped to yours. Although, he wasn’t really sure if it was you. Your eyes were the same and the sound of your gasp had not changed, but so much had. Your hair was white, like his, and your eyes were hard, a jarring change from the warmth they had once greeted him with.

“Y/N?” he asked, returning the question and you nodded, descending the staircase with a grace he had never witness from you before. “Is it really you? After all this time?”

“You make it sound like it has been years,” you laughed sadly. You reached the bottom of the staircase, but approached him no further, pulling away when he tried to advance.

“It might as well have been a thousand years.”

“Always so dramatic, from what I’ve heard you have been splendid.”

“I could never be anything but miserable without you.”

“I’m sure,” you whispered, eyes narrowing but not delving any further into his transgressions.

“Y/N-,”

“Why have you come, Geralt?”

“To apologize and return to your side.” You raised an eyebrow, suspicion lacing itself with the cold.

“I thought I was too cold for you. And now that you know, are you not sure?”

“Now that I know what?”

“What I am capable of,” you said, ushering to the walls that surrounded you. He followed your hand, admiring the construction once more before placing the pieces together inside his mind.

“You built this?”

“Built is such a crude word, Geralt. I created this. I drew life from the earth and poured every ounce of sadness, every ounce of anger into it in return until I was able to fashion the very thing that haunted me into something beautiful. You told me I was too cold, and it destroyed me. You took my identity and spat it in my face, but I did not allow that to stop me. And now you wish to join me once more when I have become one with myself?”

“I am so sorry,” he pleaded with you, but you only scoffed. As you spoke, the hope he had conjured was withering away like a flower beneath the first snowfall.

“I’m not. Had you not cast me aside I would not have found what I am capable of, but I also know that I do not need you, just as you clearly do not need me.”

“I do need you!”

“I’m sure your whores will suffice; they are a much warmer pocket to stuff yourself in.”

“They mean nothing.”

“And yet you used them to fill my absence.”

“I love you, I cannot live without you.”

“It’s funny you choose those words. That’s how I felt when you sent me away, aching to have me banished from your sight, but now I speak from experience, you will learn.”

“Y/N, please-,”

“Leave.”

“Not without you.”

“If you do not leave on your own, I will not hesitate to force you from my sight.”

“Then you will have to force me,” he declared and then the wind started, the same force as the day you had fought, but now it was pulling him towards the door, ice cutting at his skin as you watched with emotionless eyes while he was pulled from your home and tossed into the snow. He brushed himself off and caught you watching him from the window. He waited for you to speak, to call out to him, but you said nothing, letting the coldness of your gaze speak for itself.

He couldn’t bring himself to leave, praying that you would join him once more, but the days drew into weeks and still your fortress remained unmoved. It wasn’t until after the night when you had sent six feet of snow that he left, glancing over his shoulder as he left.

Once upon a time he had been sure you were made of ice, but now he knew he was wrong. Back then you had been a blazing fire of love. Your heart had kept him from catching frostbite when you wrapped your frozen hands around him. It was not until now that you had become what he believed you to be. And it was all his fault that you had become the terrifying heart of ice.

#geralt x reader #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia fluff #geralt of rivia angst #geralt of rivia smut #the witcher #the witcher x reader #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher smut #the witcher fluff #the witcher angst #geralt of rivia fanfic #geralt of rivia fanfiction

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jaxsteamblog · 4 years ago

Text

Cuddling for Warmth

Click here to read the entire fic on AO3

“I want to run away now.” Katara said.

The interview left them feeling raw. It wouldn’t air until the next day, and they debated where to go. Zuko doubted even his uncle would be pleased, and Katara wasn’t looking forward to anyone’s response from either Pole.

They were silent as they rode down the elevator. The talk show hadn’t taken them to some fancy lot, but instead sat them down in a sharply lit room with barely any furniture. Katara had kept very still in the canvas backed chair set for her, while Zuko talked with great animation.

Overall, she could barely remember anything.

Stepping out of the nondescript building, Katara shivered. Winter in Republic City was more wet than cold, but she could still feel the humming burn of the lights on her skin. On the awning above them, the fat clumps of falling snow were fingers flicking against the top of a drop. Flinching at the noise, Katara pulled the edges of her coat tighter around her.

After Zuko finished putting on his gloves, he put an arm around her.

“Cold Ice Queen?” He asked, kissing the top of her head lightly.

“Weren’t you hot in there?” Katara questioned.

“I’m very good at regulating my body temperature.” Zuko said and paused as Katara snorted. “But yes, I think the lights were particularly warm.”

Zuko tilted his head to look past the edge of the awning. Katara could feel the slate gray sky that stretched above them. With La in her veins, her bending could thread through the debris and water vapor hanging thousands of feet in the air. The weight of it just to dump clotted snowflakes over their heads.

She shivered again.

“I don’t think it’s going to let up.” Zuko remarked, rubbing Katara’s arm absently.

“Where should we go?” She asked.

“I’d say Ember Island, but that’s a bit too close to home.”

“Is there any place in the world far enough for that?”

Zuko paused and Katara glanced over at him.

“There might be one.” He said slowly. He then looked back at her with a small smile. “But we’ll have to do some pretending.”

“How did I not know about this?” Katara gasped. She then smacked Zuko’s shoulder. “How did you not tell me about this?”

“I’m telling you now!” He answered, laughter rippling through his words.

Katara gasped again, her hands holding tightly to the handles of the wheelchair.

The ice spiral resembled a bamboo shoot. That alone didn’t make it impressive; the miles of arid desert that surround it did.

“How is it not melting?” She asked quietly.

“Oh, it’s melting. The Avatar has to do regular upkeep and obviously Thuy hasn’t been here.” Zuko answered.

“Why not?”

“She’s not a fully realized Avatar. This takes spirit energy.”

“How do you know that?”

“Jinora.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“I can’t believe we’re going to miss our reservation.”

Katara clicked her tongue in annoyance but started pushing the wheelchair down the smooth walkway.

One of the many amenities of the Misty Palms Oasis were the purported healing spring spas. Zuko, unable to truly hide his scar, had heavily bandaged that side of his face and plunked himself into a wheelchair. He had a fake passport, of course, and Katara had only done some slight lying to keep her presence equally under wraps.

Not many were willing to deny the Water Tribe Queen access to healing water for a mysterious patient. One that required a different oasis, deep in the southern continent of the Earth Kingdom.

While they couldn’t sightsee, here was a privacy they couldn’t get elsewhere.

Zuko was mute while Katara checked in. A woman in a crisp green uniform was swift, showing them to their private room with barely a sound. The door closed and the AC unit kicked on, blowing cold air into the room just as Katara walked further in. On the other wall was a wide window, and Katara pulled back the curtain just enough to peer out.

She heard Zuko stand up, groaning as he stretched.

“Blazes this thing itches.” He muttered and Katara smiled.

The ochre sands that covered or inspired the equally sandy buildings felt warm. It was subdued where the South Pole, another desert, glared under the sunlight. Ice blue broke against her eyes, while the dunes spilled like honey.

The air conditioning curled over her flesh, raising trails of small bumps.

“I feel like those sand dunes.” Katara said, feeling Zuko standing behind her.

He collected her hair in his hands, lifting the heft of her thick curls up so he could kiss the back of her neck.

“You’re darker and much warmer.” He murmured.

She shivered.

The air conditioner ran continuously. With the curtains shut, there was no desert sun to fight back, and so the room quickly filled with frigid air. They burrowed under the downy blankets, finding each other in the subdued light.

All hotel blankets were snow white. Even here in the desert, with the ice tower slowly melting into blue-green pools, Katara could not escape the snow.

But, as Zuko’s body curled around hers, it wasn’t like she really wanted to.

“My birthday is coming up.” She said.

Zuko had returned to kissing her, on whatever bare spots he could find.

“I know.” He replied when she didn’t continue.

“Will you visit?”

“Of course.”

Katara sighed happily, her umber skin melting into his starlight body.

Sokka was right; they weren’t opposites because they never opposed each other. Emptiness meant to be filled, darkness meant to be illuminated, and pain meant to be loved.

“How do you like being in the Poles?” She questioned.

“I like it well enough when you’re there.” He said, jostling her so she turned.

When they kissed, Katara lost all hold of time. When they stopped, she continued.

“I wish you were more comfortable there.” She said.

“I’m more comfortable than you are in the Fire Nation.” He retorted.

“Hmm.”

“Hmmm?”

“I think I’d like to spend more time there.”

“Why?”

His tone was somewhere between surprise and disgust, but not at all suspicious.

“I want to know more about you.” Katara said.

“You already know everything about me.” Zuko replied.

“I don’t know about the war.” She countered.

“You know enough.” He said. He sounded sad and tired.

“I don’t know about the Eastern Air Temple.” She added.

“That’s…” Zuko drifted and Katara waited.

“Difficult.” He finished.

“I don’t know about your mother.”

“I don’t know about yours.”

He kissed her again, knowing her tenuous hold on time. He was distracting her, obviously, and his hands spread out the sand of her body over his.

When he stopped, the room was dark even outside of their snow white burrow.

Katara tossed back the blanket and propped herself up on one elbow. Looking down at Zuko, she saw how his ink black hair spilled over the white sheets. It resembled something abstract, or like the cards she saw in the psych department that made people see weird things.

Tilting her head, she looked for some subconscious imagery. As she searched, Zuko ran his slender fingers up and down her side. The heat escaped from the blanket and the air conditioning rushed in to fill the void. As his hands moved, he stirred up a current and Katara shivered.

“You have been awfully cold lately my love.” Zuko stated.

“Only when you leave me.” Katara said.

He placed his hand firmly on her lower back, and she lowered herself over him.

“I’ll keep you warm.” He said.

“Is that a promise?”

“It’s a vow.”

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#zutara #fanfiction #jax writes #modern au #the fic that prompts built #zutara month 2021

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saviorinsilk · 5 years ago

Text

Right Hand Witch

Words: 2 810

Ship: Cordelia Goode x female reader

It was a moonless night, the sky a deep pit of darkness that seemed to go on forever. I yanked the front gate open and walked up the stairs of Miss Robichaux's Academy, my relatively slow pace annoying one of the women behind me.

"Hurry up bitch!" Madison spat as she pushed past me, her designer dress soaked in the down pouring rain. I didn't pay much attention to her or her comment, my mind stuck replaying the events of tonight over and over until it made me sick. The horrible images flashed in my eyes, blinding me with pain. I had never seen that much blood in my life and smell of his breath still lingered in my nostrils. I desperately craved the heavenly scent of Cordelia's perfume, her aroma had always calmed me and right now I could use a bottle of it. Madison left the front door open and Queenie and I walked through as she shook her head, the water spraying everywhere. The short walk from the taxi to the house had left us drenched. I lazily kicked my flats off, each one falling perfectly beside the other, on the grey shoe match. I made no effect to get any of the water off me, making a mess was truly the last thing on mind. I just wanted to crawl into bed with my sweet Delia and snuggle my face into her glorious blonde hair, the floral scent of her shampoo coaxing me to sleep.

As Queenie shut the door, I hung up my soaked black jacket as well as my matching hat on the brass coat holder and I started down the hallway. I squeezed my eyes shut, cursing under my breath as Misty came darting down the large staircase, the panic in her filling the air. I had wished that I could have just pretended that tonight hadn't happened but Misty knew and if Misty knew, she knew too.

"Oh, Darlin come here!" Misty cried as she slammed into me, knocking the wind out of me in the process. Her warm arms held me tightly to her heaving chest and she planted a big kiss on my forehead.

"I'm so glad you're okay. I don't know what I would have done if something had happened to you." Misty sniffled through tears. I hugged her back, melting into the silky material of her shawl and was about to tell her that I was fine when the loud clicks of high heels sounded down the stairs and my heart sank. I had never felt as connected to another human being as I felt to Cordelia Goode. In some circumstances, it was a joyous gift. Our intimate moments were like something out of fantasy but when either of us was in despair, this gift of ours sent aches through the heart and soul of the other. Tonight Cordelia's heart was breaking and I felt it more intensely than I had ever felt anything, good or bad.

I squeezed my eyes closed, still hidden from her sight in Misty's hair, I knew this peaceful moment wouldn't last for long.

"Miss Cordelia was so worried about you Y/N. She had a vision. She saw him kill you." Misty whispered in my ear. I didn't want to let go of my best friend, I knew I had messed up tonight and being aware of how much agony I had caused Cordelia made me even more ashamed.

I finally faced the facts and I pulled away from Misty and glanced over her shoulder. Cordelia reached the bottom of the stairs at that moment and I took her image in. She was in her long, light pink robe, the cream nightgown she wore underneath poking through the bottom. Her hair was messy at the front and her beautiful pale face was red and puffy from the numerous tears she had cried over me. If it had a cheerful moment I would have chuckled at the black high heels she wore. No matter what time it was, or was state she herself was in, Cordelia always liked to look presentable and even though it was late into the night, she walked towards me with them on. I could imagine her saying to me something along the lines of, "What if one of the girls got up for water and saw me? I got to make sure they always feel safe and secure, even if I'm falling apart."

Since it wasn't a time for laughs and giggles, I look at my hands, avoiding her eye contact. I normally wasn't like this. I stood up for myself no matter who was against me and I always challenged Cordelia, even if it got under her skin sometimes. Right now though, I watched as I fiddled with my fingers nervously, every ounce of fight I had left in me vanished with the sight of her mournful eyes.

The room filled with silence and Cordelia simply nodded at the others. I heard their footsteps carry them up the stairs and into their bedrooms. Misty ran her hand gently up and down my arm, trying to offer what little comfort she could. After a few agonizing moments that seem to last a lifetime, Cordelia's voice sliced through the silence, sorrow laced with her words.

"Misty dear, could you please give me and Y/N a moment alone?" As she asked she disappeared into the living room and I was genuinely surprised. I had thought she would run to embrace me, as I would have with it had been her stumbling in from a storm late at night. As Misty pulled away, giving me a sympathetic smile as she left, I was filled with dread. Delia had just walked away without a word to me and the only time she ever did that was when she was angry. I gulped and somehow convinced myself to follow her into the open area of the room in which she was in.

There she was, standing in front of the fireplace, which was light on the cool rainy night. I stepped closer to Cordelia, as she wiped her cheeks free of tears, sniffling loudly.

"Delia, baby I'm so s-" She cut me off with a booming voice before I could properly apologize.

"HOW COULD YOU!? I have told you over and over again that I don't want to you going to Bourbon Street at night! Not only did you go there, but you also left and went off on your own!" Cordelia's anger shook me to the bones and my bright blue eyes welled up with tears. I knew I deserved whatever she was going to give to me but what I really needed her to do was to hold me, to feel her skin against mine.

"I know. I was stupid. Queenie and Madison wanted to go out and get a drink. I told you were just going just out for a late dinner because I know you worry so much and I really didn't think anything would happen. I just wanted to save you so stress. I left the bar because I was really hungry and all they had there were super spicy wings and you know I hate spicy food. There was a diner across the street and down a few blocks so I went to just get some friends and an ice tea." I tried to explain but as the fiery only grew in my women dark eyes I cursed in my mind, wishing I had left out the part of me not wanting her to worry.

"YOU DIDN'T WANT ME TO WORRY!?" She shouted. I knew half the house was awake by now and I wished I could punch myself for the idiotic act I had committed. Cordelia never got this mad, never even raised her voice much at Madison. I had awakened the beast deep in this beautiful creature.

"I thought you were dead Y/N. I watched that hunter silt your throat as he laughed, but I couldn't do anything about it because your mind was blocked from me because of his voodoo relict." Fresh tears streamed down her sunken face and I had to fight back the urge to stroke them gently away with my thumb.

"I'm sorry Delia I-" I tried to say but once again Cordelia interrupted me as if she hadn't heard my timid voice at all.

"You risked your life for fries? Fries, really Y/N? I'm sure one of the girls would have gone with you if you were really that hungry. You shouldn't have even been there in the first place. When are you going to start listening to me instead of Madison? All this time you're spending with her is causing her bad traits to start to rub off on you." She spat, her voice shaky with dark emotions. She knew that would hurt me but she wasn't holding anything back. Something went off in my head at that moment. I was nothing like Madison and no amount of time spent with that spoilt, ungrateful witch was going to change that. As anger pumped through my veins, my eyes darkened and with a pulse of energy that shot from me like a bullet, the flames inside the fireplace soar to impossible heights, it roaring loudly. Cordelia's furious expression shattered and her eyes flickered for me to the flames my anger had caused.

"I am nothing like that inconsiderate bitch. I left because I was uncomfortable staying where I was. Some drunk asshole groped my ass and pushed me against the bloody wall when I was trying to find my way from the bathroom back to our table. I begged the girls to leave, telling them what happened but Madison just blew me off, saying maybe a good dicking would turn me straight. Queenie was too busy talking to one of the guys that Madison had dragged over to our table while I was gone. I wasn't going to stay there, plus because of their new "friends", there wasn't even a chair for me anymore. I had seen the diner when we arrived, so I figured it was a good option for me. You know how I get when I'm mad. I can't control my abilities as well as you Cordelia. I told them where I was going and they said they would come to pick me up when they were done. I got there fine but when I reached for the door that's when he grabbed me. There were people around, I should have been fine but as he dragged me down the back ally, no one even looked our way." I stopped speaking and held my hand to my mouth as a soft sob broke through. I couldn't stop the tears now and they flooded my face like a city below a broken levy.

All traces of anger vanished from Cordelia's face at that moment. She hated seeing me cry, even if she knew I deserved the self-loathing I was putting myself through. I took a few steps towards the couch and I lowered myself down to it with shaky legs. I hadn't noticed how cold I was until now, it felt like the chill had eaten away at my flesh.

Cordelia moved quickly, grabbing a white plush towel that was draped over the armchair that sat beside the couch. She wrapped it around me snuggly but gently and practically fell to her knee in front of me. Her slender hands cupped my flushed cheeks, running her thumb along my cool skin in a soothing circular motion. I sighed at the contact and leaned into her touch.

"I know I should have listened to you. I wasn't thinking. I never am. I thought I was going to die." I frantically apologized. My lips were silenced by Cordelia warm, soft set of lips. Her lips were wet with salty tears and they slid against mine wonderfully. The desperation we were both feeling poured out in that kiss and my breath was taken away as Cordelia kissed me as if it were the last time she ever could. Which was probably something that earlier in the night she thought she would never get to do again. This kiss spelled that out as clear as day. When she pulled back, she wiped my tears under my eyes again with her thumb, gazing lovingly into my eyes.

"I know you are. I'm sorry for losing my temper. I just never thought I was going to see you again." She spoke, her voice hitching when she got the words that caused her the most pain. I brought my hand up to her face and I wiped her tears as well, my fingers sliding over them like a hot knife on butter.

"You are my everything Y/N. I couldn't go on without you. Death would be better." She cried. I shook my head and kissed her softly again.

"Shh my Delia, I'm here and I'm not going anywhere I promise," I mumbled against her pale rose plump lips that I so desperately wanted to devourer with mine once more.

"Are you hurt? What did that bastard do to you?" She asked, pulling back. She began tracing every inch of my exposed skin with her eyes, searching for injuries. When they settled on the superficial cut that ran across my neck her expression dropped, her brows furrowing. She traced it with her finger and she opened her mouth slightly, her eyes fluttering closed.

I felt the wound begin to tingle and I knew without seeing it that the cut that had once circled my neck was gone. Since Cordelia had become the Supreme there was no lid to contain her jaw of powers. If she could imagine it, it happened. She looked up at me once more and I gazed back at her as I spoke.

"If it wouldn't have been for Queenie feeling someone was wrong and coming to look for me, the slice would have a crimson stump." I shivered at the thought. "She made sure he died in the exact way he had been ordered to kill me. She had brought a knife from the bar with her and she slit her own throat but instead of her own blood flowing it was his." I had heard about what Queenie could do but I had never experienced it with my own eyes and as satisfying as it had been too see the hunter bleed out from wounds she inflicted on herself, I had never had a strong stomach. After I puked my guts out we jumped in a taxi and left, the crime scene being noticed by none of the drunk crowd that litters the street.

"I'm so grateful she was there," Cordelia whispered, pressing her forehead against mine. After a moment and intimate kiss, Cordelia had laid me down on the lush couch beneath us and had lowered herself down as well so that I was cuddled between the back of the couch and her. Her body protecting me from the world. The towel still covered me and as we laid there, her fingers caressed my face and slowly ran through my tangly hair. The heat from the fire was reaching us easily and the warmth from it, plus the warmth radiating from her body, left me warm and dry a few hours later.

As my eyes struggled to stay open, sleep trying to seduce them, Cordelia kissed me slow and gently, pulling back slightly so she could look into my dazed eyes.

"I couldn't be Supreme without you by my side." She whispered sweetly, her voice relaxing any tense muscles in me that had held on.

"Your my right-hand woman," Cordelia said with a smile. I couldn't help but shoot her a toothy grin as I came up with something better in my head.

"I'm your right-hand witch," I stated with a giggle. Cordelia rolled her eyes at me, scoffing but no matter how hard she had tried to hold a smile back she couldn't and she chuckled softly, and a gorgeous smile spread across her now calm face.

"Right-hand witch. I can't believe no one has thought of that" She said in a hushed voice. Cordelia Goode plastered me with gentle kisses all over my neck, chest, forehead and then finally my lips.

That night I drifted off to dreamland snuggled into Cordelia, the floral scent from her hair filling my nose as I buried it in her warm chest. Safe and loved, right where I knew I needed to be and no dream that night, or any night, in fact, would ever be as sweet as the life I would wake up to tomorrow.

To the women who loved me.

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jeongi · 5 years ago

Text

fermata | myg (m)

↣ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | composer!yoongi x pianist!reader

↣ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 5.8k

↣ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 | pianist au. smut. fluff. pwp.

↣ 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | explicit language and sexual content. oral sex (f receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, unprotected mirror sex (wrap ya dongs), choking, light dirty talk, marking, very soft soft soft yoongi.

↣ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | fer·ma·ta: from fermare, it means to stay or to stop. min yoongi teaches you exactly how to let go.

↣ 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | fermata

The audience is silent.

A soft gasp lingers throughout the auditorium air as the rumble of Paul de Senneville radiates underneath your fingertips. Your eyes are closed, hands memorized to the touch of each key, each note.

It’s fascinating to see, at least it is to Min Yoongi.

He watches from the row of seats just in front of the stage, awaiting his turn to perform next. His forefinger is pressed to his pout, his thumb resting just under his chin as his coal eyes sharpen towards your hands, breathing in every movement. He could name precisely each note you play, his tongue spelling them behind his teeth.

Crescendo. Alla breve. Fermata.

Your body sways, fingers purposefully twiddling the keys as you hold the major chord. Hold, you tell yourself. You’ve practised this a million times and you’ll practice a million more when this performance is over. You are fully immersed with the song, the piano a second part of you as the last of Mariage D’amour comes close to reaching its final bar. Although Yoongi has seen you perform more times than he’s seen his own family, you’ve never once wavered his amazement. He remembers when he first saw your knack at the piano at four years old. And now you two were in university, too much of strangers on campus to have known each other your entire lives. He’s watched you grow, watched the way you’ve evolved from Big Ben to Liszt, La Campanella. Yet, you’ve never uttered more than five sentences to him.

You were meant to be rivals since childhood, forced into competitions that never seemed to simmer. However, you went on to become a piano prodigy, your fingers effortlessly gliding through the likes of Tchaikovsky and Chopin while Yoongi had become one of his own, of sorts— in composing. He could never really play anything exceptionally unless he had written the pieces himself. He’d almost say he was envious of you, seeing you so earnest with your love of classical piano and their composers. Even days he’d catch a glimpse of you not glued to a piano, you’d be reading about it. A true marvel you were to him. One thing Yoongi was sure of, no matter how many of these boring shows he’d have to sit through, your presence has always made them bearable. He’s never grown tired of watching you play. And when had you gotten so beautiful? He supposes you always have been.

As the vibrato of your last key echoes throughout the hall, there’s a beat of a pause. You twist your head to look out towards the sea of heads, shadowed away from the stage lights. Resting your fingers atop your skirt, the crowd howls- a symphony of its own showering you with applause and whistles. You stand from the leather seat, smoothing out the pleats within the skirt of your black gown as you bow. The crowd cheers louder. You shift your body towards Soojin, your teacher and mentor since you were just three years old. She grins at you, a thousand-watt smile and palms relentless in their clapping as you bow to her in homage.

When you turn once again to the audience, your gaze is caught by the ones of dark feline eyes. Min Yoongi is clapping too, a quirk to his pink lips as he nods towards you in acknowledgment. You bow again, this time discreet and only to him. Your eyes gleam, twinkle against the stage lights when he returns a gummy smile.

As the announcer’s voice booms through the mic, you usher off the stage. The clack of your heels trace against the laminated stage floors as you walk towards the back door. Backstage, you are met with more squeals of delight. Your friend, Reina welcoming you with a dutiful squeeze of a hug.

“You were amazing!” She praises, fingers intertwining with yours after she pulls away from the embrace. “I mean— you’re always incredible but that one was just-”

“He sat front row.” You feel rose dust the apples of your cheeks from your statement, your teeth capturing your bottom lip as you coyly drop your head to your feet.

Reina staggers in her words. “He?”

“Min Yoongi,” you quip, lifting your head up when the announcer simultaneously says his name. You can see from the monitor backstage, Yoongi’s mop of icy white hair shifting as he situates himself on the stool you were just seated on. Surely, you’ve warmed it up for him, you muse. You’re tempted to join the crowd, to see the breadth of his talent in his composed pieces. That’s all Yoongi plays at these shows nowadays anyway. His own work is exquisite, like the scent of fresh linens or a bed of freshly fallen snow. Oh, how you would kill to play one of his own compositions.

Yoongi takes a moment’s pause, foot finding the pedal, arms adjusting the seat comfortably as the audience once again quiets with his arrival on stage. He starts without warning, the knead in his arms gliding over the keys in absolute sureness. His fingers are deft, light on the keys as he plays each chord lovingly, as if he were making love to the piano itself. You watch in awe from backstage, the pale blue dress shirt he’s wearing moving with every motion of his torso. His eyes are focused on the keys, the jerk in his body on beat with the pedal that rests underneath the sole of his dress shoe. He is far too beautiful.

“_____!” You hear from behind you and you are ripped away from the television screen. Soojin wears a beam, her perfectly white teeth displayed against the thin wrinkles that have formed on her face. She has gotten much old. “Dear, that was marvellous.” She graces her knuckle against the clouds of your cheek, her eyes crescents as she pulls you into a hug.

Resting her chin on your shoulder, she whispers carefully. “A little birdie told me Min Yoongi has a composition ready for you to perform at the Red Glove.” You freeze.

You pull away from her, eyes wide in shock as you’re met with an even broader smile. The Red Glove is an annual concert, exclusive to only invited guests and performers. It’s only broadcasted to the riches, a night of the finest champagne and wealthy attire. Only the most prestigious of artists get to perform and amongst them, you’ve been invited for the first time in your life.

“Min Yoongi?” You repeat, his name getting caught in your windpipe. You cough down the choke, clearing your throat afterwards before trying to speak again. “H-he wants me to play his song?”

Soojin’s smile never falters, the greys of her hair shimmering underneath the glow of the backstage ceiling lights. “Exclusively you.” You don’t know why you frown but you do.

“Why me?” Soojin’s thumb comes up to your forehead, smoothing out the creases as her perfect ringlets shake, she nods in glee.

“There’s no time for self-doubt, dear. His music is breathtaking and he’s chosen you to illustrate it.” She moves her hand to rest on your shoulder. “You’ve known each other your whole lives, this will look great for the tabloids as well.” You should have known part of the reason would be for show. That is how the Red Glove harbours acclaim after all. You and Yoongi have been depicted as enemies for years but little did they know the small crush you’ve harvested within those years. Perhaps it had started when he would refuse to play anything but his own composition, each piece unique to only him. You had fallen in love with every song.

Enemies to partners, you can already visualize the headlines in your head. Perhaps that’s the sole reason he wants you to play his song.

“No, no, it says to play with a rubato, you’re too stiff with it.” You tuck your fingers into your palms, making fists of mild frustration over the piano keys. Min Yoongi is leaned against the curve of the grand piano, his hands rested against the rim. He watches you carefully, eyes lidded and concentrated on your slumped figure. It’s not like you to get irritated like this but Yoongi has made you play this part over thirty times now- you know this because you’ve been counting. However, you’ve lost track of how many times he’s called your playing ‘stiff’. The small crush you had harboured over the years is beginning to wilt at the touch of his blunt tongue. He sighs and nods at your seat, a silent request to move over. You do as told.

“See here?” His tongue clings around his teeth in an adorable lisp and you find yourself leaning into him as he speaks. It takes away from the natural baritone that is his voice. Yoongi sounds like the finest of Egyptian silk, low and smooth, caressing every inch of your skin with a gentle thrum. You wonder how you’ve gone all these years without ever hearing it properly. He nods to himself, sucking in breaths through his teeth with each pause of his words.

When he points at the sheet of music stood on the rack, you’re seemingly too distracted to look. Distracted by him, observing how he talks in pouts and overly animated hand gestures- though, he touches his lips a lot right after, as if he’s overstepped boundaries by saying too much of what he’s feeling.

You watch the way he plays with his bottom lip with his second and third digit, then marvelling at the veins that run down his hands. You can smell the strawberry flavoured bubblegum on his breathe, mixed with the faintest scent of his musky cologne as he shifts to rest his hands on the keys.

The cotton-clothed shoulder of Yoongi’s left side presses against yours when he begins playing, and you feel every muscle within his arm flex and release as he plays his version. You think if this were your thirteen-year-old self, you’d be melting around his fingers like ice cream on a warm summer’s afternoon. Your younger self would squeal and dance around in her room, a toothy grin plastered on her face over the thought of Min Yoongi so flushed against you. Something tells you that it’d be no different than your current self now.

As Yoongi plays, the melody pours through the soundboard of the piano, ringing against the walls of the practice room. He talks in between breaks and you ogle blatantly, taking in the whole of him to the greatest of your capabilities. But when his words come to its end, you realize you hadn’t heard a single word he’d been saying.

“You’re doing great, I promise. You’re just a little…”

“Stiff,” you finish for him, fingertips raking over the tops of your thighs before you’re trailing up to the keyboard. Yoongi observes this motion carefully, midnight eyes focused on you once again. “I’ll have you know, I’ve won gold every competition I’ve played in,” you boast pridefully as you hold down a chord. You play the bar of notes you seemingly keep ‘messing up’, however; you’d argue that you aren’t messing up at all. You’ve played Yoongi’s composition perfectly for the last hour now.

“I know.” It’s as if Yoongi reads into you like an open book, his words grazing against you, akin to the beginning nips of autumn air. “You win because you play pieces exactly how they’re written.” You gulp when you feel his hand hover above yours. It’s when he encases it with his own that your gulp morphs into a hick within your throat. “But when’s the last time you let go, _____?”

Your head twists to the silver-haired boy, your eyes wide when you come to realize just how close he’s gotten.

“L-let go?” Usually so sure of yourself, the stutter in your words gives away just how wavered you’ve become. Yoongi’s gaze flicker to your lips and back to your eyes before he’s dabbing his bottom lip with his tongue. You mimic his motion, except you linger a beat too long on his pout and startle yourself when your fingers press down on the piano keys, playing a hellish symphony of stray notes. You jolt, swiftly moving your fingers to your lap as your head drops along with it. You feel a powder of blush flush over your cheeks and the soft eyes of Yoongi melt into a series of chuckles. When you look towards him once again, his shoulders are shaking, eyes squinted and a boyish gummy smile to accompany it.

You can’t help but giggle yourself, shaking your head out of whatever daze Min Yoongi has summoned within your mind. Although he does have pretty lips…

“Let this be your first lesson,” he points towards the sheet of music on the rack. “Play my composition in E minor.” You scoff, baffled by his request.

“Yoongi, that’ll sound horrible—”

“So what? Let go, _____.” When you meet his midnight gaze, they’re filled with a fruitful challenge. A glint of mirth twinkles somewhere amongst the utter darkness that swirls in his pupils. If he seeks a challenge, a challenge must come his way.

You straighten your spine, your hands in a practiced routine as they find purchase against the keys. You look towards the sheet of music, confident by now that you won’t even have to look at it from the amount of times that you’ve played today. Yoongi inquires you eagerly, poking the inside of his cheek with a swipe of his tongue.

You play the abomination as if it’s Beethoven’s sonatas, a charred mixture of tones ringing through your bones hard enough that you have to grit your teeth. It’s unbearable, something so disastrously played, you wonder how you’ve managed to pull it off. You don’t make it through the entire song, losing your way as the crash of your fingers frustratedly slam against the keys.

“I told you it’d sound horrible! I don’t understand how playing such a musical malfeasance will teach me how to let go, Yoongi.” You use quotations around the words “let go” because what was even meant by that phrase? You’ve let go plenty, he didn’t know you. Yoongi, on the other hand is focused on something else. It’s the first he’s heard his name roll off your tongue and it only stirs something deeper within him, edging him to wonder how it’d sound if you’d said it differently. Perhaps pinned underneath him and writhing in pure bliss.

“Is there something else you had in mind?” He questions and you hate that it’s a valid one.

I don’t know, maybe if you kissed me.

A silence engulfs the room in a thick blanket, and not the kind that’s been handmade by your grandmother from the finest of wool, no, this one is made from hay and porcupine quills.

You hadn’t just thought of this desire, you had uttered them out loud. Min Yoongi now knows you want him to kiss you.

Panic-stricken, you turn to look at him wide-eyed, ready to let the river of apologies splutter out of you as if you’re on stage during a poetry slam. But before the words can even come out, you catch a glimpse of a smile on Yoongi’s face. Lips quirked up to one side, his night-filled eyes are much too comforting for a time of such chagrin. He sucks air through his teeth and cocks his head to one side, his icy blonde bangs following suit to the movement.

“Is that so?” Oh god. You want to say out loud, making sure you don’t actually say it out loud. Yoongi’s gaze is far too kind, too warm as his smirk cracks slightly to show his teeth. He smiles, amused by your flustered presence and carefully chooses his next words. “I can’t deny that.” You pull yourself from the blaring siren in your head, all systems pausing as you match his friendly gaze. Is he serious?

“Very.” You’d spoken out loud again. You try squeezing your eyes shut, hoping maybe if you pretended to not see him, he would actually go away but then you feel it. His hand gently places itself over your own and a jolt of tingles dances through your veins. A simple touch as this should not make you feel so bothered but from Min Yoongi, you’re ready to drop to your knees already.

When you open your eyes again, hand crusted with his own, your gaze sharpens once again along the veins that run up the back of hand. His fingers are so long, ridged and slender. A very distinct feeling bubbles in your chest, floating down to an untouched temple you have not stepped foot in for weeks. Or had it been months?

Yoongi squeezes your hand with his own and you’re ripped away from lewd thoughts, attention focusing back onto his face. If Yoongi wanted you to let go, then you would.

You grasp courage, turning in your seat upon the stool until you’re straddling it. It’s an inner push that leans you forward until your lips are timidly pressed against his. As surprised as Yoongi is that you’ve kissed him first, a pang of slight disappointment hits him that you’ve beaten him in his own plans to do it first. Perhaps the competitive streak between the two of you had never quite simmered. He kisses you back, wholeheartedly, a thrum of flurries bubbling in his chest that he hadn’t quite expected to be there.

Yoongi’s lips are just as soft as you’d imagined them to be. Albeit they’re slightly chapped and coated in a thin layer of wax from his lip balm. You feel him smile into the kiss when you unwillingly moan, letting his hand move away from yours so it could travel up to your waist. With this motion, he briefly pulls away to twist in his seat so he’s facing you. He kisses you deeper now, leaning himself into you and you don’t hesitate to take more of him.

The familiar tingle in between your legs festers into a lustful daze. It grows when Yoongi begins to nudge the hand on your waist past the hem of your shirt to hesitantly grasp at the bare skin. He rubs small circles with his thumb, feeling the curve of your waist underneath his palms. To him, you feel like velvet smoke, as if you could disappear at any given moment. Your head only grows cloudier with every stroke of his thumb, and you gingerly place your hands on each of his shoulders as you scoot down the bench so you’re even closer.

Yoongi’s free hand meets the other side of your waist, giving a light squeeze that elicits a deep desire in you. It brings you greed, reminds you of the starved woman you’ve become- devoid of intimate touch. The words don’t even register with you as they spill.

“Touch me, Yoongi.” He groans at this, wholly satisfied with each syllable of the phrase your tongue carves in whimpers. He does not deny you of this request. The hand tucked under your shirt begins to roam up and down the curve of your waist and you gasp into his mouth when you feel a finger outline the underwire of your bra.

Your mouth parts, rendering leeway for Yoongi to delve his tongue against the flesh of your own. The utter intimacy of having someone’s tongue shoved into your mouth has your arms looping around his neck, pulling him closer until your knees touch. Yoongi nearly growls, hands sliding down to grasp at your hips. You yelp in surprise when he pulls your thighs over his, letting you circle your legs around his waist. You’re now straddling him of sorts, lips only parting for to garner air in your lungs.

For a moment, Yoongi unlatches his lips from yours to move to the skin just under your jaw. He licks the area before wrapping his lips around it, a gentle suction telling you that he’s leaving with more than just your saliva as a mark. You whimper at the feeling, his teeth lightly grazing as his mouth siphons your skin into a bruise. When he pulls away, he uses a thumb to skim over the bloom of purple that’s marked the skin of your length. He gives you a few more after that, a mismatch of purples and blues painted across your neck.

You’re not sure how you’ve gone from innocence to this, feeling the slight poke of something behind Yoongi’s jeans-clad crotch. Instinctively, you grind your hips against it, leaving Yoongi the one to whimper instead.

“You’re driving me crazy,” Yoongi gasps between each breath, feeling the quirk of your lips against his own.

“Then do something about it— ah!” Yoongi lifts himself off the stool and you along with it. Tightening his hold around your waist, your fingers thread into his white locks as your lips capture his once more.

When he places you on top of the keys of the piano, the char of dissonant chords ring through the practice room and you both giggle into each other. You kiss him harder, unravelling the arms around his neck to grip at the collar of his shirt. The large expanse of his hand roams up your side until he’s reached your shoulder. He smooths down your collar bone until he’s reached the base of your neck. With gentle urge, he wraps his hand around it, a mild possession that overtakes this action.

He leaves your mouth, feathering kisses to the corner of your lips, to the apple of your cheeks and then your nose. While he does this, a stray hand finds the zipper of your own pants.

“This is okay?” His voice has a gruff to it, the already bass of his tone, deepening with crave. When you look into his eyes, they’re as dark as black liquid, a gleam bouncing off of them from the sunlight seeping into the room. You nod, both sure of yourself and unsure if you’d really like your first time with Yoongi to be on a piano, in the practice room you both practically lived in since you were young. In some ways though, you’d almost say it’s too fitting.

With the hand remaining on your neck, Yoongi forces you off the piano and you follow as silently commanded of you. He’s gentle with his persuasion, your gaze watching him as he releases the hold around your neck to walk over to the lid prop that holds the lid of the piano up. Knocking down the prop, the lid gently drops, letting the smooth canvas of the piano top make a perfect surface for you to lay on. He nods over to it and you nervously walk to where he’s standing, bringing the piano stool along with you. Using it as a step, you hoist yourself onto the top of the piano, teeth tugging on your bottom lip as you wait for his next command.

“If I’m going to eat you out, I’d preferably like to do it with your pants off.” You swallow thickly. Looping your thumbs around the belt loop of your pants, you hike them down your legs. Along them, come your panties and soon enough you’re completely bare for the ice-haired boy. Laying back down on the black, glossed lid of the piano, you tentatively smooth out the hem of your shirt.

Yoongi regards you with caution, eyes glimmering in a prurient haze. Careful to spread your legs apart, your sex is glistening in arousal, saccharine full and ripe. His mouth waters at the sight.

“Beautiful,” he mumbles under his breath but the silence of the room lets the words echo effortless. You flush, impatience scathing in between your legs before you’re propping yourself up on your elbows. Yoongi is too preoccupied to note your anxiousness, his eyes pinned to your already soaked cunt.

“How long has it been?” He asks. “Since you’ve been touched?”

Your cheeks deepen in crimson and you feel the want to curl into yourself at your confession. “A few months, maybe?” You can’t precisely recall your last time either. You were far too drunk and the young lad, Hoseok had been equally intoxicated.

Yoongi hums in response, shaking his head in clear dissatisfaction. “Who would leave a pretty girl like you untouched?” You release a shaky breath in response.

Dragging the stool closer to him, he rests a knee on the leather covered cushion before spreading your legs wider apart. He nearly drools at the sight, your glossy slit encased in your outer labia. He very carefully uses his thumbs to unravel your glistening cunt, the touch already sending a shiver through your body.

“I reckon you wouldn’t,” you bite back and feel the rumble of Yoongi’s chuckle.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” With that, he dives in. Kissing the flesh of your inner thighs, Yoongi wastes no time in pleasuring you where you need it the most. The tip of his tongue glides up your sticky slit as his fingers pull apart your lips. You gasp, fingers immediately rushing to lace into his snow hair as he continues a rhythm of steady strokes up and down your folds.

You think you could come undone without him even touching your clit at the pace he’s going, fingers unable to have bedsheets to clutch against. Instead, you find the edge of the piano, gripping tightly until your knuckles turn white. As if on cue, Yoongi’s pointed tongue beams to your clit with an expert touch, leaving you to moan his name. He hums into your core, tongue idly circling over the sensitive bundle of nerves. The back of your head presses further into the lid of the piano, eyes squeezing shut as you focus on the feeling of Yoongi’s dutiful tongue.

It’s when he quickens the flick of his wet muscle over your throbbing clit that you feel a distinct growing something building against your abdomen. Your fingers clutch his hair tighter, the supple silk of his tongue running over your sensitivity with such determination, it has you squeezing your legs shut around his head.

Yoongi is moaning into you, your taste only what he had imagined in his dreams to be. He dabs at your clit with pointed flickers of his tongue, his first and second digit finding their way to your hole. You feel the rough, calloused pads of his fingers run over your folds, his tongue still relentless against you.

“Yoong-gi,” you choke out, the tedious build up of your impending undoing encasing you as Yoongi works his mouth against you. It’s when you feel the slip of his rough-edged fingers prod past your folds and sink into you that you completely lose your senses. The ridges of each digit curve against you until your walls are clenched tightly around him.

He curses under his breath, beginning a slow rhythm as each drag of his fingers work in coalition with his tongue. You writhe underneath his paler, taut arms that hold your legs apart, feeling a burning coil that wrings tighter with every stroke. When Yoongi quickens his pace on both his fingers and deft tongue, you find yourself shaking underneath him.

Your legs quiver, Yoongi’s name etched on your tongue as you edge closer to seeing white. With one more pump of his fingers and one more flicker of his tongue, you lose yourself against his mouth.

Voice clamouring, your legs stretch and freeze as you feel the familiar snap in your belly unravel until you’re mush underneath Yoongi’s hold. He’s relentless, continuing his motions as you tap against him in urgency when it becomes far too much to take.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, please, just fuck me, Yoongi,” you beg, breath hitching in your throat when Yoongi’s fingers pull out of you, along with the squelch of his mouth latched around your clit. You sit up, instantaneously, leaning forward to grab the collar of his shirt before pulling him in for a messy kiss.

When Yoongi pulls away, he wears a smirk. Cocking his head to the side, he regards your flushed cheeks and fucked out expression with anticipation. “You on the pill?”

You nod. As he helps you off the piano, he uses his knee to slide the stool closer for you to use as a step. You happily oblige, letting his hands grasp at the skin of your hips as he turns you over.

“Wanna watch you watch yourself, doll.” For a moment, you’re unsure of what Yoongi means but as you turn to lean against the side curve of the piano, you see the mirror that lets you see both your figures in its reflection.

“O-oh.” There is something so ravenously breathtaking about this sight, it has you push your hips out to Yoongi’s bulge. “You’re too clothed,” you frown, talking to him through your reflection in the mirror.

Yoongi laughs, a curt nod exemplifying his agreement to your statement. “Shake your shirt off too, I wanna see you completely bare for me, baby.” You can’t help but groan in response.

Coyly, you watch each other through the mirror as you strip off the remainder of your clothings. Yoongi’s eyes don’t stray a second away from you when you yank your shirt over your head. He sucks in a sharp breath, biting his bottom lip before rummaging his fingers through the white of his bangs.

“Beautiful,” he repeats from before, holding the base of his cock in one hand before stepping closer. You only see a glimpse of the pink tip, your mouth already watering as he urges you to lean over against the piano. “Let’s see how well you take me.”

Fuck.

Gripping your waist firmly with one hand, the other guides his cock to push past your folds. As he slides into you, you both moan. Every inch of his length is eagerly hugged by the comfort of your walls, inching him in until he’s reached the hilt. Yoongi is thick, his cock filling you with a cinch. He stills his hips for a moment, letting you adjust to him before he swivels his hips out of you and quickly pushes back in.

You arch your back into the feel of him, eyes fluttering to a close when he begins a steady rhythm.

“Eyes on the mirror, babe,” he gently urges, his voice a low gruff. You do as told, lifting your head to view your reflection in the long standing mirror in front of the both of you. How had you never noticed this mirror here before?

Yoongi rocks into you, slow drags growing into into fervour ones as he drags his nails down your sides. He doesn’t know whether to watch you being fucked by him or watch how your cunt eagerly swallows him as if you’ve been deprived for years. You’re so tight, Yoongi feels he can’t hold himself together for too long.

He quicken the rock of his hips, letting you push your hips back to meet his own. The sound of skin slapping echoes through the walls, Yoongi’s hips hastening in their motion. His fingers dig into your skin, sure to leave marks.

“Y-yoongi, that’s so fucking good,” you breathe out, watching the blonde of his bangs sway with the thrusts of his hips. Yoongi licks his lips and ruts his hips in and out of you, that familiar build up starting again.

“Yeah, baby? You like watching yourself getting fucked by me too? Fuck, look at you, so willing for my cock. Absolutely gorgeous.” If you weren’t already red from being fucked out, you’d flush even deeper just from his silky words.

You reach out behind you, finding the mass of Yoongi’s left thigh as you grip against it tightly. Yoongi uses one hand to let go of your waist, intertwining your fingers instead as he relentlessly gyrates his hips into you.

“Just like that— please, Yoongi, I’m going to come,” you whimper, dropping your head as his hips slam into you with heed. You can tell Yoongi is close from the way his hips grow less calculated, more sloppy in their motion. This angle grants him access to the very spot he knows will make you come undone. With a few more thrusts, the tip of his cock grinds harshly into the sweet spot just underneath the cap of your cervix and you shout his name as the tension in your abdomen releases for the second time.

Yoongi’s grunt follows, his hips now slapping harder, faster until he too feels himself splurging his hot seed into you. “Fuck!” He groans, continuing his movements as you both milk out your highs. When he stills himself inside you, he leans forward, his forehead hot against the curve of your spine. You’re both heaving breaths, the quiet space growing even more silent as the only noises that can be heard are your joined panting.

He kisses down your spine, slowly inching out of you and you wince in mild discomfort at the loss of friction from his girth. “You are…incredible,” Yoongi breathes, swiping his bangs away from his face as he helps you up. A dribble of your mixed cum seeps past your folds and drags down your legs, the sight only making him want to take you again and again, until your legs would give up.

You smile shyly at his words, your head clouded with your lingering high as you hold your weight against the side of the piano. You’d never been fucked like that before.

“You know…” you begin, words slurred from your orgasm. “I’ve always had a small crush on you.” You don’t suppose why you couldn’t tell him now, just after he’s fucked the living crap out of you. “Ever since…” You step forward, circling your arms around his neck as you beckon his lips closer to yours. “Ever since I heard your rendition of Beethoven’s Moonlight.” Yoongi smiles, a lopsided one at that as he firmly grasps the skin of your waist.

“Oh, yeah?” He tilts his head to one side. “I’ve had crush on you since watching you learn to play hot cross buns on the piano.” He kisses you mid-giggle, looping his arms around your torso as he pulls you in closer.

You think this is exactly how it was meant to happen between the two of you; you would always be brought together by the thread of your love for piano.

“Yoongi,” you breathe out as he pulls away. “Play with me.”

“Hm?” His brows furrow in clear bewilderment.

“At the Red Glove! We could compose a piece together and play it together.” By far, it was the greatest idea you’ve ever had, you reckon.

Yoongi displays a set of a gummy toothed grin, his shoulders shaking as he chuckles at your enthused state, completely butt-naked and in his arms.

“I’d love that,” he says.

a/n: so i went to a piano show the other day and this fic was born ksjfkdsjflk. im so sorry if i butchered piano terms, i literally did on the spot research and wrote this bc i was so inspired!!!! i hope you guys liked it!!!! this is my FIRST yoongi fic, can you believe ive put him off for this long???? please let me know what you think!!! i can’t wait to get started on his series for you guys!!

as always, im so in love with you and thank you so so so much for reading. that’s all i’ve ever wanted to do on this platform and the fact that you guys give me that freedom is!!! *chef’s kiss*

my dear @hobidreams helped me with the planning of this fic and with her constant love and support that always keeps me motivated to write. i love youuu bb (do i make ppl send you a piano keyboard emoji? hm? 🎹)

#bts smut #bangtan smut #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #armiesnet #bangtanarmynet #networkbangtan #yoongi #min yoongi #myg #yoongi x you #bts x reader #bts x you #bangtan #bts #oneshot #pwp #fic #kpop

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cryptid-writer · 5 years ago

Text

Feral Child/Naga Izuku

From the day of his birth, he had been cast out by his family for something he had no control over. He had been born half human and half snake, the die he had been cast weren't in his favor but weren't out of his favor.

Inko had always been terrified of snakes, and with her heart condition, Hisashi knew that they wouldn't be able to keep their son. They never even named the child, not wanting to get attached, and left him in the woods. They would both turn out to be amazing parents, they weren't bad people by any means, Hisashi was just misguided in his attempts to keep his wife's heart from giving out.

The couple would have a second child a year later, forgetting all about the kin they left in the woods. This child had been wanted, had been blessed with a name, it was a boy. The moment the "Hokaido" tumbled from the mouths of the parents, the second child's dice were rerolled in their favor.

The moment the first child had been left in that forest his instincts awoke. A pack of stray dogs came across him pathetically trying to slither across the leaf mulch, one of the dogs immediately taking to him. He was raised by them until he could hunt on his own, in which he parted ways with them.

From ages one day old to five years old he lived in the forest, he would never know his true kin. Not that he gave them any thought, blood was nothing more than the leaves to him. He was found at age five when a family discovered him hibernating in a cellar next to the boiler. They decided to grace the unnamed child with open arms.

The family that found him was made of two parents with a son. The kanji that was supposed to read Deku had been read by the parents as Izuku, who decided to not curse the half snake half human child with a name that would forever haunt him. It was the son who chose the name, for Izuku had been in hibernation and thus "useless".

Izuku found himself in unfamiliar surroundings when he woke back up, a boy about his age sharing the comfort of his vibrant green coils with him. Despite his panic and fear, the warmth of his companion was intoxicating to the cold blooded boy.

The first thing Mitsuki taught Izuku was "Welcome Home, Izuku." He picked up reading and writing fairly quickly, but was homeschooled by Mitsuki because of his fear of people.

It's only by the chance that Mitsuki knew about Inko having a miscarriage, she had marked the date, and she found it strange that instead of giving her body a rest Inko decided to conceive almost immediately after.

Izuku looked suspiciously like Hisashi and Inko, and that's when she connected the dots. Mitsuki decided the moment she saw him that he was her son, so she never told them about Izuku or let them ever have the chance of coming into contact with him.

Mitsuki tells Izuku about how his birth parents abandoned him and had a replacement child a year younger than him. Izuku takes the time to tell her that they might've brought him into this world, but his real family is the one that took him in and cared for him.

Even though Izuku was born July 15th, he and Katsuki celebrate their birthdays on April 20th. Izuku and Katsuki are practically inseparable, especially when Izuku was enrolled into middle school with Katsuki.

When Izuku wasn't in lessons with Mitsuki, he would save up bags of bottle caps before selling them. He would also do yard work for the neighbors, or help keep any unwanted vermin out of their houses.

With his money he buys several reptiles, mostly lizards and snakes. They go with him to UA.

Even at UA Izuku and Katsuki still sleep together, as Izuku can't make his own heat, he depends on Katsuki or heating blankets to stay warm. He prefers the comfort of having a companion, but he'll take both.

Izuku refuses to go anywhere near Todoroki, because of his quirk and his body temp. When he fought Todoroki in the sports festival he nearly died from freezing to death. His brother was the one to wrestle through the stands and avoid the teachers to blast through the ice and get Izuku.

Katsuki is stopped by Midnight, who holds him back. She tells him that he can't interfere with the fight when he explains that the cold will kill Izuku because he doesn't produce his own body heat.

It's then that Todoroki realizes that he might kill a classmate because of his power, but he can also save them, so Todoroki uses his flames to melt the ice and bring Izuku back from the brink of death. It's only then that he drags Izuku out of bounds.

It's then that Izuku is transported to the hospital for treatment of his wounds and frostbite/frost burns. Both Bakugou boys, and Iida, drop out of the festival. Iida decides to ride to the hospital in the ambulance with his classmates, telling his mom that it'll be faster if she doesn't grab him from the school.

Hokaido, Hisashi, and Inko end up watching the UA sports festival. Inko had been put on medications and had sessions with therapists and psychologists to help her with her fear, so when they see Izuku on the TV they all pause. Hokaido had been told that he had an older brother who they had to get rid of because he was part snake.

They immediately turned off the TV after hearing that he was a Bakugou, and they called Mitsuki and Masaru Bakugou. They hadn't known that Izuku was being transported to the hospital, and with Mitsuki being worried out of her mind, she became livid when they called asking about Izuku.

-----

Izuku was so cold, the ice he had been encased in dropped his body temperature. Hypothermia set in almost immediately, his body going into shock as his heart pumped the ice cold blood through his veins. All this succeeded in doing was making his heart slow down rapidly.

He lost consciousness almost immediately as his heart began to beat slower and slower. His blood froze in his veins, causing painful frostbite all over his body. Where he was in direct contact with the ice he developed frost burns.

---

"My ice is so cold that only my fire can melt it." Todoroki had stated matter of factly to his classmates after the "battle" he had with Ojirou and Hagakure. Izuku hadn't been present for that, he and Katsuki had been pitted against each other and Izuku ended up in the infirmary after he lost consciousness. Katsuki went with his brother to make sure he was okay.

---

Meanwhile, Katsuki was nearly sobbing as he fought against Midnight, trying to get to his brother. The buttercup yellow backpack that Izuku always kept emergency heat packs in was on his back.

"Katsuki, you can't get involved in other people's fights." Midnight chided him, not understanding the situation.

"SHUT UP! IZUKU IS COLD BLOODED, THE ICE WILL KILL HIM. WE HAVE TO WARM HIM UP, I NEED TO GET TO HIM! LET ME GO, TODOROKI IS GOING TO KILL MY BROTHER IF I DON'T DO ANYTHING!" Katsuki yelled, tears beginning to run down his face. Midnight froze just long enough for Katsuki to dash forward.

He didn't notice the rest of the world as he used his explosions to propel himself towards the ball of ice encasing his brother. It didn't take much for him to break through the thick wall of ice and get to Izuku.

The sight of his brother nearly made him shatter, he fell to his knees and scooped his brother into his arms. It takes a lot of effort but he manages to get Izuku out of the ice dome of death.

The words that Katsuki yelled impacted Todoroki immensely. Never had it occurred to him that his ice could kill, he had only ever seen his fire as a means to end.

When he saw Katsuki pulling Izuku out of the dome, his entire world had come crashing down on him. If Izuku were to die because of his ice, then he'd be worse than his father ever was. Izuku was injured because of his power, not his mother's, and only his power, not his father's, could save the reptilian boy.

Todoroki rushed forward and pulled Katsuki to an open area directly in the sun. "Put him down here." He directed, not giving Katsuki an option.

As soon as Izuku was laid down on the concrete, Todoroki used his fire with care to help warm up Izuku. Katsuki tore the backpack open as he rapidly cracked the disk in the hot packs and laid them on his brother.

As his blood became warmer, Izuku's heart began to beat stronger. His blood dethawed quickly and color returned to his skin as warmth was pumped through his body, his eyes fluttered weakly as he regained consciousness.

Izuku was whisked away on a stretcher afterwards. Katsuki thanked Todoroki before he went with his brother, the school called Mitsuki to tell her that Izuku would be transferred to the E.R. or I.C.U. immediately for his injuries.

Recovery Girl couldn't do anything, Izuku was barely stable and all of his stamina was being used towards keeping himself alive. Then Iida came bursting into the room, he was on the phone with his mom.

"Mom, it'll be faster if you go directly to see Tensei. One of my classmates is heading to the hospital now for treatment on his injuries so I'll ride in the ambulance with him and his brother. Just go see Tensei with dad." He spoke into the phone, Izuku stirred at the sound of the new voice. His eyelids blinked as he tried to focus on where the voice was coming from.

"Kat… who's that? It's hard to see." Izuku croaked out, his eyes struggling to focus as his eyelids fluttered. His eyes luckily weren't damaged in any way, but the sedative he was put under to help with the pain made him feel fuzzy, and he was finding it hard to be aware of what was around him.

"That's Iida, he's gonna ride with us to the hospital." Katsuki explained, his usual angry and arrogant attitude gone. Izuku nodded in response as he began to zone out.

The trio of boys each zoned out for a while, their bodies and brains on autopilot. It wasn't until they arrived at the hospital that Iida was shaken from his daze. Iida split ways with the Bakugou siblings, his mother was waiting for him in the lobby.

Katsuki went in after Izuku, where he found his parents waiting in the lobby. He went and sat with them and as soon as he sat down he began to explain what happened.

"Our classmate, Todoroki, was pitted against Izuku. The moment the match started, Izuku was encased in a ball of ice. He didn't know that Izuku was cold blooded because most people assume that he's warm blooded just because he's human.

The teachers tried to stop me from getting to him, saying that it would interrupt the match even though it says in his file that exposure to cold without proper equipment will be fatal.

Finally I got to him just barely in time after the teacher that was holding me froze. I was able to blast through the ice and get him out.

He was so cold when I got to him, his skin was blue and he was literally freezing to death, he had burns from where his skin was directly in contact with the ice. I got him out into the sun where Todoroki helped me warm him back up.

Recovery Girl said that he had severe frostbite and that his heart nearly stopped because of the cold. She couldn't use her quirk on him because all of his stamina was going towards keeping himself alive."

Katsuki sat in silence after he was finished explaining, the family was still in shock. Hours went by before they were able to go see Izuku in the I.C.U.

Izuku ended up in the same room as the Iida family, Katsuki and Tenya only figured this out because they recognized each other's voices. They ended up pulling the diving curtain back so that they could all interact.

Then Mitsuki's phone rang. She picked it up and put it on speaker when she recognized the phone number.

"Hello, this is Mitsuki Bakugou." She spoke politely into the phone.

"Mitsuki, this is Hisashi! Inko, Hokaido, and I would love to meet Izuku so that we can catch up as a family and bring our son back home. Inko is on new medication and taking therapy sessions to deal with her fear." The response came, the voice clearly belonged to a male. Mitsuki became livid after she heard his words.

"Izuku is MY son, he stopped being yours when you left him to die in the woods! I've told him all about the Midoriya family, how you and your wife decided to execute him and have a replacement child just because you couldn't handle the idea of alternatives.

To him he's been abandoned because his blood wasn't thick enough. He became mine the day that I named a five year old who never had the chance to know what his birth parents were like.

I know you Hisashi, you never named the boy. The only proof you have is his DNA, but there's no paper trail saying he's yours. You know what it does say? He's mine, legally." Mitsuki snapped at Hisashi as she practically growled. Katsuki and the Iida boys fell silent as they awkwardly waited for his mother to stop yelling.

"Alright, alright. I get the idea, but we'd still like to get more in touch with you." Hisashi responded. The entire room could practically hear his sweat drop through the phone.

"No, I don't even have to think about it. What do you not get about the fact that he is in the hospital. Next time message me first before I shove my foot up your ass for calling when I made it very clear that you are not to have contact with him." Mitsuki stated, before hanging up and turning her phone off. Izuku stirred as the drugs wore off.

Izuku moved his arm, feeling the I.V. pull on his skin, "Ma… there's a weird snake stuck to me, I don't think it's mine." He mumbles.

The moment those words left the drugged naga's mouth, Tenya had a gay crisis. Never did he think that Izuku being drugged up after surgery and barely lucid would make him want to marry the man on the spot.

"Well yeah dumbass, it's an I.V. tube not a snake." Mitsuki responded to Izuku, getting a very astounded look from her son.

"Hey ma… how did I wind up with an I.V. tube in my arm? I… I don't remember anything about today. Besides being really really cold, like I was stuck in a freezer, but worse. I think… I think my heart almost stopped beating, like I was being frozen from the inside by my own blood." Izuku mumbled, looking for reassurance. Nobody said anything and he paled considerably, he pulled as much of himself into a tight bundle as he could without ripping the IV from his arm.

----

Shinsou and Izuku became friends the moment they both realized the other had been rejected by society for something they couldn't control. It was the second they were matched up against each other that they became good friends.

Izuku is good friends with Iida and Shoji, as they're willing to let him absorb their body heat while he's in scarf mode, and he's helpful for carrying things. His enhanced scenting ability comes in handy during combat when pursuing a target.

Izuku prefers to be a scarf for Iida though, the two keep having gay crisis' every time they see each other, so it's natural that Izuku likes to be a scarf for his crush more.

Tensei was never injured by Stain, the Stain incident doesn't happen until Hokaido gets into UA and goes after the hero killer himself with some friends.

(stay tuned, more to come)

#leftsharkwitch #feral child au #naga izuku au #mha au #mha deku #mha #bnha #bnha deku #bnha au #izuku is a bakugou #bnha bakugou #bnha bakudeku #brotherly bakudeku #mha aus #bnha aus #iideku

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notapaladin · 4 years ago

Text

we are all walking each other home

Did anyone order plotless summer family fluff by the pool with snow cones? No? Too bad, that’s all I got. In which Acatl and Teomitl and their family have a good day.

Also on AO3!

If the young and devastatingly attractive Revered Speaker of Tenochtitlan wanted to invite his Imperial Consort’s close family to the palace to stave off the heat of the rainy season in his gardens and pools, none of them were going to gainsay him—especially not Acatl. Though his obligations nagged at him, he could set them down for a few hours to spend time with his brother and sisters. It would be nice to simply rest for once; Teomitl insisted it was the least he deserved.

Though I’m not sure how restful this is going to be, he thought. The gardens Teomitl had inherited from his predecessors were certainly lovely enough, all lush greenery and tiled fountains, even if they couldn’t measure up to his lover’s dreams for his own under-construction palace across the Sacred Precinct from Acatl’s temple. If they’d been left alone to walk the paths and stretch out under the trees, Acatl imagined he’d find it comfortable enough. But they weren’t alone, and that made all the difference. He was glad to have mended his relationship with his other sisters, he loved his nieces and nephews to distraction, but all of them together in the same space was...

“Ollin, stop running by the water! You’ll fall!”

“So then I said to Citlalli, I said...”

“And nobody’s offered for you yet, Coaxoch? Why, when I was your age—”

“Auntie!”

...Well. It was a lot.

He’d claimed a seat at the farthest end of one of the intricately dyed reed mats Teomitl had had spread out, watching the chaos unfold from under the shade of a sprawling tree. Ollin had not stopped running; he and a few of his similarly aged cousins had all gotten into what appeared to be an impromptu game of tag with Acatl’s dog Miton, who was yipping up a delighted storm and wagging his tail so fast it was an orange-tipped blur. His sisters Nelli and Icnoyotl had shown up gossiping about something someone’s brother had done and hadn’t so much as paused for breath since, with their husbands providing increasingly colorful—and increasingly loud—commentary. Mihmatini, enormously pregnant, had lowered herself into the waist-deep pool nearby and kept dropping down to dunk her entire body underwater in a way that suggested she was trying to either muffle her nephews’ shrieking or grow gills, whichever happened first. And Teomitl?

Teomitl was in his element. He’d shed all his finery save for the emerald piercing his septum—still too new to be removed so soon in the healing process—but he didn’t need any, not with the way he was crouched down and beaming at Nelli’s fourth daughter showing him a bug she’d caught. It could have melted a stone; Acatl’s heart didn’t stand a chance. He knew he was smiling helplessly, knew his adoration would be clear to anyone so much as sparing him a passing glance, but just then he didn’t care. I love you. I love you. You’re going to be a wonderful father.

“My lords!”

A few of his family members twitched. Nobody except Teomitl seemed to think that the servants carrying trays loaded with bowls of compacted mountain snow and pitchers of fruit juice were talking to them; he, meanwhile, sprang up and announced, “Ices for everyone! Excellent, set them down just there.”

“We get ice?!” That was Nelli’s daughter, her voice rising in a delighted shriek.

“You get ice,” Mihmatini informed her, accepting Teomitl’s arm to heave herself out of the pool with a grunt. “Eat it before it melts.”

Nobody quite swarmed the trays—they were all too polite or too overawed by the match their Mihmatini had made—but there was a general purposeful drift in that direction. Even Teomitl’s gray-and-white hound Ehecatzin slunk over hopefully to try to steal some; when one of Acatl’s brothers-in-law nudged him away, he settled for being scratched behind the ears. Miton, more singleminded, had to be ordered to sit. Acatl watched, finding himself disinclined to move. It was true that snow carried down from the mountains was a treat reserved for those of imperial blood or imperial alliances, especially on such a hot day, but he didn’t really feel like inserting himself into the crowd when everyone was debating fruit toppings.

Eventually, Teomitl padded over with a bowl in each hand, stretching out his long legs as he sat down. It was closer than he ought to be with so many eyes around them, but once again Acatl found he couldn’t really mind. Not when Teomitl was quirking up a smile as he set down a bowl of pineapple-drenched ice for him.

“Brought you some,” he said quietly. Not that he needed to keep his voice down; there was no way to put two dogs and over a dozen people in one space and not have it be loud enough to drown out any conversation they might have. Still, Acatl appreciated the discretion.

He picked up the bowl, noting that Teomitl’s own was the violently pink shade only pitaya fruit juice could give. The runners were fast and the ice had been stored well; it was still cold enough to chill his fingers through the clay. “I would have gotten up.”

“You looked comfortable.” There was another of those soft, sunny smiles, and he couldn’t help smiling in return.

“Mm. So did you.” His lover was always at his best in a friendly crowd, laughing and joking until his family saw past the jade and turquoise to the man beneath. All that energy needed a purpose. Rather like our dogs, he mused, but he knew better than to ever say that out loud even if they did all share a tendency to snore.

Teomitl shifted a little closer, so that they almost touched. The fingers of his free hand twitched as though he wanted to twine them with Acatl’s own. “I’m more comfortable here.”

Then he licked at his half-melted cup of snow, erasing all chances of Acatl managing to reply. The fruit juice was staining his lips and tongue; though he was graceful as he usually was when eating, a drop clung to the corner of his mouth and Acatl itched to brush it away. He didn’t. He wasn’t sure he could move. Teomitl made a soft noise of pure pleasure that sent a lightning surge of want through his veins, and he couldn’t look away. “Ngh.”

Teomitl cast a glance at him from under lowered lashes, lips curving in a wicked smile. “Hm?”

They couldn’t possibly be any more in public. Taking a deep breath, he wrenched his mind away from memories of what that tongue could do. “Nothing.”

Teomitl hummed, smugly pleased with himself, and motioned to their bowls. “Have some. It’s good.”

He studied his bowl for a moment before trying it; there were chunks of fruit as well as juice, cold and sweet enough to make his teeth hurt. The pain was well worth it, because it was delicious. He let his eyes slide closed as he ate, focusing on the sensations around him—the warmth of the sun through dappled shade, the chill of the ice on his tongue, the tingling awareness of Teomitl’s body next to his, the happy chatter of his nieces and nephews and siblings. He caught slivers of conversation too, Necalli’s first campaign and Nelli’s recipe for washing blood from dyed cotton mingling in his ears. His heart felt like a tiny sun.

This is what makes life living. He inhaled, breathing in the scents of fruit and crushed grass and warm water. The flowers, the jade. Mihmatini was right.

Eventually, all the ice was gone. He was aware of his siblings’ conversations around him; two of his brothers-in-law were discussing the weather with the grave importance it deserved, while his sisters were discussing Mihmatini’s pregnancy with a frankness that was turning Icnoyotl’s always-squeamish husband Chimalli slightly green. The children, unsurprisingly, were the first to throw themselves back into the water; Neutemoc and Chimalli were next, theoretically to keep an eye on them but actually to tow the smallest ones around in the water while they screeched with joy. Teomitl, still eyeing the remains of his ice as though there might possibly be some fruit left, actually set the bowl down and perked up at the sight.

Acatl nudged him. “Go on, help them corral the flock. It’ll be good practice for you.”

Teomitl’s smile was a little crooked, a little helpless, and terribly endearing. “I hope the baby gets along with its cousins.”

“They’ll certainly have plenty of options,” he replied dryly. Between Neutemoc’s five and all his sisters’ spawn, Teomitl’s child would have over a dozen cousins to play with by the time it was born. As always when he thought of it, he sent a brief mental prayer to the gods for Mihmatini’s continued health. She’s the Guardian of the Sacred Precinct. The Imperial Consort of the Revered Speaker. And she’d have my head for fretting over her.

“...They will.” Now the smile was wistful. “Your family is wonderful.”

He nudged him a little harder. “Our family. Or did you forget you chose this?”

Mihmatini was sliding back into the pool, and Teomitl’s eyes followed her for a moment. His fingers just barely grazed the back of Acatl’s hand. “Hmm. I did choose this, didn’t I?”

Then Teomitl left his side and plunged into the water, and he realized that he had perhaps miscalculated.

His lover was always beautiful, whether he was in a warrior’s armor or all the gold and feathers of his office. Even in the plainest clothing, the curve of his cheekbones and the brightness of his smile could take Acatl’s breath away. He’d thought, with the years they’d been together, that nothing could surprise him anymore.

Duality preserve him, he was wrong. He’d never seen Teomitl like this—all rippling water and rippling muscle, laughing and shaking water from his hair as Mihmatini splashed him playfully and Ollin clung whooping to his arm. Droplets hung sparkling in the sunlight like stars, running in rivulets down the well-sculpted lines of his chest and stomach. Surrounded by water—surrounded by family, head flung back in brilliant careless joy—he was more magnificent than he’d been at his coronation. Acatl had just eaten, but he felt as hungry as Toci. I love you. The words beat in tune with his heart. I want you.

Every line of his body felt like a taut bowstring, but he couldn’t move. If he moved, he was going to do something stupid.

Neutemoc’s voice snapped him out of his trance. His brother leaned on his elbows at the edge of the pool, water dripping off him onto the tiles, and flashed him a tired grin. “I’m sweating just looking at you, Acatl. Join us!”

“Nhm,” he managed.

Teomitl lowered Ollin back into the water and gave Acatl a grin of his own. “Please?”

Well, it was hot. But he was still strangely reluctant to move, and it took a long moment before he could stand up, stretch well enough that something in his back stopped complaining, and amble over to the water. The sun hadn’t warmed it as much as he thought; when he slid down into it, he had to clench his teeth at the chill. For a while he simply stood next to his brother, watching their family play.

Neutemoc elbowed him. “See? Told you it was better in the water.”

He nodded. True, they were surrounded by bright flowers and screaming life, but it was...peaceful, here. It reminded him of his childhood, before their father had died and everything had started to go so wrong. No. He shook his head, banishing that line of thought. Today had been wonderful so far, and that was how it would stay. He was standing in cool, clear water with a belly full of delicious food and his family around him. His nieces had roped Teomitl into some sort of splash-based war that involved a great deal of high-pitched giggling on all sides, whereas his older nephews were skipping the splashing in favor of an impromptu and very messy wrestling match. He was on the sidelines, content to observe.

And then someone’s errant flailing limb sprayed him with a fine mist, and he jolted out of his reverie.

“Sorry!” Teomitl called. It would have sounded much more sincere if he wasn’t grinning.

“Hrmph,” he grumbled, closing his eyes. He knew he was failing at suppressing his own smile, and Teomitl must be able to see it.

The peace of his immediate surroundings didn’t last long. The sounds of splashing water grew louder and closer, and his nieces’ shrieks took on the sort of gleeful pitch he associated with trouble. Oh no.

That was all the warning he got before a gout of water arced down and drenched him completely. He yelped, inhaling water, and as he coughed and spluttered and caught his breath he decided that someone was about to be in deep trouble. Grimacing, he scraped his hair back from his face, blinked water out of his eyes, and looked around for the perpetrator.

The unrepentant perpetrator. “You looked hot?”

He took a deep breath and leveled a glare at his lover. “Teomitl.”

“Ah,” Teomitl began.

And then Acatl taught him one of the benefits of growing up with a brother close in age. Namely, when you had someone who was willing and able to throw you into the nearest body of water at any opportunity, you got very good at fighting back in kind. He pushed off from the wall, wading rapidly towards him; before Teomitl could scramble out of range, Acatl’s arm came up to splash him in the face. “You asked for this!”

Teomitl danced out of the way, a grin splitting his face, and wasted no time splashing Acatl back. “Is it war, then?!”

It was war. Their nieces and nephews joined in, splashing both of them indiscriminately; Acatl reeled under the onslaught, but managed to stay on his feet no matter the weight of his wet hair. Teomitl was stronger than he was, but unused to fighting such a battle. It was easy to back him against the edge of the pool. And then the dogs, wanting to be a part of the fun, plunged into the water in a cacophony of howls and a storm of wagging tails, and he had to stagger back as Miton all but flopped on top of him.

“Bad dog—ack!” Opening his mouth was a mistake, for Teomitl took advantage of his distraction to splash his face again. He glared at his lover through the curtain of his dripping hair.

Teomitl took one look at his face and his eyes went wide; Acatl had a moment of satisfaction before his lover ducked sideways, dodging behind a very surprised Necalli. “Protect me!”

Just as quickly, Necalli darted out of the way. “My lord uncle, you are on your own.”

Teomitl was the furthest thing from a coward, but evidently he had learned when discretion was to be the better part of valor. He turned and waded rapidly for the far edge of the pool.

“Get back here--!”

Teomitl laughed brightly. “You’ll have to catch me first, Acatl!”

Oh, so that’s how it is. Feeling his face split into an unaccustomed grin, Acatl ran after him. Teomitl was younger, faster, and in better shape; but when he heaved himself out of the water and took off down the path, Acatl wasn’t too far behind. As he ran, he realized he didn’t have a plan, but he didn’t need one; it was a beautiful summer day, his blood was pumping, and he was alive. That was all that mattered. Teomitl swerved around a densely-flowered shrub, and he followed.

Whoever had planned the layout of the palace gardens had desired privacy; it was darker and quieter here, the chaos of the pool muffled by the greenery. Anything beyond that Acatl didn’t have a chance to absorb, however, because Teomitl was grabbing him and pulling him into a hot, hungry kiss.

Oh.

That was the last coherent thought he had for a while. His mind was full of Teomitl—of the heat of his wet skin, the strength of the arms around him, the way he still tasted of pitaya juice and mountain snow. One hand settled at his waist; the other slid up into his hair, burying into the thick strands until a soft growl of pleasure reverberated through them both. His body knew just what to do, arching to press himself even closer, and when he dug his nails into Teomitl’s back he was rewarded with a whine. If he didn’t need to breathe, he could have kissed him for hours.

When Teomitl pulled away, mouth red and eyes glittering with desire, he whispered, “I missed you. I’ve been wanting to do that all day.”

He wasn’t the only one. But before he could say that, a calloused hand slid down his spine, and Acatl sucked in a hard breath at the way Teomitl’s hips pressed against his own. His blood was still up, but now all that simmering energy was alert to a new purpose. “It’s only been a few hours.”

Teomitl’s expression turned wicked as that hand reached his ass, giving it a lingering squeeze. “And? You’re irresistable.”

Perhaps there was the occasional downside to having such a young and enthusiastic lover, he thought. Out loud, he huffed, “The children will hear us.”

“They’re playing with the dogs.”

The barking, splashing, and cheering ringing through the gardens were loud enough to muffle them—if they were careful. Still, Acatl bit his lip and shook his head. Children were one thing; his nosy sisters were another thing entirely. “My siblings will hear us.”

Teomitl scowled lightly at that. “Am I Revered Speaker or not?”

“Teomitl!” he hissed.

The scowl vanished as though it had never been. Teomitl lowered his head to nuzzle at Acatl’s throat, voice so soft it was almost inaudible. Any sweetness was tempered by the way he drew his nails lightly up the column of Acatl’s spine, hard enough to sting pleasantly but not enough to leave a mark. As his lover’s lips moved against his skin, Acatl shivered. “We’ll be quiet.”

It was tempting. Gods, it was tempting. Teomitl kissed him again, long and slow, and he felt his resolve weakening. His family could entertain themselves for a few minutes, surely. Half an hour. He would prefer more time—would prefer to give Teomitl his full attention all night—but he wasn’t a fool to turn down what was so freely offered. The breeze was cold in the shade, but that didn’t matter when his lover was so warm in his arms, the slide of skin on skin setting his blood on fire. “Mmm...”

“Come on,” Teomitl breathed, and shifted to press a thigh between his legs. Acatl found himself wishing briefly and desperately that they’d have the forethought to hide against something solid, but then Teomitl was mouthing at his throat and he wasn’t thinking anything at all.

“Nngh...” At any other time, he might have been embarrassed at the whine that escaped him, but shame was very far away at the moment. His self-control was hanging only be a few very thin threads, and only the din of his family gathering not nearly far enough away was keeping it in place. We could. They’re having fun without us; they won’t be looking for us yet. But...

But they could. Of course Mihmatini knew, and he was almost sure that Neutemoc did as well, though of course they’d never discussed it beyond the most vague assurances that yes, he was perfectly happy—but his other sisters were clueless, and the thought of their reactions if they discovered him in Teomitl’s arms was enough to turn his bones to ice. Reluctantly, he panted, “No. We shouldn’t.”

Teomitl sighed and pulled back, but he kept Acatl within the circle of his arms as though he couldn’t bear to let him go. “I hate when you’re reasonable.”

“No, you don’t,” he murmured fondly.

When Acatl lifted a hand to cup his cheek, Teomitl tilted his head into it with a faint stirring of a smile. “...No, I don’t.”

There was a particularly loud splash from the direction of the pool, and Acatl winced. “Let’s get back before they wonder where we’ve gone.”

“Mm.” With one final caress, Teomitl let him go. “Alright.”

Later, there would be dinner; later, there would be dancers and musicians to entertain them. Later, he and Teomitl would be properly alone. But for now, they would bask in the warmth of their family and the bonds they’d made.

#obsidian and blood #acatl #teomitl #mihmatini #neutemoc #teocatl #mihmitl #neutemoc's brood #paladin writes stuff

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thoughtsaboutshows · 4 years ago

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General 13. “You’re who they warned me about.”

(a.k.a Nick is that you? 🤣)

This is pre Burning House (oneshot). Aka one of Nick’s dreams...kinda violent and dark. Just a warning

“You’re who they warned me about.”

Nick could practically feel his heart beating out of his chest and he wished more than anything that the pounding of it would wake him up. He hoped and prayed that this was another dream, and not reality. Not that reality was much better these days.

The first thing he noticed is the pain, searing and burning with every breath he draws. As if every time his lungs attempt to push air in, it’s poison that enters his bloodstream instead. Drops of fire and ice reaching every inch of his body through his veins. Burning and freezing.

It’s the thoughts in his head that are really agonizing. Thoughts of despair and lying and heartbreak. Even worse it’s Lucifer’s snapping fingers that bring a wave of rage to the forefront of his mind, overtaking and blotting any love that remained.

Nick cried out to himself, but no sound came out. This is how it usually went for him, re-experiencing the pain all over again. He was forced to be a silent observer in his own mind, destined to watch himself hold Lucifer over and over. He wasn’t exactly participating, but he wasn’t a bystander either. He felt everything but was powerless to change the course of it.

Someone is going to try and save you. Lucifer would whisper to him. No. Not this one. Nick couldn’t take this one today. You cannot trust her. She’ll be the end of you.

The rage burned hotter as Lucifer’s warnings grew. Whoever this girl is, she is the enemy. That’s what Lucifer had planted in his mind. What he’d had his demons beat him into believing. That’s what Nick was pleading with himself that wasn’t true. This girl, this beautiful girl that would come and save him, she was the love of his life. But Lucifer had stolen love and replaced it with a blind hate. So that anyone that he felt any affection for would be the enemy. Nick hated this one. And it always ended the same.

It felt like months before he heard her dainty footsteps. He’d heard them so many times he could recognize them when they were only the faintest noise. The rage was building, the desire to defend whatever lie Lucifer had forced him into believing.

When the girl finally turned the corner she stopped in her tracks, her eyes were wide and Nick could see tears threatened to fall. But they didn’t. The girl was strong. She looked shocked at his appearance, battered and bloodied and bruised, his curls matted down with old dried blood. He was chained up by the hands, wrists raw from fighting it. She stood a distance and Nick thought it was good, she’d be safe. But the rage in him also begged her to come closer. She had no idea what he was capable of.

“Nick?” She paused. “Nicholas?”

The warmth of her tone drew his eyes to hers. Where hers were filled with love and concern his were dripping with discontent and anger. Hatred. Whoever this girl was, though beautiful, something told him not to trust her. Something being Lucifer’s lies.

“You’re who they warned me about.” Nick growled. Surprise etched across her features. She likely hadn’t expected to be met with hostility.

“Nick, who warned you? What are you talking about?” She stepped closer now and Nick winced as her vanilla lotion burned his nostrils. For some reason the scent comforted him, which made him more angry.

“Stay away from me.” Nick spoke in an even, menacing tone.

“Nick, I’m going to take you home.” She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder but he whipped away, pulling tighter on the shackles that bound him. “What’s going on, Nick?”

“They told me you would come.” Nicks had a sinister smile on his face but the girl did not back down. “That you’d try to take me away. But you’re the enemy. I won’t let you take me.”

A flash of understanding sweeped accross her face. She grabbed his cheeks and he wished more than anything his hands were free so he could crush her.

“Nick, it’s me. Sabrina. They’re playing with your mind.” She brushed her thumbs against his temples and the look in her eyes was truthful. He almost believed her. The Nick that hoped this was a dream did, but he couldn’t bring himself to steer the situation that way. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

“Yeah it will. As soon as you leave. Listen to me, witch. I don’t know who you are but I won’t hesitate to kill you if you don’t go now.”

“You won’t hurt me.” She stated with full belief that he wouldn’t. But he knew he would. She moved closer and placed her hands on the chains. In a flash they melted away. They both froze for a moment, and she looked at him with those loving eyes again. The loving eyes that stirred something in him and brought up a wave of hate so palpable it felt like it was coming up from his stomach.

She placed a hand on his cheek and quicker than lightning he grabbed her wrist and shoved it away. He grasped her by the shoulders and slammed her against a rock wall. He could tell the wind knocked out of her, but she was still determined.

“Nick, look at me. You can fight this.” She spoke in a firm and pleading voice. But he knew it wouldn’t work. Every cell in his body that he could feel may have once loved her, was flipped on its head. There was only one way this ended. “It’s me.”

“I’m going to kill you.” Nick whispered harshly. “If you don’t leave right now I’m going to kill you.”

“You won’t.” She was so sure. He wished he had her strength. He’d never hated Lucifer more in that moment. In this dream. Because her strength wouldn’t be enough

“You stupid girl.”

She moved quick, trying to caress his face again, running her hands through his matted curls. Nick moved quicker, slamming her against the rock again. He saw the wince in her eyes which then got wide as he moved his hand to her throat.

She somehow managed to croak out a “Nick.” Which caused him to pause for just a moment. Long enough for her to escape his grasp. She massaged her neck but the love in her eyes was still there. She didn’t look like she would leave. Why won’t she just leave.

“Go.” Nick sputtered. “I won’t hesitate again.”

“I’m not leaving without you, Nick.” She was firm in her resolve. “I love you.”

Nick had to cover his ears at that. It just made the hate in his heart swirl and grow. It was painful.

Fuck Lucifer and his fucking spell.

“I’m bringing you home.” She moved towards him and it happened as it usually did, in slow motion. Her arms reached out to him, the Dark Lord appearing next to Nick with his shit-eating grin slipping the sword in his hands, whispering lies in his ear.

She was so close to him, the teleportation spell was about to fall off her lips when a gasp fell instead.

“Good boy.” The Dark Lord would whisper before snapping his fingers, allowing Nick’s eyes to be opened and made clear.

Nick’s hand felt warm, which drew his attention to it. He couldn’t mask his own gasp when he saw the sword in his hand, crimson red flowing all around it, connected to the abdomen of the girl.

Sabrina.

“No, no, no.” He managed to get out. Her eyes were on him, though the light in them began to fade. “Fuck, no. Sabrina. What did I do?”

He pulled the blade out and threw it to the floor.

“Nick…”. She let out, barely able to speak.

“Let me heal you-”. Nick was franti now that he was aware of what he had done. He saw the bruises forming on her neck from where he had grabbed it. The gaping hole in her belly spilling out buckets of blood. He collapsed to the ground and held her in his lap, muttering every spell he could think of.l and pressing his hand firmly to the wound to stop the flow of blood. “Why isn’t it working!” Nick was screaming now, tears pouring out of his eyes violently.

“It doesn’t work in Hell, Nick.” Sabrina whispered with a sad smile as she reached him and touched his cheek. Her eyes began to flutter closed.

“No. No. Don’t you die on me, Spellman.” She sighed at his nickname for her, the small sad smile turning wistful. He only pulled her closer. “Sabrina, no! I’m so sorry.” He leaned down and kissed her lips, not caring blood was trickling from them. “I’m so so sorry. Damn it, I’m sorry!”

She opened her eyes one last time and used her dwindling strength to reach up and brush his curls. “It’s okay. I love you.” Her voice was barely audible and her breath failing. Her eyes closed and she said nothing else.

Nick continued to beg her to open her eyes, to yell at him, to giggle at his jokes. But when her grip on his hair became slack he knew she was gone.

“Sabrina, no. Please!” He pleaded with her again. His voice was hoarse from screaming and crying, his shouting guttural, he wouldn’t be surprised if he could never speak again.

“Sabrina…”. His crying out transitioned into whispers as he continued to be beside himself.

You never learn do you boy.

Lucifer was there then, staring down at how he clung to a dead Sabrina, mocking the tears that confined to fall. Nick opened his mouth to use a spell, not caring that it wouldn’t work and Lucifer would punish him for it. The only thing he cared about lay cold in his arms. He had almost said it too, the were almost falling off his lips.

But Nick shot up in bed. He was drenched in sweat and breathing heavy, and he was back in his room in the Academy. He curled into himself and cried, clutching at his hair and hitting himself in the head to get the memories to leave him alone. It always took him days to recover from that one, from the feel of Sabrina’s warm blood and the hitching of her last breath. It was so fucking real. Before the inevitable panic attack grew any worse, Nick threw on pants and teleported to Sabrina’s room.

He needed to know that she was safe.

She was asleep in her big bed, the full moon pouring through the window and bathing her in an angelic glow. Her smile was turned slightly upward. Good. Happy dreams. He stood for a few more moments staring at her, ensuring she breathed every few seconds. When he was certain this was reality and she was alive, he made his leave. He wanted so badly to kiss her forehead, feel the warmth of her skin instead of the cold sweat of death he’d felt on her in all of his dreams. But he didn’t. He didn’t deserve that comfort.

When he made it back to the academy he prepared himself for sleep. Prepping for whatever torture Lucifer had in store for him this time. And he prayed that at least once she could be left out of it.

#nabrina #chilling adventures of sabrina #sabrina spellman #nicholas scratch #angst ask #fic: burning house

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softlyjiminie · 5 years ago

Text

sempiternal | k.s.j

⇢ pairing(s): gryffindor!seokjin x hufflepuff!reader ex-slytherin!yoongi.

⇢ word count: 8.4K

⇢ genre: angst, fluff, hogwarts!au.

⇢ summary: love has many obstacles, more often than not, it is eternal and unchanging; an everlasting love.

⇢ warning(s): please read! swearing, breakups, semi-violence.

⇢ author’s note(s): hey guys! here’s another Harry Potter inspired fic, i worked real hard on this one, it’s been a year in the making so i hope you enjoy! you may read slytherin!yoongi here to understand.

the summer of your fourth year had to be one of the worst summers you’d ever had. your heart broken and torn and ripped and hurt from the year’s endeavours. you had wasted hours with soggy cheeks and a hoarse throat, the other girls in your dorm smoothing down your hair and whispering ‘he didn’t deserve you’’s into your ear as you fell asleep.

min yoongi. the boy you trusted with all your heart, and gone and ruined it just for a bit of fun. you could still feel the ringing in your ears as the howler spat his venomous words. the ringing didn’t stop after that.

at least not until seokjin came along.

you were back in the muggle world, with your muggle things and muggle life, trudging through your local corner shop, just looking for something, anything that you could stuff your face with and have no regrets. you wanted to forget. with tired feet, dragging across the store’s floor, you had finally reached the till, plopping the almost melted tub of ben and jerrie’s ice cream onto the counter.

you looked up with a sour face, trying to ignore the fact that the flavour you’d picked had been one of yoongi’s favourites when you introduced him to muggle treats. with a pang in your heart you met a pair of whisky coloured eyes and plump pouty lips that belonged to none other than kim seokjin.

kim seokjin.

fuck, it was kim seokjin.

the gryffindor boy with the soft blonde hair and sweet grin, who was a favourite amongst all of the houses. jin had been popular from his very first year at hogwarts, winning over everyone with his kind heart. he’d soared through the ranks in his house’s quidditch team, now acting as gryffindor’s prized seaker. the girls loved him, and you could see why. gasping, you looked away from the older boy, in his sixth year moving onto his seventh.

you missed how his lips twitched up into a soft smile as he scanned your tub. you shoved your fingers into the depth of your pocket, ready to pay with a bill or two before seokjins’s soft voice filtered through the air between you. “hey, YN. don’t worry about it, it’s on the house.”

you felt yourself melting at his soft tone, his honey brown eyes causing warmth to drift over your skin. how did he have that effect on you? You barely knew him. “t-thank you seokjin-“ you blushed, scooping up your bag. the older gryffindor offered you a dreamy smile before shaking his head and running after you once he realised you were leaving.

“you know-“ he hummed, walking you to the sliding doors. “i’ve seen you around, you seem like a nice girl that i’d like to get to know better,” his words sent a pang of warmth to your heart. “if you don’t mind waiting for me, my shift ends in a few minutes and we could hang out for a bit.”

you were hesitant at first, but stayed nonetheless, jaw dropping when seokjin rolled out of the store in a fitted white t-shirt and black skinny jeans (after changing out of his uniform.). he really was effortlessly beautiful. some would have called you foolish for trusting a boy you’d just met, but he was sweet, walking you to the nearest park and devouring your ice cream with you.

cookies and cream had never tasted so sweet, the memories that go with it becoming much fonder.

“i’m sorry about what happened with yoongi,” the blonde mumbled, as you spooned the last of the frozen desert into your mouth. you flinched, suddenly feeling the ringing from the howler again, and seeing the slytherin’s vacant expression as you ran past him. seokjin knew he had hit a nerve, his hand quickly engulfing yours. “you were really brave for handling it the way you did, i-it gave me the courage to talk to you today,” his thumb smoothed over the back of your hand, and you gulped, losing yourself in the coffee of his eyes. “you deserve better-“

‘i deserve someone like you.’ you had finished off in your head, leaning into him. your vision became clouded just at his touch, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks. the moment was rushed, you’d only just met him, but you’d never been treated with such gentleness, like you were the most expensive thing in the world. seokjin’s eyes flicked down to your lips and then back up to your eyes and you so desperately wanted to meet him in the middle. just a kiss.

but he was gone as soon as he came. disappointment burying itself in your chest as your eyes fluttered open once again. seokjin was still holding your hands when your vision refocused, his grip on you not loosening. his whisky eyes noted how you posted and looked away from him. “Y-YN... i’m sorry,” he sighed, causing you to gently switch your gaze over to him again. “i know you’re hurting still and trust me, i really do want to kiss you but i don’t want you to feel like i’m taking advantage of you. i’ll wait until you’re ready, if you want me to. ”

your heart fluttered at the blonde’s words, but you could still feel the disappointment in your veins at the thought of waiting, even if it was best for you. “come on now,” Seokjin grinned, trying to make eye contact with you as you looked away from him to cover your pout. “don’t be upset YN, won’t you give me a smile?”

he was crouching in front of you now, palms resting on his knees as he pulled funny faces to make you laugh. you couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up in your throat when he sent a particularly weird one your way.

the gryffindor boy beamed adorably, his dark eyes twinkling under the light of the rising moon. “there’s that smile, pretty girl.”

a romance bloomed for you that summer, with seokjin being a muggle himself it was easier to meet up and organise dates. true to his word, the soon-to-be seventh year refused to kiss you or carry out any public displays of affection with you until you were ready so it took you almost two weeks to convince him to let you hold his hand.

he treated you like a delicate and wilted flower, watering you with the affection that you craved and might not have gotten with yoongi. he tended to your bruised petals, and lifted them high once again, the colour returning to your life.

seokjin was what you had needed all along.

you hadn’t kissed, like he promised until one night where you had invited him to meet your family, they were comforted and surprised at the fact that seokjin was a muggle like yourself. your mother even more so when she pulled you aside to comment ‘that’s not how i expected yoongi to look’ in which you blushed, catching the blonde’s eye from across the room as he wrestled your little brother into the carpet (much to your father’s delight).

“that’s because he’s not, mum,” you’d said in a hushed whisper, helping her to whip the cream for desert. “that’s seokjin...”

your mother hummed, staring between the two of you before giving you a small nod of approval. “well, i think he’s cute.”

after a dessert of warm apple pie and cream (or ice cream for your brother.), yourself and seokjin had headed up to your room for some alone time together. You’d shut the door behind you, turning around to find the tall blonde laughing at an old photo of you, which you’d swatted away with a pout. “your parents are really lovely,” jin whispered when you’d decided to curl up for some cuddles on your single bed, even if it was quite the squeeze. “your brother too.”

you smiled at him, twirling a golden strand of his around your finger, feeling his eyes drifting of your face. “they really like you seokjin, if you’re not careful, mum might not let you leave, you’ll be on washing up duty for life!” you gasped between small pockets of laughter, causing the boy you’d been dating to laugh loudly.

“so they really like me?”

“Indefinitely.”

“maybe more than your other boyfriends...?”

you knew he’d been referencing yoongi, careful not to mention his name. you’d never had a boyfriend before the slytherin boy anyways.

“hmm, i’m not sure...” you pretended to tease, almost instantly regretting your decision when Seokjin rolled over your smaller frame, leaving your side. His palms fell flat either side of your head, sinking into the memory foam mattress as he caged you in. suddenly one hand was at your stomach, pinching your side until you were crying from laughter and gasping for air. you had no idea he knew you were ticklish.

your brother must have told him.

“s-seokjin!” you cried, burying your face into his hard chest as he tickled you mercilessly. “i can’t-“

he didn’t allow you to finish, tickling you further with a devilish smirk spreading across his lips. “say i’m the best!”

“y-you’re the best! seokjin-“

his fingers paused, palms stretching out by your head again as you tried to regain your breath with a smile. you noticed then, how the pretty his eyes looked when the light hit them properly, how plush his lips were and soft his hair. it seemed as if seokjin was looking down at you with just as much awe, because suddenly he was swooping in, hands finding your cheeks as he sunk lower to brush his lips over yours. “c-can I kiss you?” he mumbled nervously.

you nodded. “please...”

his lips touched yours ever so slightly, and it’s only when you parted yours that he begun to kiss you fully. the plush pillows melding with each other perfectly, as your fingers threaded through tufts of his golden locks. jin’s hands slipped down from your cheeks to just under your shirt, soothing your heated skin as you worked your lips against his in a desperate attempt to taste more of him.

one kiss turned to two, and two to three and soon enough you were full on making out on your silly childhood bedsheets. it was only when you could hear the little thump of your brother’s footsteps against the hard wood of the stairs that you jumped apart, straightening your clothes.

seokjin was the first to stand, knowing it was him that your younger sibling sought. with careful steps, he made his way over to the door, offering you the brightest of smiles before saying. “there’s more where that came from pretty girl.”

you could have passed out on the spot.

confessions of love came not long after, with your impending return to Hogwarts coming up. seokjin had come to pick you up from your house in his parents’ car at around seven, promising your father you’d be back by eleven-thirty at the latest. he drove you both to the highest point in your home town to watch the sun go down and the city lights switch on, the sight taking your breath away.

the blonde had treated you to an elaborate picnic of home cooked goodies that he’d made and a tub of your new favourite ice cream of vanilla cheesecake. you’d sat munching the treats on the hood of the car, before laying back and watching the stars, pointing out constellations whilst holding hands.

and whilst star gazing reminded you of yoongi, you couldn’t find it in you to miss him.

seokjin looked down at you, your head resting on his chest with the stars pairing up in your eyes and he couldn’t help but blush when you met his gaze. “will it be the same?” you mumbled to him, thinking of your return to hogwarts. the older boy was to become a seventh year, and it would be his last year at the legendary school for practicing magic. He would be busy with his N.E.W.T.S and you with your O.W.L.S since you were moving into fifth year. would the feelings that sparked between you both change? for better or for worse? you heart couldn’t decide.

as if he was reading your thoughts, jin silenced your raging mind with a soft peck to your lips, which deepened when your fingers met his hair, pulling him closer. “i’ll still love you all the same.” he whispered against the seams of your pink lips, not quite wanting to pull away.

“you love me?” you gasped, voice barely above a whisper. all you could see was jin , all you could taste was jin and all you could breathe was jin. all you needed was jin. you heart pounded viciously against your rib cage as he slotted his body against yours, looking down at you with so much love.

“i do.”

and then you smiled, with bleary eyes and a raging heartbeat because not once had anyone of romantic interest said those words to you, not even yoongi. so whispering back, you uttered the words. “i love you too,”

your first few weeks back at hogwarts went smoothly, with you settling into a routine and managing to get top grades in the first-term assignments. your professors had suspected that you’d do exceedingly well in your upcoming O.W.L exams.

you heard tales of jimin and jungkook’s adventures with taehyung in the muggle world and secretly wished that next time they’d invited you. although you’d run into Yoongi on the first day back, seokjin never complained about you not introducing him as your boyfriend, nor did he push for any explanations when he’d walked in on yoongi trying to make amends, resulting in you becoming a blubbering mess the second you’d left that room.

seokjin was an angel, a sweetheart and you’d never been so happy, memories of your ex becoming faint as you made new ones with the blonde gryffindor . people called it the honeymoon phase and maybe it was, but you wouldn’t let other people’s spite get in the way of you being happy. at least that’s what you hoped for.

a few weeks at hogwarts turned into a month or so, with the winter air fast approaching and first signs of snow fall around the corner. you’d found yourself scurrying through the halls of the ageing castle, desperate to find your boyfriend; who had promised you an evening of hot chocolate and cuddles to make up for a date night you’d both had to miss.

seokjin was busy, being the headboy of gryffindor had started to take up a lot of his time that he usually left for you, on those nights where you’d meet outside the kitchens for a quick kiss before bed. quidditch practice had also picked up a tonne, with an important gryffindor vs slytherin match coming up that even jimin was training for.

it wasn’t just those things, that took up your time with him. the older boy had started hanging out with his teammates more, cutting into scheduled dates and even went on trips to hogsmead without you, only remembering when he found you half asleep outside his common room waiting for him. ‘darling...’ he’d say, lifting you bridle style, and humming in content as you nuzzled into his chest. ‘what’re doing out out here?’

‘waiting for you’ you’d mumble back, still half asleep. ‘we have a date planned don’t we?’

‘maybe another time.’

sometimes it felt like you were giving more than you were getting. you didn’t want to fall into that trap again.

your winter robes swished at your feet as you trotted down to the gryffindor common room, trying to meet jin before he had the chance to run off with one of his mates. you were walking so quickly, you hadn’t had the time to slow down before you collided with the gryffindor girl jimin had the hots for. “on YN! i didn’t see you there!” she exclaimed, grabbing your shoulders and giving you the once over to see if you were alright.

you smiled at her softly. “sorry, i wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

“ah, it’s alright,” she blinked, looking at you as if there was something more to say. “did you need something? last time I checked you were a hufflepuff, no?”

the pair of you shared a sweet laugh before you managed to calm down enough to tell her where you were headed. “i-i’m looking for seokjin,” you strung together the words through your final puffs of laughter. “we-we’re meant to be hanging out today...”

you bite your lip, refraining from mentioning going on a date and watched with a patient stare as the gryffindor girl wracked her brain for memories of her headboy’s location. “he’s in the library!” she nodded, furrowing her brows as if to confirm her guess. she took note of the way your eyes lit up, sure, the library was an odd place to host a date, but you didn’t mind. “with Namjoon, I think he’s studying.”

you tried to hide the drop of your smile as you thanked the girl, heading towards the library in an even bigger rush than you were in before. you were mad, borderline livid, storming through the rows and rows of books that decked the shelves of the dusty library, your nose twitched at the musty air, but you chose to ignore it, waltzing right over to our target. You couldn’t believe seokjin was willing to miss yet another date.

you found both boys tucked into a corner of the room, books of charms and defence against the dark arts spread across the sleek mahogany table. you allowed yourself a few seconds to calm down, knowing that your face was probably heated high with rage and you didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of namjoon.

you didn’t know the purple haired boy all too well, but knew enough to be aware that despite having a quiet and perhaps even shy exterior, he was one of the best and bravest wizards in hogwarts. he was also in the year above you. when you’d finally worked up the courage to approach the table, namjoon was the first to notice you, his quill pausing midair as he glanced between your - still raging - face and his older housemate. “uh- hyung,” he coughed awkwardly as you silently seethed above him. seokjin didn’t budge, too focused on his notes. “hyung-“

“what namjoon-ah? i swear to merlin if you’ve spilt your ink again i-“ the blonde looked up, exasperated expression falling away as his quill stopped dead on the page. jin could practically feel your anger, washing over him in boiling waves like heated lava. He was in trouble. “oh.”

Your nose scrunched up. “damn right, oh.” you watched as your boyfriend’s face contorted into a sheepish expression, his gaze flittering down to his stilled hands.

“i’ve forgotten something haven’t i?” he whispered, the swell of his lips caught between a set of perfectly straight, pearl white teeth.

“oh of course not, only another date.”

both males seated at the table flinched at the sarcasm that dripped from your voice. namjoon raised his hand slightly, cowering under your sharp glare when you turned to face him. “t-to be fair, he does have N.E.W.Ts to study for-“

“shut up namjoon!” yourself and your boyfriend, very nearly, shouted earning yourself vicious hushes from students that were also in the library. the purple haired boy shrugged, trying to turn back to his work, leaving you and seokjin to deal with each other.

you felt your heart sink when he looked up at you, this hadn’t been the first time Jin had skipped out on a date, and you doubted it would be the last unless you put a stop to things. you couldn’t help it when a sad pout pushed at your lips, your boyfriend’s large hand coming round to cup your smaller ones. “oh honey. please don’t give me that look,” You turned away, opting to look out of the window instead of into his eyes, you were more likely to give into him then. “YN... i know you’re upset with me, but i promise to get better at this, i hate seeing you sad and the fact that i caused it makes it worse. i’m such an idiot.” He brought your hands to his lips, pressing a kiss atop your knuckles with a downtrodden look.

you blushed, feeling the weight of his stare get under your skin. he was always able to do that, make you smile.

“won’t you give me a smile pretty girl?”

And with that you broke out into a large, unstoppable grin.

the air was cold against your cheeks and nose, the bobble hat and scarf your mother had sent you, doing their best to shield you from the cool, crisp weather. hogsmead was littered with crystal snowflakes, blankets of the thick white layers stretching as far as the eye could see. you rubbed your gloved hands together in order to create some form of warmth, or perhaps it was to do with your nerves.

a few days after your confrontation in the library and some seriously overbearing affection from your boyfriend, he had decided to treat you out on the next trip to hogsmead. you had been bursting with excitement at the thought since then, every date with seokjin was just as nerve wracking as the last.

from inside the three broomsticks, the boys you had known to become your friends observed you with care and curiosity, the stomachs filled with warm pie and sweet butterbeer. “someone should go and get her,” jimin mused from over his plate of half eaten pie, he was starting to lose his appetite as he watched you through the window. “she’s bound to catch a cold out there.”

jeongguk looked up from his plate, crumbs dusting the outer corners of his lips as he munched on his slice of cherry pie. “what’s she waiting for again?” the younger asked, spraying his slytherin and hufflepuff companions with an assortment of pastry crumbs.

the pair cringed with disgust, wiping away their clothes as taehyung looked up. “she’s waiting for jin, they’re supposed to have a date today...” the Hufflepuff boy was already trailing off when his housemate hoseok let out a deep snore from his seat, slumped over the table. he’d had a late night sneaking around with his newly found slytherin girlfriend. “i saw him earlier on though, with his quidditch team...”

the boys fell silent, hoseok’s snores filling the air between them. jimin sighed; pushing his seat back to stand up and meet you outside. with a hat tugged over his luscious silver locks, he left his friends sitting solemnly at the table. the fifth year slytherin resisted the urge to retreat to the warm arms of the establishment once he was outside, his arm sliding around your shoulders for warmth. you jumped when you noticed.

“what’s been keeping you outside, away from the pie, YN?” the boy asked from beside you, you craned your neck to look up at him allowing your breath to catch at the sight of the snowflakes resting on his lips. jimin had always been charming and you would be a fool to say that you didn’t think he was attractive. so it came as no surprise when girls went after him, deeming him the catch of the century. the heartthrob of your year. and still, park jimin had always remained the humble boy you had met during first year, never letting the attention get to his head. park jimin may have seemed like a player, leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake, but what no one seemed to notice is that girls only wanted him for his pretty face and toned body. you only hoped that certain people saw past that, looking at the sweet boy who looked out for you so much.

you could see the concern wavering in his dark eyes, so you grinned up at him ignoring the cold dry stretch of your lips. “i’m waiting for seokjin,” you hummed, watching a puff of air fade into the snow scene. jimin flinched from beside you, arm tightening ever so slightly before he relaxed. “we h-have a date...”

jimin would have never missed the little tremble in your voice. part of you already knew that your boyfriend wouldn’t show up, you’d seen him babbling away with his teammates already and yet, you trusted him. trusted him not to break another promise. to not let this be just another honeymoon phase.

“at least i thought we had one.”

the silver haired slytherin sighed down at you, squeezing your smaller frame into the warmth of his body. “how about we go get you that pie, yeah?” he offered in a whisper and you nodded, ignoring the swell of heart break in your chest.

the halls were empty, as they should’ve been that night, with seokjin on hall monitor duty since we he was a prefect. he didn’t mind being up that late, seeing as it was a late start for him the next day. that didn’t stop him from feeling tired though, slips of exhaustion tingling in his brain as he walked mindlessly through empty halls.

the elder boy rounded a corner, only to be met with a shadowy figure at the other end of his path. as they stepped into the candle light, the blonde deemed the figure to be park jimin, his moonish hair was ruffled and a smirk lay delicately on his lips. some people called him a bit of a sleaze but seokjin knew better than to tell you that.

“jimin!” the gryffindor called out, earning a look of surprise from the younger boy, before a deep scowl. “what are you doing out here all by yourself?”

the silver haired boy rolled his eyes with a ‘tsk’ storming last jin, who held a look of shock before running to catch up with the slytherin. “it’s none of your business, is it?”

“i mean it’s awfully late,” seokjin tried to reason, carefully matching his steps with the boy. after all, jimin was yoongi’s cousin and their families had quite the reputation. “i could always deduct house points you know...”

jimin froze, closing his eyes as if to calm himself before turning to face the older boy. “you have a thing for being late or on time don’t you?” he paused, allowing seokjin to think. “you’re never late to class, to meals and most certainly quidditch practises, but you never seem to be on time for dates with your own girlfriend...or do you even show up at all?”

the gryffindor seventh year froze in his spot as jimin spun on his heel, walking backwards in the direction of his dorms. a cruel smile of a true slytherin crawling onto his lips. “deduct house points for that, why don’t you?”

whispers trickled through the classroom as a ravenclaw prefect slipped into your class, handing a note to your transfigurations professor. your eyes barely peaked up from your scroll, where you furiously scribbled ahead in your notes, desperate to finish your work ahead of time. your professor had a thing for letting students leave early if they completed their work.

the professor cleared their throat from the head of the classroom, silencing the whispers from your classmates. a mixture of ravenclaw and hufflepuff. your heartbeat soared when you made eye contact with the prefect, gaze skittering to jeongguk who was sitting beside you with lips pursed in curiosity.

the professor coughed again, causing your line of vision to shoot to them, and he offered you a gentle smile. “YN, you’re needed just outside the classroom.”

“now?” you stuttered, anxiety sky rocketing.

he nodded, opening the door for the prefect who was leaving. “now.”

you swallowed nervously, packing up your belongings as jeongguk gave you a reassuring grin. the class talked in hushed mutters as you passed, your body twitching with anxiety as you left the room. with your eyes trailed on your feet in shame, you lifted your head onto to be met with a familiar stare. “s-seokjin?” you asked in surprise, truth be told, after the incident at hogsmead, you had been hesitant to see him. it turns out he felt the same. “wh-what are you doing here? did you pull me out of class?”

he nodded, answering the questions swirling in your mind. “i needed to see you, it couldn’t wait,” the blonde paused, as if to seek your permission. he owed you an explanation and you bobbed your head slightly, an indication for him to proceed. “i-i know it looks bad, that i didn’t show up to hogsmead and that i’ve been ignoring you, but trust me YN, when i say that i’m going to make it up to you.”

you swallowed thickly at his words, folding your arms so that one hand could desperately clutch an elbow as if to soothe your nerves. with a bite of your lower lip, you glanced up at seokjin once more, an earnest and sincere expression painting his heavenly features, an expression you had seen many times before. you could feel yourself melting into the warmth of his gaze, your mind screaming to forgive him just so you could be close to him once more.

“i’m so sorry, pretty girl,” seokjin added, noting your hesitance to reply. the seventh year took a step forward, closing the distance between you as he reached out to brush a finger down the apples of your cheeks. you could feel yourself keening into his touch, giving into that guilty pleasure. To the risk of heartbreak again. “i promise i won’t miss out on another date again, i’ll treat you to a nice night out and we’ll spend the evening together and-“ you frowned at the familiarity of his words, each syllable recognisable to your ears. seokjin had said it all before, so why did you give in every time?

did he really care about you? were you really just a mindless fifth year, blindly following someone she loved? insecurities crept up your throat at the thought, choking you from the inside and tearing apart every fibre of your being. it’d only be a matter of time before seokjin left hogwarts and found someone his age. someone he could make it out of the honeymoon stage with. the blonde noticed the frown on your lips and the creases at your forehead. “pretty girl, please give me a smile?”

not this time.

“seokjin,“ you sliced through his words with a wavering voice, your boyfriend’s hand retreating from your face as he looked at you in shock. “you know i love you, you know i do but i-i think we should take a break. recently it feels like... i’m not getting what i give and i want to say but until you can prove me wrong... i just don’t want to end up like how yoongi and i did before. i don’t want to be your temporary fix.”

you stood still with a clenched fist until you finished, eyes that were screwed shut opened to find that your boyfriend was completely silent. his eyes told you that he wanted to speak up and you wanted that. you wanted him to say something, something to convince you that you didn’t need space or time apart, and that he wouldn’t let you be just a passing phase. seokjin stood before you, mouth opening and closing as he fought an internal battle.

with a shake of your head, you stepped away from him, a cloud of disappointment settling between you. his silence was enough. “i’ll see you around then, seokjin .” you breathed, gaze falling to the floor.

“YN..”

“please don’t pull me out of another class unless you have something important to say,” you cut him off bitterly, turning away with a swish of your golden embossed robes. “my grades are important to me.”

the halls were once again empty, a sort of coldness settling in them as seokjin patrolled them once more. paintings talked and whispered about his heartbreak, the frown on their golden boy’s face was far too much for them to handle. leaving them to turn away in despair.

he’d fucked up, he really had.

in his mind, seokjin had been doing right by you. he told you loved you, he made you laugh, he made you smile. but telling someone you love them and loving them are two different things. seokjin didn’t know that you felt abandoned, he didn’t take into account that he was creating a repeat of your last relationship. he wanted to do better for you, and he wasn’t.

so here he was, the gryffindor boy finding comfort on the cobblestone floor of his favourite place away from home. his dark eyes following the magic sprouting from his wand, casting his patronous just to keep his bitter heart company. the scops owl danced around him, wings of blue flapping and shedding its diamond tears. the blonde could only watch with parted lips as his patronous burst into pieces, revealing a munching slytherin before him.

it was common for yoongi and seokjin to cross paths when the elder was on hall duty, more often than not the slytherin boy found himself talking to the house elves who gave him cookies and milk late at night when he couldn’t sleep. the two would bump into each other in the winding halls and magical staircases, share an awkward smile and wave (more like yoongi was grimacing) before heading in opposite directions. tonight was no different, except yoongi noticed something.

seokjin was sad.

the younger boy, with his hair dyed a simple black, knew the familiarity of sadness’ wake. he knew how much it would help someone to offer them a smile or a hand in times like this. yoongi chewed the dry skin at his bottom lip before taking a step towards the elder and holding out half of the cookie he had left. “it looks like you could need it.” the slytherin mumbled gruffly, looking away for a second.

seokjin’s lips parted once more, the words catching on the rim of his mouth as he stared up at the younger boy. not once had they had such a, for a lack of better word -civil- interaction. there had always been the space between them, the elephant between the two. you. but, now it seemed, they shared common ground. you had left both of them.

“thank you.”

yoongi looked conflicted for a second, debating whether or not he should stay and comfort the elder. his bed seemed much further from his mind than he had hoped for, at this point. “are you...” he started, tongue peeking out to wet his lips. “are you okay, seokjin?”

the question startled the elder, perhaps just a bit, still not used to this level of attention from the boy who’s girlfriend he’s stolen. he couldn’t help when his lips begun to form the words. “no, not really.”

“wanna talk about it?”

“y-yeah, sure.”

at this point the slyhterin had bunched himself up beside seokjin, looking at him with sleep ridden eyes but an expression that said he was ready to listen. and yet, the blonde felt himself hesitating. why did it have to be yoongi? of all people, to find him here in this vulnerable state, it had to be the boy who probably hated him most.

“YN left me,”He muttered, throat closing in fear of judgement from the very boy who lead him to YN. “we, uh...she broke up with me.”

a pause.

yoongi gasped. “Oh wow.”

seokjin looked up, a fire ready to set ablaze in his eyes as he stared the slytherin down with ease. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

yoongi shuffled, looking up at the ceiling as his dark hair fell over his eyes, it was almost as if he hadn’t been sure what to say, then again he’d never expected to find himself in kim seokjin’s company.

“it’s just that...it’s clear as day to anyone...how much she loves you,i don’t think anyone thought it would end. i never thought it would end. you were her forever it seemed.” yoongi confessed with a slight frown and a crease to his brow, the storm of hurt rumbling behind his black magic eyes. “yoy were her forever and not me,” he turned to seokjin, angry at him, angry for him, angry at himself. “you were supposed to be her forever and not fuck up like me, for merlin’s sake you piece of shit.”

the gryffindor blinked as he shuffled away from his younger, not quite expecting him to lash out in such a way. “yoongi...”

“no, shut up!” the latter growled, his voice eerily hushed for the venom laced in his tone. yoongi stood, past emotions rushing through him as he tried his best not to combust. thoughts and feelings of that fateful day blasting a chill through his veins. “I bet you promised not to hurt her, I bet you promised not to be like me.” The words spilled before Yoongi could stop them, white hot anger flashing behind his eyes as his word slurred with fury, Seokjin flinched at every syllable of truth hitting home. “Didn’t you?”

“i did, I promised…” the elder remembered, frowning at himself as yoongi sat down, the anger having rolled out of him by now. the two sat together in the dark halls, emotions swirling through their minds and hearts as they reflected.

a moment passed.

“so, how do you intend to keep that promise?”

“wh-what?” the blonde babbled sheepishly, surprised by the slytherin’s sudden change in attitude. Yoongi smiled sadly at his elder, running a hand through his blackened locks, pushing it out of place as he eyed Seokjin. “What do you mean?”

yoongi hummed slightly, kicking his foot on the cobblestone floor as he chewed on his lip. He hadn’t meant to blow up at the gryffindor earlier, too many feelings from the last year still resonating within him at the time. however, now he felt a sense of guilt, wanting to help the poor headboy especially if it meant helping YN, who deserved all the best. “I just mean… you promised her that you’d be better than me, so you have to show her that. I didn’t mean to blow up at you so bad, but I felt like we both had things to say.”

“what i’m trying to say, is that if you’re going to make it up to her, you need to show her what she means to you.” the younger noted, distantly.

seokjin’s brow creased. “how do I do that?”

yoongi smiled softly this time as he stood, placing his hand on the older’s broad and firm shoulder. “that’s for you to figure out what I couldn’t.” he mumbled softly, bidding the gryffindor a good night as he stepped out into the darkness.

your shoulders sagged as you dumped your bag against the door, shrugging off robes and collapse on your bed. You’re exhausted, the hours of herbology notes you’d written up had finally taken its toll on your cramping hand.

you desperately want to nap, just a few seconds before the girls get back from their classes and start to squeal over how your infamous best friend kim taehyung snuck his muggle pet into hogwarts. you swear their giggles and claps gave you more migraines than watching jimin endlessly flirt.

you’re only two steps away from your bed, the smooth honey yellow sheets drawing you in when a warm hand slips over your mouth and another pulls you into a firm chest.

a horrified scream escapes your lips, was this a prank? were you being attacked? did one of those horrible slytherin boys that picked on everyone sneak into the dorms? a million and one thoughts popped into your mind, and you only wished you still had your wand on you. you’d stupidly left it in your robes.

the stranger whispers short shhs into your ears, but you’re too busy rustling and kicking your legs to care. with heavy breaths you bite on the hand, gagging at its salty taste and jab your elbow into the ribs of your attacker, pulling yourself away from their rather large frame.

“hey hey! YN, it’s me!” the stranger cries, holding a hand to their ribs as the suck the blood from their wounded hand. he pants, his robes disheveled as you eye him up and down.

you’re mad, more than so. how dare he come into your private space uninvited, holding you in such a way and giving you such a fright that you screamed louder than the herbs you’d been studying earlier. “by merlin! seokjin what the hell? what do you think you’re doing?” you start, face heating up at all the fury you’ve kept hidden. you try to convince yourself that the anger you feel is because of him sneaking up at you, and not because of the yearn in your heart that comes after seeing him for the first time in a while.

the blonde wipes his hand on his robes, crimson blood blending in with the red of his house. the colour stings your eyes, a reminder of his place in hogwarts. above you. the doubts from times with yoongi creep into your mind, and it takes you a second to remind yourself that you’re better off without him. both of them.

“i’m sorry, i know i shouldn’t be here, but i had to see you.”

the words, as sweet as they sound, make you curl into yourself. they would have made you blush before, they would have made you smile. but your heart still hurts from where be betrayed your trust. your eyes meet his, they’re still as warm and as inviting as you remember, and maybe a little more dull. you wonder if he’s taking things well. you know that you aren’t, you miss him.

you want him to stay, but you don’t want to give in.

“you have three minutes to talk, starting with why and how you’re here.” you say pointedly, wrapping your arms around yourself as you cast your gaze aside. your ears detect the small gasp of joy that the gryffindor lets out and your body reacts to the steps, desperately needing his touch after all these weeks.

he blinks as he shuffled towards you, rubbing his thumb over his own knuckles. “i missed you,” seokjin breathes, he knows that he shouldn’t have said it. He can tell by way your face contorts in a slight pain and the way your hand comes to grip your chest from over your shirt. ‘don’t’ he hears you mumble and closes his eyes softly. “i used a disguising spell so i could follow some girls in, and hid behind your door. i’m here because...because i realised how foolish i’ve been, i know that ive hurt you and im here to desperately ask for your forgiveness,”

you blink, frowning at him as he speaks, you’re not used to apologies. but this isn’t yoongi, this is seokjin. “i don’t care how long it takes, i’ll wait for you because i realise how much i need you here.” the blonde finishes, grasping your hand with need. the simple touch sends you into a spiral, your cravings for his closeness raging on as he pulls away.

“seokjin...” you whisper, so close to him that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

“i don’t need an answer from you now, just for you to come to the quidditch match on friday.” the taller asks, his tone pleading slightly. he doesn’t know what he’ll do if you say no, fear wrapping around his heart and squeezing.

you shook your head, not sure if you were agreeing or disagreeing. you watched with forlorn eyes a the elder wizard moved to kiss your knuckles, standing upright to exit through the door. “i can’t promise you that.” you mumble quietly, letting him walk toward it.

“then just seeing you is enough.”

the cold air nips at your cheeks as you stand in line with your fellow hufflepuffs. the hands of frost pinch at your skin, and tickle your nose, wrapping their evil arms around your waist as you shiver with annoyance. taehyung looks down at you and smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to pull you into him. his sweater is warm like the honey yellow that drips from its fabric, and you cling to him more in search of it.

girls squeal around you, they chatter about their favourite quidditch players. jimin is all that they mutter, and while he’s your friend you can’t help but he chanting for someone else in your head.

“seokjin’s playing today,” a ravenclaw giggles, casting you a side glance as yourself, taehyung, hobi and little jungkook advance in the line. “i wonder who she’ll be cheering for now that she’s had a taste of both houses.”

the snide remark sets a blaze off in your chest, but you instead, squeeze your housemate’s hand tighter. the boys continue excitedly, going on and on about how jimin trained on end for this. yet your mind lingers on the gryffindor himself. you wonder if he’s thinking of you, of how you would calm him before every match. you feel your heart skip a beat at the thought as you pass through the gates, into the stalls.

students from all years, hufflepuffs from all ages sit with one another and chat excitedly, but you don’t miss the way their loud words become hushed as you and your friends walk by. “don’t worry about them,” jungkook reminds you when you sit down, his bright doe eyes giving you comfort. “they’re just jealous.”

“of what?” you mumble; there’s nothing that you have. you’re no longer with the golden boy of hogwarts, what else is there to be jealous of?

hoseok leans over taehyung’s lap to reach for you, his mouth covered in the chocolate frogs that he’d brought from hogsmead. “you’ll see!”

the boys all share a look and a giggle, you swore they acted like gossiping girls sometimes. you shake your head and roll your eyes, settling into the seat. the hard wood makes your thighs uncomfortable and your teeth still chatter from the cold. a tap on your shoulder makes you turn around.

“YN LN?” the boy asks, adorning the signature ruby robes. you nod, and he looks relieved, pulling something from his cloak and passing it to you. “this is for you.”

he speaks, but doesn’t saw where the brown paper package is from. you allow your fingertips to touch at the material as the boys around you stare. you gasp in awe when you tear open the paper, revealing seokjin’s deep red sweater, his name printed on the back.

‘i love you, please wear this.’ the note reads, and you clutch the clothing to your chest, catching the eye of seokjin as he whizzes out into the pitch.

screams echo in your ears as the final minutes before half time tik closer and closer. you had never understood sports, muggle or wizard like, you had always found them particularly boring. quidditch in a way reminded you of the football your father watched on a sunday down at the pub, either coming back extremely heartbroken or so excited that he’d press sloppy kisses all over your face.

the students around you jeer at slytherin players as the zip past on their broom, chasing after the infamous golden snitch. you pay little attention, playing with the loose thread of the gryffindor’s sweater, having slipped it on. the fabric smells like him, like comforting nights spent by the fireplace in his common room. you close your eyes and can almost feel his arms wrap around you, and his plush lips press soft kisses to your hair. if you close your eyes you can imagine what it’s like to be with seokjin again.

the excited chanting suddenly turns into worried gasps, and your eyes shoot open. you seem him, seokjin, spiralling down from the highest point. his broom appears busted and the other players of his team are chasing after him. your heart stops in your chest as you notice jimin heading down after him as well, the mop of silver hair fluttering with the rapid breeze as he zooms after your lover.

you can feel fearful trembles start to wrack your body, your friends beside you holding you close as you all sit on the edge of our seats. waiting for impact. waiting for the scream of pain.

it doesn’t come.

instead, the blonde stops inches from the ground, his broomstick shooting up into the sky. the wands of his fellow housemates on the ground, follow him and suddenly the sky appears less grey and more...

orange.

bursts of red and yellow spout from his broom, the petals coating the entire pitch and all the stalls as seokjin circles it, followed by his team mates. the students of hogwarts look up to the skies in awe, giggling and dancing in the petals. you catch two, holding them in your palm as you rub the silken petals. red and yellow, tangle together.

jungkook shakes your shoulder, pointing up. “what?” you mumble, but replace the tone with a surprised gasp as seokjin comes to a halt on his broom in front of you. he holds out two whole flowers, one a deep rouge and the other a sunset yellow. he looks to you with shy brown eyes and parted pink lips, and you can feel a thousand and one pairs of eyes on the two of you.

“chrysanthemums,” you whisper, taking them lightly and tilting your head to meet his gaze. “they’re my-“

“your favourite... i know,” the gryffindor smiles, pointing to the plants in your grip. “yellow is for love and red for loyal love.” he explains, nearing you and you tune out the squeals of girls nearby. “YN i know, that these last few weeks have been hell without you, to which is a fault of my own. i let myself take you for granted, instead of showing you what love should be. you deserve every ounce of love and everything good from then on. i promise from this forward; to love you eternally...that is, if you shall have me?”

“seokjin...i love you too.” you whisper, rushing forward through the stands to capture his lips in a soft, emotional kiss. you feel the truth in his words and the love that he once gave, relaxing into him as you fight the tears of longing in your eyes.

the klaxon sounds for the end of half time, but you ignore it, kissing him until the moment remains eternal in your mind.

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