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brunchable · 6 months ago

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FREAKY FRIDAY | Body Swapped Steve Rogers x f!reader.

Pairings: Johnny Storm Possessed Steve Rogers x f!reader Themes: Body Swap. Sexual Themes. Funny? Horndog Johnny, for an unknown reason, body-swapped with Steve. Summary: You woke up with Steve suddenly out of character and having an overflowing amount of rizz. A/N: It's comedy central in my blog this week. . . I can't help but insert one particular meme lmao

taggies: @mrsevans90

Like you did every morning, you woke up to the gentle warmth of Steve next to you, but there was something different about the way he was looking at you today. His eyes twinkled mischievously as he leaned in close, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"Morning, gorgeous," he murmured, his voice smoother than usual. You blinked in surprise. Sure, Steve was affectionate, but this was... new.

You smiled back, albeit a little wary.

"Good morning?" Before you could say anything more, he captured your lips in a kiss that was how to describe it-more confident, more playful than his usual gentle morning kisses. You pulled back slightly, looking at him with raised eyebrows.

“Wow, someone's in a good mood today,” you said, trying to shake off the weird vibe.

Steve just grinned and gave you a little wink. "What can I say? I'm just appreciating my girl."

You squirmed under his intense gaze. You couldn't help but notice how his hand casually trailed down your arm, lingering a little longer than usual. You weren't sure if you should feel flattered or... flustered.

“Should we stay in bed a little while? You know…” he asked, his voice dropping suggestively as he wiggled his brows.

But this time, he didn’t stop there. As he leaned in closer, he slowly stuck out his tongue and wiggled it playfully, making his intentions blatantly clear.

Your face immediately turned bright red.

“Steve!” you exclaimed, quickly pressing your hand to his lips and pushed him away to stop him before he got any closer, utterly flustered by the suggestive gesture.

He chuckled against your hand, his eyes twinkling with mischief. For a second, you felt him wiggle his tongue against your palm, teasing you further before you jerked your hand back with a mix of shock and embarrassment.

“Unbelievable!” you muttered, feeling your face heat up even more.

He gave you a devilish grin, clearly enjoying how flustered you were.

“What? Just offering some ideas, sweetheart,” he teased, giving you a playful wink.

“No, Sam’s going to be here soon for your morning run, so go prepare.”

The excitement drained from his face, “I do?”

“Yes!”

Johnny—or rather, the man you thought was Steve—let out a low chuckle, clearly unfazed by your refusal. This wasn't like Steve at all. Steve was always respectful, sweet, and… well, a gentleman. But today? He seemed like a different man entirely.

“Guess I forgot,” he said with a smirk, sitting up slowly and stretching. His tone was casual, but the grin he gave you was anything but innocent.

As he shifted in bed, he leaned back casually and gave a quick, deliberate glance downwards before gesturing toward the noticeable outline in his sweatpants. The fabric clung snugly, revealing the distinct, firm shape of his dick pressing against the material, enough to leave little to the imagination.

“But if you change your mind about staying in bed…” he said, his voice low and teasing, “you know where to find me.”

You blinked in disbelief, your cheeks burning as he got out of bed and strolled toward the bathroom. He threw one last playful wink at you before disappearing behind the door, leaving you there in a state of complete confusion.

"What the hell is going on with him today?" you muttered to yourself.

You climbed out of bed and started to get ready for the day, you tried to shake off the feeling that something was… off. Maybe Steve was just in a playful mood? Maybe he was testing out some new approach to your relationship, though you couldn't help but wonder where it had come from all of a sudden.

But, soon enough, you heard the front door open and Sam's voice echoed through the apartment. "Yo, Rogers! Are you ready for our run?"

You peeked out from the bedroom just in time to see "Steve" step out of the bathroom, giving you another grin before heading out to meet Sam. He greeted him casually, as if everything was perfectly normal.

Sam looked over at you with a quick nod. “Hey, Y/N. Morning.”

“Morning,” you replied, though your voice sounded more distant than usual. You couldn’t quite bring yourself to look directly at Sam, worried your face might give away just how weird the morning had been.

As they left for their run, you were left alone, still wondering why Steve was acting so differently. But then, you shook your head. Maybe it was all in your head. Maybe he was just feeling particularly confident today. Either way, it was Steve, your Steve, and you trusted him.

Right?

× × × ×

You made breakfast while ‘Steve’ is out on a run. You tried to shake off your confusion by busying yourself with making coffee. It wasn't helping. The memory of Steve's unusually bold behaviour lingered in your mind.

And just when you were about to pour yourself a cup, you felt a sudden smack on your ass. You yelped in surprise, nearly spilling the coffee. Whipping around, you saw Steve standing there with a smug grin on his face, looking very proud of himself.

"Steve!" you gasped, your heart racing for all the wrong reasons. "What are you—"

"What?" he said with an innocent shrug, though his mischievous grin betrayed him. "Just saying hello."

You narrowed your eyes at him. “By smacking me on my ass?”

“Can't help it, you look too cute when you're all focused," he teased, stepping closer.

His hands slid around your waist, and before you could protest, he lifted you effortlessly onto the counter. Your breath hitched. This was not the Steve Rogers you knew. But as much as his behaviour was throwing you off, you couldn't deny the butterflies his actions stirred in your stomach.

"Steve, what's gotten into you?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Instead of answering, Steve leaned in with a mischievous glint in his eyes, peppering kisses all over your face—your forehead, your cheeks, and your nose—until you were giggling uncontrollably.

“Steve, stop it!” you laughed, trying to push him away, but he was relentless, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

Your laughter was cut short as his lips trailed lower, brushing down to the side of your neck. The playful atmosphere shifted instantly, your breath hitching in your throat. His kisses became more deliberate, slow and teasing, sending sparks of heat through your skin.

“Steve…” you whispered, but your words melted into a quiet gasp as his lips found that sensitive spot just below your ear. He lingered there, pressing soft, lingering kisses, making your pulse race.

His warm breath fanned over your skin, and without warning, his lips latched onto your neck, sucking gently but with enough pressure that you knew he was leaving a mark. A deep, guttural hum escaped him as he continued, his grip on your waist tightening as he pulled your body against him.

The sensation of his lips and the gentle tugging of his teeth made your head spin, and you instinctively tilted your head, giving him better access.

“Steve,” you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair, your body arching into his.

“Can’t help it,” he muttered against your skin between kisses. “You drive me crazy.”

His voice was low and rough, sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through you. He sucked on your neck again, his tongue flicking over the spot before he pulled back slightly to admire his work.

"You’re gonna have to explain this one," he murmured with a grin, his lips ghosting over your ear, still hovering close enough to keep you breathless.

× × × ×

For the next hour, you tried to regain some composure, but it was hard with the heat of Steve’s kisses still tingling on your neck. Every time you moved, you could feel the slight sting of the mark he’d left behind, a not-so-gentle reminder of how wild this morning had been.

After making the bed and tidying up, you decided to head to the living room to relax for a bit, hoping that "Steve" had calmed down from whatever flirty streak had taken over him. You still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was a little… off. He's been too quiet.

You stepped into the living room, you stopped dead in your tracks, your jaw practically hitting the floor.

There, casually sprawled on the couch, was Steve in his birthday suit. Stark naked. The only thing covering him was your guitar, strategically placed across his lap. His posture was relaxed, one arm draped along the back of the couch, while his free hand strummed lazily at the strings.

He looked up as if nothing was out of the ordinary, a casual, half-lidded grin spreading across his face.

“Hey,” he said, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

You blinked. Once. Twice.

“Steve… what the hell are you doing?” you finally stammered, struggling to form coherent words as your brain scrambled to process what you were seeing.

He shrugged nonchalantly, still strumming the guitar.

“Just thought I’d serenade my girl.” His eyes sparkled with mischief as he tilted his head. “You know, I think I’m getting better at this guitar thing.”

Your cheeks flamed red as your gaze flickered between his shamelessly exposed body and the guitar that, frankly, wasn’t doing the best job at covering much.

“Put some clothes on!” you squeaked, your face burning from the sight in front of you. “What if someone walks in? Sam might—"

“Sam’s gone,” he cut in smoothly, winking. “It’s just you and me, babe.” He tilted his head, clearly amused by your reaction. “Besides, you weren’t complaining this morning.”

You could feel the heat rising to your face again, this time in full force. "That doesn't mean you get to... to do this!"

He just smirked, lazily leaning back on the couch, the guitar still resting against him. “Come on, don’t act like you don’t like it.”

“Steve, for the love of everything, PLEASE, just put some clothes on,” you muttered, rubbing your temples as if that would somehow erase the image from your brain.

Instead of listening, he suddenly stood up, the guitar still barely covering anything, and with the confidence of someone performing at a sold-out show, he started singing. Loudly.

“And you're kissin' on my neck, I'm like, “Oh”, Got your hands up on my chest, I'm like, “Oh”” he belted out dramatically, grinning ear to ear as he took a step toward you, his voice echoing through the room.

You panicked.

"Oh my God, Steve! No!" you squealed, immediately clamping your hands over your ears, turning away from him as fast as possible

“Kiss me 'til there's nothin' left, Oh my god, oh my god!” he sang even louder, walking toward you like some rock star, his guitar still precariously covering him as he inched closer.

You darted behind the coffee table, creating a barrier between the two of you, your face blazing red.

“Lalalalalalalala!” You covered your ears tighter, trying to block out the sight and sound of your naked boyfriend serenading you. “Lalalalalalala! I can't hear you.”

But he wasn't stopping. If anything, your reaction only encouraged him further.

“Why are you running, baby?”

He grinned wickedly, circling around the coffee table like a predator playing with his prey. "You could really tear me apart, but- I love you like that, Everything you do just turns me on, I love you like that, Body on my mind like all night long.”

You squeaked and moved in the opposite direction, keeping the table between you, but Steve—guitar still precariously positioned—was unstoppable, matching your every move. It was ridiculous, like a slow-motion chase scene in a rom-com, but you couldn’t help but laugh through your embarrassment.

"Steve! Seriously, stop!" you cried out, ducking and weaving as he chased you around the table, his singing never faltering.

"I love you like that!" he belted, reaching out with one hand as if trying to grab you. You yelped, dodging him by moving to the other side.

"Lalalalalalalala!" you cried, your hands clamped tighter over your ears as you rushed toward the door, desperate to escape.

His laughter echoed in the living room, the sound of his voice-and that ridiculous guitar performance following you as you fled to the safety of the kitchen. Behind you, you could hear him laughing even harder.

"Alright, alright, I'll stop!" he called after you, his voice still tinged with amusement.

You leaned against the kitchen counter, taking a deep breath to steady yourself, your face still burning red. Today was officially out of control.

And this wasn't the Steve Rogers you signed up for.

× × × ×

As the day finally wound down, you were still trying to recover from the whirlwind of events that had unfolded earlier. After a long, flirty, and borderline chaotic day with “Steve,” you were just glad it was almost bedtime.

You had managed to avoid another musical performance from him after the whole guitar incident, but the playful energy hadn’t completely faded. As you stood in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing your teeth, you could feel his eyes on you from across the room, watching your every move.

“Don’t even think about it,” you mumbled through a mouthful of toothpaste, meeting his gaze in the reflection of the mirror.

He was lounging on the bed, shirtless now, with that same mischievous grin you’d been seeing all day.

“What?” he asked innocently, though the glint in his eyes said otherwise.

You rolled your eyes and spit out the toothpaste, rinsing your mouth. “You know exactly what.”

He laughed, the sound low and smooth as he got up and sauntered over to you, his bare feet padding quietly against the hardwood floor. Before you could react, he was behind you, his arms sliding around your waist as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

“I was just admiring how cute you look in your pajamas,” he murmured, his breath warm against your neck.

You sighed, trying to ignore the way your body reacted to the heat of his skin against yours.

“Steve, it’s been a long day,” you said, your voice weary but laced with affection. “Can we just... go to bed? Without any more surprises?”

He pressed a soft kiss to your neck, lingering for just a second before pulling away with a grin.

“Alright, alright,” he relented, raising his hands in surrender. “I’ll behave.”

You gave him a playful glare, narrowing your eyes as you turned to face him. “You said that earlier today, and then I walked into the living room and—”

“Okay, this time I’ll behave,” he interrupted with a laugh, holding his hands up defensively. “Promise.”

Shaking your head, you couldn’t help but smile. He may have been driving you absolutely crazy today, but this version of Steve—or Johnny, whoever he really was—was still undeniably charming in his own chaotic way.

Once you finished up in the bathroom, you both crawled into bed, the covers cool against your skin. Steve—or, well, Johnny—rolled onto his side, propping his head up with one hand as he gazed at you with that playful smirk.

“You sure you don’t want a little bedtime serenade?” he teased, his voice low and suggestive.

You groaned and pulled the blanket up over your head, burying yourself beneath the covers. “No!” you said, your voice muffled. “We’re done with that for today!”

He laughed again, the sound warm and contagious as he settled down beside you. The teasing faded, replaced by a softer, more familiar warmth as his arm slipped around your waist, pulling you close to him.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice gentle now as he pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

You peeked out from under the covers, smiling despite yourself. “Goodnight, Steve.”

As you closed your eyes and drifted off to sleep, you couldn’t help but wonder how long this flirty version of Steve would last—and whether or not you were ready for whatever tomorrow would bring.

× × × ×

The next morning, you stirred awake, the early light filtering through the curtains, and you felt the familiar warmth of strong arms slipping around your waist. Instinctively, you leaned into the embrace at first—until the events of the previous day rushed back to you. Your eyes snapped open, and before you could stop yourself, you jumped slightly, pulling away from the arms that had suddenly felt different, your heart pounding.

“Whoa, hey—what’s wrong?” Steve's voice came out soft, laced with confusion and concern. You turned over to face him, and instantly, you could tell something had changed. His eyes weren’t twinkling mischievously, there was no sly grin or playful wink. Instead, his brow was furrowed in concern, his hands hovering over you like he wasn’t sure if he should touch you again.

“Steve?” you whispered, your voice hesitant, scanning his face. He looked… like himself again. That quiet, gentle warmth was back, the one that had been missing yesterday.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he said, still looking concerned. “Are you okay? You jumped like I startled you.” He reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch soft and careful, nothing like the bold, confident gestures from the day before.

You blinked at him, your mind racing. The contrast between today and yesterday was stark. Yesterday, he had been all cocky smirks and teasing touches, constantly riling you up. But now? Now, Steve seemed completely aware of what had happened, but wasn’t letting on.

“I—uh, I’m fine,” you stammered, still trying to process it all. “You just… caught me off guard.”

Steve frowned, clearly still confused by your reaction. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” he said softly, his thumb brushing gently over your arm as he studied you. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nodded, but your heart was still racing. "Yeah… you’re just… different from yesterday."

His brow furrowed further, but now there was something else behind his eyes. He looked like he was holding something back. “Different? What do you mean?” he asked, though you could sense he already knew.

You hesitated, biting your lip. “Yesterday, you were just… more… flirty,” you said carefully, watching his reaction. “Like, a lot more. You were… singing to me. Naked. With my guitar.”

Steve’s eyes widened in shock, his face turning red almost instantly, but there was something else—recognition. “What? I—I did that?” He didn’t seem shocked by the words, more by the fact that you were telling him.

You nodded, your own face heating up at the memory. “Yeah. And you were… really, really bold. Smacking my butt, picking me up, kissing me all over…"

Steve's gaze drifted down, and before you could even say another word, his fingers gently brushed against your neck, right where Johnny had left that bold mark. His touch was tender at first, but the moment his thumb traced over the small bruise, his entire expression shifted.

"That motherfucker! I'm going to kill him!”

2K notes · View notes

violentdelightsandviolentends · 7 months ago

Note

hey!!

could i maybe get a roommate fic where carmy’s getting ridden and about to come and has no filter so it slips out that he loves her

Baby, Please.

it’s been on the tip of his tongue for too long. it was only a matter of time.

roommate!carmen berzatto x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. carmy’s a bit pathetic at some points in this (you’re welcome)

word count - 2.4k

authors note - ah shit, here we go again. I always end writing carmy as a little bitch in these, sorry lmao (i’m not). but here it is!! a love confession!! will they ever talk about anything, I hear you ask? we’ll see…

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

series masterlist. masterlist. inbox.

Carmen automatically smiles when he hears your keys clinking against the lock in the front door.

As soon as he clocks it, he rolls his eyes at himself. You’re not supposed to get butterflies in your stomach when your roommate comes home on a random Thursday evening.

And yet here he is, sitting on the couch, trying to play it cool - as if he hasn’t been waiting for your return for the last hour and a half.

You’re usually back from work before he is, and suddenly he’s grateful for it. He couldn’t do this everyday. Sitting, waiting for you to come home as if you’ve been gone for months rather than nine or so hours. The apartment feels a little bigger, a little colder without you in it. Carmy wonders how he lived here for so long without you.

You swing the door open, kicking off your shoes instantly. Throwing your bag onto the counter, you take in the sight of your home. It’s clean, tidied, more organised than you’ve seen it in a while. Carmy’s been putting the work in while you’ve been gone.

“What happened, Carmen? Are you okay?”

“W-what?”

“Were you stress cleaning?”

He laughs, all full and warm.

“No, babe. Just regular cleaning.”

He rises from the couch, coming over to press a kiss into your cheek before slipping your jacket off your shoulders and hanging it up behind you.

“Carmen, what’s that smell?”

“Tomato and basil slow baked rigatoni. Homemade garlic bread. And then, if you have any room left… my homemade snickerdoodles.”

“Did you… cook for me?”

“Yes I did, baby. It’s the least I can do after you’ve been at work all day.”

It’s all so domestic, so thoughtful, so heartfelt, that you don’t know whether to laugh or cry. You step forward into his space, looping your arms around his neck and pressing a kiss to his lips. He grins at you when you pull away.

“What was that for?”

“A thank you,” you whisper, kissing him again. “I really won the roommate lottery, huh?”

“We both did,” he chuckles, covering your face in kisses while you squirm in his arms.

Eventually, he lets you go, but not before raking his eyes up and down your figure very slowly. He takes you in - your work clothes, the way your hair is falling out slightly, your bare feet. As much as you want to let him devour you, you’re starving. A different kind of hunger to his.

“Dinner first. That after.”

“What after?” he plays coy, trying to fight the smirk off his face.

“Don’t play dumb, Berzatto. It’s not a good look on you.”

With that, you leave the kitchen to get changed, laughing as you go.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You sink further into Carmy’s side on the couch, trying desperately to pay attention to the vintage sitcom that’s playing on the TV.

All you can focus on are the rough fingertips tracing patterns on the bare skin of your thigh. They keep getting higher, brushing the seam of your pyjama shorts occasionally. Every so often, Carmy leans in to press a kiss onto your temple, into your hair, behind your ear. You rest your head on his chest, soothed by the steady beat of his heart.

“That was the best meal I’ve had in a long time, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I could eat that pasta every day for the rest of my life and die a happy woman.”

Carmy laughs, and the sound rumbles through both of you.

“I don’t cook for you often enough.”

You sit up, then, turning in your seat to look him in the eyes.

“Carmen. You cook for me almost every day.”

“Yeah, but… not really.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Most of the time when I’m cooking at home, I’m trying a new recipe, or perfecting an old one - for the restaurant. And then we both eat it for dinner. But tonight, I actually picked a recipe I knew you’d love, and made it for you. Because I don’t cook for you often enough.”

You lean in to press a gentle kiss to his lips, smiling as you do it.

“You know I don’t mind either way, right? Whatever you make is always delicious. Except for that weird duck mousse from last week. That was… awful.”

He shoves you playfully, laughing when you topple backwards onto the couch cushions. Climbing onto you, he digs his fingers into your ribs, chuckling as you try to squirm away from him.

“Stop, before I kick you in the stomach or something,” you plead, wrapping your legs around his waist to try and keep him still.

When that doesn’t work, you resort to dirtier tactics. You roll your hips up into his, watching as his face changes when he realises what you’re doing. The tickling stops, replaced by fingertips gripping your sides in a completely different way.

“Fuck,” he murmurs into your neck as he drops his head down. “You know exactly what you’re doing. Minx.”

“Well you wouldn’t stop, so…”

“You’re usually telling me not to stop, honey. ‘Oh, Carmen, don’t stop baby, don’t stop’…”

You laugh as he mocks you, half in disbelief, half in amusement.

“You’re such a dick.”

“You still want me though, huh?”

The atmosphere in the room shifts, tension thickening in the air. Carmy’s eyes go dark as he looks down at you, gaze raking across your face. You nod in response to his question, chewing at your bottom lip.

“You gonna let me thank you for dinner properly, Berzatto?

Who is he to say no to an offer like that?

You tighten your legs around his waist and pull his hips down to yours, flipping you both over on the couch. You settle with your thighs on either side of his, your weight keeping him anchored down to the cushions.

“You look so pretty underneath me,” you whisper, tracing the features of his face with your gentle fingertips. “Pretty, pretty boy.”

Carmy’s hips buck up into yours at the praise.

“You’re so fucking predictable,” you giggle as he groans. “You love this, don’t you?”

“Love what?”

His voice is all strained and breathy already, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Being my bitch.”

He chuckles and rolls his eyes, but his tightening grip on your waist gives him away. You lean in to press your forehead to his, breathing him in for a moment. Carmy tilts his head up to meet your lips, slipping his tongue into your mouth as you whine.

You tangle your fingers into his hair, melding your lips against his. You let him explore your mouth, winding your hips down into him in a steady motion. You lean back to pull his shirt over his head, yours following suit shortly afterwards and ending up in a pile on the floor.

Carmy kisses his way across your chest, nipping and sucking as he goes. You’re way past the don’t leave marks stage. Neither of you care anymore. You rake your nails down his stomach, smirking when he shudders, goosebumps rising across his skin.

You tip forward to bite at the muscle of Carmy’s neck, licking a stripe up his throat as you go. He tastes like his minty shower gel and cinnamon sugar from the snickerdoodles. It’s the perfect combination to make your mouth water.

He tangles his fingers into the waistband of your pyjama shorts, trying to tug them down. You go to stand up to help him, but the whine he lets out stops you in your tracks.

“Don’t go anywhere.”

“Carmen, if you want my pants off, you need to let me stand up.”

“You can do it here.”

He pulls you back down into his lap, ignoring your raised eyebrows. You manage to slip your shorts and panties down one leg, rising awkwardly on the other to try and get them off. You kick them to the floor, chuckling as you settle back over Carmy’s hips.

“Happy now?”

“Very happy,” he mumbles, reattaching his lips to your jaw. “The happiest. Got the prettiest girl in the world naked in my lap right now.”

Heat rises across your chest at the compliment, head ducking down to avoid his eyes.

“Shut up,” you mutter, tugging down the waistband of Carmy’s sweatpants.

You pull them and his boxers off in one fell swoop, dropping them onto the floor. When you take him in your hand, he reaches out and grabs your wrist, looking up at you through thick lashes.

“Wait, baby.”

You freeze instantly, finally meeting his gaze.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothings wrong. Just need to get you ready first.”

You shake your head, gentle smile on your face. He’s always thinking about you. Selfless boy.

“I am more than ready, Carmen.”

When he looks at you with skepticism in his eyes, you decide to make a point.

You trail your fingers down your stomach, pulling them through your wetness when you reach it. Sliding a digit inside, you rock your hips, throwing your head back. You can both hear how ready you are, and it makes Carmy groan.

“Oh, fuck.”

He’s whispering in awe, careful not to spook you when you’re so clearly in your own little world. You add another finger, and Carmy has to grip your hips as hard as he can to stop himself from flipping you over and having his way with you.

You remove your fingers and shove them straight into Carmy’s mouth, panting as he laves his tongue around them. You both whine in unison. Always so in sync.

“I’m more than ready,” you whisper into his jaw. “Promise.”

“I believe you,” he croaks, wrecked already. “Please.”

“You’re so pretty when you beg.”

You line him up, sinking down ever so slowly. You want to feel every inch, every ridge, every movement. You don’t want to miss anything.

You both drop your heads back in bliss, chests heaving against each other. You’re adjusting, while Carmy’s trying to get a hold of himself. He doesn’t want it to be over too quickly, but it so easily could be if he isn’t careful. He runs his hands up and down the bare skin of your back, admiring how soft you are.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight,” he says through gritted teeth. “Shit, baby.”

“You feel so good. So big, Carmen. Fuck.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” you can’t help but tease, running your thumb over his bottom lip.

“Talk like that. Fuck.”

“Oh,” you laugh in fake realisation. “You like it a little too much, huh?”

He leans his head forward to rest on your chest, gasping when you lift your hips up to drop them back down. It’s all so slick, so easy. It’s like you’re made for each other, made to fit together like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

You can’t help but want to push him a little further. He’s always so quietly domineering, so seemingly in control, that you love when he allows himself to fray at the edges slightly. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t get you off.

“So you don’t want me to tell you how you’re filling me up just right? That you’re so big, that you feel so fucking good? That I could sit here for hours? That I’ve never had it like this with anyone?”

Carmy’s hips buck up involuntarily, and you chuckle a little cruelly.

“Baby, please.”

“Okay, Carmen. Okay.”

You press a sugary sweet kiss to his lips before settling your hands on his broad shoulders to give yourself some stability. You set a steady rhythm, winding your hips up and gliding them back down with a clear purpose. Your knees ache, and your hips are being held open a little too wide, but you feel delirious with it, high off the pleasure. It’s good. So good.

“Shit, honey. Fuck. S’good, yeah? So good. Keep going, don’t stop.”

You’ve always found his babbling amusing, but right now there’s nothing funny about the way the sound of his voice pushes you undeniably closer and closer to the edge. You never want him to stop talking.

Carmy moves one hand from your hip to between your legs, rubbing soft but intentional circles onto your clit. It sets your nerves alight, whole body buzzing with anticipation.

You keep your rhythm going, even as it’s getting harder and harder to concentrate. You can feel that Carmy’s close, that he’s sitting on a knife’s edge waiting for you. You realise, suddenly, that you want him to come before you. You want to undo him.

You move one hand to tangle in his hair, while the other settles at his throat. You don’t squeeze too hard, just enough to turn his moans into breathy little ah ah ahs.

“Baby, please. Fuck, so close. So good, honey. You’re so good.”

Your grip tightens in his curls, making him groan. Your hips get faster, and so do his fingers on your clit, the pressure more insistent now.

“Fuck, yeah, that’s it, don’t stop baby. Fuck, I love this. I love you. Keep going, so close. Atta girl.”

Your brain is too lost in your actions to register his words. Instead, you press your forehead to his, kissing him gently in contrast to the violent slam of your hips. This juxtaposition seems to be Carmy’s undoing, his grip on your hip tightening so much you hope it’ll bruise.

He emits the most gorgeous moan you’ve ever heard when he comes, which sends you straight over the edge. You tighten like a vice, whole body shuddering with it. Your climax seems to last forever, every single one of your nerves fried and frayed.

You both come down slowly, foreheads pressed together and lungs heaving. You’re panting into his mouth, smoothing out his hair where your fingers have ruffled it. Carmy’s arms wrap around your back, pulling you in so you’re chest to chest as he presses a kiss to your temple. You sit like this for a while, completely at peace in each other’s company.

Eventually, after what could have been hours but was probably minutes, you break the silence.

“So we should probably talk about the I love you, huh?”

@jazminsjaz @buendiabebeta @kingsqueensandvagabonds

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crescenthistory · 4 months ago

Note

May I request C6 with Regulus? I’m in some desperate need of Reggie comforting reader 😭😭😭

there are sosososo many different ways to interpret this prompt, and somehow i chose? perhaps the darkest one? so sorry, you are really going to need that comforting now... thanks for requesting lmao xx

Prompt: C.6 "I don't know, it just happened"

Words: 5.5k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, blood racism, internalised blood racism, hate crime/minor assault, emotional breakdown, mutual self-hatred, regulus has not left the black family, alluded black brothers drama, undecided side regulus, perhaps a bit cliche/romanticising, established relationship, your dad is dead (long ago, mentioned), heavy hurt/comfort, happy ending

Notes: lol i am not okay

It was a rare occurrence that Regulus Black felt light these days, in any meaning of the word.

His feet felt shackled as he trekked through the Hogwarts halls he felt were increasingly unwelcoming to him. His consciousness weighed him down like a thousand bricks as he knew he had to either take a stance against his parents or become complacent in a hope of survival. He knew he had to do the former; he had no idea how to stop himself from the latter. Trapped, cornered, cowardly – heavy.

Yet, when walking the final few metres to your dormitory that he knew housed your soft self now that you were done with tutoring first years, he felt undeservingly light. A sensation only you could inspire in him these days.

While conversations were growing tenser and tenser between you the more Regulus struggled with freeing himself from his family, your love for him had yet to falter. He knew he was only biding his time, but until then he could not help revelling in it, albeit guilt ridden.

He does not knock before entering, just carefully pushes the ajar door further open. You had told him off for knocking so primly every time – “you’re always welcome here, Reggie” – and he wanted nothing more than to please you.

“Amour?” he called out as he closed the door softly behind him, looking around the dorm for a trace of you, or at least one of your dorm mates.

None to be found.

He dropped his bookbag by the end of your bed, reaching up to scratch the back of his head as he looked around. Some of that heaviness began returning to his limbs at your absence, his hope of slipping away from the world with you for the next few hours dissolving.

Then, he heard the water running from the adjunct bathroom. A sigh of relief escaped him, though his body remained tense, and he made his way over. He could hear the water splashing from the sink and he carefully knocked on the door with one knuckle.

“Amour?” he tried again.

This time he technically got a response of sorts, though nowhere near the one he had been hoping for. All movement behind the door stilled. The water was still running in a steady stream, but whatever you had been doing with it, you had stopped. Regulus could almost picture you standing like a deer in headlights – his brows furrowed unhappily at the thought.

“Are you alright, love?”

Finally, your voice answered, but the fragility of it rattled him. “Oh, um, hi Reggie, I– I’m alright, be with you in a minute, yeah?”

You seemed distressed. Regulus did not care for it at all.

“Could I come in, amour?” He spoke to the door as if it was not there, as if he was looking you in the eyes, willing you to let him in.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you murmured, but he just barely caught it through the wood.

Regulus seemed to have met a divulge where he had to make a choice – a relatively minor one, but it felt important nonetheless.

A large, painful part of his mind was screaming at him to leave you alone. She doesn’t want you, she’s finally seen you for what you are. Scum staining the story of her life. It is this voice that rules most of his actions, the voice keeping him and Sirius apart, the voice tying him to something he does not feel comfortable with.

Then there is another, burning hot part that aches to reach for you. The part that knows you better than the first thinks he deserves, the part that can tell by the tone of your voice, by a jerk of your finger, exactly how you are feeling and, hopefully, what you need. This part is one Regulus takes a great deal of pride in, this part feels good. Though it scares him and the first part tries to quell it, he holds it near his heart.

And it is this part that opens his mouth and says, “Could I come in anyway?”

A minute. A hesitation. A sigh.

“Yes,” you whispered.

His hand is tentative as it grips the doorhandle to the bathroom, as if it has become a part of your body from him talking to it, deserving of that same care he attempts to show you. He twists it and pushes it open.

The bathroom is swept in darkness – a conscious choice on your part, seeing as you would have to magically blow out the candles that lined the walls. He could still see you, leaning against the counter with the sink, face turned slightly away from him.

“Hi, my love,” you greeted, trying to seem casual as if he had just walked into your dorm under usual circumstances. With your hand awkwardly angled so that he only saw the inside of your palm, you adjusted the faucet. “How was practise?”

Regulus ignored your small-talk, walking up to stand beside you, body angled fully towards you as you began scrubbing at your hands once more. With the light trickling in through the open door, he swore the water looked pinkish. His breath hitched, eyes flickering all over you and the room to make sense of whatever was happening.

“Amour, what’s wrong?” His voice was rawer than he was comfortable with.

“Oh, it’s nothing, really.” You were getting a hang of the bright and airy tone of voice you were going for, but it was too late for that. “Just a long day, you know? Do you want to go get the bed ready so we can relax?”

The voices were warring in Regulus’ head at the rejection of his presence, but once more the part he could only describe as lovesick took a step closer to you, so your bodies were just barely touching. “Y/N,” was all he said.

Your ministrations grew more desperate, scrubbing water up and down your hands and forearms, breath laboured. He lifted a hand to brush against your face – when you flinched, his heart broke.

She’s scared of you.

No, she’s just scared.

He let his hand ever so slowly land on the cheek furthest away from him, cradling your jaw with the kind of light touch reserved for baby birds and broken children. He found the skin there soft and wet, and he swore he could cut himself on the shards of his broken heart.

He guided your head to turn towards him, his grip loose so that you could stop him if you wanted. Once your face was opposite his, Regulus fought every instinct in his body that told him to study you, search your face for the spawn of your pain. Instead, he closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against yours. Giving you space, privacy even, giving you the moment you clearly needed – but sparing you from doing it alone

Your hands slowed down in their scrubbing, and with his free hand reaching out blindly, he turned off the faucet. Your breath stuttered where it spilled over his lips.

“Do you reckon you want to sit down? Talk about it?” Regulus whispered, eyes still closed.

He felt you nod against his skin, grabbing a hand towel as you walked backwards the few steps needed before you could sit down on the toilet lid. Regulus followed you, eyes opening and attempting to adjust to this darker corner of the bathroom. He sat down on his knees between your legs, painful tiles be damned, and looked up at you intently.

In front of him sat the light of his life, visibly sullied. Your face was red and he could make out the tear tracks and smudged mascara underneath your eyes. You clutched the towel, hands buried within it and out of sight.

“Amour,” he whispered dumbly, unsure of what else to say, as he carefully brought his hands up to wipe at your tears.

You mumbled his name and it almost sounded like a sob.

Your hands were writhing in your lap around the towel, and he reached down to take it and help you dry yourself when you jerked your hands closer to you, towel still in grasp. “No,” you whispered.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” you lied through your teeth. “I’ve just had a bad day and– and felt anxious. Couldn't help but cry over it. I don’t know, it just happened.”

Regulus gave you a sad smile, squeezing the still-wet skin on your forearms. “Uh-huh. And you felt like taking it out on your hands?”

A sob finally tore through your body properly and you brought your hands up – still in the towel – to cover your face. You leaned forward and cried into it, and Regulus immediately opened his arms to hold your shaking frame. Your towel and face were smushed into the crook of his neck and he drew big circles on your back with one hand, the other securely holding the back of your head.

He was broken, at a loss for words, trying to recall any and every memory he could find of witnessing others comforting, not trusting his own instincts. Through them all, out flashed a memory of Sirius humming to him when he had nightmares as a child, how the vibrations soothed through him until he could finally fall asleep again, in his big brother’s bed this time. Without any distinct melody or song in mind, Regulus began to hum as he swayed you just ever so slightly back and forth, hoping to bring you some semblance of safety.

Your gasps lessened until the bathroom was near-quiet again, but he did not stop his movements with you or the humming. Your heart blossomed from his efforts and broke at what you knew was to come.

You lowered your hands from your face, letting them fall into your lap with their towel. Your face was now in direct contact with the soft skin of his neck and you took the opportunity to press a soft kiss there.

“Can I please do something to help you?” he whispered into your hair.

“You are.”

He breathed in slowly. He is. “With your hands, I mean. Are you hurt?”

Tears slipped quietly down the expanse of Regulus’ neck, trailing down underneath his shirt. You tried to nuzzle deeper into him.

“I–” you stop, seemingly changing your mind. “I’m alright, I just need to… to remove magical ink from them and I can’t get it off.”

Regulus fought back the that’s all? that was creeping up his throat. He knows at least two spells that work for most permanent inks and can brew a potion for it within the hour if those don't work.

Your head squeezed against his shoulder as he nodded his head, still stroking your back. “No problem, beautiful, I can fix that.”

“No,” you whispered once more, seeming to shrink in his grasp. “I have to.”

He helped ease you out from his neck so that you were face to face once more, his hands coming up to brush over the sides of your arms. The look in your eyes was one he struggled to decipher, apart from the shine of anxiety.

“Why do you have to? Let me help you, amour.”

You took another shuddering breath, brazing yourself for impact. “You can’t see,” you whispered finally, fighting the quiver of your lips.

“I… I don’t understand.”

“You can’t see them, Reg, I’m sorry.”

“Did someone do something to you?” It was the only explanation he could conjure up for why any permanent ink would make you this distraught – and why you would hide from him like this.

You searched his face carefully, faintly nodding in a way that made him think it was a response to your own thoughts and not his question. Like you decided on something.

“Someone wrote something. I just want it gone.”

Regulus’ stomach churned. He regretted the harsh tone of his voice as he demanded, “Who?”

“It’s not important.”

“It is to me. Please. Who?”

You pulled your bottom lip in between your teeth, gnawing at it as you realised he would find out. Someone would tell him, even if you refused to show him. He would know. You tasted blood in your mouth.

With his eyes adjusted to the dark, Regulus saw the faint red on your lips as well and immediately reached out to gently pull your lip free from its torment. His fingertips lingered on your lips until he replaced them with his own with a short, tentative kiss. If you were to have blood in your mouth, he would too.

Lips still against yours he whispered again, more pleadingly this time, “Who?”

You let your walls crumble. This sweet, caring boy was in your grasp for now and you could not help but let him care while he still wanted to. “Mulciber,” you whispered back.

Regulus pulled back enough to meet your gaze, confusion filling his. “Why Mulciber? What would he have to write on you?”

Up until now he had half-thought that some of your first year tutees had pranked you in some ungraceful manner. He was certain he had never seen you and Mulciber even talk before, let alone have an altercation that could involve magical ink. He was one of the more brutal Slytherins, but he had never had any reason to talk to you, and he knew that you were someone Regulus cared for. What he had hoped would let him in on your pain only confused him further away from any answer.

“Regulus, please,” you begged, ignorant to his confusion. Tears were once more filling your eyes and he wished for nothing but to stop them.

“Okay, okay,” he whispered, hoping to convince your tears to stay where they are. “You– you don’t have to explain it, love. I can just remove it for you.”

“Could you teach me instead?” Your lip was back between your teeth, lightening in colour underneath the force it was exerted to.

“I’m afraid you wouldn’t be able to remove something from your hands yourself, you need them for the spell.” Regulus hoped his gaze seemed sympathetic.

You squeezed your eyes shut, moving your head slightly to your side. Regulus recognised your breathing pattern to follow a technique you had taught him to calm down the first time he had a panic attack around you. Afterwards, you didn't mention it, only giving him space to talk about what he was comfortable with, comfort at the ready.

His own breath was bated as he watched you make your decision. A definite tear slid down the cheek closest to him, in a hauntingly cinematic manner. At last, your eyes slowly fluttered open and you looked back into his eyes with the most devastating expression. Slipping a hand slowly out from your towel – out of Regulus’ line of sight – you brought it up to his cheek to bring his face closer to yours.

The kiss was searing, filled with a love and devotion he was not prepared for in a situation like this. He was enveloped by the smell of you, and though you still tasted of copper, your lips were painfully soft and he let himself fall deeper into you. When you pulled away, you pressed a lingering kiss to the side of his mouth.

“I love you,” you whispered. Regulus hated how it sounded like you were saying goodbye.

His brows were furrowed as he looked at you, and he hoped it looked like confusion and nothing more sinister. “I love you too, amour. You know.”

“I’ll let you remove it, if you want.”

“Please.”

Your gaze fell to your lap and remained there as you let both hands out of the towel, placing them palm-down on your thighs. Regulus had begun reaching for his wand in a holster on his belt, ready to rid you of the source of your discontent, but he was frozen still when his own eyes finally took in your hands and the two bold, dark words written on each one.

MUD on the left. BLOOD on the right.

Mudblood.

Regulus’ blood had run cold in his veins and he found himself having to adopt your breathing technique. His vision blurred as the two words seemed to grow larger, which seemed impossible considering they were written to take up as much space as possible. The handwriting was shaky, as if there had been a struggle when they were written. There were some light bruises already forming around your wrists and upper arms that further proved his fear. Mudblood. With red streaks over both works, likely from how hard you had been trying to wash them, all but scraping them off. Mudblood. The word was choking him. His hand that had remained still midair by his belt began to tremble.

He was knocked out of his trance as he saw a single tear splatter across the lettering on your right hand.

Regulus moved his gaze back up to yours to find it was still trained on your hands, eyes glossy and unseeing.

“I–” he tried, but his voice broke off. “I don't understand. Y/N, I don’t understand.”

You seemed to flinch a little at the sound of your name, but other than that you made no sign that you heard him.

“Amour,” he rectified. “Why would… what is this?”

You moved your right hand over your left, starting to scratch at the word scribbled there, nails digging deep. Regulus’ hands flew up to stop your ministrations at the sight of the worsening redness, but your whole body physically flinched away from him in a way he was sure must hurt.

Regulus was lost.

“I don’t understand. Why would Mulciber write that? You’re not a–” He cut himself off, scared of what word would slip off his tongue. “You’re not muggleborn.”

Finally, you looked up and met his eyes. Your fearful, heartbroken expression seemed to soften at the sight of him and you gave him the saddest smile that did not reach your eyes. “I’m sorry,” was all you could whisper.

Realisation dawned on him.

“Your father…?”

His half-blood best friend turned lover, who he already had not dared tell his parents about, living with her muggle mother after her wizard father passed away. It was a convenient story in times of tension and division. Death is an easy excuse, hard to verify.

Although, clearly, someone had now, and the truth had come out.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered once more through a sob. Your shoulders were hunched and knees drawn close to your body. You looked like you wanted to disappear.

It took him a greater amount of strength than he was proud of to push the shock and confusion from the forefront of his mind and pull back up the memories of how to comfort. To focus on those and not the million of questions running through his head.

What does this mean? Why didn't you tell him? Have you been hiding from everyone, or just him? How have you been carrying something so scary and he was none the wiser? Is there an award for shittest boyfriend at Hogwarts that he can be looking forward to?

Regulus reached out for you and pulled you slowly into another hug, arms circling securely around your back. Your body stilled in his grasp, apart from the small heaves for air in between your sobs.

“What are you doing?” Your whisper was muffled into his shirt. Your frail voice and tense limbs cut him deeper than any spell could.

“I'm comforting you, sweet girl,” he mumbled into your hair. “Or at least trying to.”

“Why?” you asked miserably.

Regulus pulled back just far enough to see your face, making sure his arms were still holding you with love, drawing patterns across your back.

"Because I love you," he whispered intently. His eyes tried his hardest to lock on yours, but you still would not meet his gaze. "Because there is nothing to be sorry for."

Your expression grew incredulous, bordering on angry – if it was with him, yourself or the world he was uncertain. "I've lied to you. I've deceived you into a relationship you wouldn’t have agreed to had you known, I– I’ve put you in an impossible position–” You had to cut yourself off as another sob tore through your body. “I’m so sorry.”

Regulus shuffled impossibly closer to you and brought his hands up to cup your cheeks, thumbs stroking slowly across your cheekbones. He felt his own eyes fill with tears at the sight in front of him, anxiety rising at his chest as he struggled to find the words he knew the situation called for.

This was all unknown territory for Regulus. The two of you had had as few conversations about blood status as possible, both weary about the growing tension at school and in the wider wizarding society. You had held him the one time he dared cry in front of you over a particularly harsh letter from his mother. You had whispered sweet nothings about you're not them and I will always love you, but he thought they were just that – nothings. In turn, you had mentioned your parents and cried over your father a handful of times, but never divulged too much. He had weaved his way through comments from other pureblood students at school regarding his relationship with a half-blood, but most pureblood families have lapses with a half-blood here or there that he could usually throw back in their faces to silence them. No one dared push it further than that. When Andromeda left the family for Ted, he almost had to confront it all, confront what he now knew to be lies that had been spewed to him all his life, but even then, he managed to avoid it as he instead received the beating of his life for not alerting the family about the signs he must have seen at school. He let himself simmer with that pain instead of looking inwards, instead of seeking help. He figured he didn’t have to, not just yet.

That time had evidently passed, as he now held a sobbing and defiled sun in his hands.

No, this was uncharted territory for him entirely – but he could not afford to let it stay like that.

“My love, Y/N,” he said with a surprisingly steady voice, never letting his gaze stray from you. “Please, please listen to me. Please hear me. You are everything; it is you, you are everything. You could be muggleborn, muggle, werewolf, siren or fae. It would not change anything.”

Your eyes met his, red rimmed and glossy, confused and bewildered. This time it was your turn to whisper, “I don’t understand.”

“It is difficult–” Regulus’ voice broke as the first few tears slipped down his face. “It is all so difficult right now, I feel lost and… scared and I don’t know what to do.” The words almost clogged in his throat, like barbed wire to admit, but he knew he had to. “I should have told you all of that already, I should have shared with you so you could feel safe to share with me. I haven’t known what to do, how to do it. The one thing I do know is that I love you and I need you to be safe and I need you to be here with me. I have not been deceived, for I would always choose you.”

Your eyes were wide, but you were not crying at the moment, gaze flitting all across his face, as if to ensure he wasn’t lying, hanging onto his every word. It was the motivation he needed to continue.

“You are not allowed to be sorry, amour, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” A small sob escaped him and his heart flipped when your right hand came forth to just barely touch his shoulder. “I should have been here for you, you shouldn’t have to hide. You should never have had to question my love for you, my loyalty. It will always lay with you, I swear it. Gods–” a heaved breath “– I’m terrible at this, you know I’m terrible, but I’ve been trying so hard for you and I will continue to. Just please let me. Let me and I will try.”

“Regulus…” you whispered, hand creeping from the brush against his shoulder to settle on the side of his neck.

He looked at you, ready to take any reaction you would give him, to tell him off for his horrible apology, for making things about him, for not being enough. Your mouth opened and closed as if you couldn’t settle on the words. Instead you let out a small breath and pulled him back into you in a tight embrace.

It took him not even a second to hold you in return with passion, hands appraising as they swept up into your hair and around your waist.

“Do you mean it?” you whimpered into him and he let his forehead fall to your shoulder as he cried.

“Of course, I mean it. Of course, of course.” He kept muttering it into you as he held you tighter and tighter.

His body was filled with an entirely new set of fear. A warm one that spread through his blood at the thought of what you had to face. Mulciber already knew and had taken action on that knowledge seemingly without hesitation. Regulus had heard what was being said amongst the Sacred 28, he knew to what degrees the hatred was building. His entire body was built on fear as he held what he now realised could be disturbingly fragile.

That is, until you whimpered another question into his hold and his body ached with a love so deep he had never thought it possible.

“Do you still love me?”

He had already said so, but he would happily say it again, over and over, damning himself for allowing you to wonder. “Yes, amour, always. Always.”

Regulus took your face in one of his hands again, cradling you as he brought his forehead back to yours. Angling his face forward, he pressed what he hoped was a sweet kiss to your lips. It was wet, metallic and everything he needed.

“I’m sorry for lying,” you whispered. He shook his head against yours.

“No, I’m sorry for stalling.”

A beat of silence. “Stalling what?” He thought you knew, but he tried to have no qualms about being explicit about it.

“Leaving.” He said it simply, hoping it would will it to be.

This time it was your turn to shake your head. “Can you leave, though? Safely? They’re becoming more and more fanatical, Reg, what if they hurt you? I’ve seen the letters.”

The fact that you have experienced what can only be classified as a hate crime, yet you have the goodness in your heart to worry about him in this way only makes him more certain of his choice.

“I have to, my love. I have to. It’s time.” He took a deep breath. “I will… I will ask Sirius for help.”

You looked into his eyes, vision blurry from your proximity. “I’m scared for you, but I’m so proud of you at the same time.”

“The feeling is entirely mutual.” Regulus tried to huff out a small laugh, but it just came out teary. “Will you please come with me?”

“To Sirius?”

“Yes.”

“Of course.”

His hand on your squeeze pressed further into you, reverent. “We can ask for help for us both. They practically wanted Ted dead when they disowned Andromeda, and she was not even the sole heir. I’m so sorry for putting you in that situation, I–”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you assured, voice more stable and beautifully soft. “You are everything to me too, you know.”

“I’m scared,” Regulus whimpered. It’s the first time he can remember saying that out loud to someone since he was 6.

“I’m scared, too. But less so, now that I know I still have you. I couldn’t handle losing you, Reg.” Your eyes teared up again and he leaned up to kiss the corners of your eyes sweetly, collecting the tears before they had a chance to spill.

“You have me, you have me,” he whispered almost feverishly against your skin. “And I’ve got you.”

You sighed, the closest to contently you think you can get at this moment. “Will you please help me?” you whispered as you looked down at your hands.

Regulus shook himself out of his mini spiral, shook off that first voice in his head that reared its head once more and over and over, shook off anything that was not you. He mumbled an of course against your cheek before he kissed it, taking your hands in one of his.

Unsheathing his wand he never managed to retrieve the first time around, he took one last look at the ugly markings on your hands – the hate was precisely that, ugly, and it had no place on your skin. Starting with the left – MUD – he tried the first spell he knew, and it did nothing. The bile rose in his throat as he went to try the next, fearing the worst, but by the grace of a nonexistent god, the letters finally melted away. He repeated the process on the other one.

You tried to pull your hands out of his grasp at that, but his hold tightened. He healed the viscous red streaks and peeling skin from where you had scratched at them, a cold sensation soothing over your skin as he moved his wand. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes at the gentleness, but you found yourself beginning to become completely dehydrated.

Regulus brought your hands up to his lips while he put his wand away to grasp at them with both hands. He kissed the spots he had just cleared up. Long, lingering kisses in the middle of your hand, followed by soft butterfly kisses all over it. His fingers intertwined with yours, squeezing tightly, giving the flesh new sensations to remember instead.

“You’re so good to me,” you whispered, almost like a revelation. You had loved him and you had trusted him, you had just not trusted that it would be forever, that it would be more than any loyalty to his family. You were ashamed at the thought now, as you looked at the boy on his knees in front of you, crying from loving you, kissing away your pain. It filled you with something you had not believed this day would hold for you – hope.

“I’m not,” he whispered, letting your hands settle together in your lap. “But I hope to be. I want to be. I will be.”

You smiled wetly at him and leaned forward to kiss him once more. Originally intended as a peck, the kiss grew deeper, a slow passion as you held his lips between yours, feeling the love seep through the thin skin. He continued pressing kisses all over your face, much like your hands. Any teary or red skin had his lips faintly brushing over it, taking his time to dote on you. You let your breath calm down in the meantime, panic and tension slipping away from you to be replaced by a deep exhaustion as you leaned into him.

He noticed – he had to notice, swore he always would from now on.

“Are you ready to lay down in bed, amour. Face the light?” He smiled sheepishly at the poor attempt at a joke. You seemed surprised as you looked around, almost like you had forgotten you were in a shadowy dorm bathroom.

“Only if you will lay with me.” Your tone was nearing teasing, though not quite there. He was determined to achieve it within the hour.

“I promise,” he whispered, kissing you one last time before helping you up.

And he would go on to help you to bed and hold you tight for as long as you would let him. He would listen to you cry and laugh and worry without a second thought. He would take you with him to ask Sirius for help on escaping and keeping you safe and he would devote himself to being better. He would do anything for you – because you were, after all, everything.

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space-cowgirllll · 6 months ago

Text

Tolerate It

pls enjoy this kinda angsty little thing I wrote a couple of months ago when I was really going through it in a relationship and have been too shy to post anywhere until today. I miiiiight have the second part to this halfway done. If this sucks I'm so sorry lmao it’s very lightly proofread and I have not written anything that hasn't had to be turned in for a grade in years.

Part Two

You sit alone at the table wondering how you ended up here. The dinner you'd spent the better part of the evening preparing grows cold as you sip on what has to be your third glass of wine. From your spot you can see Abby standing at the counter, speaking softly into the phone while she reads through the mail that had piled up over the last week. You pick at your food, hoping she'll join you eventually, but when fifteen minutes turns into twenty and then thirty five, you realize you're wasting your time. The laughter from the other room tells you the work part of the call ended long ago. Pushing your chair back, not caring when the loud noise earns you a glare from Abby, you gather your plate and blow out the candles at the center of the table.

Abby moves to sit on the loveseat in the living room after her call. It doesn't take long for her to get lost in the new book she had just brought home. Your eyes shift to the untouched plate of food still waiting for her in the dining room and then to the apple in her hand. The sound of your throat clearing catches her attention.

"Your plate is still at the table if you want it, babe." You gesture to the lone plate at her usual spot.

There's a pang in your chest at the sight of the floral arrangement you'd chosen for the week. Behind that, strong wind pelts rain at the window. The gloomy weather a perfect representation of the storm brewing inside you.

"I thought I told you I had an early dinner with a couple of colleagues."

"Oh."

It comes out as a whisper. Not bothering to tell her she hadn't called you back after her lunch break. Again. You make a mental note to put the plate away before bed, knowing she'll pack it for tomorrow.

Your arms are elbow deep in soapy water, trying to rush through the last couple of dishes before she retreats to her study. The clanking of pots and pans fills the quiet space. You scrub at a particularly stubborn spot, trying to think of a way to bring it up without sounding too obvious.

"How was work today?"

"Fine." Your wife replies, not elaborating further.

"It's the twenty first, right?" There's some hesitation in the question.

"Yup."

Okay.

She doesn't look up from her book when you shuffle past her a little while later, placing a steaming mug on the coffee table. Her hand caresses the soft skin of your thigh and you perk up when she mumbles a soft thanks, placing a quick kiss on her temple. The sleeping cat on her lap stirs when you give him a gentle scratch behind the ear.

You settle into the sofa across from her and watch her read. She's in the cotton pajamas and fuzzy socks you'd laid out in the closet for her. It makes you feel ridiculously overdressed. Your hands fist the skirt of your dress, feeling foolish. There's a dark spot on the satin material from leaning over the wet counter.

The record player in the far corner of the room catches your attention. You miss the nights where she'd play you one of her favorites and dance with you around the living room before letting you sit on her lap as she read out loud to you. You never thought you would miss those boring medical journals. These days you're lucky if you get more than an hour with her before she locks herself in her study.

It hadn't always been like this. The two of you have been together longer than you've been apart. Visions of eleven year old Abby teaching you how to braid her hair for soccer practice flash in your head. Crawling into her bed in the middle of the night after another nasty fight between your parents. Summer vacations to her family's lake house. Her and her parents at every dance recital and play you'd ever been part of in high school. Realizing at sixteen that your feelings for the girl weren't so platonic. Then moving into the spare bedroom down the hall from her a year later after coming out to your family. Prom dress shopping with her and her mother, sneaking kisses in the tiny fitting rooms. The Anderson's were the family you never had.

Navigating young adulthood with Abby had been fun. You'd rented a tiny apartment in Seattle and paid way too much for it while attending university. It wasn't much, but it was home. You remember the dance parties in the tiny living room. The time the blonde begged you to let her keep the tiny cat she'd found in an alley on the way home one random afternoon. Going on dates and exploring the city. Staying up late and fantasizing about what life would look like in ten years. The look on her face as her thumb rubbed small circles on the exposed skin of your belly after you'd shown her your list of baby names. Getting married just after graduation.

Abby had never been too busy to show you how much she loved you, no matter how busy she got with school. Packing your meals for work, making sure your car had enough gas in it, organizing stay at home date nights whenever your schedules aligned. And you doing the same for her when she was up to her eyebrows in work for school.

The notes were your favorite. They had started appearing randomly after you'd been unexpectedly laid off. You'd been moping around the house for weeks, losing hope after not hearing back from any of the companies you'd applied to. Always in your favorite color, the purple post it notes could be found stuck to the wherever you'd see them first thing in the morning. The silly declarations of love and the affirmations always made you smile.

Those days were long gone. You were slowly going from high school sweethearts to two people who simply co-existed. No matter what you did or how hard you tried, it was getting harder to deny the lack of warmth in her eyes when she looked at you sometimes. Today proved what you had been too afraid to admit to yourself. The only person who had ever felt like home has slowly started becoming a stranger that slipped into your bed later and later each night.

Your eyes start stinging and you bite down on your lower lip. There's no way you're breaking down in front of her, not tonight. The warmth radiating from the fireplace does little to keep away the chill running through your body. Shaky hands bring the mug to your lips, hoping some tea would calm the nausea swirling in your stomach. You're not surprised to find yourself unable to keep drinking after a few tiny sips. Abby's favorite mug grows cold on the coffee table and you're positive she doesn't even remember it's there.

The sound of her phone ringing startles you both. Abby snatches the phone off the counter, a tired sigh leaves her parted lips when she sees who's calling. She jogs up the steps, intently listening to whoever is on the other end of the phone. You pick at the chipping nail polish on your left hand, watching the way your engagement ring glints in the dim light of the fire. Your stomach dips as you slip the stack off your finger, placing them in the small bowl on the coffee table.

"Are you going somewhere?" Your head shoots up to where she's standing in the threshold. The sight of her in a fresh pair of navy blue scrubs doesn't surprise you. Her loose bun traded for a tight braid that hangs over her shoulder.

"No. Why would I be?"

She gestures at your dress. Eyes roaming over your face, finally noticing the makeup you'd carefully applied hours before. You see her lock in on your empty hand, her sculpted brows furrow in confusion. Please say something. You beg, just wanting to understand why this is happening. Was she so busy she couldn't even bother to ask what's wrong? Did she even care anymore?

The constant buzzing of the phone in her tote bag answers your question for you. She shakes her head and turns to the door, stopping to slip her feet into her sneakers. You follow silently behind her, wondering if you should say something.

"Abigail?"

She hums in acknowledgment, not bothering to look up from her phone. Her fingers move at lightning speed across the touchscreen. Your nails dig into the palm of your hand, fighting the urge to snatch her phone and chuck it against the wall.

"What?" She asks again when you don't speak up. The look of annoyance on her face has you taking a step back.

"Nevermind," you turn towards the coat closet, pulling out her winter jacket. "It doesn't matter." You don't have to look back to know she's rolling her eyes.

"I should be back before you leave for work." You busy yourself with the already organized closet, pretending to move things around while she gathers the rest of her things.

"Be careful." You mumble, blinking rapidly to stop the tears from flowing. Not trusting yourself to say much more without your throat closing.

"Always am." She plants a kiss on the back of your head and heads out the door. It's only when you hear the sound of her car pulling away that you let yourself cry. No longer caring about the mascara that is certainly smearing.

Unsteady legs carry to the foot of the stairs where you collapse into a pathetic heap. Tears freely flowing down your cheeks, further staining the material of your dress. Your hands harshly pull at the fabric, wanting nothing more than to rip it off. The pins in your hair clatter loudly on the floor as you harshly pull them out.

Your sobs echo throughout the empty house. Pain radiates through your body, from somewhere in your chest to the tips of your fingers. The nausea has increased tenfold. You inhale sharply, resting your head on your knees. Watery eyes fixed on the front door your wife had just walked out of, this gut wrenching feeling of loneliness overwhelms you.

"Happy anniversary Abby."

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson #abby tlou #abby the last of us #abby x you #abby anderson angst #abby anderson x female reader

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mypoisonedvine · 1 year ago

Note

"I think we're on a first name basis by now." with tommy shelby

kinda went crazy with this one idk what happened lmao

warnings: dubcon smut (18+ only), dark!tommy, innocent/virgin reader, very rough sex, implied age gap, possessiveness, dom/sub dynamics, touch of misogyny kink, degradation, a little spanking

100 random prompts - send me a number and a character!

You only waited tables a few nights a week, just to make ends meet. You spent more time in the kitchen, actually, than you did in the part of the pub where the rowdy men would gather and drink and start trouble.

So, it was probably just your luck that whenever you were out there among them, Thomas Shelby was, too.

His eyes were always on you-- or it felt like that, sometimes. You looked at him, too: you couldn't help it, after all you'd heard. You couldn't really believe those things were true, that he was really that dangerous... he had kind eyes, you thought, and a nice smile. He looked strong, you couldn't deny that, nor could you deny the strange feelings you felt when his eyes drifted over your body while you wiped down tables and chairs. Your thighs seemed to press together each time he did that...

You almost hoped he wouldn't come tonight. As much as you had a growing interest in him, you always had this guilty feeling inside you after you got home on the nights you saw him. Maybe because, on some level, you knew what it was you felt when he looked at you.

No, he wasn't there when you arrived to the pub-- and you sighed with relief-- but your boss appeared rather suddenly when you stepped inside.

"Need you to go to the back room tonight," he told you firmly.

"Huh? Why?" you wondered.

"Just wait back there," he said simply, giving you no explanation, before walking away to deal with something else. Unsure what he could mean but not wanting to question it further, you went back through the kitchen to the back room of the pub.

It was small, and dark-- you flipped on the lamp, but it wasn't much to look at. A small couch, and a chair and desk, with various papers and letters strewn about. This was where the owner kept track of his records, managed shipments and costs-- probably where he kept track of your hours and compensation as well. You rocked back on your heels for a second before deciding to sit in the chair as you waited.

You couldn't say how long it was, probably only a few minutes, before the door opened and you stood up instinctively; you eyes widened when you saw who was stepping in with you.

"Oh, Mr. Shelby," you greeted nervously, "er-- what are you doing here?"

"I called ahead," he explained simply, shutting the door behind himself, "I told the owner that I wanted to see you."

You chewed your lip nervously. "Oh?"

"Yes," he nodded, approaching you but staying a healthy distance-- for now.

"Well... you can see me almost any night," you noticed.

"But I wanted to see you alone," he clarified.

"Does the boss mind? He must be working all the tables by himself," you wondered aloud.

"He'll be just fine," Tommy assured, "he's being compensated for his time."

Your stomach turned a bit when you realized Tommy had paid your boss to keep you back here for him. You knew then what he wanted, but you were still in denial about what was going to happen here.

He stepped up to you, almost too close, but you didn't have the bravery to take a step back.

He kissed you. It was far too sudden, far too forward-- but his hand slipped around the back of your neck and you felt entirely trapped. You did your best to kiss him back, but you weren't entirely sure how to do it well; you got the sense that things wouldn't turn out well for you if you disappointed him somehow. As he kissed you harder, his tongue slipping into your mouth, you whimpered and pushed him back by his shoulders.

It was an automatic response, but your heart pounded with nervousness as you looked up at him for his reaction: but he seemed oddly calm, not offended by your hesitance. "I-I'm sorry," you mumbled, "you just surprised me..."

"Didn't you want me to kiss you?" he asked.

And, well, that was sort of a complicated question. You had to admit, you'd imagined it before. But something about this felt wrong, even if you found yourself craving more. You'd never felt a heat between your legs quite like this one...

"You thought about more than that, didn't you?" he presumed with a raised brow, and you bit your lip and looked away.

"E-erm, well, I--" you stammered, but that was apparently answer enough for him.

He laughed a little, moving in even closer to you. "You're such a sweet girl," he cooed gently, running his hand along your waist as you shivered. "And pretty, too-- I know all the boys are lookin' at you. But you don't look at the boys, do you?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but failed completely when his fingers nimbly began to untie your apron.

"You just look at me," he continued, his voice getting a bit deeper as he finished.

"M-Mr. Shelby, I--" you started to weakly protest.

"I think we're on a first name basis by now," he said through a smirk.

"Tommy..." you mumbled shakily. "I've... I've never, erm, known a man before..."

He smiled even wider, the sharpness of his teeth seeming predatory. "Would you like to?" he asked, making your throat a little dry.

"W-well, I always thought I'd... I'd wait until I was married."

"Not all of us have that sort of patience," he explained, suddenly pulling your body flush against his and latching his lips onto your neck. You shuddered and whined, wrapping your arms around his neck since you weren't sure what else to do with them; whenever his tongue danced along your pulse, it sent a shock through your whole body and you whimpered with need.

You barely noticed he was guiding you back, not until he broke away and tossed you down onto the sofa suddenly, making you gasp.

You thought he would lay down on top of you, set himself between your legs-- but instead he roughly turned you around, shoving your face down into the old sofa at the same time that his other hand forced your hips up towards his.

You hadn't even had a chance to think-- he was already shoving your skirts up, yanking your undergarments out of the way, leaving you bare to the drafty air of the room. "T-Tommy, wait," you mumbled weakly, but he either didn't hear you or didn't care. He only growled lowly as he examined you; you both knew, then, how wet you'd become.

"Fuckin' dripping," he observed, seemingly to himself, though you heard him loud and clear as you shut your eyes tight.

He let go of your hips a second later and you heard him taking off his suspenders, but you couldn't look back at him with that other hand still tangled in your hair.

You heard him pushing his trousers down; you heard him spit into his hand and rub it over himself. You still couldn't quite process that this was all happening to you. What happened to that kind-looking man in the pub who would make your heart flutter by brushing his hand over yours? He didn't seem to have that sense of discretion now...

You gasped just from him pressing the tip up to your opening-- you couldn't even describe how you reacted when he actually shoved it in. (Yes, it took a real shove, because you were anything but prepared to take something inside you, let alone something like that.)

"O-oh, no-- oh, it hurts," you whimpered, wincing at the burning sting, holding on tighter to the cushion under you. "Tommy! Y-you're hurting me!"

"Shh, shh," he soothed sharply, groaning as he went deeper inside you, holding on tight to your waist again-- conveniently keeping your back from arching up the wrong way.

You let out a shuddering sigh and tried to relax when he slowed down. "I-is it done?" you asked nervously.

He laughed darkly. "No, sweetie, it's not even halfway in you."

He went a bit deeper again and you choked on a sob. "P-please, don't put in anymore," you begged.

"It only hurts at first," he assured, "then it feels good. It's what it's made for, love. What'd you think was supposed to go up there?"

He was joking, but it still made you feel dumb and shy, and your face heated up even more.

"I'll put the rest in now-- no cryin' this time, be good," he warned. Sliding deeper with one long stroke, until the tip of him reached so deep your stomach started to hurt, he let out a long sigh of satisfaction. "Fuck, nice and warm."

You were thankful he didn't start to move right away, because you were breathing heavy and fast like it was the greatest physical challenge of your life... it probably was, honestly. How could anything like that fit inside you? It felt like he was creating something entirely new inside you-- he certainly made you feel things you'd never felt before.

He started to move, slow and methodical at first, sighing as he savored the feeling of you. You shivered, toes curling in your shoes, trying to stay still and not tense up inside. It was hard to relax, though, in a situation like this... with a man like him.

Each thrust was a little faster than the last; he never quite set a reliable pace, just getting used to the feeling of you.

"So fuckin' tight," he praised deeply, digging his fingers harder into your skin. "The way this cunt grips me... she never wants me to leave, I bet."

He guided you to stay partially upright again, and you put your arms out under yourself to try to stay on your hands and knees. His fingers traced up your back through the dress, before holding onto your shoulder for leverage as he began to really fuck you. Hard. Still slow, but it seemed like he was only going that slow so he could put all his energy into each deep thrust.

You yelped with every slam forward, legs shaking constantly, the sound of his skin hitting yours making you feel a bit... filthy. All of this felt filthy. You felt cheap and disgusting and used. So why in God's name was it beginning to feel good?

He noticed the change right away; he couldn't have felt the difference that you did, the way the sharp pain melted into a pleasant, numbing stretch-- but he could hear it, your moans getting deeper and more confident and needier.

"See? Fuck, knew you were just a little whore," he growled in your ear as he leaned down over you, making you shut your eyes and moan lowly. "Knew you were a cockhungry little cunt like the rest of 'em. You can act innocent all you want, sweetie, but you wanted me to ruin you so badly..."

He was fucking you faster, a little more eagerly, trying to see how hard he could push you. You dropped your head limply but he put a hand on your forehead and pulled it back up, keeping you against his shoulder as he fucked you senseless.

"It's so fuckin' deep in you now, love," he growled. "Can't believe you made it this long without somebody breakin' in this cunt. And now it's mine, huh? Property of Tommy fuckin' Shelby."

You whined, losing the last bit of strength in your arms as your face fell down into the sofa's cushions again. He didn't seem to mind this time, taking a hold of your hips and staying upright as he set a brutal place of slamming thrusts into you. You cried some, but you weren't sure if it was from the pain or pleasure or shame or joy of it all.

"Nobody else s'gonna ever touch you," he promised roughly, delivering a harsh smack to your ass for no good reason except to make you jump. "Nobody else will ever get inside this pretty cunt but me."

You whined, but the way you clenched around him gave away how you really felt about the idea.

"You want me to own you, huh?" he noticed with a dark laugh. "You want to belong to me. Be my little whore, my dumb fucktoy--"

"Oh, Tommy," you whimpered, not sure if you loved or hated him talking like that. It made you feel a little awful, but you were so wet that it was running down your thighs now...

"You'll let me come and fuck you whenever I like," he decided-- or maybe he was explaining it all to you, the new rules of your life as his belonging. "You'll give me whatever I want. And you'll fuckin' thank me when I'm done."

You whined loudly.

"Yes?"

You tried to nod, but he grabbed your hair.

"Say it, whore," he demanded.

"Yes! Yes," you sobbed, "I'll be yours, Tommy."

"Good," he purred. "Hold on tighter to the cushion now, love-- I'm not gonna be gentle with ya anymore."

You hadn't realized that everything up until now was what he considered gentle... and your heart twisted with a sickly pleasurable fear of what was in store for you from now on.

#tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby smut #thomas shelby smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut

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strawbeelemonade · 2 years ago

Text

ROMANTIC IMAGINE: Miguel O'hara visits you when you call in sick

i know how to write things other then headcannons i swear. theyre just so EASY. you can request actual fics lmao. promise! This was intended as romantic btw, but you can interperate this however you want!

WARNING: descripion of wounds/blood, description of burns, overprotectiveness,

Miguel lands on your balcony with a heavy thump, his landing was a little awkward from trying to swing with only one hand, but he managed well enough. The Tupperware in his hand looked a little worse for wear, though.

Almost every fibre of him wanted to turn around and forget about this, but he knew he couldn’t bring himself to, he needed to know you were ok.

You had called off sick from work yesterday, and you didn't show up today either. In all the time you were working at Alchemex you’ve never done that before. The secretary had told him you sounded like you were in a lot of pain over the phone, so it was obvious you were unwell in some way or another. He’s been worried ever since.

This felt stupid. Over dramatic, even. But he’d gone to his brother for advice, and this is what he had given him: Their moms classic Pozole recipe, The same recipe him and his brother ate while growing up. Obviously Miguel protested, adamantly. he hadn’t cooked for anyone in a very long time. He wasn’t even sure if he’d still be able to… His brothers response?

“Do you want my help or not?”

So Miguel scrounged around the kitchen for what he needed. He squinted to read his mothers old chicken scratch from all those years ago. He put in the work, as uncomfortable as he felt, And He packaged it and come all the way here.

And now he didn’t know how to go forward.

He had never felt more out of his element in his life. As he Stood outside your window with the soup in his freakish claws he realised he didn’t know where to go from there. He hadn’t thought further than this point. What would he say when he gave it to you? What would he even do after that?

He had to awkwardly shimmy through the window with the Tupperware in one hand, almost stepping on a cable stretching across the floor. “Fuck—“

the hinges creaking offensively as he pushed down your open window and he cursed, shutting it as delicately as possible. When he heard your voice ring out from behind him he tensed.

“Uh, Hey Miguel!” You call from the bathroom. He breathed out the puff of air he was holding in. No turning back now.

“…Hey,” he called, not knowing where to begin. “…I brought you a little something.”

He makes his way to where he heard your voice coming from, and pauses briefly by your kitchen counter. He looks down at the soup in his hands.

…He could just leave it here, that would be less humiliating for everyone, wouldn’t it? He knew you were ok, now. He heard your voice, so you were alive. He did what he came here to do. He could turn around right now and escape while you were still in the bathroom.

But something stops him. A little smell wafted by his nose briefly. It was brief. It was faint. But it was there and it made him pause.

So he sits the soup on the counter quietly, but he doesn’t turn around. He walks further down the hall and takes a deep breathe. The smell is clearer now. Miguel gets a bad feeling.

He picks up the pace and pulls off his mask to get a better whiff, and suddenly he’s hit with the all too familiar stifling stench of blood.

No.

NO!

“Y/n!” He runs up to your bathroom door and starts rattling the handle, but the door is locked. He pauses when he hears your voice on the other side, clearer and more effective at preventing him from tearing the door off its hinges—.

“D-Don’t come in!” You yell. “I’m... ngh- I’m a bit busy in here!”

“Y/n, what do I smell?!” He doesn’t need you to tell him, He already knows the answer. It’s pungency rings clear from his side of the door. The tanginess was so prominent that even someone with normal senses could pick up on it.

“N-nothing!” You stutter. You always stutter when you’re nervous. And when you're lying.

“Are you bleeding? Where’s it coming from? Open up!” He starts banging on the door again, his fist unintentionally rattling the frame.

“You don’t smell anything- stop that!” You snapped, annoyance ringing clear. But there was a certain strain to your voice, a painful whine that made his heart drop. “I-I’m just, uh- changing! will you give me a minute? Please, Miguel.”

“Don’t lie to me! What’s wrong, can you not get to the door?” He starts backing up to gauge the frame of the door and… Yeah, he could kick that in, easily.

sensing what he was getting ready to do, you spring up from your spot hunched over on the side of the bath tub and amble to the bathroom door. “No no no!” You lean against the door, heaving. “Don’t do anything drastic, I’m right here!”

He paused and waited for you to open it, but your hesitation makes him start losing his patience. “Y/n-“

“I’m ok, Miguel. S-seriously. I just took a little tumble on the way home.” You swallow back a painful grunt as you lean on the door frame for more support. “Look…” you started. “Now’s really not a good time—“

“Y/n.”

You shut your mouth. ‘Oh, shit.’

the tone of his voice hid a warning. Miguel knew what you were going to suggest even before you said it, and he refused to let you finish. The fact that you were bleeding as much as you were for him to smell you across the house, And you were trying to hide it from him? It must be bad, there was no doubt about that. His brain began racing for answers, for explanations, for names. He didn’t know where you were hurt, god what if it was somewhere vital? Who did this to you and where? Why were you trying to hide it? Did they threaten you? Something must of happened. there was no way he would leave you here, No. There was no getting rid of him now.

“Open this door.” He says one final time. And you can tell it’s the final time from the tone of his words. His voice quaked with fury at even the mere insinuation that he’d ever leave you when you were wounded. That you were even wounded In the first place.

“Now.”

...

There’s a beat of silence where neither of you say anything. And for a second he thinks he’s going to have to break the door open inwards just to avoid plowing over you to get it open. But then he hears you apprehensively turn the lock and he almost breaks the handle from how fast he rips it open.

You stumble a bit, reeling at his strength. and then youre taking a tumble from being thrown off balance, but before you can even yelp out a cry he swoops in to catch you in his arms before your body can even comes close to hitting the floor. “Lo si—! Sorry! Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

from being so close he could tell immedietely that you were running warm, did you really have a fever too? He perches you on to the toilet seat and you wince at the ache washing through your body. God, your back was killing you... and Miguel's hands were all over you. you tried pulling your arms out of his grip, but he wasn't budging. he scoured your front for bruises, cuts, anything.

"what happened, where does it hurt, Y/N, please." he lifted your arms, checking your sides. nothing there... You couldn't bring yourself to answer, all the jostling around was making you go really dizzy... so much so that his words seemed to bounce off your ears. you squint at him. were there two of him before?

"Oi, mami/papi. focus for me. tell me where your hurt." he pats your cheek, snapping you a little out of your stupor. you blinked. his faced was pulled taught with worry, lines creased his skin in places that looked almost painful. and his eyes...

"Miguel... hhhave... your eyessschanged?" you weren't sure if it was the delirium from the pain finally setting in, or if your bathroom light just highlighted the underlying hues, but his tired brown eyes had shifted to a shade of... dare you say red.

they flicked back to your face, they had this wild look in them, like he was angry. but his voice wobbled like he was scared. "tell me where the pain is."

"... M' back.." you mumbled. he tugs on your shoulder to twist you around, making you whine. he apologizes quietly, before turning back to the red stains that were crawling up the back of your shirt.

you both descended into a tense silence. Miguel looked cramped, hovering over you in your tiny bathroom. he had to draw in his arms to not knock into your shower. not the most ideal place to play nurse... but he would manage. Miguel unshealthes his talons and cuts open the fabric like its warm butter. all you feel is a cold draft hit your back, and you shudder.

when he gets a good look at the state of your back his heart drops, what he finds isn't what he was expecting. your lower back is marred with an explosion like mass of burned skin. the center of the wound is deeper and more bloody then the rest, like something fast, blunt and burning hot struck you there.

God.

"Y/N, what the hell happened?" he glances at your bathroom bin and spots your old, scorched shirt lying inside. so you really were changing... that explained why the shirt you were wearing didn't have a massive gaping hole in it.

"Lyla. whats the aetiology for this." she flickers into view next to him, screening your back, and she winces.

"the lascerations have been caused by 1st and 2nd degree burns, the wound has become infected and needs to be treated immediately. the depth of the wound is telling me that the collision was hard and fast, likely a projectile."

"they were shot?."

"most likely. not by any normal weapon though, obviously." she confirmed, "it... doesn't look like the infection has interfered with the spinal collum." she optimistically added.

"will it scar?" he tilted his head towards her, but didn't take his eyes off the wound.

the Ai assistant didn't respond, calculating the most nerve settling response to his question. her silence told him everything he needed to know. "yeah, don't answer that." a snarl was building in his throat, fighting its way to the top.

he spots the first aid bag and its contents sprawled across your counter. most of it was over the counter painkillers, light ointments and bandaids. nothing in there that would help you.

"ok." he drags his hand down his face looking around the room. "Hijo de puta-!" his fist banged against the wall in a burst of anger, the pathetic thin walls rattled underneath the force. "Y/N, what the hell were you thinking?!"

you were stuck in this apartment by yourself, barely able to move or, jesus, even think. the fact that he could have never come… No, that he had come but couldve left here without knowing you were going through this on your own... the thought made him sick. why did you let it get this bad? what had happened?

you don't answer his question, your breathing has started to grow heavier, fevered. the sheen of sweat on the back of your neck had grown thicker as well. miguel reaches out to hold you steady. his mind racing. you can't stay here.

he knows he has to make a call. literally. he lifts his watch to his face.

"Jess, get someone on the medical team to prepare for my arrival." he picks you up carefully and fights to keep his voice from rising, he wasn't thinking clearly. all he could think about was getting you somewhere safe.

it wasn't common for miguel to ask for medical assistance, even at times when he probably should. he didn't like calling for help, he prefered to do things on his own, even to his own detriment. the idea that something could shake miguel up like this, making him ask for assistance, was new. Jessica could hear the tension in his throat as clear as day.

"whats your condition." she responded, concern shining through in her voice.

"no, no. i'm fine." he answered. "i've got an injured with me, they've been shot and need first aid immedietely. its a second degree burn that been left for over 24 hours, its infected."

"...done." she answers. "are they a new recruit?"

"they're a friend."

Pozole: a traditional soup or stew that is made from hominy with meat, you can put in things like shredded lettuce/cabbage, chilli peppers, onions, garlic, radishes, avocado, salsa or limes. (this sounds scrummy ngl i'm so hungry bro)

"Lo siento": i'm sorry (this is when he goes "Lo si-" but cuts himself off)

"Oi, mami": hey, Mama (i learned that mami or mamita can be used in a lot of different ways. native spanish speakers can use it to adress parentel figures, friends that give motherly energy, or it can even be used as a funny nickname for kids. i've seen a lot of people use it sexually in fics, but apparently thats not always the case!)

aetiology: kind of like a diagnosis, but different. its the cause of a desease or condition. idk if it's applicable to wounds, though.

"Hijo de puta-!": son of a bitch-!

I put these here so if anyone has any corrections i could make to the terms I’ve used to be more accurate then I can change them accordingly. I used online translators and articles… if anyone has any good websites for translating languages let me know! i'd be really interested.

#love is stored in the pozole #across the spiderverse #spider man #spiderverse x reader #into the spiderverse #miguel ohara #spiderman 99 #spiderman99 #into the spider verse #hurt/comfort #gender nuetral reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel x reader #angst #fluff #fanfic

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aerynwrites · 1 year ago

Text

Longing Pt. 2

Halsin x afab!Reader

A/N: it’s FINALLY here - sorry for taking so long with it lmao. NSFW stuff, while I love it is so hard for me to write. But here you go! I hope you all enjoy this spicy conclusion to this story!

Word Count: 5.7k

Warnings: SMUT 18+ ONLY || smut, virgin!Reader, oral (female receiving), vaginal fingering, PiV sex, unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, Halsin being a total sweetheart by duh, fluff so much fluff and soft, aftercare (kinda?), outdoor sex, kissing, more fluff.

Part 1 || Masterlist

The early evening air is warm as it kisses your skin through the forest canopy. It’s the one thing you notice most besides the soft cloth covering your eyes, a familiar warm hand in your own being your guide through the foliage.

“Halsin, why can’t you just tell me where we’re going?” you ask, laughing through the question.

“Because, my heart, if I told you what was in store, it would no longer be a surprise,” he rebuffs, and you can practically hear the smile in his words.

You let out a little huff, but don’t argue further, letting the druid lead you through the forest by hand.

The journey is slow, with Halsin careful to guide you around any roots or rocks so you don’t stumble over the terrain, and you use the time to try and figure out where he’s taking you.

The smells of the forest fill your nose, the crunch of leaves beneath your feet, and you can even feel the last rays of the day’s light on your skin through the branches of the trees. But what gives you the most information is the sound of water roaring in the distance.

The waterfall.

Halsin had shown it to you just a few days prior, having found it on one of his outings in wild shape form. You remember vividly his barely contained excitement as he tugged you through the woods to show you, the blindfold withstanding.

You start to wonder why he would bring you back here so soon, and you cheeks heat at the first thought that comes to mind. When you had both arrived at the destination last time, you’d wasted little time stripping from your armor down to your underclothes and jumping in - Halsin not far behind you.

The druid had pulled you into his arms then, lips claiming your own as he maneuvered you both behind the waterfall’s curtain. You had almost jumped the proverbial cliff then, finally feeling comfortable enough to take that final step with him.

But he had pulled away, smiling down at you before tugging you back out into the water and recalling a story from his childhood.

As the sound of the waterfall grows ever louder, you silently hope for a repeat of those events.

However, the true intent of this trip is revealed when Halsin finally brings you to a stop, hands sitting comfortingly on your shoulders.

“We’re here,” he says, gently tugging at the knot holding your blindfold together.

The cloth falls away from your eyes and you blink to adjust to the light. Your surroundings come into focus slowly and you realize that you are near the same waterfall, but instead of by the river below it, you’re in a small clearing above it. You see the small river that feeds it running steadily by before moving to rush down the cliff side. And the view…it takes your breath away.

The clearing sits above the valley that holds your camp, letting you see for miles, the slowly descending sun casting an ethereal orange glow over the landscape.

Finally, your eyes land on what you assume is the last part of the surprise Halsin has planned.

In the middle of the clearing, just a few yards from the river’s edge, is an arrangement of dozens of furs laid out on the grass. You see a small burlap sack which you assume holds an assortment of food and drinks. And there’s even…candles. Some short, some tall - all of them spread around the space and lit, giving the moment a more… intimate feel than is already present.

Soft lips press against your temple before trailing down to brush your jaw.

“What do you think, my love?”

His words are soft, and you detect a hint of hesitance in them, as if he is worried you would reject this thoughtful presentation.

You turn around in his arms, lips spreading into a wide smile, your arms slipping around his waist as his do the same.

“You did all this? Is this where you were all day?” you ask, remembering his absence from your side this morning when you woke.

The druid nods. “When I found this place the idea immediately came to mind and I…I wanted to surprise you.”

Warmth blooms in your chest at his words, his thoughtfulness nearly knocking you off your feet.

You love this man.

“Well,” you finally say, leaning back to look up at him. “Consider me surprised. But…” you trail off, brows furrowing in question. “Is there an occasion for all this?”

Halsin pauses then, seemingly considering his words. You wait patiently as he does so, relishing in his embrace, his thumbs brushing over your hips slowly.

“I will not lie and say I have no goals in mind for this night but…” He pauses, eyes trailing over your face, hands tightening on your hips. “I just want to show you my love. In all the ways nature intended. If you will have me.”

Your heart stutters in your chest at his words, picking up on their meaning as all the warmth in your chest shifts down to pool in your belly instead.

You smile up at him again before leaning in to hug him, cheek pressed against his chest as he returns the affection.

“I’d love nothing more.”

Halsin leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips before pulling away quicker than you like, eyes shining with happiness as he leads you towards the furs.

“Let us eat first, while the sun still graces us with her presence. I gathered some of your favorites.”

The fur is soft beneath your feet as you remove your boots and move to settle onto the large makeshift blanket, Halsin right behind you. Idle talk fills the air as he begins pulling items from the bag, and you can’t stop the way your mouth waters at the presentation before you.

Various meats and cheeses, fresh fruit, wine, and even freshly baked items. Blueberry tarts. Sweet buns. This has obviously been in the works for a good while for him to find time to locate these items - a realization that makes your heart swell with adoration.

Quickly, before Halsin has finished unpacking, you lean in and press a chaste kiss to his lips, cheeks warm.

“Thank you. For all of this, for everything.”

Pausing his work, Halsin smiles, leaning over on one hand before reaching up to cup the back of your neck with the other. He brings his lips back to yours, and this kiss lasts a little longer before he pulls away to gaze at you.

“You deserve all nature has to provide, my heart. I’m simply showing you its bounty,” he tells you, leaning back to pick up one of the blueberry pastries.

He tears off a small piece before holding it out to you, eyes twinkling.

You raise a brow, unable to stop the smile that tugs at your lips. “Feeding me by hand now, too?” you ask, scooting forward to close in on the treat. “Careful, you might just spoil me.”

You take the offered bite between your teeth, lips brushing the tips of his fingers before he pulls back. The pastry practically melts on your tongue, the crust buttery and flaky - a direct contrast to the tart sweetness of the blueberry mixture.

You can’t stop the moan of appreciation that comes from you as you savor the treat, already wanting more.

Halsin smiles, tearing off another bite and offering to you again. “I would give you the moon and stars in the sky if it is what you wished,” he says, eyes crinkling happily when you take the offering again.

You let out a contented hum, scooting until you’re finally side by side with your lover, pressing a gentle kiss to his jaw.

“As nice as that sounds…I’m perfectly content with blueberry tarts and sweet buns.” You reach up to toy with one of the braid in his hair. “And you, of course.”

Halsin laughs at your addition, the sound loud and joyous as it echoes through the trees. “I am honored to be listed among the sweetest of treats. Although, I must disappoint you and say that honey might always be my first love.”

You scoff, feigning hurt as you lean away from him, a hand over your heart. “I’m wounded. I thought what we had was special.”

Strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into his lap effortlessly as he attacks your neck and shoulders with kisses, making giggles erupt from your lips.

“You know I only jest,” he tells you as he finally pulls away, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair away from your face. “You are the only thing my heart desires. The moon to my night sky and the soil to my earth. Nothing could ever compare.”

Tears burn at the back of your eyes, and you have to blink to keep them back, his words making your heart so full you feel it might burst.

Cupping his face gently, you take a moment to let your eyes roam, taking in everything about the man beneath you. His scars that some might be frightened by, but you think makes him more handsome. The curving crimson tattoo that adorns his skin. His strong brow that complements his soft hazel eyes. And his lips…lips that smile down at you so often you sometimes worry they might get stuck that way. The smile that makes crow's feet appear at his eyes and show years of laughter he’s shared.

You shake your head, pressing a kiss to each cheek before finally meeting his lips, holding him to you until the need for air arises.

“I love you, too,” you whisper, meaning every word.

————

The evening continues much like this. Eating and drinking and sharing kisses between, until you’re too full to continue. By then, night has fallen and has you both on your backs next to one another, eyes turned towards the stars as you each point out constellations and the stories behind them.

Halsin shows you the one representing Silvanus and goes on to tell you about his god and the stories behind his origin. You show him a constellation of the goddess your parents worshiped, recalling fond memories of your childhood.

A gasp falls from your lips in the middle of the story, eyes widening as you point up to the sky.

“Halsin, look, a shooting star!”

The little white light streaks across the sky, and you reach over to grab his hand in yours. “Close your eyes and make a wish!” you demand, eyes scrunching closed childishly.

You open your eyes once more only to see dozens of other stars following the first. Flashes of light igniting the sky before fading away.

You’ve never seen anything like it.

“Wow, it’s…beautiful,” you whisper.

You hear Halsin him in agreement. “It is…Nature has once again outdone itself.”

You turn to look at him, only to see his eyes aren’t on the sky at all.

They’re on you.

“You’re not even looking,” you chastise quietly.

Halsin smiles. “I’m looking at something more beautiful than even the stars.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks once more. “Halsin…”

Before your protest can continue, Halsin is moving. He rolls deftly towards you, hand never leaving yours until he pins it beneath his own beside your head, hovering over you. Your heart leaps in your chest, legs moving instinctively to cradle his hips as he settles above you.

His hair falls over his shoulders, the small braids swaying slightly in the soft breeze that whispers through the forest. His hand squeezes your own before his other comes up to cradle your face, thumb brushing over your cheek.

“I do not speak words without them being truthful - false niceties are an affront to those we care about, and I do not say these things insincerely,” he tells you, voice unusually quiet. “My heart does not stir lightly. But it does now. Allow me to show you the pleasures of the heart, my love.”

Excitement stirs in your chest before settling lower, warming your belly and making arousal thrum through your veins. You nod, reaching up to card your fingers through soft honey colored hair, before settling at the back of his neck.

He responds swiftly to your silent approval, his lips coming down to capture yours in a kiss so unlike the others you’ve shared tonight. They were soft and gentle and chaste, but this…

This is all consuming.

It’s heated, but not rushed. Firm, but not uncaring. His lips move against yours as if he’s pouring all his devotion into you, tongue teasing your lips until you grant him entrance.

Sighs and groans leave you both, swallowed by the other or lost to the night air as hands and lips start to roam.

Halsin shifts above you, moving to straddle your hips as his lips travel from yours to leave suckling kisses at your jaw, his hands moving to settle on your waist.

Your own hands fumble, not sure where to go when they want to touch him everywhere. They flit from his hips to his waist down to his thighs before running back up to tug at the hem of his shirt, fingers twitching as they itch to slip beneath the fabric.

Gods… you’ve never done this before. Is it too forward? Should you wait? Will he want to undress you first? What if-

Halsin’s soft chuckle rips you from your racing thoughts as he presses a kiss to the underside of your jaw, nipping lightly.

“You are free to touch, my love,” he says, as if reading your unsure thoughts. “I know I plan to. So, I believe it’s only fair of you to do the same.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks at his words, his promise to touch you as you want to touch him. But his encouragement works, and before you let your insecurity take over once more, you slide your hands under his shirt.

You sigh as your hands meet his skin, instantly relishing in the heat radiating from him. The fabric rides up around your wrists as you reach higher, fingers tracing each and every muscle and divot in his skin. You think you can faintly feel scars marring his flesh, some large, some small as they stretch across his skin.

You aren’t left to wonder for long though, as Halsin pulls himself from you only long enough to tug his shirt over his head and toss it to the side before leaning forward once more, covering you with his body.

You almost let out a whine, wanting more than just a second to take him in, but the thought is quickly forgotten as his lips return to you once more, this time relentless against the sensitive skin of your neck.

His teeth gently nip at you before his tongue comes behind to soothe the mark he’s no doubt left behind.

Your hands trail up from where they rest at his sides, coming to run over his chest, the dark hair tickling your palms until they eventually flit upwards to rest against his shoulders.

Expert fingers tug at the laces of your top, and your eyes fall to meet those of the man above you. He’s pulled away from you now, eyes searching your face as he continues to toy with the front of your shirt.

Your chest is heaving, and it’s only in this moment of silence do you realize the heat running through you. The way your toes curl into the furs beneath you, the tingling and pleasure settling low in your belly.

Gods, you want him.

You arch up into his hands ever so slightly. “You don’t have to ask,” you say, tone impatient, a surprise even to you.

Halsin’s brows furrow, lips turning down ever so slightly. “Of course I do.” He leans down to place a kiss to the corner of your lips before trailing a path down your jaw to just below your ear. “Your comfort is my utmost priority, so I will ask each and every time.”

His over abundance of care makes warmth bloom in your chest, disposing what little nerves may have been lingering in the back of your mind.

You smile, turning your head to capture his lips with yours as you give his shoulders a reassuring squeeze.

“I can assure you,” you tell him, pulling away from the kiss just enough to raise your arms above your head. “I’ll be most comfortable when we’re both rid of all our clothing.”

Halsin smiles, eyes twinkling with amusement. “As nature intended.”

You can’t stop the giggle that slips past your lips as Halsin lifts your shirt over your arms. You’re used to his druidic nature quips, but they still always manage to bring a smile to your face.

Halsin is quick to oblige your request, and soon you’re both bare against the furs, and that tiny tinge of uncertainty is back as Halsin’s eyes roam over you.

Without thought, your arms come up to cover yourself, but Halsin is quick to stop you in your tracks. He takes your hands in his, threading your fingers together before pressing them into the ground beside your head.

“Do not hide from me,” he whispers, leaning down to brush gentle lips over your collarbone and down lower. “You are beautiful - more radiant than the sun on a clear day and more ethereal than the moon at its fullest.”

He nips at the swell of your breast before kissing the soft skin and traveling lower, pausing between the valley of your chest to shower kisses over the softness of your stomach.

Blood rushes in your ears, heart pounding, arousal shooting to your core as you realize the path he’s taking and his most likely destination.

“Halsin…” His name leaves your lips in a gasp as his hands leave yours to follow the path his lips took just moments before.

You can feel the roughness of his palms in stark contrast to the softness of your skin, arching up into them as he reaches your breasts, kneading them in his hands.

His thumbs brush over stiffened peaks, teasing as his lips move lower, nose nudging at your navel.

“I wish to know all of you, my heart - body and soul.” His lips move against the delicate skin of your hip, breath fanning over your most intimate parts. “I have longed to taste you, to have you come undone on my tongue before I show you the other pleasures nature has to offer.”

You’ve honestly never really thought about this before, your mind always jumping to the ‘ main act,’ if you will. But now, with Halsin’s hands on you and his lips so close to where you ache for him to touch you…You find you’ve never wanted anything more.

Your hips lift from the furs involuntarily, and Halsin’s hands are quick to slide down to your hips, holding you in place gently as a chuckle leaves his lips, ghosting against the crux of you once more.

“Yes - please …” The words fall from your lips in hushed whispers, the breath having long since left you.

You don’t even know what you’re begging for. It’s not like Halsin was asking, but he must find your quiet words pleasing as another amused rumble comes from him.

He’s down lower now, his lips brushing teasingly against the inside of your knee, placing feather light kisses up along your inner thigh.

“I’ll have you begging for much more than this before the night is done.”

A shudder runs through you at his words and before a retort can even come to your mind, his mouth is on you, stealing all thoughts away. A gasp falls from your lips as your fingers move to tangle in his hair, wanting to keep him close and push him away all at once.

His tongue parts you eagerly, his nose bumping against your clit as he teases your entrance.

Arousal is hot and piercing in your core, making you even wetter than you were before, Halsin’s ministrations spurring your pleasure higher and higher with each expert stroke.

The sensation is so… foreign. Something you’ve never experienced before that has you craving more and wanting to run away at the same time. Inexperience and utter pleasure push and shove at one another, until the latter wins out as Halsin presses one finger against you, sinking in ever so slowly.

His tongue, his lips, and now his finger sinking into you makes that feeling in your belly crescendo, a feeling new to you. You don’t know whether to urge him on or tell him to stop.

As if sensing your dilemma, Halsin adds another finger, making your jaw drop open as he crooks them inside of you, brushing up against a spot that makes you see stars.

He pulls away from you then, pressing a hurried kiss to your hip, nipping at the skin there.

“ Let go for me, little one. ”

His words are the last thing you need to catapult you over the ledge you’ve never jumped before. The tension in your core bursts, the taut pressure snapping in two as your body arches into Halsin’s.

Utter euphoria rushes through your veins in a burning tidal wave, toes curling, fingers tingling from where they still clutch at his hair. You can’t even find it in you to think about loosening your grip, the pleasure coursing through you like an electric current and locking you in place.

You have nearly no idea how much time has passed before your mind comes back to you, your chest heaving with tired pants as Halsin kisses his way back up to you, nuzzling your jaw before peppering kisses to your cheeks as his hands rub soothing patterns against your sides.

“That was…” You trail off, both lost for words and still trying to get your breath back. “A lot.”

Halsin chuckles again, making you warm inside for a completely different reason as he presses his lips to yours in a slow kiss before pulling away to press another one to your temple, lips tugged up in a grin.

“Well…I did promise to overwhelm you,” he says, calling back to your conversation all those weeks ago.

You huff out a short laugh of your own, arms coming up to wrap under his own so your hands rest against the back of his shoulders.

“Consider me overwhelmed.”

That smile still on his lips, Halsin comes back down to nuzzle at your jaw again, hands trailing down your sides to rest on your thighs, guiding them to cradle his hips as he press his body more fully into yours.

A short gasp slips past your lips as you feel him against you, hot and heavy against your inner thigh. You can’t help the way your eyes glance downwards, widening at the sight of him. You hadn’t really thought to look earlier, everything else holding your attention instead, but…

Good gods above-

“ Will it fit?” The question is out of your mouth before you can think better of it, the hot swell of embarrassment creeping up your neck as Halsin laughs again, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet forest.

He pulls you closer to him, your chest brushing his own as he captures your lips again. One hand reaching up to cradle your jaw, thumb rubbing soothingly against the skin there.

When he pulls away, it’s just far enough for his forehead to rest gently against yours.

“I will go slow,” he assures you, pressing soft kisses to our brow, “but you must be my guide, tell me what pleasures you most or what causes you discomfort and I will adjust accordingly.”

Once again, despite this intimate moment, Halsin is ever the considerate, giving partner. Never putting his pleasure above yours.

You smile up at him, fingers pressing into his back slightly.

“Thank you.” You lean up, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “But I…I want you to enjoy this, too. It doesn’t have to be about just me.”

Halsin eyes twinkle in delight, one corner of his lips tugging upwards in that rare but beguiling smirk.

“Trust me, my heart - I am enjoying myself more than you can imagine. You are giving me a most precious gift, your trust - it is more than this old druid could ever ask for.”

His words once again, strike deep, your arousal and happiness all swirling into one big ball in your chest about to burst. You tug him down on top of you, relishing in the closeness of his chest against yours, his hands on your skin, his lips on your cheek.

“You have it,” you tell him, voice wavering with emotion. “I love you, Halsin. Please… I trust you.”

“I love you too, my heart.”

Halsin’s words are but a whisper against your lips before he claims them again, mounding you to him as he positions himself to press at your entrance.

He enters slowly, never breaking your kiss, swallowing the sharp gasp that leaves you. Your fingers dig into his back at the intrusion - while not painful, it is foreign; a pleasurable pressure within you that expands more and more the deeper into you he goes.

Your earlier orgasm makes his movements easier, but he still pauses when he meets resistance, a sharp intake of breath from you all he needs as an indicator.

He breaks his lips from yours, reaching up to brush a stray hair from your forehead now dewy with perspiration. His brow furrows in concern.

“Are you alright?”

You nod. It’s the truth - you are fine, there is no pain, but, gods, you already feel full and you haven’t even taken him fully yet.

“I-I’m fine, just-“ Another breathless gasp as he twitches inside you. “Go s - slow.”

Halsin obliges, working into you in slow, measured thrusts, pulling back before sinking a little deeper each time. Each movement, no matter how small - how tempered - sends a jolt of pleasure through you, igniting the flame that never really seemed to go out.

It’s like everything is amplified by a thousand with him moving against you. The way the hair on his chest brushes against your skin sends tingles down your spine. The blood rushing in your ears, the soft pants he exhales - breath warm against your cheek from where his forehead nuzzles your own. His hand feels like a branding iron against your skin where he pulls your leg up over his hip, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks behind.

You can tell he’s holding back, using every ounce of control he has to please you - to not rush this.

Your heart aches in the best way when he finally - finally - bottoms out, his hips flush against your own. His head falls to your shoulder, and the groan he lets out is sinful enough to match the moan that falls from your own lips - his name a whispered prayer in the night air.

You’re so full it feels like you can’t take a full breath without feeling him everywhere. Inside you, on top of you, his lips against your skin and his hands holding you in just the right way. You feel…made for him. Him made for you. Like pieces of a puzzle finally joining together.

You relish in the feeling of him like this. But more than that, you desperately want him to move, your hips twitching against his in silent request. Only, when he doesn’t respond do you speak up.

“I think…I’m alright, you can move,” you tell him, voice breathy.

You feel him nod against your shoulder, hair tickling the sensitive skin there as he speaks. “Yes I, ah - just need a moment.”

One of your hands runs down his back and then up again, your legs squeezing his hips gently. “Are you okay?”

Halsin laughs quietly, breath hot against your skin before pulling away, lifting one hand up to cradle your cheek as he gazes down at you in utter adoration.

“Yes, just…admiring all of nature's creations, and…considering how very lucky I am.”

You smile up at him, eyes starting to feel watery at the sincerity behind his words. “Halsin, I…I’m lucky too.”

His lips turn upwards before he leans down to place a slow, deliberate kiss to your lips before pulling away. “I care about you a great deal. More than…more than I can express. So, I will do my best to show you.”

His meaningful words end just as he decides to move, pulling out before sliding back in with one smooth thrust. The movement makes stars erupt before you as your eyes clamp shut, pleasure singing through you.

Halsin picks up his speed when you offer no complaint, skin slapping against skin as he finds a steady rhythm. His lips press haphazardly against you, moving from your neck to your collarbone, down and then back up again, as if he wants to worship all of you but doesn’t know where to start.

One of his hands plants itself in the furs beside your head, fingers digging into the soft fabric for purchase while the other falls down to grip your leg again, tugging it ever higher on his hip, allowing him to press deeper into you.

A high-pitched cry escapes your lips at the movement, the new angle letting him hit something devastating inside of you with each thrust.

Your fingers dig into his back, nails no doubt leaving behind marks as they score down his shoulder blades, desperate to pull him closer. He drops down to bear his weight on his forearm, pushing himself closer to you, pressing you into the furs beneath you as if he too can’t get close enough.

“ Oak Father preserve me,” Halsin practically growls, burying his face into your shoulder, blunt teeth digging into your skin before he speaks again. “You are so… perfect. Like you were created by the gods themselves just for me,” he groans as his hips stutter momentarily, grinding up into you. “I love you, my heart, more than words or any actions can describe.”

His words, the way he feels inside you, the way his lips smooth the dull ache his teeth left behind, it’s all too much. It’s overwhelming in the best way as that coil in your belly pulls taut again, ready to snap at a moment's notice.

Your chest rises and falls with rapid breaths, one of your hands coming up to cradle the back of his head, holding him to you as your legs finally move to wrap around his waist, heels digging into him, urging him on - silently begging him to bring you both to release.

“I love you too.” The words come out hoarse and broken.“ Fuck, Halsin I - I’m close, please… ”

He responds to your plea, his hips stuttering as he nears his own end. He turns his head ever so slightly, lips brushing your ear before placing a gentle kiss just below, whispering sweet nothings against your skin.

He reaches his end just before you do, and it brings about your own euphoria. The cord snaps just as his hips do against yours, warmth flooding you inside and out as you topple over the edge. His name falls from your lips over and over, a provocative incantation for only the night and the man above you to hear.

He works you through your release, only stilling when you’re both spent, chests rising and falling against one another, skin damp with sweat as you pull each other closer still.

Halsin tucks both arms beneath you as you slowly come down, pulling you tight against him as he rolls you both onto your sides.

Neither of you speak for several moments, instead choosing to bask in the afterglow, relishing the cool night air against your heated skin. Only when Halsin’s hand starts to trail random patterns against your back does he finally speak.

“Are you alright?” he asks, voice gentle with just a touch of concern lacing his words.

You look up at him, brows furrowed. “Did I do something to suggest otherwise?”

Halsin shakes his head, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair back from your face. “No, but I…I know I am…more than most. I just wanted to ensure there were no…lingering discomforts.”

You shake your head. Other than the dull ache between your thighs, which you do not regret…there’s not a scratch on you. And you couldn’t feel better.

“No discomforts here,” you tell him, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. “None that I’m going to complain about, anyway.”

Halsin lets out an amused huff before rolling once more so you rest on top of him, ignoring your gasp of surprise. “Good,” he says, reaching up to run warm hands down your sides before resting on your hips, eyes meeting yours once more. “I truly meant it when I said this was a gift. You are a gift, the greatest treasure Silvanus could have ever bestowed upon me.”

Halsin reaches up to take one of your hands that rests on his chest, bringing it up to press a chaste kiss to your knuckles. “You honor me by choosing to be by my side.”

Heat creeps up your neck, and words fail you at first. So, you lean forward to hide your face against him, nose brushing just below his ear as you nuzzle into the space between his head and shoulder.

“I’ve never…” You trail off before finally finding your words. “I’ve never trusted someone enough to…take this step with,” you admit, arms moving to wrap around him, hands tucking between his back and the furs beneath him. “Thank you for loving me enough to show me what it's like.”

Halsin’s arms wrap around your waist, holding you to him as his lips brush your temple.

“The pleasure was all mine, my heart. I love you more than the moon loves the stars and the sun loves the earth.”

You smile against him, eyes suddenly feeling heavy, sleep tugging at the edges of your consciousness. “That’s a lot of love…might take a while to get it all out.”

You feel his chest rumble with laughter. “That just means more nights with you in my arms.”

You hum in agreement, finally letting your eyes fall shut. And, as Halsin’s arms hold you tight, you both fall asleep under the stars, nature surrounding you.

#Halsin x reader #halsin x fem!reader #Halsin bg3 #bg3 x reader #bg3 #halsin

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snailpebbles · 4 months ago

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teach me kisses? - OP81

summary: oscar teaches you to kiss ig. gone right.

wc: 2k

tags: fluff, tooth rotting, maybe suggestive, uhh kinda sad but not for them lmao, not proofread

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It was safe to say Oscar was a little more than concerned to receive a text from you in the middle of a relatively chill day, asking for him to come over. Of course he does seeing as it's impossible to deny you, his best friend of six years. He rushed around his flat unsure of what to grab, so he settles on a multitude of items: Advil, Tylenol (for variety, you tend to get picky), a hoodie with his cologne, and another hoodie (once again, variety).

While making the drive to your flat, he stops by a corner store to grab a few more items on the rare chance you might be upset with him. The bell dings as he steps into the family-owned shop, most definitely older than him if the kind old lady behind the counter was anything to go by. It's mostly empty, the short aisles containing various items, but he knows what he wants. Settling on a nice bouquet of pink tulips alongside your favorite soda, Oscar makes his way to the counter.

The cashier smiles at his items and makes idle conversation with the young man, feeling some sort of interest within him.

"She the lucky girl, or are you a lucky man?" She asks, chuckling softly as she fixes up the flowers to look more presentable. Oscar's face tints pink, an awkward side smile pulling on his lips.

"Oh shes- well-" He stumbles for his words, suddenly seeing you in a new light he'd previously pushed down in the fear of losing you. "lucky man." Is the answer he settles on, giving a slight huff of laughter to ease his own nerves that the old woman doesn't share. She hands him the flowers and soda, patting his left hand as she does.

"My Willis and I have been together since the fifties, so listen to me when I tell you...cherish each other." A nostalgic smile lights up her face, previous youth shining through. Pictures hang on the corkboard behind her, all featuring that youth beside a young man.

"He was lost in the war, but those few years were the best of my life." She sighs softly, a shaking hand tracing along a picture of Willis. "You keep that girl close, or my umbrella and I just might have to find you." Oscar nods at her comment, taking it to heart.

"I'd never hurt her, Gods help me if I did." He mutters, placing his credit card back in his wallet, a picture of you beaming at the camera greeting him momentarily further softening his heart.

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Your doorbell startles you even through you'd been pacing in front of it for the past ten minutes, debating every choice that has led you here. Trembling hands brush invisible dust off your pajamas and regret fills you for not looking more presentable. Peering through the peephole, you are greeted by Oscar rocking on his heels in the hall, your favorite flowers in hand.

The door flinging open surprises him, as does your hand tugging him inside. Within a flurry of motion the tulips are put in a vase, the soda is already half chugged, and multiple thank yous meet his ears. You're a tornado of movement and he has to catch you by the shoulders, stilling you in front of him with a worried gaze.

"Did something happen? Are you alright?" He asks, eyes scanning you and definitely not lingering.

Definitely.

"No I'm fine Osc, no need to act like a worried mother." You wave his concerns off, moving to set on your comfy sofa, soda still in hand. He settles down beside you, placing his stuffed to the brim backpack by his feet. He unzips it and a hoodie half falls out, one that he places in your lap. "Why..are you cold?" He smiles awkwardly at your question, now feeling like an idiot.

"No uhm, well I was worried so I might have...over prepared." Before he can hide his backpack you're already rifling through it, awing at each thoughtful item.

"You brought me drugs! How kind." You snicker, holding up the Advil and Tylenol. Oscars already red face only turns a darker shade and he snatches them away from you.

"I didn't bring you drugs- well technically I did- but I thought you were sick or something!" He defends, placing the bottles back in his bag. An apologetic smile forms on your face and your hand falls to his shoulder, appreciation only rising for the sweet man before you. What country did you save in a past life to warrant such blessing?

"Not sick, but I do have a bit of a request for you." Your hands twist nervously in your lap, the inside of your bottom lip chewed raw at this point. Oscar dips his head to meet your gaze, making you feel warm all over from his attentiveness. "You need to promise me that you won't laugh, okay?" Oscar nods, shifting closer to you.

"I promise I won't laugh." He murmurs, worry internally taking him over as thoughts rush through his mind. Did you take your ex back? Are you sick and lying to him? Oh God do you have a new boyfriend?? This one truly makes him sick, but he refuses to dwell on his reaction.

Inhaling deeply, exhaling through your mouth, you blurt out what you want with your eyes squeezed shut.

"I need you to kiss me."

Oscars heart stops briefly, then kicks back up into overdrive. Is this what a heart attack feels like? Kiss you? You? His lips on yours? Oh God.

His silence makes you nervous so you peek, and the air is punched out of your lungs as a result.

His face is red and he's stone-still, lips parted and eyes ever so slightly widened. Is it bad to say you enjoy seeing him like this?

"Okay." The words finally leave his lips in the form of a breathless whisper, tongue darting out to wet them subconsciously. Surprise smacks you in the face, never once having anticipated a yes so simply. An urge to explain fills you; to justify such a request.

"See I just- well I have a date tomorrow and it's been a long time since I've ever kissed someone, so I figured you could help me relearn." You explain, hands waving around in the air to further your point. As you speak, you don't notice the way Oscar steels back up, shutting back down. How could he ever think you'd be into him when you're so amazing? All of those emotions are forced back into an old box, edges worn out from his mind picking at it on late nights.

"Right. Yeah." He nods, swallowing the bile wanting to rise. He should be happy for you, for taking such a step after the shit-storm of your last relationship. Jealousy edges into his mind, seeping into the cracks and his ego, protectiveness shifting into possessiveness for a split second. You're his, not some random guy who can't even qualify as a man. He's always been there, not this- this idiot.

"So uh, do we just..?" You bring your legs up onto the sofa, sitting criss cross and shifting to face him. The nerves teeter on uncomfortable, but excitement balances it all out for you. His lips are so kissable, it has honestly pained you for years that you may never feel them against your own. Oscar takes the lead of course and his slender yet strong hands cup your jaw, pointer finger drawing circles just in front of your ear. You feel frozen in time, hands useless in your lap as you can't seem to draw your attention anywhere but those lips and the light stubble surrounding the area.

"..You need to close your eyes." He reminds you, his voice sounding a whole lot more gravelly, if not hoarse. Why would it be? What would cause such a-

Warmth. His lips, a delicacy you knew internally you craved, bring a warmth you'd forgotten the embrace of long ago. Oscar sharply inhales at the first contact and struggles to restrain himself, your hesitancy in the kiss the only reminder that you need slow and gentle. He abides by this and tries to stay focused while you lose any thought except the need to keep him as close as possible, right on you where he belongs.

Your eyes had fallen shut awhile ago, but who can say? Time feels meaningless when Oscars hands are trailing down to your hips, the kiss at some point having deepened into an intimacy you weren't sure even existed. He lifts you into his lap with an ease that sets you on fire, scorching a path up to your heart and burning up the oxygen in your lungs. Not that you mind. You'd happily give him your air if it'll make him stay attached like this. Oscar memorizes all of you as you do him, burning your skin with his touch and peeling away layers of lies you'd both put up for a false pretense of simple friendship.

Maybe you've fallen into wonderland because you certainly feel mad. He's tearing out your soul with how gentle yet compassionate his kisses are, soft gasps and sighs filling the otherwise quiet flat, only to mingle with birdsong outside the window. Would you let him kiss you on that balcony for everyone to see? A Juliet he'd most certainly keep. He tugs you closer, chest to chest and heart to heart, both fluttering wildly as if in a cage. Every touch he gets is full of you, any late night dream far surpassed as you give up any control to him, bending under gentle actions like putty. God and your taste, one in the same as it is for you. Closer and closer you become, the outside world ceasing to exist just like any false boundaries you'd both foolishly believed like it'd save you from the damnation of love.

"Osc.. Oscar.." You mumble breathlessly as you part, both panting for air and refusing to give the other space with the way your foreheads stay pressed together. "I lied. There's no date." The white lie is finally revealed, one you'd said out of fear for rejection.

"...Thank fuck." He mutters, laughing under his breath as his lips meet yours once more. He can barely kiss you though, not when he's smiling so widely. You giggle, so he does too and suddenly you're both laughing heavily, falling into one another.

"Be mine?" The question leaves you without consequence, your heart and head airy with love. Oscar nods into your collarbone, still placing kisses there with reverence.

"I've always been yours." He says simply.

"Me too."

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"C'mon! We're gonna get soaked!" Your laugh fills up the corner store, rain hammering down on the two of you. Oscar trails in behind you, hand tightly linked with yours as a bright smile stays firm on his face.

"Thought you liked when we were-" He starts but you slap his shoulder, covering your grin with your free hand as you scoff. He grins back, leading you through the short aisles to wait out the storm and maybe get a few (a lot) of cheat snacks. Oscar grabs Snickers, you grab Hersheys. He takes a Sprite, you take a Dr. Pepper. (You'll later end up forgetting that chocolate melts and get a whole pizza instead, walking in the park while eating out of the waterlogged box.)

"That everything?" The old lady behind the counter asks as Oscar goes to pay, just barely beating you to it while ignoring your protests. He thinks for a moment and then grabs a bouquet of pink tulips, grinning like he'd just won a race. Your heart warms and you peck his cheek as thanks, his pale skin going an identical shade of pink to the petals. Maybe one day he'll realize that that's why pink tulips are your favorite.

She checks you out and waves goodbye since the rain has since cleared up, watching as you walk out swinging each other's hand. Her gaze falls to the corkboard behind her, a small smile on her lips as she traces her lost loves face.

⋅˚₊‧𐙚‧₊🍊˚ 🧡୨♡୧ ⋅🔸˚₊‧꒰ა🟠໒꒱ 🍊‧₊˚

hello I haven't written in forever and I also don't know why I gave the old lady a backstory ????

#oscar piastri x fem!reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri fanfiction #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri fluff

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amazingmsme · 3 months ago

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Last Call for Mercy

AN: the much anticipated 600 strike fic is FINALLY here! I think we’ve all been dying to see Poseidon get his ass handed to him with some good ol’ fashioned tickle torture, & I’m here to deliver! That art by you know who (too scared to mention them in this fic) was such perfect inspiration for this fic! Grab a snack & settle in, ‘cause it’s kinda long (just over 4k)

Warning that it’s a little more intense & mean than my usual fics, but it’s Poseidon & he deserves it lmao. Kinda suggestive, but nothing more than that. (I will forever be inspired by the manwhore au) other than that, enjoy Poseidon getting what he deserves!

The wind whipped and howled, waves crashing against jagged rocks. The spray of the sea reached high, filling the air with the taste of salt. Dark clouds rolled in, quickly blocking the sun as rain poured from the sky.

Odysseus stood before Poseidon, calculating his next move. The God lay sprawled across the rocks, bruises and small cuts littering his skin from their previous fight. He looked smug, almost proud.

Odysseus couldn't keep this up forever, and he didn't want to. He was tired of fighting just to survive; it was all he'd known for the past 20 years. He was tired. So, so tired...

He had hoped Poseidon would be too. That when offered a truce: a final chance to leave the past behind, that he would take it. Of course, he could never be so lucky, nor Poseidon so reasonable.

He looked at his island one last time, coming to a decision.

"You're going to call off that storm." He spoke in a dead, flat tone. One that struck fear in the hearts of many and commanded respect.

Poseidon's triumphant smirk stretched further across his face, twisting his features with sadistic glee.

"Or what? You can't kill me," he taunted. Odysseus slowly shifted his gaze back onto him.

"Exactly."

Odysseus stalked closer, like a lone wolf closing in on a kill. Poseidon's grin faltered once he realized Odysseus was still coming towards him.

"Wait-" his eyes darted to where his trident now rested at the soldier's feet. "Wait!"

And then Odysseus smirked.

"Oh no. By the time I'm through with you, you're gonna wish I stabbed you instead," he said matter of factly.

Poseidon sneered, lurching forward threateningly. "What?"

But before he could say another word, the King of Ithica was straddling his hips, shoving his back against the rocks. He blinked in shock, at a complete loss for words.

"Cruelty comes in all shapes and sizes," Odysseus said, cracking his knuckles for emphasis. "Even ones you don't expect," he went on to crack his neck, rolling his shoulders just to drag out the anticipation.

Poseidon could've thrown him off, but he was curious where the mortal was going with this.

"Do your worst."

"I intend to."

Poseidon would swear he only screamed so loud because he was caught off guard. I mean, really, who in their right mind would try and tickle a God at a time like this? Who would even think of that?

Odysseus of Ithica, that's who. Because of course he would.

Odysseus dug into his sides, scribbling over bare skin made slick from the rain. Poseidon reacted immediately, folding in on himself with a bark of laughter as he scrambled to shove the offending hands away.

"Whahahat do you thihink you're dohohoing?" he demanded, growling through his laughter. Odysseus snorted in amusement, pinching up and down his sides.

"Thought it would be obvious," he taunted, flashing a sadistic grin. Poseidon managed to roll his eyes in annoyance, prompting Odysseus to claw at his stomach.

"Y-you ahaharrogant bastahard! I ohohorder you to-"

"Yeah, I'm gonna stop you right there," he cut him off. "You're not the one in control anymore. I am."

Poseidon leveled him with a harsh glare, determined to prove him wrong. "Like hehehell you ahare!"

Odysseus shrugged, sporting a sly, malicious grin. "Agree to disagree."

Poseidon's annoyed scoffed morphed into a snort as he kneaded his lower stomach, right above his waistline. His eyes flew wide open in embarrassment, and he slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle the sounds escaping.

"That was a fun noise," he goaded, wiggling a finger in his bellybutton. "Let's hear it again, shall we?" Poseidon shook his head, ready to throw him into the ocean, but much to his dismay, a shrill screech pierced the air instead.

"Close, but I think it was more like this!" Odysseus demonstrated by squeezing his hips. Poseidon bucked and screamed through hysterical laughter. He tried his best to block the offending hands, but the King of Ithica was annoyingly fast for a mortal.

"Ohoho just shut up ahahalready!" he growled in response. That bastard had the gall to chuckle at him.

"Why should I?"

"I-I'll kihihill you!" But the force of his laughter severely negated the threat.

"Not a very convincing argument there, giggles."

"What dihihid you just cahall mehehe?" Poseidon growled through growing hysterics.

"Giggles!" he repeated proudly. To prove his point, he reached up to flutter against Poseidon's fin-like ears.

"Ihihi do nohohot giggle!" he denied through a particularly bubbly bout of giggles.

"Pft, yeah, keep telling yourself that, it won't make it true," he continued to taunt. Poseidon managed to roll his eyes. "Ihif you dohohon’t just shut up-!" he sassed, cutting himself off with a gasp. Odysseus arched a brow and began kneading his hips. He threw his head back in hysterics, bucking like a wild horse.

"Oh yeah? You’ll what?" Odysseus growled threateningly, trailing off. Poseidon sneered and reeled back, ready to slap him, to grab his hands, to throw him off, to do anything to stop what was happening. And then Odysseus grabbed his wrist and pinned his arm above his head.

They locked eyes and Poseidon shook his head, frantically tugging at his arm. How the hell was he so strong? He was a mortal for crying out loud! So what the fuck was going on? Then again, he supposed he wasn't putting up much of a fight, the way he was cackling and flopping around like a fish out of water.

The irony was not lost on him.

It didn't take long for Odysseus to wrestle his other arm into place. He held down both of Poseidon's wrists as he reached off to the side.

He had grabbed Poseidon's own trident, holding it high above him so the light could glint off of it perfectly. Each prong was sharpened to a point, and aimed right at him.

"Hold still, yeah? Unless you want to get stabbed," Odysseus chuckled at his own joke. Poseidon remained speechless as his brain struggled to catch up with itself. He heard a loud metal shing followed by the sound of crumbling rock, and suddenly he could move his arms.

He couldn't move his arms!

He tugged and yanked frantically, but his trident held firm. Each wrist rested in the space between prongs, but there wasn't enough room to slip free.

"That's more like it," Odysseus examined his handiwork, making sure the trident wouldn't budge.

"Are you out of your mind! Let me go!" His entire body grew tense when he felt hands rest atop his ribcage.

"You're a God, it shouldn't be that hard to escape if you really want to," he noted in a condescending tone. Poseidon glared up at him, arms straining as he tugged futilely.

"Just what are you implying?" he hissed through clenched teeth. Odysseus grinned wider.

"Oh I'm not implying anything." He curled his fingers ever so slightly, just barely pressing into the skin. Poseidon gasped and arched his back, desperately fighting off a growing smile.

"You insolehent prihihihick! Stohohop thihis at once!" he demanded through deep hysterics as Odysseus clawed at his ribs.

"That depends. You gonna call off that storm?" Odysseus asked, wiggling his fingers faster as he spoke, making it impossible for Poseidon to answer.

He shook his head and choked out, "N-nehehever!" Odysseus shrugged, not an ounce of sympathy to be found.

"In that case, I guess I'll never stop."

"You thihihink this ihis funny?" he sounded significantly less threatening than he had hoped.

"Hilarious, actually," Odysseus deadpanned, scribbling between each rib, inching closer to his gills with each passing second. Poseidon's laughter rose in pitch, and he struggled with renewed intensity. Odysseus smirked down at him.

"Aw, what's the matter? Is this a bad spot?" he asked, running his thumbs along his bottom gill.

Poseidon snorted, arms straining where they were pinned. His cheeks were flushed, long dark hair fanned out around him like rolling waves.

"Noho, please! Not there!" he begged, a forced grin splitting his face in two as he spoke.

"Oh, have you changed your mind?" Odysseus asked, cocking his head innocently. But his hands hovered above Poseidon's gills, wiggling just above the skin.

He sucked in a breath, leaning as far away as he could. "No-" he barely choked out the single word before he was lost to bubbly hysterics. Odysseus traced along the edge of each gill slowly, watching his reactions with a close eye.

Poseidon snorted and squirmed from side to side, lips twitching into a giddy, nervous smile.

"In that case, I think I'll stay right here." Poseidon's eyes widened in something akin to fear.

"Wait, don't!" he protested, arching his back with a giggly snort when Odysseus traced along both sides. He only had to use one finger to get him squirming and choking back laughter. Poseidon bit his lip, but sputtering giggles and shrieks still managed to slip out. "Stohohop!"

"Don't stop? Wasn't planning to, but whatever you say! Gotta give the God what he wants," Odysseus taunted. Poseidon shook his head, a blush quickly spreading across his cheeks.

"You knohohow dahamn well thahahat's not what I meheheant!" he argued. His laughter was uncharacteristically high pitched as he teased his gills, and Odysseus was eager to see what other noises this spot would produce.

"Mmm, actually, I don't," Odysseus corrected with a casual shrug and a shit eating grin. He jumped to the next gill, wiggling a finger just barely underneath the edge. Poseidon snorted and gasped, arching his back as he clenched his jaw. And yet, his laughter persisted.

It was much more shrill than what Odysseus was expecting, but he supposed that was because of where he was targeting. He made sure to be careful around the gills, keeping his touch light and fluttery. You'd think the lighter tickling was worse from the way he was acting. Odysseus considered the thought, watching the way the God writhed and giggled beneath him.

"Come on, it can't be that bad. I'm barely even touching you!" he noted smugly, ghosting his fingertips along his ribs and gills. Poseidon threw his head back and let out a wheezing laugh.

"Ihit's fucking ahahawful!" he screamed, sounding less angry than he intended, and more desperate than he cared to admit. But as humiliating and degrading as this all was, there was a small part of him that was grateful he wasn't enduring real torture. If the King of Ithica was crazy enough to pull a stunt like this, then there's no telling what he's capable of.

He would count his blessings where he could.

He was pulled from his spiraling thoughts when he heard Odysseus chuckle. "That's over dramatic, don't you agree?" he asked, tracing the rim of his gills at an agonizingly slow rate.

"Nooo!" Poseidon denied, but Odysseus was unsure if he was answering the question, or protesting as the tickling began to speed up. He twisted side to side, unable to dislodge the hands exploring his ribs. He snorted and kicked frantically when a finger hesitantly wiggled underneath a gill.

"FUCK, dohohon't you dahare! I will kihihill you!" Poseidon threatened through breathless snickers. Odysseus cocked his head, sporting a sinister smirk.

He leaned down, invading the God's personal space until their noses were almost touching. "I don't think you will." Poseidon sneered up at him until it was forcibly replaced by a bright smile.

"You cocky little-" his words were cut off by a squeal that gave way to breathless cackles. Poseidon thrashed and tugged on his arms, but his trident held firm against the rocks. Odysseus fluttered his fingers on the inside of the gills, just barely reaching in.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Odysseus taunted, cupping an ear with one hand.

"NOHOHOT THEHERE! PLEHEHEASE!" he begged, snorting and wheezing in between bouts of hysterics.

"Wow, you do have manners," Odysseus feigned surprise. He decided to cut him some slack and switch to a new spot. After all, this was pretty fun, and Odysseus didn't want him to tap out too soon. He was thoroughly enjoying every second of his well earned revenge... And the power trip he got from it wasn't half bad either.

Poseidon cackled and swore under his breath as he continued teasing the inside of his gills. His laughter began to sound as though he were screaming underwater, frantic giggles gurgling in the back of his throat as he tried to shove them back down. Odysseus had never heard such a laugh, and took it as a sign to slow down.

"You’re starting to sound a little desperate there, so I guess you deserve a break. Besides, we still have other places to explore..." he trailed off as he rested his hands on his biceps. He lightly pressed into the flesh, watching carefully as Poseidon's breath hitched. He drug his hands down until he reached his bare pits.

"There is no we," he snapped through clenched teeth.

"I don't know, I'd say we're pretty close," he said, just to get under Poseidon's skin. It seemed to work, as he scoffed and glared up at him. "What do you think?" he prompted, cocking his head to the side.

"I thihink you're fucking crahahazy," Poseidon answered as his lingering chuckles faded. Odysseus seemed to soften at those words, placing a hand over his heart as they locked eyes.

"Aw, that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

Poseidon rolled his eyes. "Of course you'd take that as a compliment."

"Y'know, I liked you a lot better when you can barely speak," Odysseus snarked. He didn't give the God a chance to answer before he dug back in, clawing at his exposed pits. Poseidon practically screamed, thrashing around on the rocks as he tugged and twisted his arms in a futile attempt to free himself.

"That's more like it!" Odysseus cheered, raking blunt nails down the center of his hollows. He snorted and cursed at the sharp ticklish sensation.

"Nohoho ihit's nohohot!" he argued. Odysseus arched a brow.

"You just like arguing for the sake of it, don't you?" he asked, not afraid to call him out.

"Ohoho lihike you dohohon't!" Poseidon taunted back through his giggles.

"Yeah, but you're a God. Aren't you supposed to be above shit like that?" he reasoned.

"Absolutely not!" he growled in frustration. Who was he to tell him how a God should act?

"Oh, sorry, my mistake," Odysseus faked an apology, not once slowing his movements.

"Quit beheheing such aha smart ahahass!" Poseidon demanded. He continued to thrash and kick about, the sea surrounding them churning and sloshing. The choppy waves rose and fell in time with Poseidon's bellowing voice.

"No thanks, I'm good," he shot back smugly. "Now listen up, I got a question for you." When Poseidon didn't answer, he drilled his thumbs in the center of his pits, drawing devastatingly ticklish circles.

"Whahahat?" he cried out, frustration and desperation mingling. Why couldn't this mortal just shut his fucking mouth for five minutes?

Odysseus leaned in with a sadistic grin as he asked, "So, how does it feel to be helpless?" The question caught Poseidon off guard, nearly choking on his own laughter. "How's it feel knowing you can't escape?"

"Thahat's m-mighty presumptuous ohohof you," he challenged, even as he fought off his mirth.

Odysseus snapped his head down to look at him, eyes wide in shock as a bewildered smile tugged at his lips. "Wait, can you escape?" he asked, genuinely curious now. He'd seen Poseidon move around as if he were water, and for all he knew, maybe he was. Yet his body felt solid and firm beneath his touch.

Odysseus just might be hallucinating, because he could swear Poseidon blushed at the question.

"Ehehenough! You dohohon't thihink I'm tryihihing?" he snapped defensively, tugging on his trapped arms with renewed effort. The truth of the matter was, Poseidon technically could escape if he really tried. But using his powers to slip away so easily just felt wrong. He was a God for crying out loud, he should be able to free himself with his strength alone! And at this point, he was determined to do so.

Odysseus studied him before answering. "I think you could try a little harder," he goaded, skittering his nails over the tense muscles of his arms. Poseidon's voice jumped in pitch, bordering on shrill.

"Ohoho whahat do you knohow ahahanyways?" he challenged through breathless snickers. It was meant as a rhetorical question, really. So why then, did Odysseus feel the need to answer?

"I know you're pretty damn ticklish for a God," he shot back, relishing in the way Poseidon glared at him; cheeks flushed and mouth agape in shock.

"Excuse me?" he choked out, struggling to keep his laughter contained. Even in his delirious state, he had to admire the sheer audacity.

"You're excused," Odysseus chuckled at his own joke, smirking at the way Poseidon rolled his eyes.

"You're really not ahas funny as you thihihink," he managed to complain with minimal chuckles.

Odysseus looked down at him, tilting his head to the side with mock innocence. "Really? Then why're you laughing?" He punctuated the question by fluttering his fingers behind his ears.

Poseidon shook his head, scrunching his neck as real, honest to the Gods giggles spilled past his lips.

"Oops, my mistake. Why are you giggling?" Odysseus "corrected" himself, sporting a sly grin.

"Ihihi aham nohohot!" he insisted, despite the bubbly laughter lacing his words.

"Denial looks good on you," he quipped back, tracing along the edges of his ear fins. Poseidon's eyes flew wide open as a dark blush spread across his cheeks.

"Ihihit does nohohot!" he argued, trying his best to sound intimidating. Apparently it didn't work as intended, seeing as Odysseus was cooing at him.

"Sure, keep telling yourself that," he goaded, gently pinching his ear, just to hear him shriek. Poseidon flinched away from the touch with a snort.

"Aw, you must be really ticklish here," he added with amusement. Poseidon shook his head frantically, bubbly giggles gurgling in the back of his throat. Odysseus now realized that his laughter just sounded like that. How cute.

"Nohoho! S-stohohop!" he pleaded. The light, teasing touch was downright maddening, and he couldn't take the relentless teasing.

"No thanks, I'm good," Odysseus casually shrugged him off. He scratched blunt nails against the thin skin of his fins, drawing out the most endearing snickers.

"Why you little- wait, dohohon't!" he protested when he saw a mischievous smirk flash across the mortal's face. But there was nothing he could do to stop him when hands latched onto his hips. He bucked like a wild horse, head thrown back as booming cackles escaped him.

"Don't what?"

"Your stupid trihihicks won't work ohon mehehe!" he yelled, thrashing from side to side in an attempt to dislodge the torturous hands squeezing his hips.

Odysseus heaved a sigh and shrugged, "Oh well, it was worth a shot." He moved down to knead his thighs, flinching at the scream that filled the air. He pulled back to cover his ears, allowing Poseidon a moment to catch his breath.

"Oho fuck you, I'm not being that loud!" he snapped defensively. Odysseus opened his mouth to answer, but before he could speak, the sky lit up with a web of lighting as thunder roared overhead. Poseidon gawked up at the sky, a dark blue blush spreading across his cheeks as Odysseus doubled over in laughter.

"I think your brother would beg to differ!" he cheered mockingly, poking all over his belly. Poseidon snorted and curled in on himself, but no matter how much he struggled, he couldn't escape the unbearable feeling of fingers on his skin.

"Just shut thehe fuck up! I'll kihihill both of you!" he threatened. Odysseus rolled his eyes as another clap of thunder sounded above, mocking him. This couldn't possibly get any worse.

"I really don't think you could kill anyone right now," he taunted, squeezing down his thighs until he got to his knees, and a loud snort slipped out. He stayed there for a few agonizing seconds before turning around, straddling his legs. And that could only mean one thing.

"Wait! Nohoho!" he shrieked as Odysseus scraped his blunt nails down his soles. He scrunched his feet and kicked as much as he could, but his legs were pinned fairly well, and he was weak from laughter.

"Aw, you have webbing between your toes! That's honestly pretty adorable," he taunted with a fond smile.

"Wha- no it's not!" Poseidon sputtered, fighting off a blush and doing a rather poor job. "I live in the water, what the fuck did you expect?"

"Y’know what? I don't like your tone," Odysseus said, scribbling along his arches. He let out a giggly yelp, jerking beneath the touch.

"Ohoho fuck you! Just lehehet me gohoho!"

"I'll stop whenever you want, just call off the storm!" he insisted in a snide, taunting tone.

"I-I cahahan't!" Poseidon lied as he desperately tried to think of any other way out of the mess he'd gotten himself into.

"We'll see about that," Odysseus called his bluff, glaring down at him with playful malice. He held down his ankles and grabbed his toes, stretching them back. He began furiously scribbling the webbing between his toes, and the reaction was immediate.

Poseidon kicked his trapped legs, scrunching his toes as much as he could. Bubbly giggles and shrieks escaped him as Odysseus continued to rub the thin webbing. His nose was scrunched adorably as he snorted and shook his head frantically.

"Stohohop!" he pleaded once more, but Odysseus wasn't so eager to let him off the hook. At least, not yet.

"You didn't stop when I begged you, so why should I?" he justified the prolonged cruelty.

"Behehecause I fucking sahahay sohoho!" he ordered in between helpless snickers.

That was the last straw. Poseidon was going to cave, one way or another; Odysseus would make sure of it.

He spun around suddenly, vengeance flashing in his eyes. "You still think you're in control?" he challenged, digging into his gills without warning. Poseidon was caught off guard by the change of spots, screaming and wheezing through hysterics.

"NOHOHO! Y-YOU MOHOHONSTER!" he wailed at the top of his lungs. He arched his back, struggling to free himself. He threw his head back in frustration, cackles flowing freely from his smiling mouth.

Odysseus scoffed at the insult and rolled his eyes. "A tickle monster, maybe," he agreed with a snide chuckle. "But didn't you say that ruthlessness is mercy upon our-"

"Ahalrihihight! Plehehease!" he begged, finally admitting defeat. As much as it pains him to say it, he just couldn’t take any more.

Odysseus wore a satisfied grin as he stared down at him. He leaned in to whisper in his ear, “Now was that so hard?” Poseidon rolled his eyes, a fading blush still dusting his cheeks.

“Incredibly so,” he deadpanned. With a heavy sigh and a wave of his trapped hand, the raging ocean calmed. “There you go, you crazy bastard,” he huffed, sounding almost fond.

“Thank you, that’s all I wanted,” Odysseus said, releasing the tension in his shoulders as he stared at the distant shore. “No hard feelings?” he asked, holding his hand out in a show of truce, forgetting for a moment that the God’s hands were still trapped.

In his deliriously giddy state, Poseidon had forgotten he was supposed to be trapped as he begrudgingly shook the mortal’s hand. He shifted form and slipped past the metal prongs on his trident, flowing into his full height as he stood on the rocks.

Odysseus was frozen in shock, looking between Poseidon and his trident.

“So you could get out the whole time?”

Poseidon’s smirk dropped as he realized the mistake he made. “Wait-” he tried to backtrack.

“And you were just letting it happen!” Odysseus added with a mocking smile, taking one last opportunity to tease him.

“Watch it, I can bring back the storm whenever I like!” he threatened, but it wasn’t nearly as scary as it should’ve been. “But I wasn’t going to resort to cheating in order to beat you,” he justified. Odysseus snorted in amusement, arching a brow skeptically.

“Cheating?” he repeated, making Poseidon scoff and drench him with a wave from behind. “Hey!”

“Using my powers to escape so easily would’ve just been cowardly and unfair,” he justified, because that’s totally the only reason…

“Yeah, cause you looked so brave giggling yourself silly,” Odysseus couldn’t help but taunt, enjoying the choked sputtering the comment earned.

“Whatever, it was getting loose. I would’ve broke free any second.”

“Oh? Is that why you tapped out?” he goaded further, still riding high off of the power trip. Poseidon weighed his options, but decided it wasn’t worth it.

“You’ve wasted enough of my time already. You’re lucky I have places to be,” he said, turning towards the water without another word.

“See ya later,” Odysseus called after him with a small wave. Poseidon froze in his tracks, looking back over his shoulder to glare at him.

“No you won’t,” he corrected harshly, flashing a small grin his way before melting into the waves, leaving Odysseus alone.

“Yeah I will,” he said to himself, smiling out at the calm sea.

#it’s finally here!#this was the most flustering fic i’ve written in a long time #fish man needs to get WRECKED #he lowkey likes it #can you tell?#poseidon #odysseus #poseidon x odysseus #kinda #enough to add the tag #manwhore au #epic #epic musical #epic fic #epic musical fic #epic tickle fic #ticklish!poseidon

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kqutie · 7 days ago

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ao3 request : HI I AM SO IN LOVE WITH THIS FIC ... if its not too much trouble, do you think you could write this fic in a male pov? … i just want more immersion im not mad lmao just desperate and pathetic for hermes

length : 1.4k

a/n : I hope this a good compromise for being unable to make a male pov version of the series, my darling. it’s only a little something, i’m sorry i couldn’t do more for you but, again i did my best to make it feel special to you as a fellow hermes lover. hopefully it also explains (not excuse!) hermes’ harassing behaviour towards the reader.

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← prev. | four. the washed-up stranger

“What have you done, Hermes?” Athena begins, already distressed as she appears out of nowhere beside him.

“Nothing at all, darling~” he coos nonchalantly, peering over the new cloud he’s stationed over your island for further observations. He’s made a habit of planting himself there in his free time just so he has the best view of all the hilarious antics you pull on the crew. He hasn’t been able to laugh this much in ages — no wonder he’s grown such an attachment to you.

“Don’t play dumb!” His half-sister snaps and huffs in frustration, working herself up as she drills a hole into his temple with a glare. “There was no need for such a show!”

“Oh! But we had the perfect audience~” Hermes reasoned with a sly smirk and guiltless eyes, hands tucked behind his head, and his ankles crossing over as he floated about on his back as if on a suspended bed of air. “Why not provide them with some entertainment? It’s only fair since they’ve supplied me with so much in so little time~” he chuckles to himself at the amusing events he’s witnessed.

Athena takes a moment to observe his unconcerned attitude; it’s as if she’s trying to look into his soul. She’s looking at him like many of her elaborate weaving projects, closely examining each thread to ensure that not a single one was a centimetre out of place. It was quite unnerving, but Hermes only had to keep his eyes shut and hum to himself leisurely for sufficient distractions.

“What is this about Hermes? There’s something more here, isn’t there?”

Hermes knows another lecture is coming and avoids the conversation for as long as possible. The best way, he gathers, is to not address it at all. He peeks at her with a lazily, half-opened eye, “Wha’s that?”

There’s a strict but worried expression on Athena’s face. Ever since she had taken his great-grandson in as her champion, they have grown a closer relationship, sometimes confiding in each other over small frustrations. At an especially vulnerable time, Hermes had gone to her, pouring as much of his heart out as he had drunk Dionysus’ wine. It was a rare sight to see her spritely half-brother, but Athena helped him through it. She didn’t quite understand why, however, as she wasn’t usually the solicitous type — she later found out that he needed her logic to balance his emotional state. That was the only wise thought he had at the time, and she was happy it was one he followed through on. Back then, she was more logical than empathetic, so she couldn’t offer much compassion, but she had grown since, even as a Goddess. And she can already foresee what will happen without a prophet's clairvoyance. She needs to approach the topic with equal parts delicacy and rigour.

“Don’t do this to yourself again, Hermes.” Athena meets her half-brother’s uncharacteristically aggrieved glare. She doesn’t back down even in the tense pause that follows where he refuses to answer her. The silence stretches on for so long between them that she’s afraid he has turned to stone because of his abnormal stillness.

“…It’s not happening again!” The messenger god finally snaps, turning away from his half-sibling to stare at nothing — nothing is better than seeing the pity in her eyes.

“Despite her divine-like powers, she is still a mortal, Hermes!” Athena reasoned, circling her brother to be able to see his face and look into his eyes, wanting to convey the gravity of the situation, but is unsuccessful. Hermes was insistent on not meeting her eyes, turning away at her every step. Eventually, she stops, succumbing to his wishes and stands back but her presence has grown so imposing. It feels just as perturbing that she doesn’t leave him be — why couldn’t she just leave him be?!

“If you don’t stop, it will end just the same.” She warns even though she knows he doesn’t want to hear another word, judging by the tension in his shoulders. “You have to let her go before history repeats itself — you’re only hurting yourself and her. The same way you hurt yourself and—!”

“Don’t Say His Name!” Hermes finally meets her eyes, his demanding shout stilling the air around them. His eyes glowed brighter with a profound fury beneath the shadow of his helmet. The wings attached to his helmet, once flexed in their alertness, gradually move to cover his eyes — a weak attempt at shielding him from the world.

Even with his eyes hidden away, Athena could tell that they welled with tears. But there is no satisfaction when she sees the salty drops drip past the mask of his feathers and down his cheek and jaw.

To think that a mortal man could have such an adverse effect on her usually jocular brother. Despite the years that have already passed and Hermes’ supposed return to normality, he has yet to recover from such a sad loss. The love he had described to her as the truest kind he’d ever found had slipped right through his fingers. It was to be expected of mortal souls, they are far more fragile than the gods and meet their ends far quicker. In his desperation, Hermes pleaded with their uncle to allow him the privilege of continuing to see his love again in the underworld. The messenger god had such hope that it could be made possible for him, but alas, he was not granted such a benefit, even as the lord of the underworld’s nephew. The night Hermes had sought comfort in her, he had been on his way back from Hades after retrieving a barrel of wine from Dionysus, who took pity on him.

Hermes reminisced his and his love’s happiest memories, from the times that left them breathless and feeling nothing but alive to the quiet moments spent in impossible closeness. He described their connection as a fated one, a union that made him want to slow down the years and not live at such high speeds, a surprising confession from the god known for his swiftness. Because of him, Hermes had begun to crave a simple, quiet existence — all he needed was him to reach fulfilment and completeness. Hermes remembered and gushed over his love’s beautiful eyes, his loving voice, his addictive lips, his shining spirit and his strong build. He vowed to never forget him or the precious love they’d shared.

As time passed and his lover grew older and frailer, Hermes became anxious to immortalise him and keep him by his side forever. He sought his father, who, in a rare instance, instructed against it, citing the failed immortalisation of other mortals such as Achilles and Endymion. Zeus had saved him from the heartache of foolishly and selfishly causing his love’s demise. But, in turn, had made him the bearer of a different heartache.

But…was one truly more painful than the other? Hermes regrets every day that he didn’t, at least, try for his love…

“Don’t you ever say his name… His name is a precious one. Even I do not speak it.” Hermes gathers himself away from his sister’s prying view and his helmet wings slowly fold back to reveal his eyes once again.

“You do not speak it because of the pain it gives you!”

“His name will only ever bring me joy! Don’t speak as if you know about my heart! You. Don’t. Athena. No one does. Only he ever did!”

“But I know you will only make a fool of yourself once again — she is a mortal! A mortal! It will all end the same!” Their screams leave them breathing heavily and exhausted. But, gradually, the tension fades and so do the high emotions. Hermes’ scowling expression slowly melts into a dispirited one as Athena’s stern stare warms with sympathy.

“Let her go, Hermes.”

Shaking his head, the messenger god turns away with slumped shoulders, his helmet’s wings giving a subtle tremble as if to shake off the sadness.

‘HERMES!’ the patron god smiles to himself, his mood lifting upon hearing your cry in between his ears.

“Oh! It appears as though I’m being summoned~” Without another word, he zips away, his conflicted expression finally revealing itself when finally away from Athena’s prying gaze. But as he drew closer to you, it melted into a smug (almost sad) grin.

Athena’s right…

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taglist : @bluepanda08 @doodle-with-rhy @sunshinedaisy21 @jolixtreesunn @ellaprime7 @marcelemry @nishayuro @hijinkxy @kerosene-demon @windrosesrasta @keikeiluvyou @darling-eos @iamapotatoe @yuzxi18 @woncloudie @permanently-nothere @ash1 @barrythestrawberry041 @trashcannotbealive @yuksssss

#epic the musical #epic the musical x reader #epic x reader #the fair maiden series #the fair maiden drabble #hermes x reader #epic hermes angst #epic hermes x reader #epic athena #epic the musical angst #the fair maiden series imagine

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diremoone · 1 year ago

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“how i wonder” | r. sukuna

it’s been ages since he’s celebrated any sort of birthday or holiday. but here he is, with the girl that’s best friends with his little brother, at her apartment with Chinese takeout and watching a Halloween movie on Christmas. and it’s nice, until the power goes out and he’s left with his own thoughts.

part one | part two | part three

w — modern! au, fluff, age gap, older man/younger woman, Sukuna is 36 & Reader is 22/23, slowburn, pining (on Sukuna’s end), Sukuna thinks too damn much in this one but he’s so intrigued by reader he can’t help it haha, celebrating Christmas solely to feel happy and not lonely (sorta; on both ends), this was originally named “snow sparrow” but then was unhappy with it lmao, and many other tags I may have forgotten lmao

[ divider credit @/inklore ]

A man as wealthy as him shouldn’t be seen outside of the fancy home and set of cars he owns. His bank account is big, too big to be standing in the elevator of a simple apartment complex. Although the place is nice, he thinks. It’s not older than him and dilapidated and run down like some awful things he’s seen, nor was it built fresh and fancy and made to be super expensive. It was simple, and a despite liking the finer things in life, he found the simplicity rather… nice for a change.

This was only half-scheduled: meeting you at your place for the holiday. You’d been with Yuuji for a final essay assignment before the school break. Nothing major, just helping him edit grammatical errors and fix his repetitive word usage. That was two weeks ago; two weeks have passed since you made an offhand comment about “two bored people being bored together” for the the holiday.

Sukuna would never deny he wouldn’t outright admit it either that his little brother living with him brought something great into his life: a woman that he enjoyed challenging him, bringing him a new sense of vigor for life beyond the seven sins he was accustomed to.

His hands seem to be sweaty, though he’d like to think it was because of the several bags of Chinese takeout in his large hand. His left? Probably from having his phone in his hand too much. Yeah, that sounded right. He has no reason to be nervous. Why should he be? No need to dwell on it any further.

He passes by only maybe four or five people on his way up to your apartment that’s on the top floor. The few people he does encounter don’t meet his gaze; instead either intimidated or dumbstruck by his monstrous height and imposing aura and can only make a quick glance at him, probably wondering what such a person like him, especially as big as him, was doing in such a simplistic, plain apartment complex.

Sukuna eyeballs the door numbers, even on the left and odd on the right. Yours is four doors down on the right, 407 if he remembers correctly.

No, he remembers perfectly. Why wouldn’t he?

Sukuna knocks twice and readjusts the bags of warm food in his other hand. He catches himself shifting his feet underneath him like a nervous schoolgirl and almost cusses at himself, had it not been for the tiny metallic click of a lock.

You seem surprised, bewildered slightly that he’s really standing in front of your apartment door. Like you hadn’t actually expected him to take you up on the half-joking offer of spending the holidays together as two “lonely people.” You’re essentially a deer in headlights.

But a beautiful deer in headlights.

He can smell the subtle scent of lavender from you, a smell he hadn’t expected, but was certainty… entranced by it, and with a hint of something fruity mixed in there as well. The soft, navy blue sweater leans slightly more off of your left shoulder, revealing the black bra strap underneath. The black leggings you’re wearing make images go through his head that he’s tried to keep in behind the doors of his office and bedroom. You don’t even have to wear makeup, even try in the slightest to look as beautiful as you do. You’re natural, and you’re not afraid of it. You’re already confident in your own skin, even at your younger age. And heavens, does he love it.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come.” Just like he thought. “But come on in. That’s smells good.”

Sukuna doesn’t get to see the cartoon cow slippers you’re wearing until he’s taking off his own shoes at your front door. His mouth quirks up in a small grin.

Adorable.

“Food can go on the table,” you say, gesturing to the low, long and flat coffee table in front of the couch. “I’ll get drinks. Sorry if you don’t like tea, but that’s all I got.”

“That’s fine.” His voice sounds almost foreign to himself as he stands in an unfamiliar place. But at the same time, he thinks it fits. Like he belongs here in this simplistic but nice apartment of yours, here with you having dinner and spending- You know what, he can stop thinking for a moment and focus on the present.

He’s in deep thought as he takes in the expanse and decor of your home further. It’s nice, definitely nicer than what he expected. His eyes take it all in, but finishes when his eyes land on the cute little Christmas tree tucked away in the corner beside the door to the patio, with tiny, glittery ornaments twinkling as the interwoven, multicolored lights shine against them.

God, you’re almost too cute.

But he couldn’t help but wonder for a small moment how you were faring expenses for this place, alongside groceries and going to school most of the time.

“You must manage your finances well to live here,” he hums.

“I’m not as dirt poor as I used to be, I’ll say that,” you reply. “But even then, being stingy will always be ingrained into my DNA.”

“Even if you have the world at your feet?”

You point to him with the index finger wrapped around your cup of tea, smiling. “Keyword: always~ World or not, the bare necessities are fine for me.”

He swallows down what your words do to him and tries to keep a straight face. He doesn’t like it, doesn’t like the way you inadvertently say you’ll always feel like you’ll never have anything to desire or genuinely want outside of pure necessity. Sukuna doesn’t like how natural it sounds, how uncaring you are towards wanting more than what you have now. He knew you were like this somewhat, but not to this extent. It makes him… a little angry.

So, now he knows the diamond necklace he bought you won’t be received like he wants it to be.

Guess I’ll have to save it for another time, he notes tactfully, watching you settle the food on the table and hop onto the couch and get comfortable.

The ambience of your home is a change of pace Sukuna didn’t know he needed. Until now.

He’s a giant, giant man, so he takes up most of the couch, even with it being relatively large in itself. You don’t seem to mind however, with the way your feet are barely a centimeter away from touching his leg.

“Any movie or show preferences?”

“Anything but Yellowstone.”

You snort. “What do you have against Yellowstone?”

“Dialogue’s too goddamn fake.”

You toss your head back and let out a boisterous laugh, giggling like a madwoman.

“So, the Powerpuff Girls then?”

“You’re not five.”

“Everyone has an inner child.”

Sukuna grumbles. “Just put it on fuckin’ Yellowstone.”

You throw your hands up in mock surrender, right hand only a few fingers lifted from holding the remote. “How about… Squid Game?”

“For a Christmas show? You’re weird as hell.”

“The Nightmare Before Christmas?”

Sukuna chuckles and shakes his head. “I’ll let you decide.”

The spooky movie is ultimately what you choose, and Sukuna finds it nothing short of amusing. He’s not fully interested in the movie, mostly interested in you and the quirkiness that made you choose such a movie on a day like this. His eyes flicker between you and the movie, watching you munch down on the lo mein.

It’s been ages since Sukuna has allowed himself to indulge in relaxation, allowed his mind to think of absolutely nothing but the childish movie in front of him that was picked out for him.

One would think a man like him would let his attorneys and the supervisors directly underneath him do all of the thinking for him while he bathed in his own riches. Sukuna did, yes; he used to. But he knows that one step too far into indulgence could mean the end of everything he put all of his blood and sweat into. And that was why he was so involved in his business, rather than let someone else handle it.

But here he was: indulging himself. (But it wasn’t the same as being on a yacht with women somewhere in the Caribbean.) Perhaps the difference was it wasn’t indulgence of sin, but rather the indulgence of peace and quiet; the desire for more than the company of a one-night stand.

You certainly deserved better than any sort of degrading, essentially whore-like treatment the women he used to be around were given and treated themselves as. You were nothing like them, not even slightly; you would never willingly to jeopardize your morals and dignity, not even for a chance to be with someone like him, as wealthy as him. That kind of interest was on the back-burner. As much as he hated it, he respected it just as much.

Sukuna half-watches the movie as he eats the takeout, not having seen it since one of his first girlfriends as a teenager introduced him to it. It was never important, never intriguing enough for him — nothing but a waste. But now, since you chose it, now it was enough for him to watch it. He finds he enjoys Jack Skellington, amused by his desire to take over Christmas Town. He also feels some sort of similar between him and Jack, regarding Jack’s interest in Sally and him… with you.

“You want a refill?” you ask suddenly, drawing the man from his thoughts. Sukuna looks down, seeing that he was almost out of the tea. Had he been so deep in his own thoughts he didn’t know he’d been sipping away at the drink? He almost scoffs in disbelief.

“If you don’t mind,” he replies. But he figures he’s going to need to use the restroom soon.

“Bathroom’s first door on the left,” you say, getting up after pausing the movie. He’s dumbstruck for a moment. Were you a mind reader?

Sukuna watches you in the reflection of the television. Even just refilling the drinks, you manage to enamor him. You seem so poised, yet so uncaring that someone of his status was sitting in your living room, watching a corny Halloween movie for Christmas. Perhaps being so uncaring went hand-in-hand with how poised and calm you were? There shouldn’t be any other explanation than that.

But why? He wondered what made you unlike the other women, even ones at your age that were nothing but a flustered mess at the mere sight of him. Why weren’t you the same?

He excuses himself to the bathroom and makes it quick. He sees the bottle of lavender body wash, then notices the shampoo, conditioner — the fruity smell he inhaled earlier. With a quick glance, Sukuna sees no perfume either, which perplexes him.

There’s no way she could possibly… Sukuna ponders, but doesn’t finish the thought. And all of a sudden, the lights flicker, hard. It’s something that’s been happening for the last hour or so, but it’s been something he’s ignored until now.

Sukuna ambles back into the living room, seeing the lights dim just as hard as a few seconds ago. Your still in the kitchen, but narrow your eyes slightly at the darkened lights.

“I didn’t see this place as having bad electricity,” he hums, sitting to face the TV, continuing to watch you in the reflection.

“It doesn’t,” you reply. “I suspect the snowstorm’s fixing to get bad enough to knock the power out soon. Now would probably be a good time to leave. I can still see a few snow plows out.”

“I’ll pass,” he replies coolly. “Besides, two cold and lonely souls are better than one.”

He doesn’t know why you let out a tiny snort and giggle, but you do. (A little flower of pride wants to bloom in his chest.)

You lift the lid to the slow cooker and stir. The smell of chocolate reaches his nose after you seal it.

“It’s almost done,” you suddenly speak, “if you’re done watching my reflection in the TV, would you like some hot chocolate?”

Busted. Sukuna knows that he’s now the deer in headlights; his heart thumps harder in embarrassment like a schoolgirl’s would.

“How sweet is it?”

“I’ve no idea. I fucked around with the recipe, so we’ll just have to find out.”

A sudden click is heard, and all the lights fade instantly. It’s completely dark, pitch black almost that neither you nor Sukuna can see in front of yourselves. He moves to stand, but you interject. “Sit, please. I don’t need your big ass knocking my shit over. Nor you getting a concussion.”

Sukuna laughs. “You have it covered then?”

“Could walk this place if I was blind,” you joke with a small snicker.

He watches you find four different candles to light up your apartment, one each for the kitchen and bathroom, and two for the living room. You disappear into your bedroom down the hall for a few moments, then you come back with a surprising, heaping mess of blankets hiding your form from nearly head-to-toe.

“Help me, please? Don’t let it fall on the food.”

Sukuna stands and his big arms wrap around the bundle of blankets, lifting them from you with ease. You pluck one from his grasp and quickly put it over the couch for extra warmth. You’re not about to freeze your ass off with him here.

You get under the blankets fairly quick. It takes nearly two king-sized ones you’ve had tucked away to cover the colossal man that is Ryomen Sukuna.

“Think the food is still warm?”

“Barely.”

“Are you gonna finish the lo mein then?” you ask.

“You can have it.” He half wishes he hadn’t eaten before he came so he didn’t seem so… uninterested in the food.

You have absolutely no shame devouring the remaining food as much as you possibly can in front of him. You eat as much as you can, but there’s still enough of the food left for him if he wants it. It just a matter of it getting cold, you think.

The temperature drops faster than you anticipate though. When you chuck the empty box of noodles into the trash from the living room (you made it, huh, that’s weird) a gust of wind rattles the patio doors, seemingly almost shaking the foundation of the complex. You hear a hum of surprise from the older man next to you as you huddle under the covers more. You shudder from the onslaught of the cold.

Sukuna sighs heavily. He pulls his arm from the blankets “Come ‘ere.”

He almost laughs at the blanched expression on your face. But after a few moments, you cave, scooting yourself closer to him until you two were practically touching thighs.

You squeak as he lifts one of the blankets with one hand and you with the other, trapping you under the second layer.

You shake your head and snort. “God, you’re shameless.”

Sukuna belts out a boisterous laugh. “Shame has never come easy for me.”

You scoff playfully. “I’m sure it hasn’t.”

“Nor does it for you,” he retorts.

And then you admit something that’s going to be on his mind for the rest of his time here. And perhaps for days after this, too: “Mine is more of a learned habit.”

Another gust of bitter cold shakes the patio doors again. You shiver. “Jesus, I didn’t expect it to get this cold.”

“Or for the power to go out.” He huffs. Like second nature, for both of you, he pulls you closer, and you lean into his massive body, taking in the heat his body.

Goodness, you think, closing your eyes, he’s a furnace…

Today certainly hadn’t gone as he expected. The last thing he was anticipating was a snowstorm blowing out the electrical system for several cities, snow falling several good feet and keeping him in the apartment of the woman he’s fallen for.

But you’re what is consuming his mind.

You’re on his lap, eyes closed and resting your head on his chest. You’re so small. Regardless of height, virtually anyone would be smaller than him; he’s a behemoth of a man, yes he knows it.

You, compared to him, are simply tiny, like a bird in the hands of a giant. So delicate, so small and cute. But as delicate as you are, you’re not glass. You’re small like a sparrow, but at the same time you desire freedom, using your wings to fly wherever and do whatever, regardless of how hard life would make your wings have to flap. Your soul isn’t easy to chain down… It’s beautiful.

“Does your brain always run a billion miles a minute this late?”

He grumbles. “Sleep, would you?”

“Your brain has no depth, does it?” you say. Then you ask, “Are you even okay with me sleeping on you?”

“If I wasn’t, we wouldn’t be in this position, would we?”

You yawn in reply, nestling your head comfortably on his torso. A small “okay” leaves your lips, and you seemingly have no problem steadying your breath and falling asleep against his chest. It’s nice, being that way for a good few minutes. Well, until you prove you’re not asleep like he thought.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Sukuna almost jumps and cusses, “Goddamn it.” You seem to know that you’ve startled him and laugh in return.

You keep conversation easy; although the two of you talk anything but what is on his mind. That’s not something he’s ready for. He’s still sorting out his own feelings, seeing if they’re beyond just being enthralled with you and your personality. Seeing if what he’s feeling is just high intrigue for you as a person, or whether what he’s feeling is going to lead to something more, beyond intrigue and fascination.

Because he knows that you won’t be able to stay forever. He knows that you, your soul, isn’t going to be easily bound by just anyone. He knows that you want to be unbound, he sees it in your eyes and hears it in your voice; he sees the desire to live freely in the way you carry yourself, the way you act and behave. But holy shit; does he want to be the one to change that.

You carry conversation easy, but eventually you fall asleep on him. The hot chocolate in the slow cooker is forgotten, but he’s sure it’ll be just as good in morning.

Sukuna, as he closes his eyes, wonders about the things you want. Where you’d want to go and the things you want to do. That kind of talk, however, is reserved for a time where there’s a deeper connection between the two of you. It’s reserved for a time where your walls are down and you’re no longer on guard, no longer having your walls built higher than heaven and deeper than hell.

For now, you two are two lonely souls celebrating Christmas, cuddled up to one another for the sake of warmth and nothing more during a sudden blackout.

It would be ludicrous to wonder if you’ve ever wanted to be loved and cherished, married to someone that would cradle your head and tilt it back to kiss you with the utmost devotion a human heart could give.

Now wouldn’t it?

a/n: I know that this is slowburn and everything, but it feels… superbly subpar? pls let me know if you guys think otherwise. this went about 85% of the original plot I had in mind so that’s a plus haha. I have full intent of picking up a bit on the romance aspect (of reader beginning to develop feelings) of this series in the next chapter, which briefly takes place after this one (I promise there’ll be at least one kiss)

—

taglist: (basically everyone that rb’d and commented on the first [for those that tagging worked on] ;; closed)

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna jjk #sukuna ryomen #sukuna drabble #sukuna fic #jjk sukuna #modern! sukuna #modern au #jjk drabble #jjk fluff

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taegimood · 7 months ago

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ummm woah what’s that! points in the opposite direction as i scramble behind my open for business sign as if i didn’t disappear without a trace for months and have totally been here the whole time oh guess it was nothing anyway hi guys

i wouldn’t be me without eternal soobin brainrot so naturally i’ve emerged to throw this old now-finished draft at you for my first post back 🫡

so the best friends to fwb to lovers pipeline is my mf roman empire i’m so serious. like bestfriend!soobin always sitting next to you with his hand casually resting on your leg at all times, not even in a suggestive way, he just gravitates towards touching you 🥺 his safe place !! imagining his huge self slumped practically in half to rest his head on your shoulder, or him just mindlessly playing with your little fingers in his big hands glitches as he sits observing the room w that soft pout and big boba eyes combo yeah you know the one- clutches chest

so then later turned fwb!soobin who’s so used to showering w his friends iykyk lmao that now that he’s fucking you, in his mind you’ve crossed over that threshold of friendship where he expects to be able to join you for your showers even when it’s nothing sexual.. is genuinely confused if you tell him no 😭

“soobin i just need some me-time”

“….you can’t have your me-time with me?” *displeased pout*

like a needy puppy fr

but like you guys having such an interesting dynamic cuz you’re just still straight-up best friends (who are actually in love with each other but neither of you realize that even tho everyone else does cue yeonjun rolling his eyes into the camera like the office) so even tho the boys are all waiting for you both to wake up from your one joint braincell’s loop of stupidity and realize the truth, (beomgyu’s words), no one actually suspects that you’re out here skipping steps and FUCKING each other, because you guys just act so normal and chill together otherwise — the same way you’ve always been.

until later when the feelings start coming to the surface and you suddenly don’t know how to act around each other but that’s a whole other can of worms 🫡

so, when you’ve joined them for a short weekend schedule in japan, no one questions it when soobin meanders over to your hotel room after everyone is all settled in and getting ready for bed. eh, he’s just gonna go veg out there for a bit cuz he’s bored while she rambles about random stuff. classic soobin and y/n. they are wrong

you had just settled into bed when soobin slips into your room with the spare key card you had tucked into his pocket earlier, and you’re shuffling around and getting comfy when you hear the door open and close. you two hadn’t made a plan to mess around tonight, but you aren’t surprised, as it isn’t unusual for soobin to still seek you out for cuddles while he talks about his day.

you don’t even have to say anything as he slides into bed behind you, instantly wrapping an arm around your waist and nuzzling his face into the nape of your neck with a sigh.

“needed a break from beomgyu’s pororo impressions,” he mumbles, and you snort at the thought. “how does he still have so much energy right now…?” you murmur back, sleep lacing the edges of your voice.

“i still think i’m right about him being an animatronic bot who reaches peak terror at night.”

the two of you giggle at soobin’s joke before falling into a comfortable silence, broken intermittently by comments about your day, about their schedule tomorrow, about the anime-themed shopping center you guys plan to sneak off to with kai afterwards.

with another sigh from soobin, this one more of contentment than exhaustion, he’s soon nestling further into you, your eyes slipping shut in sleepy bliss at the warmth of his body pressed to yours.

that is, until you begin to feel small kisses being placed softly along your shoulder.

“soobin,” you warn half-heartedly.

“‘m not doing anything,” he complains back quietly in an equally half-hearted mumble, as he continues clearly doing something.

you’re so tired, but you can’t deny the tingles that run through your body whenever soobin touches you, and tonight is no exception as you wordlessly turn your head to look over your shoulder at him, his features coming into focus in the near-darkness of the room as he pauses to gaze at you in turn.

his blonde hair all tousled from the pillows, the sharp line of his jaw, his soft shining eyes — and his lips that you can never seem to resist for very long.

case in point. it’s only a few passing moments before those lips are on yours in a deep kiss, languid and slow, his hand gently holding your chin that’s still angled back towards him, your own hand reaching behind to caress the back of his neck — and then he’s shifting backwards to turn you over fully, your back now against the sheets as he positions himself half over you, his tongue moving lazily with yours, warm and wet and tasting of him as he comfortably rests his weight on you.

you make out like that for a while, his wandering right hand leisurely squeezing and kneading your tits beneath your shirt, his lips occasionally finding themselves trailing down your neck, but always coming back up to find yours.

i can picture how needy he’d start to get, subtle at first in the way he’d shift his hips, in the way his breath would quicken — and then it would be obvious from the moans that escape him as his kisses grow heavier, more insistent.

“need you..” he’d groan breathlessly through his kisses, attempting to shove his sweatpants down with his free hand as his lips stay latched onto yours, too desperate and impatient to sit up properly and use both hands.

“someone might come looking for you,” but you’re tugging his pants and boxers down his hips for him anyway and his lips are on your neck as he pushes your panties aside.

“let them look.”

soobin wasting no time rocking into you with deep, needy strokes, his face buried in your neck while your arms wrap around his shoulders, clutching onto him as his hips press you further into the mattress the more desperate he gets.

his hands are all over you, squeezing and caressing anywhere they can touch, and closer just isn’t enough as he holds you against him with breathy moans and grinding hips until you’re both cumming, his stuttered groan the giveaway before his final thrust is filling you up and your own climax washes over you like a wave. you can feel each other’s hearts beating as he stays there rested on top of your chest.

your best friend eventually lifting himself to hover over you in the dark, his warm breath fanning over your lips as you push the damp hair from his forehead, hand sliding down to caress his cheek, his jaw, thumb ghosting across his parted lips as he twitches inside of you — you bite back a smile.

this time, when he kisses you.. you don’t know it yet, but this time, it’s different.

soobin isn’t exactly sure why he can feel heat rising to his cheeks or a little somersault in his chest, but he’s glad that it’s too dark for you to notice the redness in his face when he asks,

“can i stay here tonight?”

#mj’s hard thoughts #txt #txt x reader #txt hard thoughts #txt smut #txt thoughts #soobin #soobin x reader #soobin hard thoughts #soobin smut #soobin thoughts #taegimood

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iwritefandomimagines · 6 months ago

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BOTHERED — AGENT DALE COOPER

masterlist

pairing: dale cooper x reader

description: navigating emotions wasn’t agent cooper’s strongest suit. confronting his growing feelings for you, even less so. but jealousy can be a powerful motivator at times — and your close friendship with sheriff truman might have him just a little bothered. [based on a request for jealous!dale]

warnings: none really, jealous!coop though, death mentions — no major spoilers for TP plot, unlike my usual jealousy fics this one is soft n not so angsty (cooper is just quiet and mopey lmao)

author’s note: SURPRISE! i restarted twin peaks and was reminded of the severe lack of dale x reader fics so am here to help remedy that thanks to a jealous!coop request 🫡 (on that note… sheriff truman fics anyone?)

———

When Agent Cooper had agreed to come for one drink at The Roadhouse, it had been almost entirely with the intent to get you off his mind.

Of course, the Laura Palmer case was draining and tiring and left him in need of some relaxation when he could get it too, but today it had been you plaguing his mind all day, ever since his run in with you at the diner this morning.

It wasn’t unusual to bump into you as he ordered his morning coffee, nor was it unusual to find himself conceding and letting you have the last slice of pie of an evening when you gave him your best puppy dog eyes.

In fact, he always looked forward to the extra-wide smile you seemed to reserve only for him — routinely basking in your honey sweet voice and eagerness to converse with him more than anyone else in a room.

At first he’d not known how to react to your keenness, his usual air of professionalism extending to make awkward formulaic small talk with you as you tried to get to know him.

But now he revelled in his conversations with you, and he’d been as enthusiastic as ever when he saw you skip into the Double R with a grin on your face.

That was, until Sheriff Truman trailed in right behind you with an equally large smile and waving your scarf in his hands.

“Two coffees please, Shelly,” you singsonged, snatching the scarf from Harry’s hand with a laugh, “Sorry, I’m terrible with leaving things in the wrong places.”

He shook his head with a chuckle, his eyes catching Dale’s as you began gossiping with Shelly across the counter, “I’ll just be over there with Agent Cooper.”

Cooper nodded back at him in acknowledgment as he wandered over, but something in his expression told Harry he wasn’t happy to see him this morning.

“You got some bad news on the case?”

“No. But I have got something I have to—ah yes, I left something back at my hotel room,” Cooper was doing an uncharacteristically terrible job at lying, “I’d best be off. Please excuse me.”

Without a further word to either Harry or you, he fled the diner with such urgency you’d have thought the building was about to collapse in on itself.

You watched him leave with furrowed brows, his usual warmth nowhere to be seen as he dared not even look at you while he left.

You were utterly perplexed — entirely unaware of the impact that turning up with the Sheriff, all smiles and evidently having driven there together, would have on the man.

Your car hadn’t started this morning and, in a frantic panic, you’d called Harry — with whom you’d been good friends since you were in diapers, for goodness sake — and asked him for a lift to the diner where you could meet a colleague.

He’d obliged, of course, and you’d been looking forward to another morning of idle chatter with your very favourite FBI agent.

Unfortunately, even as Dale Cooper now sat contemplatively beside his friends and swirled his drink around his glass, a friendly ride to the diner wasn’t how he pictured the encounter.

His mind was abuzz at all hours anyway with all of the stress of the case, but it seemed that it was when it came to you that all sense of reason and rationality flew entirely out of the window.

After all, if you had just been in need of a ride, could you not have called him?

He liked to think you were close enough for that now. Perhaps not.

Perhaps he’d been wrong to assume the sheriff was romantically attached to Josie. Hell, perhaps he’d gotten a lot of things wrong in his time in Twin Peaks.

And then as if on cue, into The Roadhouse you waltzed.

You, all bright eyed and smiling. You, looking somehow more radiant than he’d ever seen you. You, waving in his direction as Harry stood up to hug you and pull out a chair for you to join them.

“Y/N. I didn’t know you were joining us?”

He hadn’t intended for his tone to sound so disappointed. Of course not. But watching you lean in to hug Harry left a bitterness on his tongue.

“Oh, sorry,” you looked down at your feet for a moment, now reluctant to take the seat, “Harry said it would be alright. I can—,”

Dale shook his head, “It’s perfectly okay.”

You swallowed thickly, nodding with a shy smile as you sat down and shimmied your jacket from your shoulders, “Oh, uh, thank you.”

Harry took your coat from you, hooking it over the back of your chair as you placed your purse down on the table and tried to make eye contact with Dale.

Everyone was watching him with bemused expressions, confused by what on earth could be bothering him so much.

He normally lit up when you entered a room, but today your entrance seemed to dim his mood even further.

The agent said nothing for a moment, instead opting to take a large swig of his drink, before standing abruptly.

“Well I’m dry and off to get another drink,” he said, tight-lipped, “Does anybody need another?”

The others just looked between each other, baffled by his unusual behaviour. Even for a man so often talking of crazy dreams and visions, this behaviour was curious.

You bit your lip, taking this as your chance to talk to him about whatever was on his mind, “Not another, but I need my first. I’ll—I’ll join you at the bar.”

“Alrighty then,” he led the way, his coat swishing behind him, because for some reason he’d still not relaxed enough to remove it, “What will it be?”

“Oh I can get my own drink, Dale,” you smiled, elbows propping up against the bar as he waved the bartender over, “But thanks. That’s kind of you.”

You both ordered your drinks, and you were acutely aware of how hard he seemed to be trying to avoid eye contact.

“Dale… Have I done something to offend you? I can go home if you’d prefer.”

He shook his head fervently, “No, not at all.”

He finally seemed to look at you now, his eyes dead set as he pondered his next words.

“If I did, you can tell me. I didn’t mean to intrude, it’s just that earlier, Harry—,”

“Are you and Sheriff Truman dating?”

His words almost winded you — what on earth made him think that?

You giggled, “Absolutely not! He’s just a friend. And anyway, he’s dating Josie and I’m not interested. Hold on, is this because he drove me to the Double R this morning?”

He gulped, and you were sure a blush began to tinge his cheeks, “It was the first time you’d arrived together and you seemed closer than I’ve seen you previously. Forgive my intrusion.”

At this you chuckled again, one hand curling around your glass and the other resting atop his forearm comfortingly.

“My car wouldn’t start and I was meeting someone I work with, so I needed a ride quickly,” you explained, eyes crinkling as you smiled across at him, “Would it bother you if we were? Dating, that is.”

Despite the inevitability of the question, he still felt taken aback by it.

“No, I suppose it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“That’s not the question I asked,” your voice softened only further, and you felt him tense as the hand you’d rested on his arm moved atop his hand instead, “Would you be bothered if we were dating?”

“I—,” he paused, analysing the way you were looking at him right now, “I suppose I would, yes.”

“And why might that be?”

At this point, you seemed to be on the same page.

It was evident you were goading him towards being honest with you — but quite clearly only because the feelings he so obviously was trying to conceal were reciprocated — and the weight of confession seemed to have lightened a little now.

“Jealousy, I’d say.”

There was very nearly a hint of a smirk on his lips now as he looked away for a moment, before lifting his drink to his lips with his eyes still fixed on yours.

“Jealousy? Why ever would the man I so clearly dote over at every opportunity have any reason to be jealous of someone else?” you teased, tongue in cheek as you leaned in a little closer.

It was his turn to chuckle lightly now, “Perhaps it has something to do with that someone else being the person you asked to drive you to work in a pinch, and the way you were practically glowing with joy when you walked into the diner together.”

You narrowed your eyes, shaking your head a little as your fingers interlaced with his now, “For an FBI agent, one might question your observation skills at times. The diner in the morning is, like, my happy place. And as one of the main reasons why that’s the case, I wouldn’t have expected you to come to such a wrong conclusion. I only asked Harry because he lives right by me!”

“I’ll ignore that first comment,” he tutted, placing down his drink for a moment to run his hand over his hair, “The first thing you did when you got here tonight was hug him, which as you can imagine didn’t do much to suggest I was wrong to believe your affection for him.”

“Friends hug, Coop,” you laughed, “He’s just been going through some stuff lately with Josie and I’ve been trying to be a good friend.”

He nodded, opting to say nothing for a moment as he gathered his thoughts.

You licked your lips, sipping your drink quietly as his gaze continued to cascade over you.

“Someone as… attractive as you can hardly be surprised that I’d expect anyone to jump at the chance to be with you?”

You smirked now, “Would you then?”

He cleared his throat, his eyes dragging from your head to toe again not to aid him in constructing his answer, but just because he couldn’t help himself from admiring you.

“I’m in Twin Peaks, ahem, on important business. So it would be unprofessional of me to do so,” he swallowed as he watched you pout, “But that certainly does not mean that I wouldn’t want to.”

In the time you’d gotten to know each other, he’d for the most part dropped his positively professional demeanour around you — instead finding himself more relaxed, more comfortable.

But it was clear to you in this moment that this was unfamiliar territory for him; Being open and honest about romantic feelings wasn’t easy, even if he was comfortable around you.

“So what does that mean for us?“

Dale drew in a sharp breath, his thumb rubbing over the side of your hand where you were holding his.

“I don’t—Well, I certainly don’t want to keep pretending I don’t have feelings for you,” he seemed to be battling inwardly over what to do, “And I’ve been, forgive me for being so bashfully honest, but I’ve been feeling this way for long enough without it impeding my work to suggest that… Maybe it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Gee, so romantic,” you joked, watching his face briefly drop before registering that you were joking, “Honestly, I don’t want to cause any problems but… I mean… you surely can’t be expected to just never be happy with someone because of your job.”

He shook his head, “It’s not that. I’m here to keep you safe and a relationship might just compromise your safety instead.”

“The killer isn’t out to get you, are they?” there was panic in your eyes as you asked this, “Surely I’m no more at risk than I already was?”

Dale didn’t even like to for a moment think about you as the next victim — not when he still felt so far from finding the killer and preventing that.

You were, however, probably right.

“D’you know what, Y/N?”

Your lashes fluttered, a twinkle in your eye as a smile fully graced his face again now.

This was the Dale you were used to, smiling from ear-to-ear just looking at you.

“Mhm?”

“How would you feel about a late night slice of damn fine pie?”

You leaned in tentatively, your own smile matching his now too, “I’d love that, Coop.”

He pulled your intertwined hands closer to his chest now, aware of prying eyes but wanting to seize the moment.

“Perfect.”

He dipped his head to kiss you softly on the corner of your mouth, hesitating to do so initially until you nodded to indicate that you wanted him to.

You smiled, kissing him back briefly before pulling away to shoot him a cheeky smile.

“And, if you’re lucky, I might even share the last slice this time.”

———

thank you for reading!!! agonised over how poorly i felt i wrote coop for ages but thought i’d send it out into the world anyway … i hope you enjoy.

pleaaaseee let me know what you think & feel free to send some requests in (especially for dale or harry hehe). in the meantime — here’s my masterlist for more of my work!

#dale cooper x reader #dale cooper #dale cooper x you #dale cooper x y/n #twin peaks #twin peaks imagine #twin peaks x reader #dale cooper imagine

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paintedonmyteeth · 1 year ago

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Pyramid Head thoughts 🩸🔪 △

Catering this to myself and my hornee NEEDS and anybody else’s ig because I’m a dirty boy rn and I have too many thoughts in my head revolving around my man and I need to spill my guts before I lose this precious brain rot. Oh yeah this got some nsfw shit (it’s gonna be like further down so MDNI) so be sure to read at your risk, and don’t mind the occasional out of context shit bc that’s just my comments and me giggling so hard abt this fine mfer— this was pretty fun to make too ngl, I might do more in the future if I ever get anymore ideas from things or from people, Idk we’ll see.

Pyramid Head’s possessive asf over his s/o, when you’re living inside a hellhole of a town full of monsters and a cult run by a bunch of lunatics, who else is gonna protect your ass none other than this 7’0” deity??? Man wouldn’t even hesitate to kill anybody or anything that came way too close to you.

Man’s not even gonna let you out of his sight for a second, wherever the hell you’re going he’s coming with you, you’re a fragile little thing after all. He doesn’t want anything bad happening to you, not on his watch.

The size diff between you and Pyramid Head is endearing as well as arousing just thinking about how he could manhandle you into any positions he wants and watch you struggle to take him in. You’re just so short compared to him, he finds it cute. <3

It’s fun to carry you around everywhere he goes because of how short you are compared to him. Doesn’t matter if you get a say in this or not, he’s gonna carry you whenever the hell he pleases and he’ll never let go.

Pyramid Head would’ve associated you with the colour white and some times gives you white clothing because you’re pure and the only non-sinner in this shit hole of a town.

Who the fuck needs a bed when you have Pyramid Head??? Hell, he’d probably prefer you to sleep on top of him so he could hold you in your sleep and protect you from all the dangers of Silent Hill. Not to mention he’d like the feeling of how squishy you are in his embrace, particularly your thighs, he likes wrapping his hands on them and squishing them gently in your sleep. Might be a form of comfort saying “I’m here, everything’s okay”, or he’s just admiring them. Who would’ve thought a large monster living on violence and inflicting pain on sinners would be so gentle with you? (Unless you wanted him to roughen you up a little of course then by all means, he’ll fuckin’ do it.) >:))

Because Pyramid Head only exists in Silent Hill and doesn’t know a lot about the outside world, it’s rather adorable watching him get all confused with that head tilt of his whenever you explain certain things to him couples do on a regular basis besides sex, but he does show some curiosity on said topic and possibly willing to do those things with you as well.

Pyramid Head enjoys receiving attention from you, be it either hugs from behind or give him kisses on his helmet or the tongue— anywhere else is prolly gonna give him some other ideas of sorts, rnskfbsjfbw.

OH BOY the fucking dirty brain rot persists. If this man ever happened to be feeling horny he honestly wouldn’t hesitate taking your clothes off in one tear the second he has your consent.

Did I mention abt the size diff last time? Making you take in his cock nice and slow isn’t gonna do much, he’d want you to get over with the pain fairly quick so he’ll just push it in without warning lmao, of course once he’s in, he’ll allow you a brief moment to adjust to his size and once you’re all good he’s going to pound the fucking daylights out of you.

AGAIN WITH THE SIZE DIFF it’s just so satisfying and enjoyable to him watching you writhing and moaning underneath him like that, accounting to that just seeing you stuffed full of his come and utterly blissed out is adorable. (Like man I— let him rail me already PLEASEE)

And he’s for sure going to tease the fuck out of you to overstimulation until your mind is nothing but a puddle of mush and you’re begging for him. <33

Aftercare in the end is amazing, he’ll help clean you up by fucking eating you out with his tongue and then he’ll lay there with you in his arms, with a blanket big enough pulled over top to cover the both of you while you snuggle up in the mean time. A possible guarantee you’re gonna have a blast trying to walk in the morning./j

🥩⋆♱✮♱⋆🔪 🩸

#pyramid head #dead’s dying #dead’s hcs #smut #fluffies #gn reader #pyramid head x reader #slasher x reader #brainrot hrs

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the-lazyyy-artist · 2 months ago

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i saw you in a dream a two-part Karasu Tabito x Filipina!reader story part two

Synopsis: The dreams of a distant war led you to believe that he could exist now. Maybe he did.

Word Count: 2.3K

Content Warning: Discussions of history (especially with how Japan teaches it), reincarnation au, reoccurring dreams, fluff, a little ooc (sighs again i know), mentions of Karasu's childhood experiences (lmao huhu)

Author's Note: Now, I know that the discussions of Japan's way of teaching their people about the history of WW II are quite different from how the rest of the world tells it and how it's still controversial, I dabbled lightly around this sensitive topic just to give an insight of how the reader and the other characters dealt with it. I just wanna give you a heads-up on that. If you have any insights about it, please let's discuss it together through replies, reblogs, dms, or asks. I want everyone who reads this part to have an open mind and be willing to give out their points in terms of writing and history. Thank you so much for reading the first part.

Read part one here!

@mininji @wannabepoeticischiya @x3nafix ✨

You were 8 years old.

The dream was always blurry like a camera lens that needed some wiping. The voices sounded underwater; only its tone was familiar to you. The song from the record player was oddly clear to you, but you never figured out what the song was. You can feel the grief in it... because, in the dream, you were the woman left behind by... what was his name again?

At a young age, you'd always read the story of the Japanese Occupation in the Philippines in your History Book almost every week, memorizing the events. However, to your knowledge, you know that there's something more than just the important date of when the Bataan Death March started and where the destination was or what McArthur said when he fled the Philippines for safety.

You asked your teacher to tell you more when the class reached the lesson, being the only one awake and active in such a boring class. She was more than willing to tell you more after classes for a one-on-one session, further increasing your excitement. She warned you as you sat comfortably beside her desk that the deeper event of the colonization wasn't for children, to which you only responded, "I'm a big girl, teacher! I'm sure I can handle it."

You did not.

Because who even knew that there were abuses against women, forcing them to bring men comfort? Who even knew that the Philippines suffered the most because of the battles between Japan and America? Who knew the country was almost erased from the map because of the war? Who knew that it was a bloody part of the country's history?

You struggled to sleep that night, and the dream didn't help you much.

By age 12, your parents took you to Japan as they worked there. It was better for everyone to be together; they told you to comfort you as you cried and cried not to let you leave your grandparents' house. They promised a complete family if you just go with them this time. The plane ride in a foreign country, the country that did so much damage to your homeland, made you feel nauseous. You didn't want to be with these people, you thought, as you sat in your seat, unable to understand anyone in class. It was a sad sight. You were thankful that your dad was patient enough to teach you basic phrases and Hiragana. "You'll get better when you make friends. That way, you can talk and learn from them," he told you one night after your nightly tutoring session.

Easier said than done. Until someone did approach you.

He was nice, at least. He didn't care much that you were different and quiet. He sat beside you one day and said, "Otoya." You replied with your last name, and he nodded. Then he started to talk. You tried to understand what he said, and he was patient enough to let you process what he said before saying more. He was so chill around you that you brought him home to introduce him to your parents, saying, "Ma, Pa, Otoya," then turning to Otoya, saying, "Otoya, Ma, Pa."

It was a weird sight that your parents talked to him more than you did to him, your parents translating what they just said in your native tongue. Slowly, he became a frequent visitor in your home, being around whenever your father gave you your daily language lessons. When you started to get the hang of the language, you finally had a proper conversation with him without writing your questions and responses on paper. There would be times that Otoya would correct you, and you'd roll your eyes at him at which he'd just shrug.

You told him about the dream, how it's connected to history, and how your country suffered. You and Otoya had a silent argument about what version of history was right, almost causing both of you to almost break off your friendship.

You decided to say sorry and to just drop the history thing. But Otoya was still intrigued by your dream.

"Might be reincarnation," he said as you two were taking a break from studying, lying on the hardwood floor of your living room. His silvery hair shone from the sunlight streaming through the window. You sighed and started to fidget on the hem of your shirt. "That would be weird. Why would I be a reincarnation of a sad lady?" you asked quietly. Otoya turned to look at you, his slanted eyes looking bored yet interested. "Maybe you'd grow into one," he teased, his tone unchanging. He always spoke nonchalantly, but you always picked up the intention of his words through the little quirks of his voice. You grabbed your notebook and slapped his head with it, earning a little "ow" from him. "And you'd grow up into a miserable old man who will never get a girlfriend."

Otoya laughed softly and shook his head. "You're wrong. I'm already on my sixth girlfriend this year," he said, his laughter fizzled into a small smile on his lips. "Eugh, we're in our second year of middle school and you had 6 girlfriends already? Gross."

"If you aren't so hung up with your dreamscape husband, maybe you'd enjoy dating too," he replied, sitting up. The ends of his silver hair dropped on his forehead, then he fixed the green streak in front. "Are you really gonna grow your hair out?" you asked, ignoring his comment from earlier. Otoya nodded and messed his hair up a little. "I read somewhere that girls are into guys with longer hair. Might wanna try that out."

You let out another gagging noise before you sat back up. "Enough with the dating talk. You disgust me."

You noticed that the dreams were becoming clearer yearly, revealing more events. The conversations were a little audible, the faces of your dreamscape siblings were no longer a blur, and the song... you were finally able to figure out the tune of the song. The moment you woke up one day, you quickly hummed the song through your phone's voice recorder, hoping one day you'd find the title.

By the time you reach the age of 17, you realize you've been having the dream more frequently than before, sometimes five times every couple of months. By now, you know how deep the man's voice was, comforting and warm despite the situation. He was caring, he was kind. You wondered if Otoya's guess years ago of this being a reincarnation was true because now, you only wanted to find someone like the man in your dreams. How much of a coincidence would it be when you find the same person as him?

Five years have passed, and you have slowly forgotten about the dream. Maybe it was just your busy life that made you forget how you had it for the past year. Now, it's just an afterthought, a memory of how you experienced a love story every time you closed your eyes at night.

The classroom door opened, revealing Otoya and the security guard following behind him. "Eita! It's class hours, what are you doing here?" You asked, pushing him out of the room. The kids inside the room gasped and giggled, hushed conversations between them. "You're attracting too much attention now," you scolded him silently. Otoya shrugged and replied, "Come with me this weekend." Typical Otoya, not acknowledging the commotion he's causing. Now kids are lurking by the door, looking at the star footballer and wondering what he's doing with their beloved English teacher. You smiled at them and asked them to get inside, your sweet voice filling the hallways. The kids giggled and hid behind the door. "Eita," you said, returning your focus to your childhood friend, "you could've texted me that you're back in town."

"You could've been busy, and this is easier. I've invited some soccer friends to visit and take them around the city. Plus, they don't believe I have a best friend, so come with me," Otoya replied, his voice a little sing-song tune, but when he sounds like that, he's annoyed. You scoffed, reaching out to tug his green-streaked hair gently. "Alright, I'll accompany you and your friends. Just text me the details so I can clear my schedule, but only on the weekend. Okay?"

As soon as Otoya nodded, you started to push him out of the hallway. "Now you have to leave. The kids might not be able to stop themselves from seeing more of you." Otoya nodded and waved at the kids peeking through the door, watching him leave. The moment you turned to tell the kids to get back inside, they started to bombard you with questions about your relationship with Otoya and how you knew him. You sighed, knowing that the lessons would be put aside for this.

The moment Karasu heard Otoya mention your name in the locker room after their last match, he knew.

The dreams, he knew this is what it meant. He knew that he was going to meet you one day. "Who?" he asked.

"Oh, interested?" Otoya replied, "Too bad 'cause she's in love with someone else."

He must be interesting, Karasu thought, but meeting you might change everything. Maybe. Chigiri chimed in, saying he doesn't believe that Otoya has a best friend when all he talks about are girls and how to pick them up. "How about we visit each other's hometowns while off-season?" Otoya suggested, throwing his duffle bag over his shoulder, and waiting for Karasu and Chigiri to finish up. Chigiri shrugged, saying he was okay with it. Karasu agreed too, saying it would be interesting to look around.

Your name has been on his mind for years, it's crazy. He has never told anyone about his dreams, how he sees himself as a soldier in high ranks, marrying a girl in a country he has studied so much about, learning as much as he could, even the parts he cannot accept at first but kept his mind open for the possibility that it might be true. It was crazy enough that people might start making fun of him for it, so he kept it to himself, kept it in his heart, and swore to find you, even if the possibility of meeting you were low. He believed that in his ordinary life, this dream made it extraordinary.

The dreams started when he was 8. Every night, it’s always so clear. Karasu could see the face of the lady, the way she smiled, the way she cried when he left, the way she looked when he danced with her. The sad lady, he once called her, became his favorite dream. Maybe that's why he rejected Marisa. He was too in love with her.

It was sad when he dreamt of the lady less and less as he aged. He could remember her name, her face, and her voice. Karasu knew that this might have meant something.

He read about reincarnation in other religions and how it works. He read about it in fairytales and watched it in romance movies his sister loved to watch. Karasu knew he could be reaching, but if he kept dreaming of a certain woman, this might be it.

Now it seemed fate was working overtime as he and Chigiri waited for Otoya to pick them up at the station. It was a lovely day, too. The breeze was gentle and cool, and the sky was as blue as ever.

He knew this would be the day he’d meet the sad lady.

"Sup," Otoya greeted as he arrived, walking towards the two. "Where's your best friend?" Chigiri asked, looking around, "You said your 'best friend' would be here."

"She will be here. She has some school things to do," Otoya responded.

"Student?" Chigiri asked.

"Nah, teacher."

The day went on as Otoya took Karasu and Chigiri to local spots to avoid a surge of tourists that day. Otoya was good at playing tour guide for the two, taking pictures of each other, noting places with great deals, and buying souvenirs for their families. It was not long before Otoya took Chigiri and Karasu to Sakae District, awaiting your arrival.

And Karasu knew you before you even spoke.

God, you looked exactly like how you did in his dream. The kind eyes, a smile that could take every worry away, and your hair, though longer, was the same. But you weren’t as sad as you were in his dreams. "Is that her?" Karasu asked, his eyes glued on you as you walked towards them. "Yep."

"Hi, guys! I'm sorry I joined you so late! Had to grade the kids' essay papers," you said, your cheerful voice somehow lifting their exhaustion. Otoya threw his arm over your shoulder, pulling you to him. "It's alright. We had fun without you anyway."

"Rude," you scoffed, nudging his rib with your elbow. "Are you gonna introduce me to your soccer friends, Eita?"

"Ah, right. Karasu, Chigiri, Y/n. Y/n, Karasu, Chigiri."

Your mind somehow sparked at the name. Karasu. Where have you heard that name again?

His eyes met yours, pretty blues that reminded you of something distant. A memory? His smirk reminded you so much of someone you met before. He was familiar yet a stranger, someone you want to know more and get close to. What was this feeling?

You held out your hand for Chigiri, which he was happy to shake, and turned to Karasu who held your hand firmly, and for a split-second...

You were taken back to the conversations in the dream about the war and the soldier telling you he loved you, how he told you he wanted you as his wife, and how his name was...

"Tabito?"

Karasu smiled at you as he stepped closer, meeting your gaze once more.

"So, it really is you, Y/n. I've been waiting to meet you for years."

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