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mediocre-writerr · 3 years

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safe and sound [jennifer jareau]

jennifer jareau x reader

requested by anon: Hi! I love your Criminal Minds fics and was wondering if I could make a request? Where JJ and reader are dating and it’s set during the season 7 finale where reader is the one who shot the robber and is the one who was taken instead of Will. JJ and reader reunite with a fluffy ending.

*not my gif*

Kings and Queens. Jacks and Jokers.

Sound familiar, right? When you hear that you think of the playing cards, not some bank robbers who have been robbing internationally.

It was a bank robbery. Something that you have been reported to at least five times throughout your career, but this time it was different. The robbers known as the “Face Cards” have been robbing banks all over the DC area, only this time were you called onto the scene.

You and your partner Will were driving around on patrol when your police radio went off, “All units in the vicinity of Penn and Southeast, robbery in progress at Colonial Liberty Bank. Shots fired. Repeat, shots fired at the Colonial Liberty Bank. All units.”

Will and you looked at each other as you grabbed the radio, turning the steering wheel to make a U-turn, “426 responding,”

Will flicked on the sirens as you started to pick up speed. The two of you finally parked on the side of the bank to prevent them from escaping through the side doors, “Better pull back and see if they respond-” Will was about to go on went a shot rang out and a bullet narrowly missed his head.

“Shit! Cover!” you yelled.

The two of you took behind the car as you fired at the man who tried shooting Will. The bullet ripping through the man’s shirt and through his shoulder. You watched as the other man began pulling him away from the door and back inside.

You called for backup and not too long after JJ came running towards you, embracing you in a tight hug, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah I’m fine, Will over here got pretty lucky,” you said with a smile on your face, patting his back.

JJ scanned your face, her hands never leaving your cheeks. You grabbed a hold of her hands, pressing a kiss to the palm of them, “I’m okay, let’s just try catching these guys okay?” you whispered and she nodded letting out a sigh.

Most of the day was spent talking to Chris as you all watched Oliver die. The only goal was to get the hostages out of there without anyone getting hurt, “No more feds. I want the cop who killed my brother,” you let out a sigh, placing your head in your hands.

You, Morgan, JJ, and Hotch all stood there in the van, “Well, I gotta go out there, don’t I?”

“No, absolutely not!” JJ exclaimed.

You looked at your girlfriend with a sad smile, “What other choice do we have?”

“Something! Anything else! They will shoot you the second you walk in, is that not running through your brain?!” she basically yelled.

Hotch and Morgan met your eyes and they took your face to give the two of you some space. Once they left, you looked at JJ and placed your hands on her waist.

She finally leaned in to your touch and placed her hands softly along your neck. You placed your forehead on hers as she sighed. You pressed your lips on hers, kissing her intensely. You wanted to show her how much you love her and care for her even if you’re about to run into a bank full of robbers who probably want you dead.

Once you pulled away, she noticed the determined look in your eyes, “No, no, no! You can’t do this! What about us? What about Henry?”

“Four people are dead because I killed his brother,” I whispered.

You pulled away from your short embrace, walking backwards towards the door of the van, “No please! Please don’t leave me!” she exclaimed, tears running down her face as she slid her back against the wall.

You wanted nothing more than to run up and hold her, but you knew that this needed to be done. So no one else could die for your mistakes. “I don’t have a choice baby,” you whispered again, “I love you and I love Henry. Remember that, always,”

Hotch already knew what you were gonna choose, SWAT members hid behind the cop cars, already pointing their guns inside. You took a deep breath as you started to walk towards the bank.

You could hear JJ’s screams as you slowly walked towards the bank, “Morgan! Let go of me! Y/N! Y/N stop!”

You raised your hands up immediately, walking into the bank, “C’mon Chris, you got what you wanted. I’m here. Now please, let them go,”

“You go,” Chris said, forcing a mom and her children out of there, “What’s your name?”

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you told him.

There was no response from him as he just shot you twice. The bullets firing echoing throughout the entire building and outside. JJ scrambled in Morgan’s arms, her bright blue eyes widening, “No!”

The team sat there in the van with JJ. All eyeing her like she was about to just explode. One wrong word would just cause her to go crazy, “Where were they shot?” she asked. Garcia just stared at her unsure of what to say, “Where were they shot?!”

“I don’t know,” Garcia muttered.

JJ picked up the stack of papers that were lying next to her and threw them at the wall of the van. Smacking her hands down onto the cool metal. Everyone just stared in shock, unsure of whether you’re alive or dead.

Luckily, he didn’t go for the kill shot.

You laid there as you could feel your body going cold. Your shoulder was bleeding out and the hostages who were helping you started to get a little blurry.

All you could think about was JJ and Henry. The way Henry would run up to you when you’d go over to their house and hug you tightly.

Or the nights where both you and JJ were off, Henry would lie in the middle of you as a movie played. Eventually, Henry would fall asleep cuddled up next you. Then JJ’s lazy arm would wrap the both of you. Once you made sure they were both sleeping soundly, you’d wrap your arms around both of them safely and securely.

“I need to cause a distraction while you guys get out of here,” you told the man, who was applying pressure to your wound, “But I need you to tell my girlfriend Jennifer and her son Henry that I love them so much and I’m sorry,”

The rest of the time you spent at the bank was a little fuzzy. You were more focused on trying to get Chris to turn on the woman and trying not to pass out from blood loss, than anything else.

Before you knew it there was an explosion and you were just getting pushed into a car. The whole car ride, you focused your breathing, trying your hardest to stay awake.

The only thing keeping you going were JJ and Henry. What you would do just to hold them one last time.

Your thoughts came to an abrupt stop when you arrived at a fire station. The fireman helped patched you up much to Izzy’s choice. You watched as she shot him multiple times before sneaking into the firehouse to grab you a change of clothes.

“You didn’t have to kill him,” you muttered.

“He was a witness, he needed to go,” she shot back without an ounce of remorse.

Then the next thing you know you were transported back to the car. Everything was going fine or well okay for being a hostage to two psychopaths. Until Izzy just started opening fire on Chris.

“Well Detective Y/L/N, take Chris out of the car and get in the passenger seat. We’re going on a little drive,” she told you, the gun pointed straight at you, “Stop here,” she muttered after a little bit.

The backdoor opened to reveal the Joker himself. He was the former Marine who helped keep pressure on your wound. Your eyes widened slightly at the sight before ultimately remaining your composure.

“Hey Y/N!” he patted your wounded shoulder and you tried your absolute hardest not to wince, “Sorry, forgot about that,”

“Drive,” she said again.

“Where?”

“Take me to see your son,” Izzy said and you shook your head. Henry wasn’t your sign biologically, but the longer you and JJ dated the longer it felt like he was. Like your entire life he was actually yours, “I said, drive!”

You took a deep breath in before driving towards JJ’s house. The drive was tense as your knuckled turned white from gripping the steering wheel too hard. You just hoped and prayed to whatever type of God there was that they could keep Henry safe.

JJ would be able to get over the loss of you, but the loss of Henry. That’s a different kind of loss she’ll never be able to survive.

You finally parked across the street. You smiled softly at the sight of Henry playing in the front with Miss Kate and her daughter.

“He’s a cutie,” Izzy told you and your smile quickly faded, “Looks a lot like Jennifer. Where’s the hospitality Y/N? Come on introduce me!”

You got out of the car slowly walking up to the house, “Y/N!” Henry yelled, running towards you as he wrapped his arms around your legs.

You crouched down so his tiny arms can wrap around your neck. You held him tight and close, sucking in a deep breath. Just for a moment, you were transported back to one of your favorite parts of the week. Just for a moment, he was safe in your arms.

Until he wasn’t.

You told Miss Kate that it was okay to go as Izzy followed you into JJ’s home. Once Henry ran off to grab some toys, you turned your head and looked straight at her, “You touch my kid and I will kill you!” you said with teeth gritted.

Izzy clicked her tongue to the roof of her mouth, making a tsk noise, “Now do you remember the deal Y/N? You touch me and both you and Jennifer die. Who’s gonna take care of Henry then?”

“Y/N! Come play with me!” he exclaimed, running back in.

You crouched down again, ruffling his blonde hair, “I would love to, but I can’t right now buddy. You see, I have to go back to fighting bad guys, okay? Izzy over here is gonna take care of you until mommy comes home,” you could feel the tears start stinging your eyes as you tried to stop them from falling.

“So you’re gonna be a good boy for Izzy, okay? Listen to everything she says, okay?” you ask him

“Okay,” he replies innocently.

“One more thing bud,” you pull him close to you as you hug him tightly, “I know I am not your mom or dad, but I love you so much. Did you know that?”

He nods and you smile softly, “I will never let anything hurt you. Everything is going to be okay,”

“Everything will be okay,” he mumbled back, “I love you Y/N,”

You sniffled, “I love you too buddy,”

You take a deep breath and back away from him. Before you walked out of the house, you looked Izzy dead in the eye, pushing your shoulder against hers on the way out.

You sung open the car door before slamming it shut, “What the fuck do you want?!” you asked.

“Woah, easy tiger,” Matthew told you, “You’re going to listen to everything I say. If you as dare mutter the two lettered word, your boy is as good as gone. Or should I say Jennifer’s boy is as good as gone because he’s not yours. He will never be your own kid,”

Matthew made you drive to the train station where he strapped a bunch of bombs to your chest and chained you up like you’re some random zoo animal. Then he ran, like the coward he is, he ran.

You thought you were as good as gone. But that didn’t matter to you. All that mattered to you was that Henry was safe. He was stuck with the psychopath that is the quote on quote “Queen”.

Just when all hope was lost Prentiss came running in, “I found Y/N!”

She ripped the duct tape off your mouth, “Izzy’s got Henry. Forget about me! Make sure Henry’s safe, please!”

“JJ’s there right now. She’s gonna keep him safe,” Emily tried calming you down, “I’m not leaving your side, I’m gonna get you out of here so you can be with your family,”

Emily was panicking as she tried to find a way to keep you from blowing up into bits. She punched in one passcode and it beeped, showing that she only had two tries left.

You shook your head, knowing that in a minute you’ll be gone, and Emily could not be here to be included in the damage.

“Emily, just go. Get everyone out of here,” you pleaded.

She shook her head, “No, I told you you’ll get to be with your family and that’s what’s going to happen. I’m not going to leave you,”

When she finally unlocked the code, another box opened. 30 seconds flashing and taunting you. This is how long you have left live.

“Emily, tell JJ that I love her and that I’m sorry,” you whispered, “Now leave please! There’s still a chance that you could save yourself so go!” you screamed.

She sat there looking at the wires before out of nowhere without speaking she just cut one, “What the fuck?!” you exclaimed, shutting your eyes close.

After a couple seconds, nothing happened. You opened one eye and looked down at the timer. It stopped. You let out a breath and an empty laugh, leaning your head against the pole.

“Emily, I love you and I love that you’re JJ’s best friend. But let me just say, I did not think we’d get this close to where I trust you with my life...literally!” you joked and she let out a soft chuckle.

“Let’s get you to your family,” she told you.

As soon as the bomb squad came to disarm you, you wrapped your arms around Emily, pulling her into a tight hug, “Thank you,”

“Of course,”

You were finally discharged from the hospital after a couple hours. Rossi reassured JJ that she could stay home with Henry and that he’ll drive you to the house. She was hesitant at first, but Rossi basically forced her to stay home.

Rossi parked in front of JJ’s patting your shoulder softly, “Enjoy your time off,” he joked.

“Oh trust me, I will,” you fired back and the two of you let out a hearty laugh.

You walked into the house slowly. Henry’s little voice echoing throughout the foyer was like music to your ears, “Y/N! You’re back!” he yelled.

You kneeled down as he made a bee line towards your arms with your arm that wasn’t in a sling, you hugged him tight. Even with one arm you could tell that he was struggling to breathe at how tight you were hugging him.

“I am! Did you pick out a movie tonight?” you asked, raising your eyebrows up at him.

“Yup!”

“Which one did you pick?” you asked and he showed you the DVD case of Shrek 2, “Nice choice bud!”

You looked up to the sound of footsteps to see JJ walking towards the two of you, “How about you brush your teeth and change into your PJ’s and me and your mom we’ll get the bed and movie all set up? How does that sound?”

“Great!” he replied with a big smile.

“Great!” you responded, ruffling his hair, pulling him into another hug, “I love you,” you whispered to him.

“I love you too,” he told you before running off.

You stood back up to face JJ. At first she looked angry before her anger turned to sadness. You took her into your arm as she buried her face into your neck, “It’s okay,” you whispered, “Everyone’s safe. I’m safe, Henry’s safe, you’re safe. We’re okay,”

JJ took your face into her hands, running circles on your cheekbones, “I know Henry’s not biologically mine, but he means the world to me Jay. I wasn’t going to let anything bad happen to him,”

“You’re just as much as a parent as I am,” she whispered.

“But he’s not mine,” you told her.

“Then let’s change that, Y/N Y/L/N, marry me. We’ll get married in front of all of our friends and family. Henry will be your son, blood or not. And I will be your wife,” JJ whispered.

You smiled at her softly, “You know, I always wanted a wife and son,” you whispered to her.

“So is that a yes?” she asked.

“In every single language,” you murmured, pressing your lips upon hers.

You and JJ stood there for a minute, just relishing in each other’s embrace. Your lips moving in sync. When all of a sudden you hear a little, “Ewwwww,”

The two of you pulled apart and you saw Henry all dressed up in his Captain America pajamas, “Who are you ‘eww-ing’ Mr?” you asked him and he giggled as he ran away from you.

You immediately ran after him, JJ yelling after you, “Y/N! Be careful of your arm!”

Henry squealed as you picked him up with your one healthy arm, spinning him around the bedroom before dropping him onto the bed. You crashed in your usual spot next to him as JJ put on the movie.

You felt Henry’s little arm wrap around your body and once his grip loosened you knew he was asleep. Your eyes glanced over to JJ who was sleeping safe and soundly, her chin resting on top of Henry’s blonde head of hair.

You sighed contently, as you turned on your side, wrapping your arms around the two of them. Henry’s head close to your chest as your forehead rested on top of JJ’s.

Just for a moment, everything was right where it needed to be.

#jennifer jareau imagines #jennifer jareau x reader #jj criminal minds imagines #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds

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wandixx · 3 months

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Ghost of fries and Hero of cookies

All work words count: 14 593

Words in this part: 2 224

Summary of whole work: Duke wasn't expecting to wake up from his quick rooftop nap to some meta kid with fries. He also wasn't expecting kid to stay Or Danny asked Dani to stay safe while she was in Gotham. Where would she be safer than under the wing of local hero? And he looked like he needed bad day combo anyway

This part summary: First meeting and training discussions Beta read by @audhumla-sailor though English is second language for both of us, so proceed with this in mind. I also know all of the charaters through fics alone, so probably ooc. Stay catious if it's something you don't like

Duke was running out of fumes to run on. Last few days would be exhausting if it was just vigilante or just civilian stuff but no, he had to have it both. Because of Arkham break out he had been called in three nights in a row, not for a whole patrol but he couldn't exactly sleep it of during the day like others did, especially not in a week when every teacher decided they need to have test or quiz or what not. Naps meant he wasn't as sleep deprived as he could be but he needed far more. But he couldn't because crime in Gotham never sleeps so he had normal patrol to finish and there were about two ours left.

Would something bad happen if he just stopped for a moment and laid on a roof? Ten up to fifteen minutes. It was a slow day too...

Yeah, no, he deserved a moment to rest and if something disastrous was to happen in the meantime he would shame other Bats for not giving him enough time to sleep.

It certainly said something that he found gravel covering this roof to be quite comfortable. He set a timer for ten minutes and let himself close his eyes.

When loud screech of timer jolted him awake, he was suddenly fully aware that he wasn't alone anymore. He sat up a little too quickly.

"Oh, you're awake," white haired girl around Damian's age chimed, sitting cross legged just few feets away from him. She wore something that could only be described as an unholy mix of lab safety hazmat and skintight workout jumpsuit, white and black. When had Gotham gotten a new vigilante? "Good, I just returned from snack hunt," she added, gesturing at a big textile bag lying next to her. Duke didn't have enough brainpower to do anything more than ask.

"What?"

Girl shrugged, take out from BatBurger in her hand.

"You look like you have a bad day if not few days, so I've got you my cousin's bad day combo or at least closest thing I could. BatBurger burger isn't as good as NastyBurger but you certainly have better fries," as she spoke, second take out bag, 1 quart bottle of energy drink, juice bottle of same size and pack of convenience store brownies joined greasy paper bag sealed with a sticker.

"Is your cousin a speedster?" Excuse Duke, it was a totally valid question, he saw with his bare eyes both Wally West and Bart Allen when they visited Manor. Noone else would be able to stomach the amount of food they inhaled during their stays.

"Nah, we're not that fast or that hungry. Though I think I may get closer to speed of sound," So, clearly a meta if white hair and weir aura that let his eyes rest weren't enough indication "My cousin when he has bad few days he often forgets to eat so this combo has to help with there too. But I'll steal your fries of course."

Duke was not going to look gift horse in teeth, so he grabbed one bag and tore it open. There was classic combo with bigger fries and NightWings inside.

"Thank you..." he trailed off, hoping that girl would take a clue and introduce herself but she didn't. She just drowned her fries in ketchup and started munching. She had her own juice.

"My cousin always said that each part of this combo has different purpose," she explained instead, slightly muffled because of fries in her mouth, "This" she gestured towards fast food meal "is to sooth your stomach. This "she tapped energy drink "is to sooth your brain and kick it back online. This "she raised bottle of juice, "is to sooth your taste buds because energy drinks are war crime against them and this "she nudged brownies "is to sooth your heart because Ancients damn it, this day is awful and you deserve it. At least that's what he told me when I had day bad enough to deserve that," she shrugged, licking ketchup of her finger. Suddenly she froze "You aren't allergic, are you?

"No, I'm not," he confessed bewildered.

"Good"

For a long moment they sat in silence, devouring food the little girl brought. Duke distantly wondered if this was how night shift spent their snack breaks. It felt nice.

He was finishing his part of brownies when girl spoke up again.

"Do you feel better now?"

"Yeah" he was a little surprised to realize that it was true. He'll have to note down what she put in this 'bad day combo'. "Thank you"

"Don't mention it," she shrugged with general gesture of dismissal, "You're one of my cousin's favorite heroes because you're vaguely his age and handle Gotham alone during the day and I quote, "she did honest to God air quotes at that" 'As only hero in Amity-' which is a lie by the way, Val is doing great and even if he suddenly got problem with how she feels about his alter ego, he still has Sam and Tuck even if they're usually more of moral support. And I helped when I visited, so no, he isn't only one. Anyway as he said 'As only hero in Amity, my heart goes out for anyone who deals with this type of bullshit so Dani if you absolutely have to prank heroes, leave them out of it, especially Signal, he can't be older than Jazz, he doesn't need any more mess to handle.' All aliens and lanterns are also off limits because he is a space nerd. But you aren't space related so I'm like 80% percent sure he has celebrity crush on you," she slurped more juice, unbothered.

Duke was thankful he wasn't swallowing anything because for sure she would choke. He took split second to consider addressing... this whole situation and choose not to. He was not ready to be anyone's celebrity crush.

"Your name is Danny?" he asked instead.

"Dani" she corrected" with an I"

"Ok. It's nice to meet you Dani-with-an-I," She giggled, nodding her head slightly.

"It's nice to meet you too Signal"

Duke stood up, stretching a little. Dani joined him after hastily putting all the trash in her bag. She was a little higher than expected.

"I have to get back to my patrol"

"Cool," she drifted back a bit, making him realize that she was floating a few inches above the ground. She fixed her bag on her arm.

"Hey, can I hang out a little bit more? My cousin will go green out of jealousy when I tell him," she added with a mischievous smirk but Duke could tell there was more to it. He took a moment to consider it, which apparently made girl nervous "I can be invisible the whole time, like before," she offered, disappearing in the meantime. He could still tell where she was, because of her heat signature and other waves she excluded but for regular people she would be no different than surrounding air.

"Yeah, you can hang around and you don't have to be invisible. Just don't get in my way when I have to actually do some fighting."

She popped back to visible spectrum and pouted like Damian whenever he got benched.

"I can fight, y'know? I stopped mugging on a snack run."

It was ten god damn minutes, how could she get so much food and stop mugging in such a short time?!

Oh, right, superspeed. Still, impressive.

"I haven't seen it-" he started, channeling all Dick-trying-to-wrangle-Damian-into-socially-acceptable-activity energy he could muster "-so I don't know how you fight or even what powers do you have. If we tried to fight together we would trip over each other" It was a bare faced lie, Bat training made sure of that but he knew for fact that if he said anything else, the girl would be mad and probably did her own thing.

Was that what Bruce thought about all of them?

Oh no.

Dani still looked displeased but after a moment of consideration she nodded with a defeated sigh.

Suddenly she straightened like she got struck by lightning and whipped around.

"Wha-"

She just shushed, raising finger to her mouth. Duke did indeed quietened.

"I have enhanced hearing," she whispered "There is a mugging somewhere this way."

"Let's go then," he shot his grapple, waving his other hand at Dani to come with him before he jumped off the roof. He heard the girl giggle as she flew right after him.

"After this you'll show me the coolest gargoyles, okay? Sam asked for photos"

"Okay"

It seemed that the end of this patrol wouldn't be as bad as the start was. Hopefully.

And afterwards he was going to lock himself in his room until sky falls down or he was well rested.

Yeah, that was a good plan.

********

"Hey kid," Signal started, dropping from fire escape to cuff weirdo in clown mask who Dani just fought. He did it deliberately slowly to show her how to do it like he always did. She choose to not be to annoyed at being called kid again and noted to herself to come up with good codename later. All her previous ideas apparently weren't cutting it and she couldn't keep going by Dani because reasons.

"Yes?"

"Who gave you a combat training?" he asked getting up from a crouch and gesturing towards roof. So it's going to be longer talk, okay.

"My cousin," well, Flashes in Central taught her some stuff but it was more rescue and reassure type of deal not punch and kick, Sam tried to get her through basics of psychological warfare in activism, Tucker sweared he would teach her some programming and hacking but never got around to it, Jazz did some emotional training and Val offered to teach her Red Huntress skills when she got back, but yeah, all in all, Danny was the one to show her how to punch people. Even though it was more of 'shit we have to fight, observe maybe, idk' most of the time. She picked some tricks from Vlad too now that she thought about it, not that she planned to give him any credit for it, like, ever. "Why?"

"I have a bone to pick with him," vigilante announced, melting with the shadows. Dani sped as much as she could to beat him to the roof. She was competitive spirit like that.

Unfortunately he was first. She made another note to herself (she was so going to forget them in next five to ten minutes) to train her speed a bit more. She got tips from the guy with the title of The Fastest Man Alive for crying out loud, she shouldn't loose with the person who technically doesn't even have superspeed!

Signal sat cross legged on the gravel and tossed her a healthy granola bar. He kept doing it for some reason.

"I'm sorry to break it to you, but almost everything in your fighting technique is horrible. Your cousin did shitty job as a teacher" he started in warm slightly teasing tone. Dani felt attacked anyway.

"It's not like he has any sort of training either," she started, trying to sound nonchalant, rolling her eyes. "Cut him some slack," She bit a snack in attempt to cover her furry. It had chocolate and raspberries, was quite tasty and she was kinda hungry anyway. She wasn't sure she wanted to know how Signal knew it though "Everything he learned is from the trial and error by crashing through a few walls. Quite hard to care about 'technique'. I at least got his mistakes to learn from so don't you dare to speak about him like that!" alright, she lost it, she can admit it. But, Signal might be cool and Danny may or may not like him (she hoped he didn't, Val was much better option) but Gotham's hero had no right to say anything bad about her template. He didn't know anything. He didn't understand.

Signal looked like he was going to say something so she put her ghostly vocal cords to use and growled.

Don't-harm-family/will-fight/ protect-mine/don't-you-dare

She didn't stop to consider how unlikely it was for him to understand her. She crossed her hands on her chest, glaring.

Turned out, growl was enough of the warning. He carefully picked his next words.

"Sorry, it's not the way I should've phrase it," he started, his mouth doing the thing it did when people were embarrassed with themselves but in an uncomfortable, a bit angry way. He understood his mistake, good. She calmed her glare a bit. "I wasn't aware of you circumstances. If you want, I can show you some tricks, Batman is very throughout with his training"

"No, thank you, I'm good" she was still mad. So mad. And she was not pouting.

"Of course you're good but you can be better, more efficient."

"No." Whatever Signal would propose to her, she wouldn't agree. He said mean things about Danny not even a minute before. She couldn't let him have it on a principle!

"I'll give you a cookie after every training," he pleaded "The homemade, tasty one"

Well, that changed things. A lot of things.

"Yes please!"

He apologized anyway.

********************

Second part

I know democratic winner in poll for now is "publish all at once" and believe me, I respect democracy, especially now that I finally have rights to do things, but Tumblr wouldn't let me. Too long or something. So, it'll be in parts, sorry guys. I'll try to post all of the parts this weekend though (or one each day, I'll see).

Yes, I didn't have a name for this fic until five minutes ago, how did you know? It's quite alright though, I think. If you have better idea I may reconsider

#dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dani hangs out with duke #signal got new sidekick and he doesn't even know it yet #not fully at least #Dani: I'm going Goth(am)#Danny: Maybe don't?#Dani: Nah #Danny: Stay safe?#Dani: Alright *imprints on the first hero she sees*#this random mugger Dani stopped: Last thing I saw was feral racoon child #police officer: what?#almost mugging victim: I was saved by said feral racoon child #police officer: What?!#Dani: Alright. Good deed for today done. They're calling my name in BatBurger to get my stuff. See ya!#Dani: I hope I can make it back before Signal wakes up #Police guy&mugger&victim: Did she kidnap our hero???#Dani: *fights*#Duke: With all due respect. How did you survive this long?! *died inside a little bit from stress*#wandixx writes #ghost of fries and hero of cookies #have a nice day dear stranger who got to this part

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aemonds-sapphire · 3 years

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Caution: Slippery When Wet — Dabi x Reader (Smut)

Summary: Dabi just wanted to take a shower, and he didn’t care that you were in the way.

Warnings: NSFW. Orgasm denial. Overstimulation. Vaginal fingering. Quirkplay. Unprotected sex. Praise. Creampie.

Word count: 3.6k

A sudden loud bang snapped you out of your steam-induced daydream and had your heart skip a few beats in distress.

“What?!” you gnarled, eyes gazing through the foggy shower door only to be met with a pair of turquoise eyes.

Dabi.

“You done in there or what?”

Panic filled your entire body at once. “Get the fuck out!”

Any indication that you might be blessed with a peaceful shower session soon flew out the window as the young villain showed no intention of budging.

Thoughts on Dabi? You’d rather not have any. And not because you loathed him. Far from that Your body made sure that the most hostile emotion you had towards him was unquestionable sexual tension. Therefore, you really, really needed to train your mind not to fixate on him or the possibilities that might come from any interaction with him. In order to cope with this, you tried your best to mask your genuine feelings with resentment.

On the off chance your paths crossed while living together with the rest of the league, you always had your mind set on antagonizing him. You dreaded the possibility of anyone figuring out that — albeit buried deep within you —, you craved him.

“Not happening. I need a shower.”

Sliding the glass door, you peaked your head through the narrow slit only to be met with Dabi covered in... slime? From his dark hair all the way down to his boots.

“What is that awful smell?” you grimaced as the foul stench filled your nose.

“Collateral damage,” he said with a blank expression, eyes on yours. “You can thank Toga for that.”

You rolled your eyes. “Go wait outside. I’m almost done here.”

No answer.

“Out!” Yyou half-yelled, feeling heat creep through your cheeks, thoroughly glad that the fog glazing the shower door kept most of your body hidden from his gaze.

No answer yet again.

“Dabi!”

He shrugged and proceeded to remove his knee-length coat showing no concern that you were intensely staring at him, mouth agape in shock.

His filthy shirt went off next, revealing the uneven edges of his staple-covered skin across his upper chest. Your heart was racing at double speed and all your brain could conjure was that you most definitely should not allow your eyes to roam across his body like that. Dabi was too fucking hot — pun fully intended— for his own good, and suspected he knew that

That proved to be enough to snap you out of your trance. “Why are you taking your clothes off?!” Yyou blurted out, failing to realize how ridiculous that sounded given the context.

Dabi paused briefly as he was about to undo his belt. “Not showering with my clothes on... the fuck?” he remarked, arching a brow and glaring at you like you’d grown a third arm.

Panic hit you instantly. “Uh—Just wait!”

His slender fingers unbuckled the belt swiftly. “Doll, you’re wasting time. All that rambling and staring... could be done already.”

He was not wrong.

It suddenly dawned on you how easily he’d always manage to crawl under your skin. Whether he knew the effect he had on you or not, it remained unclear. But something inside you clung to the idea that, whatever it was that you felt for Dabi, it was somehow reciprocated.

Patches of suds began trailing down your temples and forehead, causing further distress.

“Just...” your voice trailed off, but sudden outrage burst from within you. “Don’t you have some decency?”

“No.”

He had managed to strip all of his clothes off until he was only left in his underwear, and he was about to—

“No! No fucking way!” you shrieked in dread, quickly having to wipe a few suds that were stinging your eyes. “Leave it—“

But before you could mouth further protests, you saw him yank his underwear down, which caused your eyes to reflexively close tightly.

A low chuckle was heard. “Calm down, princess. I won’t even look. Just wanna rinse off this slime.”

You were positively mortified from all this mess, and a large part of you cheered in pride as you managed to kept your feelings towards him out of the way.

For now, at least.

Immediately, you withdrew your head from the rack, and shoved the shower door shut, with one hand keeping it in place while the other reached out to grab a bottle from the corner shelf.

Dabi tugged at the door a few times before sighing. “Seriously? You gonna throw a... bottle of shampoo at me?” he drawled out, a slight hint of amusement taintIng his voice. “Terrifying. I can see why Shigaraki scouted you,” he added in blatant mockery.

The sudden confrontation had you wish some random hole in the ground would prop open and swallow you whole, effectively putting an end to this.

Your eyes flew open at once and you glared at the bottle in your hand that read: ‘Strawberry passion — let your senses be filled with bliss and calmness’. Now that was fucking ironic.

Another tug.

“Don’t make me burn this shit down.”

You scoffed. “You keep your eyes fucking shut, then. Not even a peak.”

“Sure, doll.”

Admitting defeat, you scooted to the corner of the stall, your back facing him as you heard the door slide open. You felt him brush past you, but managed to keep your composure. There was no point in stressing about this. Dabi was merely your... colleague? Coworker? Fellow... villain? It came with the territory, right?

You grasped the shower head and raised your arm to have warm water pour down on you. For a brief moment, you were able to ignore the man behind you, and just kept on rinsing as fat as you could to terminate this awkward situation.

Just a few more seconds...

But, of course, life seldom went as planned.

“Sharing is caring, doll,” his low voice rumbled, and you felt his breath fanning the nape of your neck, causing you to jolt.

The sudden proximity sent your brain into overdrive. Every single hair in your body stirred as goosebumps spread from the shiver running down your spine. Your breath caught in your throat when you felt his hand wrap around yours.

You tried to muster a few words, but the overwhelming sensation of having someone you felt so attracted to being so close to you, definitely proved to be a harder task than you’d imagined.

“Eyes shut...” you managed to mumble as a reminder, feeling the curtain of water shift to your back and ultimately leaving your body entirely.

Dabi let out a sigh of relief. “Fuck... this feels good.”

His choice of words had heat spread across you like wildfire. Unfortunately, the sudden loss of a heat source had your body quivering in an attempt to keep your temperature from dropping. You wrapped your arms across your chest out of reflex, but it did little to help.

That din’t go unnoticed by the young villain. “You cold?”

“Ju-just... hurry up...” you said between teetering teeth.

Silence fell between you two before you heard vague splashes of water. “I can warm you up.”

He was close to you once more. Too close. Close enough that you could feel his hot breath near your ear, and something else nudging at your backside.

Your head turned to glare at his half-hooded eyes. “No, thank you...”

His lips were dangerously close to yours, and from that angle you could see the way the metallic hoops on each side of his face strained but a little when he drew a faint grin.

“You sure you don’t want me to fuck you?”

That gave you a whiplash.

As soon a those words left his mouth, you gasped in confusion. “What?!”

But there was nothing to be confused about. It was a rhetorical question from him. You were suddenly aware that he knew. That he had been able to read your signs all along.

Dabi placed the shower head back in its holder, pressing his back fully against yours in the process.

That’s when you felt all of him.

From the hardened nipples to the cool edges of his staples, and all the way to his hard cock pressed against your ass. You shuddered under his touch, causing it to settle right in between your ass cheeks.

“Dabi...”

He bucked his hips lightly, his slippery cock gliding with ease as a deep growl ripped from him. Haziness swarmed your mind, and you pressed both hands on the cold tiles for support, welcoming the water that poured on you from the shower head.

“Say my name again...”

“Why...” you mewled back, swaying your hips sensually against him.

What the fuck...

This was probably a bad idea. You weren’t even sure how you allowed things escalate this quickly. Dabi could snap anyone in half if he felt like it; he could also incinerate anything just as easily. You supposed the dangers of meddling with someone this volatile added to the allure.

And he was aware of that fact.

He fed on it and used it to get you to surrender yourself to him.

“Say it,” he repeated his request, bringing both hands to grasp your hips.

Your eyes snapped open once he pressed a soft kiss on your neck.

“I hate you.”

You mentally slapped yourself for being so weak. Those words carried no weight whatsoever, and they only served to heave a taunting chuckle from him. Even though this entire situation had your face burning with heat, the rest of your body still struggled to keep your temperature up, causing you to shiver from time to time.

Dabi excelled at reading body language like no other. He took pride in being able to know someone’s true intention just from the way their body reacted to his presence. He was no stranger to the inner workings of women when it came to him; he knew precisely which strings to tug in order to get them to crave his touch.

You were no different.

In fact, you had completely and miserably failed at keeping your thirst for him at bay.

And with unprecedented expertise, Dabi had your body to bend to his will, granting you one of your deepest desires.

You felt his palms heat up against your skin.

“I... hate you...” your voice came out in a weak tremble.

Were you trying to convince him, or yourself?

His hands began sliding up your sides, leaving trails of warmth in their wake. You realized you were no longer quivering from loss of warmth; your shudders were stemmed from the way Dabi was slowly and carefully feeling you up. His heated hands moved to your breasts, and without any notice, he had both your nipples being rolled in between his fingers.

Instinctively, you bucked against him. “Fuck...”

Dabi let out a hiss in response. “Sure you hate me?”

He pinched your nipples lightly before grazing his staple-covered palms along the sensitive buds.

“Yes,” you blurted out firmly.

The metallic hoops spread across his palms teased you further.

But before your throbbing clit could welcome the new stimulus, he halted and the heat pooling on his fingertips quickly died down. “So you want me to stop.”

“No!” you protested as his hands abandoned your skin.

“Then what?” Dabi inquired, bringing one finger to trail down your spine, prompting your back to arch downwards and your ass to spring up invitingly. “All these mixed signals... tss.”

You managed to suppress a moan when you felt his slippery cock slide down to tease your entrance.

“Dabi...” you let out, trying to find a few words to say. “Eyes shut.”

He chuckled. “Doll... I have my cock pressed against your ass and leaking for you... does that even matter?”

Of course not. You weren’t even sure why you had said that... your mind was playing tricks on you.

Even so, you weren’t so lucky the second time around, and when he slapped your swollen clit with the tip, your mouth fell open in a strangled cry. You highly doubted the slick tiles would be able to support your body as he proceeded to place his cock in between your damp folds.

“Hold on tight, doll. I need to prep you for my cock first,” his voice dripped with lust. “Be a good girl and bend over.”

Your pussy clenched impulsively.

To say you were completely and ridiculously turned on was the understatement of the year. No amount of rationality would help you now. You were too far gone, and your desire for him clouded any shred of judgement in you.

There was no point in resisting him any longer.

You strongly held on to the shower faucet, in the hopes of it being enough to keep your knees from giving out on you from the overwhelming pleasure spreading across your clit.

He kept sliding his thick cock along your pussy lips coating it in your wetness. It was faintly embarrassing to think of how quickly you’d gotten soaked for him, but on the other hand, you couldn’t really blame yourself for it. Dabi was definitely a natural. You figured he had enough experience to get you all riled up in no time.

You felt him snake one arm around you as his hand travelled down to your pussy. In all honesty, you felt too empty. Even though you hadn’t seen his cock, you had felt it and you craved it more than his fingers at this point.

The palm of his hand brushed against your clit, earning an instant moan from him.

“Dabi... just... fuck me...” you panted in between groans as he teased you with the staples carved into his skin.

Those staples had long caught your attention, but you never thought in a million years that you’d find pleasure in having them brush against your most intimate parts.

His velvety voice came out in a low purr. “Patience... I need you soaked enough to take my cock.”

“I am!” you half-yelled, bucking your hips in an attempt to have his cock placed at your entrance.

The hand teasing your clit stopped abruptly. “Really? Lemme check, then,” just as soon as he whispered those words, he pulled back from you momentarily, pressed one hand on your lower back to have you at a desired angle, before shoving two long fingers inside your wet cunt.

It took all of you to hold back a guttural groan from echoing throughout the bathroom. You bit down on your lower lip, an you reckoned it wouldn’t take long to draw blood. He held you firmly in place with his free hand gripping your hip while he fucked you with his fingers.

“You’re not just soaked... you’re fucking drenched,” he said in bewilderment, curling his digits inside you. “Think you can take a third one?”

You felt another fingertip prodding at your entrance, but you could only nod. There was no way you were going to open your damn mouth. The implications of doing so were far too severe, and you dreaded the idea of anyone outside being able to hear you moan for Dabi.

His third finger struggled at first to join the others. “Tight... just part your legs, doll...”

Doing as he instructed, he finally managed to get the slender digit to slide all the way in, until he was buried in you knuckle-deep. You’d never felt this stretched out before, and the newfound sensation was enough to finally have you let go of your lip and have your mouth fall open in a sigh of pure bliss.

“Now that’s a good girl,” he praised you, while finger-fucking you at a steady rhythm. “You’re literally milking my fingers...”

From the way his voice was starting to emerge fully strained, you figured this was also taking a toll on him. Having your walls involuntarily clench around his moving fingers and hearing him occasionally growl from it, had your ego soar dangerously high. Your entire body was urging you to cum, and as despair overcame your senses, you hand one han settle between your legs to rub your needy clit.

Dabi suddenly stopped thrusting his fingers, and clicked his tongue. “Stop.”

Annoyance hit you hard from the loss of his stimulation. “Fuck!”

His hand grabbed yours. “Let me make you cum. Just me.”

As soon as your gripped the faucet again with both hands, Dabi jumpstarted his ministrations in order to help you reach your much desired high.

“Say my name.”

You truly didn’t want to do that. The fear of losing control and having your moans being heard, kept you from heeding his request once again.

But Dabi had a few tricks up his sleeve.

Both his index and middle fingers pressed against your clit, and you felt the fingertips starting to heat up. He was definitely using his quirk in order to help the heat in your lower belly to intensify. It was a neat trick coming from him, and it was most welcome as you felt the familiar coil of an upcoming orgasm build inside you with each passing second.

“Say. It.”

Obscene soppy sounds left your tight pussy as he showed no signs of faltering his pace. Your eyes fluttered shut and your mouth hung open as you tightened around him, preparing to let a peak of pleasure wash over your body.

“Fuck... fu-fuck... I...” you mumbled incoherently, not able to muster any comprehensible thoughts.

You were so close.

Your hips jolted into his hand, and just as you were about to cum, you felt sudden emptiness and were left clenching around nothing nothing.

“What the fuck?!” You cried out indignantly. “Why?!”

The high inside your suddenly plummeted back to the ground, leaving you on the verge of tears.

Dabi gave your ass cheek a light smack. “Told you to say my name.”

You turned your head to give him a death glare. “Fuck you!”

He pressed the tip of his cock at your entrance. “Besides, I want you milking my cock.”

With one hard thrust, he pushed himself halfway inside you, unable to hold back a satisfied growl. Right then you understood exactly why he insisted on preparing you for him. He was definitely thicker and bigger than average. The sudden discomfort had you clench tightly around him in reflex, preventing him from going balls deep at once.

“Stop... fuck... stop being so fucking tight....” Dabi growled, stilling inside you. “Relax, doll...”

Your took a few deep breaths as your pussy adjusted to his unexpected size. He placed his hands on your hips, brushing his thumbs in circles across your flushed skin. It was most likely Dabi’s own way of offering comfort.

You weren’t sure how many seconds passed, but you were genuinely grateful he was waiting for you to finally loosen up and allowed his cock to finally slide all the way in.

A sudden gasp emerged from within you as his fingers gripped your hips vigorously, guiding you along his length. He started out slowly, but his self-restraint wasn’t enough to keep him from thrusting faster and deeper into you. The pace he set resembled that of someone on the edge of losing their sanity.

“You really wanna make me cum fast with that tight pussy of yours...”

His words were like fuel to the fire that once more threatened to get out of control soon enough. Your hands desperately grasped the faucet as pleasure overwhelmed you. A few more thrusts had your thighs starting to quiver.

Dabi had his fingers on your clit once again, determined to deliver all the pleasure he could possibly provide.

“Dabi... Dabi!”

His hips faltered for a split second. “Fuck... such a good and tight girl...”

You could hardly breathe once he set a new rhythm, which nearly had your face getting pressed against your hands from the brutal force.

“Dabi...” you mewled, feeling droplets of water mix with your own saliva as strings of spit hung from the corners of your mouth. You were officially drooling for this man.

In no time, your vision started to tunnel as you were thrown into the pinnacle of sheer bliss. Your mind went blank for a brief moment, with his name coming out in broken moans. The ecstatic orgasm had your pussy ripple and squeeze around his cock mercilessly as you kept rocking your hips against his desperate to ride out your high for as long as possible.

“Fuck this...” you heard him mumble at one point, his groans overcame your own. “Fuck!”

His own release was nearing, that much was certain. He was pounding into you hard and fast, jackhammering into you like his life depended on it, driving the breath from your lungs.

You had long descended from your orgasm, but you were still left to deal with the overstimulation from his cock sliding in and out of you relentlessly.

Tears soon prickled the corners of your eyes. “Oh my... god... enough.... Dabi...”

He responded by rubbing your clit harder in unison with his thrusts.

“Fuuuuuuck!”

His long drawn out groan let you know he had finally reached his peak. Your own knees began to tremble from having to hold your body in that position for so long, but he made sure you weren’t going anywhere. With a few pumps of his hips in a broken rhythm, you felt hot sprays of cum shoot inside your pussy.

He slapped your ass cheek once he was done, enjoying the sight of your pussy still tightly wrapped around him.

“What a pretty pussy....”

Your heart was still racing and your breath coming out uneven.

In one swift motion, he fully slid from inside you, and you immediately felt his cum drip as your walls contracted. “Let’s get you all cleaned up. Then we can take a proper shower.”

You were fairly certain you might regret what just happened later on, but for now, you chose to brush that aside.

Dabi wasn’t someone easy to read.

He most definitely wasn’t someone easy to get.

For the time being, you’d relish on the fact that you had made him cum. Probably not something curriculum worthy, but it was good for you and your ego.

Masterlist

#dabi x reader #dabi #dabi smut #dabi x y/n #mha dabi #bnha dabi #dabi x you #dabi imagine #dabi headcanons #todoroki touya #touya #mha smut #bnha smut #my hero academia smut #dabi scenarios

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apocalypticgargoyle · 3 years

Text

𝙎𝙐𝘾𝙆 & 𝘽𝙇𝙊𝙒 ☆ 𝙨𝙖𝙥𝙣𝙖𝙥 𝙨𝙢𝙪𝙩

∘ request:

goddamn your writing is so good 🥵 any chance you’d be able to write something with sapnap where you’re both at a party and know each other through friends but not well and you’re both a bit tipsy and he just can’t control himself and drags you into a bathroom? kinda fluffy where there’s lots of kissing but also desperate and accidentally rough (because the idea of someone wanting me so much that they lose control is a major thing of mine)

∘ pairing: sapnap x fm!reader

∘ warnings: nsfw (18+), party scene, drinking, crude language

∘ links: ao3

∘ word count: ~2000

a/n: Thank you so much for the request! I literally have the exact same thing so i think we’re soulmates or something. I hope you enjoy!

For the duration of the day, you’d been waiting for this moment. Your hair tangling amongst itself as you danced to the music with a group of your friends was almost a baptism for you. No longer were you restricted into your business casual attire and socially acceptable behavior. Now you were free to forget your name and responsibilities as mashups of different genres of heavily bass boosted music pulsed in your ears.

The large house was swelling with people, melding together as if their lives depended on the superficial human connection the beat could bring them. Many of them you recognized from some of your lectures; it had been a day where your classmates had planned a party for someone’s birthday. You hated to admit it, but you didn’t know or care whose party it was, you were just happy to have an excuse not to study.

You’d already lost one of your rings and your clothes were sticking to your body from the layer of sweat glistening against your skin, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything. As cliché as it sounded, going to random college parties had equated to your own kind of religion. These senseless addresses were homes to a different kind of worship, but one you had quickly become devoted to. The smell of another girl’s perfume rubbing off on you and the nameless identity of the boy that offered you hard liquor were your new sacraments.

As the song died out, beginning a new string of beats to thunder around the room, you found yourself out of breath. You gestured to your friends that you were refilling your drink, but really you were in search of air that was a bit fresher. You wove through the heavy crowd, ending up in the kitchen and beelining for the fridge. There was a small group of boys standing around the keg, one of them filling his cup as they discussed something a few of them were getting heated about.

You tucked a cold water bottle against your side and grabbed a clean solo cup. As you got closer, you would hear what they were talking about. “I don’t know how you don’t remember that. It was like a big thing a few years ago?” One of them grumbled as his eyes narrowed at the liquid streaming into his cup.

“Sorry, Nick. I forgot they were selling kids on eBay. I honestly don’t see-” They continued on into overlapping ramblings that you couldn’t help but laugh at. One of them, that had been referred to as Nick, looked almost too familiar to you. Yet as you stood there, you couldn’t remember even if your life depended on it.

Nick’s eyes drifted to you as if just realizing you were standing there. “Sorry, do you refill?” He asked, mustering a somewhat shy smile. You snapped out of your train of thought, handing your cup to him.

“I didn’t mean to seem like a creepy, sorry,” you stated, sending him an awkward laugh. His lips parted in a smile. His dark hair was slightly ruffled, probably just from the weather earlier in the day. You weren’t sure if it was your slight buzz or the close proximity, but God, he looked good to you.

“No, I was hogging. It was my bad,” he answered. You brushed your hair off of your warm forehead and he looked up at you from what he was doing, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. “I think I know you from somewhere,” he mumbled before something clicked behind his eyes as he handed you your cup back. “Oh, you’re Clay’s friend, right? I’m his roommate, Nick.” At his words, your brain clouded with embarrassment as memories of him finally fled your brain.

You smirked slightly. “Oh! Yeah, sorry I didn’t recognize you. You look…” You paused for a second. Where were you going with this statement? Hotter? “Grown-up,” you wheezed, making him chuckle again. “- I mean, since freshman year English, I guess.”

He chewed the inside of his cheek, attempting not to grin wider. “Yeah, you look… grown-up too,” he offered, sending you a slight smirk. “It’s weird how close you and Dream are and I never see you around anymore,” he continued.

You chuckled a bit, wetting your lips. “Yeah, I told Clay I had a crush on you and he kicked me out,” you joshed, making him laugh. For as quiet as you remembered him being, you were shocked he was engaging with you in the way he was. Maybe it was just the atmosphere and the alcohol that had him loosened up. Whatever it was, you found yourself partnering with him in beer pong and spending most of the night at each other's side.

You sat closely to him on a couch in one of the several living rooms, your heads set close together as you listened to what he was saying over the music. “Hey, you too found each other,” a deep voice bounded, making you jump slightly, almost spilling your drink on Nick. Clay plopped down on the other side of you, wrapping his arm around the back of your section of couch to tug on Nick’s ear.

“Why didn’t you tell me Nick was a stud now?” you joked, slightly cringing about how bold you sounded. Nick chuckled at your words, swatting Clay’s hand away from him and taking another sip from his cup.

Clay setted further into the spot beside you. “You guys wanna play ‘suck and blow’?” He stated, more to the group of people around you guys. You furrowed your brows at him, almost wanting to roll your eyes at Clay’s blatant mission to set you and Nick up together. But who were you to avoid his attempts.

The card was passed successfully around the group, until it got to Clay, whose breath you could practically feel on the other side of the thick paper. You turned to give it to Nick but dropped it at the last second, making his lips press against yours. It was almost like he was expecting it because he was utterly calm at your action, nearing leaning in on his own accord. There were cat-calling noises made from the group as the kiss ended briefly. “Ope, looks like you guys are gonna have to leave the circle,” Clay stated with an almost sing-song tone in his voice. You were thankful that you had turned towards Clay enough that Nick couldn’t see your jokingly scornful look.

“Well, that’s just too bad. We were so good at this,” Nick chided as the two of you stood to leave. You ruffled Clay’s hair as the two of you left, following Nick into another room. “Would you want to… go somewhere quiet?” Nick asked, his eyes flashing to yours. Your eyebrow perked in his direction before you wordlessly slipped your hand into his.

You found yourself in the bathroom, Nick's hands settling on your hips as he pressed his lips against yours. You let out a sharp moan as he ground his hips against yours, yearning for more friction. Your fingers dug into his hair as his tongue slipped into your mouth, hungry for your taste. His breath was like a drug for you as he groaned into your mouth, moving against you.

His lips left your mouth but only to caress your jaw before settling against your neck, sucking on the skin with a slight sting. You tilted your head back, giving him more access to you before wrapping a leg around him, begging him to go further with you. He chuckled at your neediness, his warm breath fanning over your neck. He tugged the strap of your dress down your arm, pressing his lips against the newly exposed skin, grinding against you. The taste of cheap beer passed between the two of you.

One of his hands slipped beneath your dress to squeeze your ass, pulling you tighter against his jeans, encouraging you to ride his thigh. "I want you," he moaned unevenly in your ear, sending heat straight to your core. You wanted him to completely ruin you, to show you what was hiding beneath the surface of his reserved nice guy barrier.

You answered his words by attending to his zipper, slipping your hands into his jeans and stroking him against his boxers. A moan broke through his teeth, his lips crashing against yours as you egged him on. His erection grew stronger with each of your movements. You could tell he was becoming desperate to ravage you with each of his restrained breaths.

Your teeth dug into his bottom lip, your fingers pushing his pants to the ground as he pressed himself against you. He pushed your underwear aside, answering your silent pleas. Pressing his lips against your neck again, he drove himself into you, earning a blissed out moan from you. A breath of pleasure and relief escaped his chest at the feeling of you instantly tightening around him.

He thrusted into you, as if testing the waters as you moaned his name against his skin. One of your arms tightened around his shoulder as he held you in place, setting his pace. The mix of alcohol and pleasure you were feeling with each snap of his hips was sending your head reeling. He pushed his tongue into your mouth, fingers digging into your skin. You moaned against his lips, sending him to speed up his movements. A sense of roughness came out in him as he pounded into you harder, and you were eating it up. You fingers dug into his hair, pulling tightly to earn a groan from him.

Your hands slipped beneath his shirt, raking against his back, urging him to use you like a flashlight. "Fuck, you feel so good," he groaned, voice husky with some type of forced restraint as if he wouldn't let it come out evenly. You tightened around him, moving in what little space he'd given you to grind against him.

With that, he began to thrust into you harder, as if he was finally giving into whatever he was attempting to hold back. His teeth dug into your shoulder with each pulsing movement, driving himself deeper into you. Ungodly moans left your lips, only confirming his actions as he hungrily chased his high, dragging you with him.

His paces became less rhythmic and more sloppy as he gripped onto you, your fingers digging into his skin as you felt your orgasm was just within reach. You tightened your leg around him, your head swimming as he began to hit your sweet spot repeatedly. With a nearly choked out moan of his name, your body flushed with relief, your climax ripping through you. Nick succumbed to his own as if he'd been waiting for you, the two of you leaning against each other for support as you rode out your highs.

After you caught your breath, you reapplied a layer of lipstick, eyeing Nick through the reflection of the mirror as he stood behind you, straightened his clothes. "Let's not tell Clay about this, purely because he'll make it weird," you stated, turning and evening out his hoodie strings.

He chuckled slightly. "Oh, I agree completely. Don't tell Clay." His sly smirk nearly drew you in as you pressed your lips against his again, a promise that you'd definitely be seeing each other again.

#sapnap x reader #sapnap imagine #sapnap x y/n #sapnap smut #sapnap fanfic #mcyt imagine #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt x reader #mcyt smut

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philliamwrites · 2 years

Text

SWYAATL 07: Apple Seed

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x fem!Reader

Warnings: canon-typical violence, explicit depiction of a dead body (none of the main characters), vomiting (not reader)

Summary: You wait for Eren to let you go. He doesn’t. He looks conflicted over something—desperate even, but whatever he wants to say appears to be stuck in his throat. His tongue darts out and swipes over his lower lip, leaving it pink and glossy. You blink, dazzled. What is it that you want from me? you want to ask, but the answer frightens you.

Notes: [01] || 06 | 07 Masterlist ○ SWYAATL playlist ○

A/N: Thank you so much @samsaurwrites for beta-reading!!

I recommend reading this using InteractiveFics! The values are [Name] [Last Name].

If you read the story on AO3, I edited the previous chapters and inserted somes fun/informative footnotes because I'm a nerd like that.

Also playing with the ideas of inserting side pairings because all character's dynamics are so great and fun to write. They won't become a major part/focus in the story, but I just want to give them all some love.

Btw, someone asked if Reader's Gunther is the same as Levi's and noooo, they're different characters, I just forgot a Gunther already existed lol, so I changed our Gunther's name to Michael!

07: Apple Seed

“Stop following me!” Jean’s voice dissipates in the wind as he dives under a thick branch mid-flight, smooth like an arrow. “I’m sick of you guys stealing my kills!”

“Fly faster, Jeanie!” you call after him, your voice ringing out crystal clear as you weave swiftly through the branches, your feet finding their hold on strong, unyielding wood before you jump off and your anchors find their next target. “Or else I’ll get you!”

“Fuck off!” he screams back. A wild panic sets in his eyes at the sight of you hunting him down, practice blades raised as if you’re ready to chop him down once you get close enough. That will teach him not to sneak into the woman’s barracks to steal Ida’s handmade soap just because it smells better than whatever Felix sends him in their monthly package.

“You can run, but you can’t hide!”

His curses thrown your way scatter in the wind as your anchor-hooks whirl through the air and embed into the next tree, launching you over branches that reach for you with crooked, dark fingers and lush, green nails. You dodge them at a breakneck pace, brain running on overdrive as you focus on manoeuvring through the woods and not crashing into the next trunk. The wind is good for today’s exercise. There’s barely a breeze stealing through the forest; the trees remain silent.

You change the angle of your wires and gain momentum as you dart out onto a clearing, overtaking Jean who has lost speed because he turned to see if you were still following him. As if a starving cat would retreat so easily after it has finally found the mouse. Eyes set on the large wooden contraption built after a 15-metre Titan, you move into the right position and let the compressed gas propel you up, up; higher and faster. You swing your blades and slice off a neat chunk of the back cushion serving as a Titan’s neck, relishing in the satisfying feeling of how smooth your blades slice through the material like a knife through butter. That’s another two points for you.

A shadow rushes past you. Jean steers across the clearing and lands on a branch. His pissed mood blares like a warning signal even from this distance. “You asshole!”

You bounce when your wires reach their stretching point, and find a secure spot against the side of a tree. “It’s not my fault you’re too slow!” you shout back. Not that he’s still figuring out how to move his body or where to ease off the gas at turns. Jean excels at ODM gear use, but he is still holding onto that reasonable part of his brain that tells him better safe than sorry. When it comes to ODM, you’ve never had that to begin with.

Jean looks like he wants to chuck his practice blade at you. Stay. Away, his mouth forms before he falls backwards and allows the forest to swallow him. You consider following him again to leech off his eerily good instinct when it comes to finding Titans and how to approach them. Group tasks and assignments are going to start sometime next week where no instructor supervises you, and you hope you can stick to his heels and let him do all the work.

Moving on, you detach your hooks and continue down the forest path. You’re pretty sure you’ve spied Mikasa zipping with lightning speed through the forest a little to the west, but trying to mess with her would be stupid at best, suicidal at worst. You let her be and turn down a different path leading away from her. The woods turn darker here, the emerald-needled firs outnumebr the broadleaves, standing tall and proud in their century-long vigil that will last for countless more years when you are no more.

You land on another branch to check out how much gas you’ve left—you’re only allowed to replenish it twice and have to kill as many Titans as possible within that time. You’re halfway done after only five kills. Maybe you should ease off the gas a little, though who can hold it against you. Flying is just too much fun, and moving through the woods makes you feel like a little bird flitting from branch to branch. No one can stop you. Except Shadis when he finds out you’re the first to go back and replenish gas because you waste it too fast.

Better take a look at how things are going on the other side of the river. Let Mikasa compete with the rest at the top, wherever they are. Even if you find 3-metre or 7-metre Titans that are only worth one point, everything counts. Not that you aim for the Top Ten; already you’ve been pushed off the ranking, this time by Sasha. You just need to beat Jean now and then to rein back his ego.

You turn, thumbs grazing the buttons to shoot the anchors, when sunlight falling through emerald crowns blinds you for a second. The flash is sudden like jarring lightning, making you throw up a hand to shield your squinting eyes. Through your splayed fingers, you can see the lances of sunshine piercing the canopy of the woods.

What is the word for that? Dylan Thomas, a poet from Ehrmich District, wrote: And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves / Trail with daisies and barley / Down the rivers of the windfall light.

Windfall light? No, that doesn’t sound right.

“You know what they also call them?” Emil said, pointing up at the rays of sunlight flitting through the trees. “Komorebi.”

You stared at him in awe as he stood tall and regal against the warm light—his silver hair turned into a golden halo—swallowed your anxiety, and asked, “Who are they?”

—children’s laughter echoes through the canopy of trees, slamming a brake on your thoughts. How did children get here? The whole military area is closed off to the public by high wooden fences and regularly patrolled by second and third year cadets. As you strain eyes and ears in that one direction you’ve heard the laughter come from; become so intent on contemplating how they could have gotten here, you don’t immediately notice the quiet—how the birds don’t sing. How the trees go mute and still in the breeze that cools your sweaty, heated face, watching what your next move will be—

A hand touches your elbow. Your foot, too close to the edge of the branch, slides off and you jerk, losing balance as the world spins and you slide off. A broad, warm hand moves to the small of your back to catch you, and your fingers quickly latch onto the next fixed, stable thing that gives you hold—which is Eren’s military jacket.

You stare at his confused, questioning face, his green eyes wide with shock. Heat scalds your ears. Quickly letting him go, you step away after you’ve regained your balance. “What do you want?” you snap, and if your body weren’t locked tight from tension after almost falling off the tree, you would flinch back at the venom in your voice.

Eren’s surprised face immediately closes off, a door banging shut. “How about ‘Thank You’ for saving you from dropping to your death?”

“I didn’t need your help. Stop slacking off before Shadis catches us and thinks we’re both lazy.”

He makes an incredulous sound. “You were the one standing around here and spacing out, staring into nothing! I just thought—” Clamping his mouth shut, he glares into the woods. “Doesn’t matter what I thought. Clearly, I was wrong.”

You don’t have time to overthink what Eren doesn’t want to say. “I wasn’t spacing out! I heard little kids laughing somewhere nearby.”

Eren turns his gaze back to you, his eyebrows two horizontal, doubting lines. “There aren’t any kids here.”

“Yeah, duh, there shouldn’t be kids here. But I heard them! I heard them coming from over there.” You point in the general direction, the sound of their voices still clear in your head.

Eren grabs your wrist and slams your arm back down to your side. “Stop joking,” he hisses. “That’s where I came from. I’ve been standing here for a whole minute talking to you but you just kept staring into nothing. I should have known this was just a joke—”

A thick tendril of panic unfurls like a leaf inside your chest. “I am not joking.” Someone has to believe you. Even if that someone is Eren. “I didn’t just imagine it, I’m not hallucinating or anything, I swear I heard—”

Eren doesn’t listen to you. He’s pulling at his hair because the alternative could be closing his fingers around your throat. “God, if I end up having a worse score than Mikasa because of you—”

“Then you shouldn’t have bothered!”

“You’d be flat as a pancake if I hadn’t found you.”

“Go suck a dick, Jaeger.” The panic blooms into full-blown fury. You are not crazy. You didn’t just imagine it. The laughter was real, those kids are real because—

Because …

Because they sounded like you and Emil.

You quickly turn away before Eren notices the hot veil of tears welling behind your eyes when a scream tears through the silence of the woods, followed by the cracks of breaking wood. A flock of birds shoots off into the sky from where they were perched on a branch watching you two, now chirping in outrage that their entertainment has stopped.

Eren and you share a quick glance. He’s grown pale as a birch stem. Without a word, you both launch towards the vicinity where the scream came from. When Eren had found you, he must have been in the midst of changing his blades. They scratch inside their sheaths as he draws them now, his face set into a grim mask. You don’t know what he’s preparing for … it’s not like Titans would suddenly be inside the Walls … you hope, and draw your blades as well, just to be prepared for anything.

Deep within the forest, you almost miss the little group of cadets who have circled around something. Suddenly, your heart beats into your throat as you manoeuvre towards the tall, lanky figure you immediately recognise as Jean. What if … what if they found the children. Injured, helpless. Scared and crying for their parents—like you did three years ago when the Armoured Titan broke through the Wall and killed Mom and Dad.

You land beside Jean, barely sparing Eren any more attention as he moves to the other side of the crowd where Mikasa stands.

“What happened?” you demand, tugging on the sleeve of Jean’s jacket urgently.

Jean pulls a face. “Someone didn’t pay attention, I guess. Fell from that tree up there.” He points up, and you tip your head back, staring up at the broken branches. When you look back down, you see the remains of what used to be a person—a cadet just like you. A boy lies face-down on the ground, his legs twisted into unnatural angles, white bone sticking out where it broke through skin. Dark tufts of hair, sticky with brain parts, soak in blood where his head is split open on the moss-grown forest floor, the earth soaking up his crimson blood. You wonder what will grow in that spot. If anything will ever grow there again.

One cadet standing in the front line groans, then bends over and vomits onto his shoes. Jean makes a gagging noise. You’re inclined to agree. Across from where the body lies, Eren stares at you like That could have been you. You make a point to look away—and catch Armin staring with wide, horrified eyes at something. Someone. You follow his gaze and find Victor looking down at the dead boy. His blank face is cut out of marble stone, unmoving and impassive, but ice-cold fury swims in his eyes. His lip curls for a moment—a wolf flashing his razor sharp teeth—then he turns and disappears in the crowd of onlookers.

Shadis, who’s been kneeling by the body, finally rises to his feet, his face grim but set into clear control of his emotions. “See what a moment of carelessness will get you?! Let this be a lesson to all of you who still think this is a game! We are not playing soldiers, we are soldiers and every single one of your sorry lives is on the line if you don’t pay attention! Put all you have into training and you won’t end up as batter your comrades have to scrape off the floor!” He fixes his eyes on every single one of you. You don’t find regret or sorrow in them, just immovable acceptance. How many trainees has Shadis lost over all those years before their service for the people inside the Walls had even started?

When he barks for everyone to scatter and return to base for today, you approach him slowly as he’s ordering a third year cadet to go and let the other instructors know so they can retrieve the body later. You try not to take a closer look, but red has always been hard to ignore—God’s favourite colour—and when you catch the cadet’s face, you blanch and immediately turn away, feeling bile rise in your throat. Jonathan.

Shadis snaps his fingers under your nose. “Keep your breakfast in your stomach, squirt. What do you want?”

“There’s …” You swallow down the lump in your throat. “During the task, I heard children in the forest, sir. I’m worried they might have sneaked onto the compound and lost their way.” And they sounded like they enjoyed it, you don’t add.

Shadis considers you for a long minute, his eyes narrowed and scrutinising without any mercy. “That would be hard, as there are no settlements and villages around for miles.”

“I—I know what I heard, sir.” You hope he doesn’t hear your voice shaking. “With your permission, I’d like to search for them. Bring them back home if they really got lost.”

Shadis crosses his arms in front of his broad chest. His eyes sweep over Jonathan’s body, then back to you. He clicks his tongue, then turns to the rest of the third years who’ve been picked to supervise you today. “Sweep the forest. You find anyone lurking about, you immediately report back to me. Move it!”

The cadets spring into action. It is a load off your mind, though you hoped Shadis would have tasked you to go with them to show them where you heard the children. He orders you to return to the other first years instead, and help them pack up the gear and gas canisters onto the carts for the ride back to base.

Back with the others, you ignore Jean’s impatient questions and Mina’s worried glances, and work in silence. An uneasy feeling has started to pool at the pit of your stomach, rising and rising with every passing hour that no news get back. When you’ve finished packing up and the sun hangs as an orange globe near the horizon, Shadis returns, his third years in pack. Their exhausted faces glare your way, already telling you the result before Shadis towers in front of you.

“Nothing.” He leans forward, his sour breath fans over your face, but that isn’t the only reason tears pick at your eyes. “We found nothing. Next time, keep it to yourself, maggot, and don’t waste our time.”

The words latch inside your throat as your stomach churns. “Yes, sir,” you reply so quietly you doubt Shadis has heard you. Not that he cares. He turns on his heels sharply, and bellows so loud the muscles in his neck strain for everyone to start moving.

You spend the next few days mulling over what has happened. Was it really your imagination? Did you eat something weird that day? Anything that would give you strange auditory hallucinations? But then everyone else should have experienced the same, and after you spent that evening asking your corpsmates if they had heard anything strange during the mission, you went to bed none the wiser.

“It could have been birds,” Mina had suggested after you told her during a game of skat. She didn’t look like she believed it herself.

“Or ghosts,” had come from Annie. You didn’t know how, but somehow Mina had convinced her to join, and even though Annie wasn’t familiar with the game and its rules, she was very quick to learn and win almost every round. Both you and Mina had stared at her until Annie, with a blank expression, had added, “That was a joke.”

Good one. Because what would haunt you? The ghosts of the past? You had decided that night to just leave it there and not concern yourself with it, until a couple of days later, Mina noted that you had started talking in your sleep.

“It’s just incoherent mumbling.” She had looked up from where she was changing the screws on the main housing of her ODM gear. “You’re really quiet for the most part, but it sounds like you’re searching for something. Are you dreaming, maybe?”

If you are, you don’t remember anything the next morning. Should you go and see one of the doctors at the Main Base? It isn’t affecting your performance or causing you any pain, but just to be sure, maybe you should let someone check it out—

Pain explodes in your forehead. You flinch back and slap a hand against the sore spot. When you look up, Jean stares down at you and drops an apple in your lap. “Ow.”

“You’re spacing out again.” He goes for another round of flicking your forehead, but you quickly turn away, hand splayed over your forehead as a shield. “You got my copy of A Guide to Marching Drills?”

“No, I gave it to Marco.”

“Okay. And what’s this?” He crouches next to you on the grass and pulls a worn softbook from the top of the stack beside you. “Would you look at that. My book.”

“Oh.” You blink and look down at the notebook balancing on your knees. It’s full of drawings of a nine-petalled flower. When did you do that? “Well, there you go.”

Jean purses his lips, considering you for a long, silent moment. You avoid his eyes and look over the grass field. It’s a warm, nice Sunday, the only weekday where cadets get a day off to spend it however they like. You’ve set out to study for the upcoming Special Night Training: two days and one night spent in little groups without any instructors. This drill is different from your other training since it isn’t so much about individual ability, and instead tests your intra-squad cooperative skills and tactical abilities. The goal is to eliminate all Titans in the area, organise the night watch, ration the provisions, and be ready for mock Titan attacks. Even though they aren’t active during the night, Shadis wants you ready for battle at any time, and orders you to figure out for yourself how to plan the shifts during the night.

You’ve retreated onto a patch of grass at the backside of the barracks. The field stretches far beyond the compound’s edges, in its middle stands a willow tree, tall and with heavy branches drooping. You sit under its cool shadow, back leaning against the rough bark. In the distance, you see Sasha, Ymir and Christa move towards the off-side well to fetch water.

“[Name]. [Name].” Jean impatiently snaps his fingers in front of your face. You jerk slightly, then swat his hand away.

“Stop it. I’m not deaf.”

“Might as well be. You’re spacing out way too much lately.” He sags against the tree next to you and pulls off his boots, sinking his bare feet into the cool, green grass. “What’s cooking inside your brain?”

“Nothing.” Your arm brushes his as you raise your hand to rub at your eyes. “Just tired.”

Jean is silent for a moment. He thrums a rhythm on his softbook, his long, lanky leg starts to bounce. You count to three when he finally shares his concern: “Are you having nightmares again? Is it about the memorial day coming up? It’s the first year we don’t go down to the river to set out lanterns.”

You rub at your temples with your fingertips. A dull ache has set behind your eyes, throbbing in tandem with your heart. It can’t be nightmares. “No, it’s not that.” But you also don’t know what else it could be. “Just … nerves. Probably.”

“Makes sense. One of us died a couple days ago, some cadets left because of it. Shouldn’t we get, like … a counsellor or something for shit like that?” Jean stretches his long legs, settling against the tree with his hands crossed behind his head. He’s wearing a simple linen shirt, and you see the muscles in his arms flex as he moves. It’s scary how fast he’s growing, how much muscle he’s built after barely a year.

“Weird though, wasn’t it?” you note, flipping your notebook to a new, blank page. “I always thought Jonathan was pretty good at ODM.”

“Can’t ever know what might happen.” Jean flips his book open. “I saw him check his gear the day before the mission. Might have missed something.”

You don’t want to think about it anymore. For the rest of the day until supper, Jean proceeds to ask you questions about marching drills, and every time your answer is wrong, he rips grass from the ground and throws it in your face.

Afternoon light slants in through the clouds, laying bars of gold across the field. The apple, previously forgotten, glints a delicious red after you’ve polished it on your skirts. Dinner is in just another hour, but you’re famished after Jean drilled the book’s contents into your brain.

Marco is on kitchen duty today, and Jean and you have decided to honour (Jean’s words), or rather pester (your words) him with your presence. When Marco sees you two strolling into the kitchen, he doesn’t say anything, simply laughs, and begins to pluck whatever grass stalks you couldn’t shake off out of your hair and from your clothes.

“You look like you’ve been mauled by a grass field,” Marco says.

You look up at Jean, who looks away. There’s nothing more to say, and that is the beauty of the constellation you three have constructed.

Marco goes very passionately into depth about the possible existence of technicolor squirrels (his favourite animal) after he’s stumbled upon a Scout’s journal from an expedition outside of Wall Maria years ago, when commotion rises from the adjacent dining hall, halting you from finally taking a bite from the apple you’ve been carrying around since noon. Jean peers through the door. His expression darkens. Immediately, you move to take a look as well.

Your appetite vanishes at the sight of Eren trying to get Victor into a chokehold, who’s just laughing like a madman.

“Is that all you got, mama’s boy?” he snarls. He does a complicated set of movements, and moving quicker than anyone you’ve seen, apart from Mikasa maybe, he’s got Eren bend over the table and slams his forehead against the hard surface.

Jean flinches at the loud bang. Marco squeezes between you two, and you feel the other cadets on kitchen duty crowd in from behind to enjoy the entertainment as the two boys beat each other up.

Where is Shadis? Where is Mikasa? Only a few cadets mingle inside the room, but they draw a wide circle away from the boys, hesitating to close in.

Eren grunts something you can’t hear. Victor laughs, takes Eren’s hair in his fist and bangs his forehead against the table a second time. “You call that fighting?”

“What the fuck?” Your breath catches in your throat. “Why are they going at each other like that?”

“Victor has had it out for Eren the whole day.” Marco leans closer, his voice drops. His warm shoulder presses against yours. “Eren woke up after a nightmare this morning, calling for his … his mother. And Victor’s been making fun of him for that. I don’t think Victor knows Eren lost his mother when Wall Maria fell.”

It’s like a blurry picture suddenly snapping into focus. You grow cold all over. You didn’t know either. Not that it had come up as a topic, but you have never given it any thought—but now, now it makes sense: “Three years ago when we lost our home to the Titans, I swore I would kill every last one of them,” Eren had said. “When you said you wanted to kill the Armoured Titan, I thought you were the same.” It explains why on that early winter day last year he followed you outside after you had snapped at Daz that you can’t return to your mother even if you wanted to. Because she is dead. And so is Eren’s mother, and in his book that makes you an ally unlike anyone else. You don’t know what to do with that knowledge, so you tie it up in a bundle and banish it to the confines of unpleasant topics you have to deal with at a later time.

“Of course Eren finally snapped.” Marco’s voice draws you back. “Anyone would. It’s just that …”

Just that any following penalty Eren gets from engaging into fights outside the hand-to-hand-combat training will have him discharged from military service. You don’t know if that’s been Victor’s plan from the very beginning, but he has gradually worked towards this for the last couple of months. Agitating Eren directly until he exploded in front of the instructors, exploiting his unyielding loyalty and care towards Armin, Victor has been chipping away at Eren’s needle-thin restraint, and now it breaks like a causeway.

Jean’s head ducks back into the kitchen; he’s doing it right, not wanting to be there when the flood tears down everything. He only manages half a step away before Marco grabs his shirt and pulls him back.

“We can’t just do nothing,” Marco whispers frantically.

Jean pulls a face. “It’s got nothing to do with us. Let Eren beat him up, or whatever.” He throws a quick glance in the next room, where the sound of chairs dragging across the floor shows no sign of the conflict being resolved.

“They will throw Eren out of the military.” Marco sees Victor manage another blow in Eren’s face and winces. “And it’s not like you provoking him last week has helped.”

Jean throws his hands up. “It ain’t my fault his first reaction is to punch people, me specifically!”

“Well, you do have a very punchable face.”

He ignores your comment, and grabs Marco’s arm when he tries to move to the next room. “Come on, Marco. This isn’t our fight. Let them get each other kicked out. That’s two less to compete with for the top.”

Marco’s mouth twists into an unhappy line. Jean’s grip around his arm tightens. “Marco—”

“If you two are done flirting,” you say, “the cavalry has arrived.”

Their heads swirl around, just in time to see Mikasa bolt through the entrance, Armin hard on her heels. They steer towards Eren, but instead of joining him, who’s currently choking Victor against the wall, they yank at his clothes to pull them apart.

“Calm down, Eren.” Armin, apparently acquainted with Eren’s fighting moves, expertly dodges a stray fist whirling past his head. “P-please, calm down.”

“Can’t you do anything on your own, Jaeger?” Victor’s kick only misses because Mikasa has both elbows locked with Armin and Eren’s, and a quick turn drags them both out of the way. You’ve never seen her this angry before—her calm, collected fury that now sharpens into the point of a lethal spear. “You always need your girlfriends saving and wiping your ass for you? They should have left you in that shithole of a District with your Mom.”

“I am going to kill you, Hoffmann,” Eren growls. The muscles in his arms strain against Mikasa’s hold. “I am going to make you eat your words, you piece of—”

“Then come on, mama’s boy. Punch me.” He takes another step towards Eren. They’re standing so close to each other their chests are touching with every shaking breath Eren forces into his lungs. “Punch me. Don’t hold back. It’s what you want, isn’t it? You love violence, it’s the only language you understand.”

“Eren might get in trouble if he lays a hand on you,” Mikasa says. Her voice is sharp and cold like icicles. “But I won’t.”

“This isn’t your fight—,” Eren begins as Armin whines, “Not you too, Mikasa!”

Victor just laughs. “I will have you both thrown back in the filthy gutter you came from.”

If anyone asked, you’d say you did it for Amin. To wipe away the desperation and fear from his face, to have his unshed tears collecting in his pale blue eyes not be wasted on someone like Victor trying to ruin their wonderful constellation of chaos and fierceness. Their family.

In truth, in deep deep, hidden truth, you smelled danger and for the first time, you aimed straight for it like an arrow, demanding to land true.

“Don’t even think—” Jean grabs for you but you duck under his arm and emerge into the room, still clutching the apple. This time, he doesn’t hesitate and follows you, muttering “Fuck” under his breath, and to Marco he says, “Go get Shadis or any other instructor.”

“I’m surprised, Victor!” you call halfway across the room. Attention chained to Eren and his friends, he flinches slightly at your voice catching him off guard. “When did you grow balls to pick on people all by yourself?” You can feel the force of his anger aimed at you like a gale threatening to knock you off your feet. There is but a short silence in the room. The veneer of superiority Victor has attempted to maintain hangs from him at an angle, skewed, flapping, and distasteful, like a highly wrought gate blown off its hinges, and you have been the storm that has swept through.

Still, he clings to it. “You know, I’m sure that Arlert, your damsel in distress, would just fuck you, if you asked him nicely. No reason to try and leave an impression by standing up for him.”

“The way you’ve been hanging around him ever since we joined seems like you’re the one who wants to get in his pants, Hoffmann,” says Jean, conveniently placing himself between you and Victor.

Armin makes a feeble sound, his pale skin flushing a furious red. “I’m right here.”

“Yes, the whole carnival group has arrived.” Victor claps his hands, the harsh sound as loud as a gunshot. “Which will make it easier to throw out the trash all at once.”

“You can’t just do that,” Jean says, but you hear the slight tremor in his voice. You shoot him a quick look to tell him not to back down. It’s five against one, there is nothing Victor can do to hurt you. But Jean’s eyes are on Mikasa only, and it slightly shifts your understanding of why he has stepped up in the first place.

“I can do anything I want to garbage like you,” Victor hisses. “Do you know who my father is?”

“Why?” You just have to stall for time until Marco gets one of the instructors. “Your mother didn’t tell you?”

Victor’s face is as placid as the surface of a still lake. But you have never seen such fury in his eyes before—dark, the colour of storm clouds and midnight waters. “At least I still have a mother.”

It’s like he slapped you across the face. Jean sucks in a sharp breath, and out of the corner of your eyes you see Eren lunge at him again, held back by Armin and Mikasa so desperately they tear at his clothes.

Jean moves, but you move faster and with a sickening crunch, the apple you hurl at Victor connects with his nose and breaks it. Blood sprays between his fingers, he swallows half of it as he screams in pain, and spits it at your feet.

“You bitch!” he roars, diving for a chair and you can already see him flinging it at you. “I will make you pay, I will make you all pay, you filthy, common whor—”

“Victor!” To everyone’s surprise, it’s Armin’s trembling voice jamming a full stop on Victor’s seething fury. “How did Jonathan die, Victor?”

Victor blanches. The question, thrown in out of nowhere, gives you all whiplash and freezes the tension for a second. You wonder if this whole situation has Armin gone a little crazy, but then you think back on that day. How Armin had stared at Victor, and the realisation of what Armin is hinting closes like an icy fist around your stomach.

Very slowly, Victor turns to Armin, still holding onto the backrest of the chair. “What?”

“How did Jonathan die?”

Slowly, Victor lets go of the chair. Fat drops of blood tumble from his nose to his chin, then to the ground where the apple lies, forgotten and half of its side showing an ugly dent. “I believe you all know,” he says, now calm as the surface of a lake on a windless day. “He was stupid enough to fall off a tree.”

Mikasa and Eren are looking at each other in a way that is familiar to you. It is the way you and Jean sometimes look at each other, exchanging coded glances when you don’t want Ida and Felix to know what you are planning. They then turn to Armin, who is slightly shaking, but you don’t think it is from fear. Something entirely else is going on.

“Jonathan has always passed his flying tests with a success rate of eighty percent. He had an almost obsessive compulsion to check his gear three times to make sure everything was working perfectly.” Armin is talking so fast, but now he takes a deep, shaking breath. “I do not think he was stupid and just fell off a tree.”

“Then what,” says Victor, very quietly, “is it that you think, Arlert?”

“I don’t think. Because I know what I saw, Victor.”

The tension hangs so thick in the air it is impossible to breathe. You can feel Jean’s presence by your side, his quiet mumbling about what the fuck is going on as Armin and Victor stare each other down.

The door to the mess hall flies open. Shadis’ tall frame standing in the entrance is a welcome sight—at least for as long as he is on your side. You hope he is on your side, because judging from Marco’s panicked face peeking over Shadis’ shoulder, you can’t estimate what he’s told your instructor.

Shadis’ face goes through a set of different emotions, and lastly he settles for a look of disgust that deserves its own painting to commemorate it. He takes you all in, eyes lingering on you, Victor, Eren and Armin. It says it all. Why is it you four again?

With an eerily calm voice, he asks, “What is going on, cadets?”

“Nothing,” choruse you, Jean, Eren, Armin and Victor in surprising and probably never-to-be-repeated unison.

Shadis narrows his eyes. “That blood on your mug ain’t looking like nothing to me, Hoffmann.”

Victor takes a deep, shaking breath. “Just … a moment of carelessness, sir. I walked into a door.”

You’re holding your breath. Everyone’s holding their breath. Victor stands, tall and proud, and manages to hold onto his haughtiness as if it is his only lifeline.

Shadis makes a sound of barely contained anger. “And you, Jaeger?”

You can see Mikasa’s bone crushing grip on his arm. He swallows hard. “Same, sir.”

You can all read it on Shadis’ face, the fight within him to discipline you all and make you run until you barf out your guts or even worse. Or just go with your stupid excuse and don’t pursue the matter further. At last, he relents, and slaps his hand so hard against his forehead you think he might be trying to punch it through his skull. “Then open your god damn eyes when you walk, you fucking morons!”

He turns sharply and pushes Marco out of the way, who steps into the room, his shoulders up, chin ducked into his chest as if he’s trying to appear smaller, which is difficult with his height. He dodges to the side when Victor barrels past him, and with him gone, the tension disperses. Finally, you can take a deep breath and relax the hard tension from your shoulders.

“By the Walls.” Marco crowds you and Jean, clasping his hands anxiously behind his head. “Who punched Victor?”

“You can thank [Name] if by tomorrow we’re back in a cart to Trost.” The colour in Jean’s face has vanished as if it has been wiped away, leaving him grey and staring.

“Excuse me, you were about to maul him as well,” you hiss. “I was just faster.”

He drags his hands over his face, rubs over his pale skin as if he’s trying to rub the exhaustion away. Between his slender fingers, he peeks over at the other three. His eyes are lidded, thoughtful, and then he straightens and walks over. You share a quick, confused look with Marco.

“Arlert,” Jean says. Three heads turn towards him. Armin has to lean his head back to meet Jean’s eyes, ignoring Eren’s muffled sound of protest. He’s leaning his slender hips against a table, trying to get Mikasa off his case who’s insisting to take a look at the wound on his forehead. A small trickle of blood makes its way between his eyebrows. His body stands at attention, brain still sending adrenaline through his body. The fight isn’t over. We are not your enemies, you want to tell him. “What happened in the woods?”

Armin studies Jean. There is something relentless in his features—his wide eyes attentive in a way that he categorises every piece of information and stores it in the library of his mind until needed. Hints of sharp cheekbones still hide under his boyish, young face, his nose an elegant arch. Only the full thrust of his lips gives any hint of softness. Within almost a year, it has turned into a challenging face, stubborn in its lines. “I passed them by chance. Victor and Jonathan had been talking up on that tree, and Victor seemed furious. I had to change directions for a second, looking away, but I’m pretty sure Victor did something to Jonathan’s gear. When Jonathan fell … when he fell, he tried to use it, but it didn’t work. And Victor just watched. Kept his eyes on Jonathan the whole time until he—” A shudder passes Armin.

“Wait, are you saying Victor killed Jonathan?” Jean looks from Armin to Eren and Mikasa, waiting for someone to explain the punchline. “That’s a joke, right? You got a weird sense of humour going for you, Arlert.”

“Did you actually see it happen?” you ask, feeling a cold settle deep within your bones. “Did you see Victor push Jonathan off or something?”

“I didn’t have a clear sight of it. But the way he behaved after, the way he is acting now. He wouldn’t miss a chance to give us a hard time, so the fact he didn’t tell Shadis straight out what happened here—”

“You took a gamble,” Jean realises, his face going slack with surprise. “You don’t know for sure, but you made Victor think you know what happened. And he pretty much confirmed by covering [Name]. That’s fucking smart. And a little scary, not gonna lie.”

Armin flushes, the praise surprising him enough that he hunches his shoulders a little. “Well, I thought it would be worth a shot…”

“It’s good you have a brain you can use. Unlike someone else in this room.”

“Are you looking for a fight? Now?” Eren cuts in, putting all his energy into propping himself against the table at the same time you bristle, “At least I have bigger balls than you.”

Eren and you stare at each other. Jean tries and fails to stifle a mocking chuckle. “It’s telling that it is you two who felt addressed.”

“But that was as good a lesson as any,” Marco says. He’s rubbing his arms, as if this whole ordeal has scared him enough to chill him to the bone. “Let’s just stay away from Victor, okay?”

“It isn’t us going after him,” says Mikasa after a moment. She’s trying to push Eren’s brown bangs falling into his eyes away to get a look at the scrape on his forehead, but he keeps swatting her away. Finally, she grabs both of his wrists in one hand, and manages to hold onto them with an iron grip, pushing his hair away with her other. His forehead is an angry, painful red that has you wincing. “Something happened. Something that makes him want to get us kicked out. Off the top list.”

“Wait, what number was Jonathan—” Marco starts.

“Seven,” Armin says, very quietly.

Suddenly, you feel sick. “Six months ago, when Anatoliy broke his arm. He was ranked eight. Where was Victor when it happened?”

Armin’s eyes snap to you, a fever setting in them as if he’s glad someone else seems to get it. “On that day? He was in another group being tested. But a day before that, I saw Albert and Edmund talk to Anatoliy. I don’t know what it was about, but he had been anxious the whole evening. As if he was constantly on guard.”

Silence hangs in the room, the axe above all your heads as the headman takes a swing. It’s absurd. It has to be paranoia, nothing more.

“I’m sure there is … a different explanation,” Marco says, hesitating a little. “Preferably one that doesn’t entail one of us …”

Killing. One of you killing those who rise to the top. Of which four are currently in this room. Your eyes take in Jean and Marco, their expressions ranging from doubtful to scared; Mikasa whose face doesn’t betray any emotion, and lastly Eren—who is looking at you as well, so your eyes snap back to Jean. Your heart skitters for a moment. From this distance, his green eyes seem almost dark.

Suddenly, Marco groans, very loud. “We still have to make dinner.” He darts between the tables towards the kitchen, but turns in the doorway and points at you and Jean. “You two, you help!”

“It wasn’t our fault you had to stop,” Jean grumbles, but he’s already following Marco; Jean, who seldom helps out in the kitchen when he knows other people got it covered, but you have yet to see him tell Marco No whenever he asks Jean of something.

You should go too, but for a moment you linger. Like before, your eyes are drawn to Eren, who is surrounded by his friends. Mikasa presses her slender fingers carefully against his wound, leaning close to Eren’s face. There’s nothing weird about that. You know they’re very close, close like family, like you and Jean close, so the tight knot forming in your stomach must be residual anxiety from confronting Victor, nothing more.

“How bad is it?” you can hear Eren ask. Jean hears him too, and stops in the doorway to the kitchen to call back, wearing an insufferable grin: “Don’t worry! You’re still as ugly as before!”

Eren glares at Jean, but finds you in the way of his stare.

You shift your weight from left to right foot, fumbling with your hands. “Uhm,” you say very eloquently, “I’m going to shut him up.”

You don’t make it very far. Just after you turn, a warm hand snatches your wrist. Looking over your shoulder, you find Eren staring at you, surprise flashing across his features as if he isn’t sure himself what urged him to do this. Something like hesitation flickers in his eyes, and he digs his thumb right against the pulse point inside your wrist.

You stare at each other for a long moment.

Finally, Eren says, “Nice throw.”

You swallow, and for a second believe Eren’s eyes to jump down to your throat, catching the movement. “Thanks.”

You wait for Eren to let you go. He doesn’t. He looks conflicted over something—desperate even, but whatever he wants to say appears to be stuck in his throat. His tongue darts out and swipes over his lower lip, leaving it pink and glossy.

You blink, dazzled. What is it that you want from me? you want to ask, but the answer frightens you.

“Eren.” Mikasa’s voice sinks like a hook under his skin and drags his attention back. Immediately, he lets go of your wrist, watches it fall back to your side. You take a step back, then another, and finally you turn and head back into the kitchen. When you look down, you find your wrist ringed with red where his fingers have gripped you, and, almost absent-mindedly, you push your own thumb into it.

***

“We’ll close … target … south and east!” Marco’s voice drifts from the front, barely audible over the sound of wind rushing past you. You change course, a little more to the left. Better. “—have Connie make the kill!”

Connie whoops. You hate to be the bearer of bad news.

“Make it Daz!” you call up to him. Marco, eyes still forward, tilts his head slightly to signal he’s listening. “Connie spent too much gas on the previous two Titans!”

“I still got enough!” Connie shouts back.

“We still have to make it all the way back!” You ease off the gas and let the momentum carry you over a narrow stream cutting through weathered rocks. The forest smells of damp earth and wet moss. The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but manoeuvring through them is more difficult after a shower has passed through a couple of hours ago, and you have to pay much more attention where you land, where you sink your hooks in. Good thing it isn’t raining anymore.

“Why do I have to do it?!” comes from Daz, a little behind you. He’s having a hard time keeping up with the rest of you, not necessarily because he can’t but because he doesn’t want to. “Do it yourself!”

“No, if it’s a 17-metre Titan, Marco and I are going for its tendons!”

When there is no reply, you turn in time to catch him parrot you with a grimace. His eyes meet yours and he blanches. “O-okay, I’ll do it!”

That’s what you want to hear.

You plough through the wooden Titan dummies, following Marco’s orders who’s tasked to lead you in this exercise. You’re only responsible to keep an eye out for everyone’s gas and blades. Shadis had explained that throughout the forest, they’ve built five bases where you can go and resupply. You just hope the trigger-happy squad hasn’t gone through all your reserves and leaves some for you—that hope quickly dissolves when you reach the meeting point clearly marked for your group and find two from Reiner’s squad buzzing like flies on caffeine around a 17-metre Titan.

Marco makes a weird sound. It sounds a lot like “Oh no.” You have to agree.

“Come on, Jaeger! Try not to trip up your own group members, will ya!” Jean’s shrill voice is hard to miss. It wakes the instinctual urge that has been with you since childhood to throw something at him. Preferably, something big and hard.

“You’re the one getting in my way, you asshole!” Eren surges forward, trying to break his gas controllers judging from how fast he’s speeding from tree to tree.

Daz lands on the branch beside you, wiping sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. “They’re going to get each other killed,” he says, and it isn’t often that you agree with him on something, but this time he’s simply stating facts.

“They shouldn’t even be here.” You change the setting on your controllers to short-distance manoeuvring. “Where are Reiner and Bertholdt?”

“Probably where they’re actually supposed to be.”

“Can we get the kill?” Connie bounces where he’s propped up against the tree. “Can we please get the kill?”

“Not you.” Marco dangles from a branch above your heads. “Daz, go for the talons. [Name], you take the neck.”

Easy. You give a short nod while Daz just groans dramatically. You let the gas launch you forward, grapple hooks sinking into the wood of the Titan to give you a clear access to your target. The distance closes within a blink, you tense your arms in the right position to slice a good chunk off the neck, holding your blades in a tight grip—

With a sudden snap, you hooks detach from the wood. You’re too surprised to scream. The sensation of falling is the worst part; your heart flows up into your throat and your stomach turns to water. You fling your hands out, slam down the levers to reel the hooks back in but they’re too slow. Someone shouts your name as the world flies by in a blur of green and brown, and just for a second a flash of silver like stardust—

A strong arm hooks around your right elbow, stopping your drop abruptly. You feel your breakfast is about to come up again. More voices, one very close to your ear but you can’t hear anything past the loud rush of blood in your head. Another body closes in from the left, and together they lift you up to the safe canopy of trees with their thick, wide branches.

When you’re released from strong, big hands, you have to steady yourself against the trunk, its rough bark a grounding presence against the clammy skin of your palm.

“That was—that was close.” Past the frantic buzzing in your ears, Reiner’s voice finally reaches you. He swipes sweat off his forehead, making his green shirt ride up slightly and show a narrow stripe of chiselled abs. “You’re a pretty reckless one, aren’t you? Way to lose position.”

“Yeah … ugh…” You don’t know if you should apologise or thank him first.

“But everything worked out fine,” says Bertholdt. He looks pale, his inky black hair dishevelled and sticking to his temples. “We really have to be careful around the woods after rain. The hooks can give in at any time.”

Reiner replies something, but you don’t listen anymore. Instead, you peek over the thick branch down to where the wooden Titan stands, still and undisturbed. Nothing silver. Not even any flowers that might have played a trick on your eyes.

The branch shakes when Jean lands on it. He looks as if he’s swallowed something sharp. “Check your gear, and then check it again,” he nearly snaps at you. “That gave me a fucking heart attack.”

“Yeah,” you say, suddenly feeling drained and exhausted now that the immediate threat is gone. “Imagine how I felt.”

“Should we call it a day?” Reiner looks up, probably looking for the sun to determine what hour it is, but finds a grey sky looming over your heads. He scowls. “The other two groups should be done by now.”

“We’ve got … three Titans left, I think,” notes Marco. There’s nothing subtle about his worrying gaze whenever he glances at you. All the attention on you makes you want to vanish into thin air.

Reiner checks how much gas he has left. To the group, he says, “Then let’s clear ‘em out. Jean, you take [Name] back to the meeting point where we split into groups for the night later.”

“I can still keep going.” Anxiety spikes cold in your stomach. You won’t let them leave you behind. “I’ll be more careful.”

“Is your gear all right?”

You jut out your chin. “Of course.”

“Is it?” Eren’s voice coming from your left makes you flinch. With his hooks embedded somewhere above him, he’s propped against the tree trunk, looking slightly down at you. When did he get there? He leans forward, and wedges one of your wires out of its hold, brushing his warm arm against yours. “When was the last time you ground your hooks? Look how blunt they are.”

He’s trailing a finger over one edge, and what should leave a deep cut in his skin doesn’t even leave a scratch. Eren lets the hook go and it snaps back into its housing. “Go back. We’ll be faster without having to make sure you don’t get yourself killed.” And with that, he releases his anchor’s hold onto the tree and lets himself fall, allowing the forest to embrace him as he disappears into the thicket.

You stare after him, feeling the slow trickle of hot shame fill your chest drop by seething drop.

“Don’t worry, [Name].” Reiner gives you a sympathetic smile. “We’ll come up with something different than gear malfunctioning for the report. Manoeuvring through wet terrain is pretty tricky. That should suffice.”

He means well, but you don’t want anyone coming up with excuses for your sake. As the rest moves out again, you inspect your hooks for yourself. It shouldn’t be at the state that it is, and you have made sure everything was in order before leaving for this mission.

Did you?

“What if this was Victor?” you think out loud. A shudder shakes your body. “He could have messed up my gear.”

“You’re not in the top.” Jean peeks down from the tree, his eyes searching for something. Maybe the same thing you have been looking for earlier? His brows wrinkle, and he shakes his head for a moment.

“But he hates me.”

“Well, he hates a lot of people. He hates me, too. I haven’t woken up to him smothering me in my sleep.” Jean hesitates for a moment. “Yet? Maybe we just jumped to conclusions. I don’t think anyone of us can just kill another person that ruthlessly.”

“Maybe.”

You stand there for a moment, listening to a breeze sweep through the emerald crowns that carries another wave of far-off rain.

“Should we try using ODM gear back or do you want to walk?”

“If we walk, that should take us … an hour? An hour and a half?” He doesn’t look excited about that. “Let’s hope Mikasa and the others will be done by then.”

He helps you get down from the tree, and you’re grateful to feel steady ground under your feet. When you begin to march, you fight against the urge to steal another glance back over your shoulder to where you saw the flash of silver.

You can’t stand the silence. “Jaeger didn’t have to be such an asshole about it. Right?” You look up at Jean. He keeps his eyes fixed ahead. “He basically said I’m a liability.”

Jean doesn’t respond. Which means, he’s agreeing with Eren, and that doesn’t just plunge the knife into your chest like Eren did. It twists it.

“We all have our bad days,” he finally says.

You haven’t just had a bad day. You’ve had a bad week and something dreadful sitting in your stomach tells you there isn’t an end in sight yet.

Night falls. The sky turns to ink, blotting out the sun, and darkness cloaks the world. Your little group moves in silence through the woods, raising your voices feels like desecrating the quiet of the forest and the old things living inside it.

Reiner leads at the very front. His torch flickers anxiously as if it is too frightened by the black shadows swallowing you all. Jean and you have been tasked to be part of the four cadets carrying the provisions. Bags heavy and weighing you down with every step, backs sore and aching, you can’t help but turn your head at the smallest of noises coming from the dense woods closing around you. You hear the night sounds of the forest, the crickets, the distant splashes of small creatures by the river, and the wind through the trees. It feels like something is watching you in the thicket, something that isn’t an owl or a mouse or any other nocturnal animal hiding.

“It’s so dark,” you say lamely.

Jean snorts. “You want me to hold your hand?”

You put both hands behind your back like a small child. “Don’t talk down to me.”

“Well, I could hardly talk up to you. You’re smaller than me.” He glances past you, the torch showering sparks and casting dancing shadows over his face as he tracks down the path right behind Bertholdt. You consider tripping him up just to see him land on his stupid face. Or later when the camp is set and he’s put out his sleeping back, you should put stones inside and give him a nasty surprise when he lies down to sleep—

“I know that look, and whatever you scheme, I’m gonna pay it back double.” Jean ducks under a low-hanging branch, its shadow against the ground stretches like crooked fingers into the dark. “Remember when you shot me in the face with a slingshot when we were kids?”

You pull a face, following after him and hope the cadet behind you doesn’t get whacked in the face with the branch. “Yeah. I also remember I gave you five coins so you wouldn’t tell Ida. But you still ratted me out after you spent that money.”

Jean grins, satisfied. “Best spent coins of my life.”

Maybe you should dig for worms instead of stones.

Reiner decides to set up camp near a narrow stream that cuts through the forest, hidden between the tall shadows of fir trees looming over you. While the other cadets build the camp—sweep the forest ground for your sleeping bags, prepare the campfire for dinner—you, Connie and Daz head down to fetch water. A task that potentially increases in difficulty because Daz shakes so much out of fear that you’re worried the torch will go out. When you return, a fire crackles softly, the smell of burning wood and smoke a pleasant change. It stirs a memory awake, years ago when you used to go camping with your family and the Kirschsteins. You try to swallow past the lump in your throat and follow Reiner’s instructions mechanically.

Dinner is dry crackers and canned beans that taste like bland gums. They have the same texture too. You envy the other group where Sasha is, who is surely hunting something down for dinner. As you chew and chew until your jaw grows sore, not listening to the quiet mumbles of your comrades, you just stare into nothing. An owl sits on a narrow branch above your heads, looking down at you all. Blinking lazily at you. You blink back. Make a face at it. Very unfazed, it shakes its plumage in response, and continues its silent vigil over your group.

The first shift is taken care of by Reiner and Daz. Jean keeps yapping about why Marco and you are adamant to sleep apart from him, to which you both share a silent, understanding gaze. In the end, Connie decides to huddle up next to Jean, and you can’t wait to see Jean beating him up in his sleep. Bertholdt, too, is steered clear of by the other cadets. Marco simply whispers to you, “You’ll see in the morning.”

Exhaustion rolls over you the moment you lie down. The forest ground is hard, you can feel a pine cone digging in your back, but too tired to move even an inch, you let sleep take over.

No matter how often you tried to explain to Mom and Dad why you didn't want to play with Marianne and the other kids, they argued that you needed friends, and parents knew what was best for their children. As it was.

Stubborn adults, who did not understand your reasoning, so of course you did what they said, and every day you met up with the same neighbourhood’s children to play the same games.

On the day everything was to change, Lisa from that pretty, tall house down the road with vibrant tulips in their window boxes wanted to play hide-and-seek. Seven out of nine children assembled groaned.

“Didn’t we play that like … two days ago?” Michael asked. He always liked tag more because then he could push children and pretend they had stumbled over their own feet.

“We could go down to the river bed and see who’s coming out from Shiganshina,” Marianne offered. She always liked playing near the river so she could catch frogs and put them inside the other children’s clothes.

“Hide-and-seek.” Lisa stomped her foot. She loved it because she would only find those children she liked and forget all about the other kids who would hide and hide and keep hiding until it was late into the day and time to go home. You all played hide-and-seek a lot more during winter. “And today, the new kid can join us.” She pointed at the frail figure of a boy who stood a little apart from the group. He seemed much more interested in the weeds growing next to the road.

Michael pulled a face. He was the tallest of you all, and according to the logic of children that allowed him to command everyone else. It was clear from the very beginning, he did not like this boy at all. “What’s wrong with your hair?”

A couple heads turned his way. The boy shrugged in the manner of an adult who was not in the mood to indulge little kids’ questions about the birds and the bees.

You didn’t think there was anything wrong with it. It was unusual, maybe—a bright blond nearly fading to silver, the colour of stardust. It was definitely prettier than Michael's unruly mop of black hair.

“Let’s plaaaay,” Lisa whined. She had never cared much for anyone’s hair except her own and how it had to sit in perfectly curled twig-tails on her shoulders. “Today, we’ll have you, you, and you hide—”

“How about we make things a little more exciting?” Everyone’s head turned towards the boy with stardust hair. Now, he smiled. “We can make a bet. I’ll hide and you all try to find me.”

Stunned silence. The boy’s smile grew. It reminded you of a cat’s smile, a moment before it swatted at your hand with sharp claws after it had tricked you into petting it.

“But that’s too easy,” Michael said at the same time Lisa asked, “What do we get if we win?”

“My parents gave me some coins. I could buy you something from Schmidt’s Bakery—”

“You’ll go down to the soldier’s outpost and steal their smelly booze,” Marianne cut in, smiling back at the boy in a mirror smile of his own.

Mumbling rose around you. Whoever got caught taking something from the Garrison soldiers got a solid beating—young and old. You caught Fiona’s gaze. Her head twitched weirdly, your best interpretation was that she was trying to prompt you into saying something reasonable. You didn’t know when you had become the voice of reason.

“What do you get if you win?”

The boy pivoted his gaze to you, and for the first time your eyes really met. They were blue like the sky, like someone stole a piece of the horizon and gave it to him. He saw you.

“Well,” he said. “That depends on who finds me.” He held your gaze for a moment, maybe challenging you to look away. You couldn’t. His eyes were too mesmerising. Too pretty. “But we play by my rules,” he continued. “Or else this will be too easy for you.”

Michael and Lisa exchanged looks with the other kids. “We’ll decide after you tell us,” Michael said, kicking at pebbles before his feet. When he accidentally hit one of the other boys, making him cry out, Michael ignored him.

“First, you have to stay where you are. And you can only move again and start looking, when I tell you to leave.”

“But that will make it super easy.” Marianne groaned, looking as if she already regretted having him join in the first place. “We’ll hear you wherever you are and know where to find you. Do you even know how to play hide-and-seek?”

“That just means you’ll have an easy and quick win. Sounds good, doesn’t it?”

Marianne understood that much. She slapped her hands over her eyes, and everyone else followed. They boy waited. You were pretty sure Michael was cheating.

“Stay where you are,” the boy said. It sounded as if he was standing right next to you, whispering into your ear. You shuddered. “And then leave.”

You lowered your hands, turned your head over your shoulder.

But the boy was gone.

Three hours later, you climbed over the high fence that separated the main road from the meadow that stretched on towards the river bank. Sunlight glittered on the surface like thousands of diamonds, ambers and rubies. The boy sat in an almost perfect circle of wildflowers in every rainbow's colour, staring down at them as if he saw flowers for the very first time. You almost fell off the fence, unexplainable joy and excitement blossoming in your chest, the feeling similar to whenever you looked forward to eating Aunty Ida’s apple pie.

You straightened your clothes, scratched off a dried crack of dirt from your skirt, and took a deep breath. “I found you!” you called over, and that changed everything.

The boy froze. He turned his head, slowly, until he found you looking down at him—and then he stared at you for a long, uncomfortable minute. Stared. Stared some more. Maybe you had some dirt on your face. Or he found the hair cut Mom had given you last week funny.

Eventually, he turned around again, back to the flowers as if they were his only true friends. To them, he said, “I have heard about how Lisa and the others play hide-and-seek. When did they stop looking for me? After an hour?”

Shame scalded your cheeks. “Twenty minutes.”

“You didn’t have to look for me. You could have stopped, too.”

“I know.” You crouched beside him to see what was so captivating about the flowers. A bee tumbled off a white, star-shaped flower with a golden crown in its middle and buzzed past your head. It was the only white flower in this circle. “But I wanted to.”

The boy shot you a look you were familiar with because that was always how your mother looked at your dad when she knew he was lying about taking a day off to visit Shiganshina for a family trip even though he had promised. So doubting. So shielded, protecting themselves from disappointment and hurt. You wanted to gently brush that guarded look away from his face.

“Why?” His voice was quiet, a little resigned, like stars that made their peace as they burnt a bright trail on their way down through the skies. “What do you want?”

His question confused you. When you looked at him, a soft breeze caressed his hair. You wanted to touch it. “Be my friend.”

Three small words. But they were not three words that would change the world. Those would follow later, much later.

He was taken aback, you could immediately see. As if you demanded he carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. Genuine surprise flitted across his face, comical almost, as if he couldn't believe anyone would ask him that. “Why?” he asked again, like a broken record. Like he didn’t know anything else to say.

And since ‘Why’ carried the most complex of reasons, you had to answer with the simplest of explanations.

You looked over at him with your honest, honest face—an honesty only a child could wear because it didn’t know of any betrayal and hurt yet.

“Because.” Two could play at this game and you gladly showed how competitive you were. “Is there anything wrong with wanting to be your friend?”

“Well…” The boy looked as if he had stepped onto a little wooden block. “I’m just not good with …” He waved a hand at you, then stopped himself from speaking further. Did he mean to say girls? What a silly boy. Jean and you showed perfectly that boys and girls could be friends, too. Even though Jean did eat your chocolate sweets once and you pinched him until he had cried. Still, you had made up. You had always made up, no matter how silly or mean the fight had been.

Looking at the boy, he did not seem like someone who would steal from you. Or hurt you. His face had the soft lines of the marble angels in the church in Shiganshina, and angels were always benevolent creatures, kind and loving. Later, you would learn this not to be true—after reading the stories about their cold righteousness. Their indomitable will to stand against anything that is wrong, as inerrant in their presence as with their purpose.

“It’s okay,” you say. “I’ll help you figure it out.” The boy pulled a face as if he had bitten into a sour lemon. That consent was good enough for you. “Come on then, let’s go.”

The boy frowned. His hands clung to the flower stems spread before him, their heads bowing in the wind as if he was their prince. But he didn’t move to pull them out—it seemed that he was just holding onto them. “Go where?”

You were already up on your feet. “You said you’d buy whoever found you something from Schmidt’s. Or did you change your mind?”

He gave another resigned sign, but this time something else thrummed within. “No … let’s go.”

“Nice! Let’s hurry before they’re all out of Apfelstrudel! I’ll share with you, don’t worry.”

He mumbled something under his breath, and then a little louder so you could hear him, “You don’t have to share with me.”

“I know. But I want to.”

Back then, everything was that simple. That was long before you knew nothing was simple when it came to him.

Charging halfway up the hill, you remembered something and came to a full stop. When you turned, the boy was following you at some distance, hands in his pockets. He wore a thoughtful expression, and you wondered what he was thinking about so hard. Maybe how much coins he would be left with until his parents gave him more?

“Your name.” You pointed at him. “What’s your name?”

His thoughtful, blue eyes brushed over you like a caress. “Emil,” he said. “My name is Emil, and I guess I will be your friend from now on.” He sighed, wearily, but it didn’t sound like his heart was really into it.

You beamed at him. “Really?!”

“Yes, really.” Emil looked at you with his kind, blue eyes. “Because you found me.”

It takes a long minute to realise the reason your vision is blurry lies in the hot veil of tears clouding your sight and not Jean trying to shake your brains out of your head. Dizzy from sleep, you push onto your elbows, hands scrubbing over your face.

“Finally. Come on, wake up. Wake up for real, [Name].” You don’t immediately hear the panic in his voice. Is it because it is night? Jeanie used to be so scared of the darkness, always insisting to sleep with candles burning in every corner of his room. Maybe he’s had a nightmare and needs your help with something.

One hand swipes across your wet cheeks and collects the tears spilling from your eyes. Why are you crying? The worry on Jean’s face grows. His hand is a vice around your arm, an anchor to support you.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice low. Tense.

What a weird question. “Yeah … yeah, of course.” You wipe your wet hands on your shirt. “I’ve had the weirdest dream … I can’t even remember half of it.”

“Well, you’re awake now.” The urgency in his voice is like a whip surging the horse onward, like he has to be done with this conversation no matter the cost.

You scratch at your forehead. “Yeah … yeah…” You squeeze the ring around your finger, its beautiful red gleaming in the warm campfire’s light … wait … campfire? You completely forgot you’re out in the garden camping with the Kirschsteins. You look up and find Jean’s eyes. “What’s wrong?” you ask, rubbing your eyes. Why are they wet again? “You scared of the dark?”

“Oh, ha ha,” Jean replies dryly, but a wry grin steals back on his face, only to be shattered when you ask, “Where is Emil?”

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taglist: @arisu003, @brooki

A/N: Got y'all again, this is actually Jean/Everyone, he is the main pillow princess, it's his harem

NOT ME FINDING ACTORS!AU OF AOT AND CONSIDERING WRITING LITTLE EXTRA SNIPPETS FOR ACTORS AU WITH OUR READER

#aot x reader #snk x reader #aot x you #aot x y/n #eren jaeger #eren x reader #eren x you #eren x y/n #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger x you #eren jaeger x y/n #eren yeager #eren yeager x reader #eren yeager x you #eren yeager x y/n #aot x oc #eren x oc

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 3 years

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A/N: If there’s anything I learned from doing this, it’s that vampirerry is an utter WHORE. Good for him!!!! As for myself, I’m done with the semester and my term projects and finals left my singular brain cell fried, so this was a nice way to get back into writing again. I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Thank you to the anon that suggested it, this was super fun to do! :D

read you’re someone i just want around here

word count: 6k

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

Harry is very attentive when it comes to aftercare with Y/N. The sex they have is often rough and includes toys, degradation, and multiple rounds, so he believes aftercare is non-negotiable. Rough sex can be fun, but if it’s not followed by a lot of communication and post-performance support, it can take a hard emotional toll on a person. Even when intimacy isn’t meant to be inherently sentimental, there has to be a certain level of connection and etiquette surrounding it, or it could end badly for both parties involved. He always checks on her immediately after they finish, simply to gauge her headspace and how her body is responding, and after he’s made sure she’s alright, he goes into his usual routine of skin-to-skin contact and gentle coddling. Reassurance and praise is just as important afterwards as it is during, because it’s good to let a partner know that your appreciation runs deeper than just the physical need felt in the heat of the moment; everyone deserves to feel valued beyond their body.

Harry proceeds to clean Y/N up after every session, because it’s the least he can do since she’s usually the one getting the brunt of the work. He’ll fetch a clean towel dampened under warm water to wipe her clean, or he’ll offer to help give her a bath or a shower— whichever route she prefers. Harry dresses her, and changes the sheets if need be, and tucks her into bed to ensure she’s nice and comfortable. If it’s been a particularly intense session, he’ll go the kitchen and bring back a snack and a drink— a granola bar and a Gatorade, or some chips and her favorite juice, or if she’s feeling especially hungry, he’ll happily go out of his way to prepare her an actual meal— and he insists on feeding it to her bit by bit until she’s come to enough to handle it on her own. If she’s not hungry, he at least brings her a glass of water and urges her to drink it; better to be safe than sorry. After that, more cuddling is the status quo, which normally ends in Y/N falling asleep in his arms, and Harry has absolutely no problem with that at all.

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

Harry’s favorite body part of Y/N’s is probably her chest. Yes, he likes it for sexual reasons— obviously— but there are innocent reasons for his fascination, as well. He likes how responsive she gets when he touches her there— how he can get her going just by groping her the way she likes it, or by using his mouth to tongue across her nipples until she’s writhing in pleasure and whining for more. He loves leaving hickies all over her tits, probably more than she likes receiving them. It’s just so fucking hot seeing himself marked all over her, especially when she’s putting on a bra and he can see all of the dark bruises scattered across the cleavage spilling from the undergarment. Filth aside, he also enjoys loving all over her chest. Absentmindedly cupping them while they’re snuggling, nuzzling his head between them while they’re watching television, massaging them under her shirt with his large palms as she sits back against his chest, sipping a glass of wine and chatting away, unwinding after a long day. It’s a form of intimacy; it provides a type of closeness nothing else can.

As for his own favorite body part, it’s a tie between two different areas. He loves his thighs— they’re one of his most prominent features. They’re thick and meaty and sensitive, so they’re the perfect sweet spot to touch when he wants to get riled up. Given his previous response, it can be easily deduced that he likes to get hickies there, as well. The marks look great peeking out from under his briefs (for the short amount of time they last, anyways) and they make a great accessory to the large tigerhead tattoo along his left thigh. It’s artwork, really; a proper Picasso.

His other favorite body part...well, take a lucky guess. It’s likely not that far off— literally, considering it hangs right between his thighs.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Harry’s personal preference is cumming inside. He adores feeling the way Y/N tightens around him when he finally orgasms (she’s just so warm and soft and unbelievably tight; it’s like she was made for him), almost as much as he loves seeing her reaction. Her body will immediately start to wriggle and her back will arch as she releases broken little whimpers, clinging to his shoulders with her nails and begging him to fill her until he’s milked his worth. Hearing her ragged breathing and feeling her sweaty chest stutter against his is enough to do him in, but when she goes as far as to gnaw on his ear and whine a soft little, “Want it all, baby. Want you dripping out of me when we’re done.” Well, that’s enough to kill him all over again.

Of course, there are times when Harry likes seeing himself all over her, too. On her outstretched tongue, or smeared across her pretty face and plush lips (she looks particularly cute when it ends up all over her eyelashes), or streaked over the valley of her tits, or pooled at the center of her tummy. If he’d been taking her from behind, then he likes seeing it run down the backs of her thighs, or splattered across the dip of her spine. And if she’d been giving him a handjob, then seeing himself dribbling down her fingers is just as good. Why? Because those fingers usually end up in her mouth, which means he ends up all over her tongue, and so the cycle comes full circle. How poetic.

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

Did Harry suggest wearing a matching set of a vibrating cock ring and buzzing bullet to do grocery shopping once? Yes. Did he drop three glass jars of peach preserves by accident as a result, causing them to have to book it out of the bread aisle while trying to look as unsuspicious as possible, which failed horribly because they were literally hobbling like a crippled elderly couple? Also yes. Did they end up fucking in a Target fitting room? Definitely.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

A lot of experience. Tons. Immense amounts. Insane amounts. Two hundred years of the same seven continents just means two hundred years worth of sex across every single one. And it gives you plenty of time to find the clitoris, as well as giving you a chance to learn the female anatomy like the back of your hand. That being said, Harry doesn’t doubt he could make Y/N cum with his wrists tied behind his back and a blindfold strapped to his face. In fact, he’s made her cum just by using his thigh, so that in itself is enough credibility to last him several more lifetimes. The toy chest in his closet and the fact that he’s well-endowed are bonuses— he knows more than enough tricks to keep her satisfied with just his tongue. Not to mention his fingers— they’re long for a reason.

F = Favorite position

Funny enough, Harry doesn’t have one. He’s spent so many decades cycling through every possible position in existence, it’s gotten to where he can’t pin-point a preference; all positions are unique, and they each have their own appeal. Reverse cowgirl is nice because he likes watching the way he stretches Y/N open with every plunge of her hips, and it also gives him the luxury of marking his rings across her ass in the process. Regular cowgirl is nice, too— having her chest bouncing in his face is nothing short of a divine miracle, in his opinion. Doggy style is a staple, and there’s always different add-ons he can apply to spice it up; for example, taking her from behind with her wrists tied to her ankles, or bending her over the kitchen counter with her face pressed into the marble, or fucking her against his glass wall with her hands and chest flushed to the cool surface as their breaths fog the floor-to-ceiling window.

Missionary is a tried and true option, and just like it’s prior counterpart, it can be enhanced with a variety of extra tricks. Bondage is a good condiment, against the wall is always a nice touch, spread-eagle never goes wrong, and just having her legs wrapped around his lower back is more than enough. However, he does have two favorite variations of the position. The first is when he mounts her legs onto his shoulders or along the inside of his elbows to open her up more, and then just ramming his hips down at a very specific angle that hits her g-spot just right, pounding her into the bed so hard she tears the sheets off the mattress. The second is a cowgirl-missionary hybrid: he sits back on his heels and uses the steep downward slope created by his thighs as elevation, pulling her ass onto his tilted lap and swinging her legs over either side of his hips. He gropes her waist with his palms and yanks her forward, bouncing her against his cock and watching her completely dismantle as he nudges all the right places with as much speed and force as she deems fit.

And then there’s fucking from the side, but that’s a whole other extensive conversation he doesn’t have time for.

Actually, maybe Harry will entertain it for a minute or so. He usually throws one of Y/N’s legs over his neck to get a deeper range, manhandling her roughly onto her side and yanking her closer to his body by her waist, grasping it with stern vigor and holding her down against the mattress, grunting out a gravelly, strict command along the lines of, “Stay fucking still.” He’ll drill into her at a brutal, consistent pace, staining his fingerprints along the curves of her torso and sponging damp kisses onto her ankle, smirking into her skin as he watches her fist at the duvet in a futile attempt at maintaining her bearings. It’s pretty evident that she can’t, though; the way her eyes lull around their sockets from his harsh stride does a terrible job at hiding her lack of self-control, alongside the fragmented curses she gasps out whenever he nudges her g-spot with the head of his cock.

“Oh, that was such a pretty noise. Did I hit that little spot you like?”

Her response will be begrudging, as always, which he thinks is ridiculously useless considering he can see her burying her face into the pillow to hide how her jaw drops open in sheer rapture. “No.”

“No?” The vampire leans forward, stretching her leg towards the headboard and preening at the garbled squeak that escapes her gritted teeth, plunging deeper as he lowers himself to her level. He knots her hair around his knuckles, tugging sharply until her face is tilted back enough to meet his fiery gaze. “Then why are you starting to shake?

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

It depends on the mood, honestly. There are definitely serious moments, but Harry enjoys the humorous ones just as much. He already adores making Y/N laugh and smile on a regular basis, and that desire only grows when he’s buried between her thighs, simply because she just looks so fucking cute laughing with her hair splayed around the pillows in a messy halo, her sounds of glee stuttering due to how sharply she’s jolting against the bed. He loves feeling her giggle into his mouth as he cracks sarcastic jokes and makes stupid witty comments that break the intensity in the air, especially because she’s usually clever enough to return them with some of her own. Then they both end up snickering like idiots as he tries to keep a solid pace, which eventually tapers to a messy, haphazard stride as their laughter drowns out their goal to the point where he has to take a genuine break to collect himself. There’s tons of examples— how could there not be? Sex is hardly ever perfect, so awkward moments are not only expected, but guaranteed. What better way to handle them than with a bit of humor?

There was an incident once where Harry accidentally knocked their foreheads together so hard, they both bruised (which he responded to with, “I’m pretty sure this isn’t what Cosmopolitan meant when they suggested matching couples tattoos.”). Another time, he got so into the moment he didn’t realize he was jack-hammering the top of her head into the backboard until she brought it to his attention (and made a comment saying it sounded like a sped up version of the beat to We Will Rock You). A bad case of the hiccups. Y/N burping right in his face halfway through his orgasm. A random leg cramp that made him think he was going to need amputation to survive. Accidentally rolling off the bed or couch onto the ground and nearly dislocating both of their spines in the process, getting his cross earring tangled in her hair and nearly ripping off his ear trying to get it out, and the unfortunate collapse of a pillow fort he’d spent over an hour building. He even sneezed in her face once, and when she instinctively went to shove him back, she wound up slamming her palm into his nose so hard he nearly passed out. Nose bleeds aren’t necessarily sexy, per se, but he just dug blindly through her nightstand until he found two new tampons somewhere in that black hole she calls a drawer, shoved them in his nostrils, and kept going. No one can ever accuse him of being unresourceful.

Queefing. Lots and lots of queefing, which he usually starts mimicking with his mouth, and then she responds to that by whining and telling him to cut it out, and then he takes to mocking her whining instead. It normally finishes with them laughing so hard that Harry’s cheeks hurt from smiling so big, but it’s a good type of pain. The best type of pain.

H = Hair (how do they groom?)

Harry likes keeping himself neat and orderly, but he doesn’t enjoy going bare, so trimming is his grooming preference. There’s just something so unappealing about a completely smooth dick— it looks like raw chicken and it’s fucking disgusting. He doesn’t have anything against a good bush, but it tends to get unruly and he’d rather not have to overcomplicate his shower routine. And honestly, he can’t trust himself because last time he had a full front yard going, he got shitfaced and tried to braid it on a dare. Keeping the hedges trimmed is the ideal landscaping option, and it just looks way hotter— a uniform dusting of hair is a good accessory and it just makes everything look more cohesive, given that he also fancies keeping his happy trail thick. It’s all about aesthetics, isn’t it?

I = Intimacy (the romantic aspect)

It’s no secret that Harry’s been somewhat detached from intimacy for the last two hundred years or so. Intimacy is reserved for genuine romance, and that’s something he hadn’t entertained since before the lightbulb was invented. But now that he has Y/N, intimacy has crawled its way back out from the deepest recesses of his subconscious, where it had been shoved into a bottomless pit with the rest of his trauma. He likes it— he likes opening up to her in any way he can, because sharing those obsolete parts of himself with someone again is more fulfilling than he ever imagined. He likes kissing her randomly when she’s halfway through a sentence, just to feel her words die off abruptly in her throat as she gives into his gentle gesture, a delicate smile spreading across her satin lips. He likes whispering sweet phrases of encouragement into her hair when they’re tangled amidst sweaty limbs and rumpled sheets, reminding her of how much he cares for her and how beautiful she looks when she’s so far gone and how she makes him feel like his entire body has been set alight. He likes sponging soft pecks across the stretch marks along her thighs and across the dimples on her belly, her skin candy and velvet on his tongue as she releases a watery sigh that lets him know he’s doing all the right things in all the right places. He just likes letting her know she's special to him, in any and every way he can.

Intimacy forges timeless bonds, and he reckons that assumption is unarguable, considering he knows a thing or two about eternity.

J = Jack Off (masturbation headcanon)

Harry likes to jack off, obviously. Who doesn’t? It’s why he has an entire section of his toy chest dedicated to self-pleasuring tools. Vibrating cock rings, an array of lubes that range from temperature-changing to sensation sensitivity, and a few pocket vags that get the job done whenever Y/N is out of commission (usually because of work). His favorite one is an electronic sleek black model that is made of a premium silicone material and has a variety of massage settings, suction strengths, and internal textures. It’s designed to make the session feel more real, and yes, it was expensive, but self-love is always worth the splurge.

The beauty of living on his own is that he can get off wherever and whenever he wants, without having to stress about someone interrupting an important step in his pampering routine. He usually does it in his room and on his bed, simply because Y/N’s pillow is close by and the experience is heightened when her scent is swimming around his hazy, bliss-drunken mind. If Harry is feeling particularly needy, he’ll ditch the toy all together and just hump one out against the mattress or cushion. If it’s a particularly restless day, he’ll take a toy downstairs and lazily play within himself on the couch while browsing through Netflix. Those instances usually average a few tamer orgasms rather than a single large one, but he’s not complaining; his stamina comes in unapologetic waves that stem from a never-ending supply, and he certainly has the time to kill. If Harry gets the sudden urge in the shower or while he’s relaxing in his jacuzzi, he won’t bother fetching a trinket; he’ll just stroke one out with his hand, using the cool metal of his trusty lionhead ring to tease the tip until he brings himself to orgasm. It turns out daylight crystals have more than one use.

There is one common factor amongst all these different choices, though: Y/N is present in every fantasy. And if the vampire is feeling especially bold, he’ll grab his phone and take a video of whatever he’s doing to himself, and then she’ll have a nice little gift waiting for her once she gets out of the café for the day. That usually leads to him receiving a present in return later that evening, and then he’s dialing her contact before the clip is even done playing, and then what he does during his alone time doesn’t require him being so alone anymore.

K = Kinks

Harry has tons— in fact, he has so many, he can’t really keep track. And he also has the sneaking suspicion that if he were to ever jot all of them down, he’d end up locked in some type of sex addict rehabilitation center. Bondage is a big one, so he’ll start there. He’s great with ropes, given that he learned his way around them ages ago. Chains are nice, but they can be a pain to set up without the right equipment; he’s thinking of getting a reinforced metal hook installed into his ceiling, like the one in his storage closet, which he uses to keep his punching bag secure. Handcuffs, obviously— velvet-lined, straight metal, fuzzy coverings, he’s got it all. Dominance, degradation, Daddy, Sir, choking, brat-taming, spanking, flogging, slapping— impact play in general, to be honest— spitting, wax, praise, begging, masochism, branding (mild stuff, no molten metal shit), collaring, discipline, dirty talk, edging, exhibitionism, face-fucking, face-sitting (with him on the receiving end), giving oral (is that a kink? It is now.) gagging (both the action and using the actual object itself), breeding (he hates that term but that’s the official name, unfortunately), teasing, voyeurism, role play, and… he thinks that’s it. Oh, and blood, but that doesn’t really count for apparent reasons.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Y/N’s couch is sacred, at this point. Their entire relationship started on that lumpy, worn excuse of a sofa, and it’s seen them through their progression from strangers to friends with benefits to lovers to more. It’s comfortable enough, the dark color hides any explicit stains, and the cushions always smell of her signature mixture of honey and lavender combined with Snuggle fabric softener. It’s finicky, but irreplaceable. His kitchen counter is a close second. It’s provided a lot, taken a lot, been through a lot— through a lot of Lysol wipes, to be specific. If it wasn’t marble, it likely would have been reduced to chunks and rubble by now, courtesy of his enhanced strength gripping the edges as he slams her against the smooth surface. The backseat of his Cadillac is consecrated, as well; there’s just so much erotic appeal to fucking in a car with rock music blaring in the background, muffling the obscene sounds of bodies connecting and a mixture of fever-pitch moans. The couch, the counter, and the Cadillac— the Unholy Trinity.

The jacuzzi is nice, too, but for the sake of his clever little “c” alliteration, he’ll leave that one as an implied token.

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

As much as Harry claims he likes full submission in bed, he can’t deny that he loves being challenged. Delivering punishment and coaxing out an orgasm is so much more satisfying when he has to fight for it; it’s so fucking hot watching his girlfriend try to best him in a power struggle, especially when she finally— and undeniably, since he always wins— caves under his will and winds up begging him for what he otherwise would have gifted her freely. That’s where the brat-taming kink comes into play. He likes it when she mouths off and makes snarky digs, and he enjoys it even more when he tries to set her in place and she amps her disobedience as a result. There’s nothing more attractive than a battle of wits with someone who is a perfect match in every way. And when she channels her attitude into physical gestures, it riles him up beyond compare. For example, when she smirks and rolls her eyes, despite the fact that there’s trails of tears staining her cheeks and mascara smeared all over her waterline? Christ, he could go feral.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

No feet, no feces, no beastiality. There’s probably more, but those are the ones off the top of his head.

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

Receiving oral is great— he highly recommends it, solid ten out of ten— but giving it is so much better. Harry’s always been a giver, even when he was young and barely knew his way around a woman’s undergarments. The stereotypical expectation for a person who is beginning to explore their sexuality is that everything they do, they do for their own gain. It’s a selfish realization, yes, but it’s a primal type of selfishness that no one can truly be blamed for. It’s a simple concept: when you start having sex, you want as much personal benefit as possible. It’s only natural. But from the second Harry became sexually active, he came to find that providing release to his partner outweighed the bliss he could get from letting them pleasure him instead. It’s not direct pleasure, but rather cognitive, which more often than not translates itself physically. And when it comes to Y/N, that euphoria manifests tenfold.

Nothing compares to having his face buried between her legs as she tugs and yanks at his hair desperately, her chest heaving and jaw falling open as he uses his tongue to unravel her from the inside out. Spitting sloppily onto her folds and hearing the raw gasp of aroused shock that escapes her sore throat, which causes his swollen lips to spread into a dirty grin as he latches onto the sensitive bud at the thick of her core, fiddling with it until her legs are trembling uncontrollably around his sturdy shoulders. Watching her features go slack as he bobs his neck fervently between her thighs, swiping the bridge of his nose across her clit over and over until the entire bottom half of his face is drenched in her excitement. Fucking his tongue into her and feeling her buck against his jaw as she holds him in place with her fingers tangled in his curls, whimpering his name repeatedly in a voice so shattered, he could probably build a mosaic with the fractures. Feeling her drip down his chin and into the collar of his shirt, savoring how sweet she tastes as he pins her hips down against the bed and groans feverishly into her cunt, his ego idolizing the image of her so disheveled under his influence.

A measly blowjob is hardly any competition to that. Harry could very well cum just from eating Y/N out. In fact, he has, and that in itself is all the proof he needs.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

This is one of those other factors that depends on the mood. If Harry has been waiting all day for it, his impatience bleeds into his rhythm, which means he settles for fast and hard. It means he settles for bending her over the back of his couch with one palm around her throat and his other fingers in her mouth, pounding into her with so much force, the sofa starts shifting across the ground. If Y/N has been teasing him endlessly for a decent amount of time, it’ll be rough and deep, but not fast; he’ll drag it out for as long as possible, just to make her regret acting like such a spoiled brat. That’s when he brings out the paddle, or the crop, or just manhandles her across his lap and spanks her until she’s apologizing profusely through her whines. If he’s in a soft, romantic headspace, it’ll be slow and sensual, with lots of gentle caresses, giggly kisses dusted across eager lips and droopy eyelids, and penetrating strokes that make his toes curl and tummy clench.

Pace is relative, but the message behind it is all the same: I want you more than anything, and I’m going to show you just how deeply I mean it.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies are fun, Harry will admit. They’re filthy and messy, and they show just how far gone two people are for each other to the point where they can’t wait to feel one another at a later time; that they need to be together now, or they’ll go absolutely insane. Quickies are saved for when the urge strikes at random times. For when he’s out with Y/N at a park, sitting under the shade with his head in her lap as she combs his curls out of his eyes and thumbs over his chin affectionately, and the sun filters through the tree canopy just right to where it illuminates her lashes and the suppleness of her cheeks in a manner he deems ethereal. For when they’re at the mall, walking hand in hand and licking at ice cream cones as they survey the shops, and she reaches over to wipe a bit of Rocky Road off the corner of his mouth, replacing the stain with a soft stipple of her lips instead. For when they’re out eating dinner and playing footsie under the table like immature teenagers, and she’s trying to steal a French fry from his plate but he keeps fighting her off with his fork because, “I told you to order your own, but you wanted those disgusting potato skins instead!” And she’s laughing so brightly and unapologetically, giving him a look that so obviously tells him she can’t wait to get him alone, and nothing seems quite as flawless as that fraction in time, then and there and nowhere else.

These simple but memorable moments cause him to get love boners, which he jokingly refers to as “sniffy stiffies,” where “sniffy” has to do with being sentimental, and “stiffy”...well, that one is pretty self-explanatory, no? It always ends with them shagging in the car, or in the family bathroom of a diner, and in the case of the park, in an obscure area of the forest that lines the jogging trail.

Quickies are just that— fast, but meaningful nonetheless, because they come from a place of genuine emotion. They’re fleeting, but unforgettable. Sniffy stiffy quickies, if you will.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Taking risks is the norm in Harry’s life, especially when it comes to his sex habits. He’s proven time and time again that he has no problem riding along the seams of a dare and just barely making it out unscathed, so experimenting outside of the bedroom is just another day in the life. Fingering Y/N in a music room in an antique shop, getting road head during a two hour drive back to Los Angeles, ripping his girlfriend’s panties out from beneath her dress at one of California’s most prestigious restaurants— the list is endless, really. Harry likes to think he has a gift for coming up with inspirational quotes on the spot, so he’ll lend his expertise here and now: “A life without risks is a life that isn’t worth shit.” It even rhymes, so he knows sorority pledges will have a ball putting it in their Instagram bios. A bit of charity work for the bird-brained.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Endless stamina. Literally. Vampires don’t stay tired for long, so he could be ready to go again within seconds. And he can last long, as well; his stubbornness and pride depend on it, and he likes making his partner cum first as an ego boost. He can go as many rounds as Y/N can and more, though he won’t push it. He doesn’t want her to end up in the ER with a bruised cervix.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Harry could run a sex shop from his closet; Y/N doesn’t take the piss by calling him “Fifty Shades” for no reason. He uses them on himself, he uses them on her, and he got high once and tried to sword fight Y/N with a dildo, so it’s safe to say he definitely uses them quite a bit. If his Lovesense Lush 3 vibrator could talk, he’d be drawn and quartered for excessive debauchery.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Harry loves teasing, that’s no mystery. Winding people up is one of his most practiced skills, so of course that would channel into his intimate life. He’s mastered it, though it’s not like it’s hard. A drawn out blink here, or a feathery touch there. An inch of space between his and Y/N’s lips to establish some tension, or squeezing her inner thigh with his palm hard enough to draw a tiny squeak from her chest. Touching her through her clothes, or leaving a trail of wet kisses down her throat and stopping right at her cleavage. Biting the sensitive skin along the inside of her knee, or dragging the tip of his cold nose down the center of her twitching tummy. Lapping slowly at her nipples until they perk up, or sinking a single long digit inside her and keeping it there just to feel her clench around it needily. And once he gets a pattern going, teasing molds into edging, edging molds into begging, begging molds into praise, and before he knows it, he’s hit four of his kinks with one roll of the dice.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Harry is very vocal in bed, and he’s not ashamed of it. He knows for a fact that Y/N loves it, and if him being loud gets her worked up, then he’ll let his throat go out in the process. He’s noticed that in different situations, he has an arsenal of sounds for each. If he’s being rough and dominant, he tends to groan, grunt, and growl. If he’s being desperate and needy, he turns to whines and whimpers to communicate how he feels. If he’s too zoned into the moment to distinguish all his emotions, broken moans and stuttered mewls are his default. No matter the circumstance, they all take the same route: they start low and soft, and escalate in volume proportional to the intensity of the moment. So what if half the building is hearing him orgasm for the third time as he mocks his girlfriends sobbing pleads and calls her his “dirty fucking whore”? Let’s be honest, it’s probably the highlight of their week. He has a great voice— a sultry, deep baritone that compliments his English accent nicely— and anyone would be lucky to hear it spew the filth it does. He’s yet to get many complaints, so he doesn’t intend on stopping.

W = Wildcard (random headcanon)

An honesty hour moment seems interesting, so he’ll confess a few tales from his past. The first time Harry ever went down on a girl, it was against a tree in a garden and he nearly asphyxiated under all the layers of her gown. A couple of years later, he ended up getting oral from a reverend’s daughter against a tree, too, for the morbid irony and associated religious revenge. And to drive the point home, oral was only the beginning of what she gave him. His first decade as a vampire was definitely his pettiest.

X = X-Ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

It’s not uncommon knowledge that Harry’s well-endowed. He remembers how insecure he was the first time he had sex— a shocker, he knows; he was insecure?— and how he knew barely anything regarding sizing and how to use his assets accordingly. But it’s been ages since then, and now he definitely knows his way around his own body (let alone his partner’s), and he most certainly knows that he’s above average not only as a person in general, but when it comes to what’s in his trousers, as well. Harry won’t specify inches— he loves how speculation drives others mad— but it was big enough to give Y/N a decent pause the first time she pulled down his pants, and it’s big enough to leave her absolutely fucked every single time, without a single miss. If that’s not credibility at its finest, then he doesn’t know what is.

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

Harry’s sex drive is insatiable, to say the least. His vampirism combined with his narcissistic tendencies makes the ideal cocktail— cocktail— for the constant fuse that’s always burning under his skin. He’s ready to go at all times; Y/N just has to say the word and he’s pulling on a pair of sweatpants as he grabs his keys, hopping down his complex’s corridor toward the elevator on one foot as he tries to get his last shoe on the other. Lazy morning sex is probably his favorite; he’s come to find it’s when he’s most pent up, usually after a sleepless night of feeling Y/N’s body heat radiating through all of his cold limbs. It also sets a great tone for the rest of the day, and he just loves seeing Y/N wake up to him lying on his side with his temple resting on his fist, his elbow propped against the mattress as he poses the other on his hip in a theatrical diva stance. He’ll smile at her giddily with all his pearly teeth, dimples twitching as his lashes flutter dramatically, dirty intentions written clear all over his face (“Good morning, hon—” “Wanna have sex?” “Harry, it’s ten in the morning.” “Is that a yes? Because it’s not a no.” “I haven’t even brushed my teeth!” “That’s fine, I’m gonna stick my dick in there anyways.”)

All in all, his libido is insane, and he’s lucky that Y/N’s is up to par or else he would have worked her into an exhaustion-induced coma by now.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Harry just...doesn't. Maybe once every few weeks, but definitely more often now than before he had his girlfriend. Sleeping just comes way easier when he has someone he cares about resting beside him, their inherent warmth thawing the stiffness from his muscles and putting his racing mind at ease. He feels safe enough around Y/N to let his guard down— both literally and metaphorically— and that seems to help with his supernatural insomnia; it sedates that nocturnal hyper-instinct in his brain that demands he be aware at all times, muffling the animalistic part of him that has been manning the reins for the better half of the last two hundred years. He doesn’t need to be so on edge anymore when everything he needs is just an arm-length away. Especially when she’s usually willing to lend her chest as a pillow, and who is he to neglect her wishes.

#ysijwa #harry styles smut #vampire!harry #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x oc #harry styles x you #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles mature #harry styles dirty fanfiction #harry styles fanfiction

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ppersonna · 3 years

Text

ride or die - myg | m

we don't need money to feel good cause you're the ride or die, the rest of my life. don't need a party to feel high, we're like the modern version of bonnie and clyde , bonnie & clyde, yuqi

✹ summary- there’s nothing in the world you wouldn’t do for Min Yoongi.

✹ rating- explicit/18+/nsfw

✹ pairing- min yoongi x reader

✹ word count- 1.6k

✹ genre- hmm idk. maybe some angst, some smut, some action?, established relationship, criminal!au

✹ chapter warnings- sexual content, mentions of criminal acts/police, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), mentions of death, guns, unhealthy obsession with each other lol

✹ a/n- hi loves! i wanted to challenge myself and write something a bit more prose-heavy than any sort of plot or semblance of plot. i hope you enjoy this random drabble that wouldnt leave my brain!!! thanks to @ladyartemesia @xjoonchildx @untaemedqueen and @nomseok for looking over it for me and helping me feel better about it LOLLL. i love u all ALSO PLS LISTEN TO THE SONG BONNIE AND CLYDE BY YUQI IT IS AMAZING AND WHERE I GOT ALL MY INSPO FOR THIS!!

75 mph…

100 mph…

Yoongi’s hand grips tight on the inside of your thigh, fingers pressing into the supple flesh as his foot presses down the gas pedal.

The engine roars, matching the screaming explosion you feel inside your chest. Your veins feel like they’re flowing with the same high-octane fuel that Yoongi’s injected to the engine of the 1969 matte black Camaro.

Yoongi.

There’s nothing in the world you wouldn’t do for Yoongi.

The engine screams to life again, tearing through the otherwise silent car. It won’t be quiet for long. You can hear the distant blaring of police sirens, the low-grade rumble of helicopter wings closing in.

Yoongi simply smirks when you glance at him, eyes focused on the road with one hand on the leather steering wheel and the other rubbing at the skin of your inner thigh.

The sirens sound closer, only streets away now. Yoongi acts as if it’s only you and him, as if there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than right here in this car with you beside him and the bag of prized jewels in the back.

You love him. You love him more than you’ve ever loved another, more than you’d ever convince yourself you’d love again. He’s all-consuming. Yoongi is the cosmos, the universe that holds you within his center.

You’d die for Yoongi.

You’d kill.

“Yoongi,” you breathe, unable to speak any further. You don’t need to. Yoongi knows what you’re saying. He grips your leg tighter and the smirk widens on his face, finally flickering his eyes over to your own.

“I know,” he says. Because he does.

Yoongi gives no sign that he’s scared. He’s the picture of composure as he squeezes the car through narrow streets, tires squealing as he spins the wheel to slide into the next alley way and dodge the cops through yet another neighborhood. He doesn’t even bat an eye as he defends you inside the jobs, gun blazing as he ensures your safety without even a glance back.

He gives no indication that anything can go wrong, as if his mind is already made up that everything will be okay and you’ll both get out, get away, without a scratch.

It’s different when he lays you down. He sets you on the cheap motel mattress with care, like a delicate doll, made of glass and ceramic, one wrong move away from breaking.

He presses his lips to every inch of your body, as if ensuring himself that you’re okay, that you’re here, that he got you out safely. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t want to break the reverent silence of the dingy bedroom that becomes his chapel when he has you in his arms.

Safe.

You’re safe and Yoongi needs hours to remind himself of that, needs more than just kisses and touches. He pushes himself into you slowly, letting the tight heat of your core remind him just how alive you are. He opens you up like a prayer, spreading your legs and gasping for air as he recites the only invocation he knows, the only one he believes in.

“I love you.”

Sweaty and overheated, your hands grasp for any part of Yoongi you can--his arms, his vascular hands. You need more, need to feel him in more ways than you can count. Yoongi feels so good buried deep inside you, rocking his hips against your own and making your body scream with pent-up desire.

“I love you, Yoongi,” you nearly scream as he hits a spot within you that makes you forget about the whole world around you. “Only you.”

Yoongi doesn’t believe in a God, doesn’t believe in any higher power. But he thinks the closest to heaven is the way you cry his name for him, the way you keen for more as he spills himself inside you.

The duffel bag of dollar bills is heavy in your lap as you throw yourself into the Camaro, running from the high rise bank, and Yoongi slams on the gas pedal before you can even close the door.

“Shit!” Your hands grip at the duffel bag, trying to stay afloat in the speeding car. The door closes by itself after he careens down the highway and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“God, that was so fucking good,” Yoongi grins, voice high with excitement and adreneline. “You did so fucking good, baby doll.”

The praise goes straight to your heart, straight to the muscle inside your chest that has Yoongi’s name stamped into each vein, each artery. He’s yours, he’s so wholly yours and you so wholly his, you think you can’t even breathe without him around.

You don’t watch where he drives, too focused on the curve of his cheeks, the way his black hair is pushed back messily. You don’t care where he takes you. All you need is him and the feel of his hand resting on your thigh, a spot made just for him.

Yoongi.

I’d die for you, Yoongi, don’t you know that?

Yoongi finally, blessedly, looks over at you once he’s settled himself onto a long stretch of highway outside of the city, no longer looking in the rearview mirror for the shining lights of the police, no longer zipping and weaving between other cars on the road.

The peace of the open road settles in your chest and you let go of the duffle bag, throwing it over your shoulder to sit in the backseat, in between the bag of jewels and the expensive artwork from the last heist.

You settle into the seat and he lets his fingers spread out, touching you as if grounding himself to you.

“You’re my ride or die, baby,” he breathes after a moment of silence. You stare straight ahead, watching as the dark sunset ahead of you bursts in an explosion of colors.

“Forever, Yoongi.”

Yoongi could spend hours between your thighs. He doesn’t even make any attempts to remove himself from the taste of your slick cunt until you’ve climaxed twice from his tongue. He eats you like he’s parched, only able to sate his thirst by drinking directly from your core.

He holds your legs tight, reminding himself you’re here, you’re with him, you’re never leaving and he’s never letting you go.

Your hands thread through his hair, gripping the silken raven locks as he digs his tongue into your channel yet again, lapping up the sweetness that spills from your orgasm, relishing in the rhythmic chanting of his name. He never wants to hear anything else drip from your lips, wants no other name but his own staining the pretty pout and echoing around the motel room.

You are his everything. His world. His universe.

He finally pulls away, smiling up at you after your third consecutive orgasm wrought by his mouth, and kisses at the skin of your thighs--the same place he allows his hand to rest when he steers you away from the chaos of your burglaries.

“I love you more than anything in this world,” he breathes, pressing his soft kisses up your legs and swirling around your belly.

“More than money?” You ask, out of breath.

“More than money.”

“More than jewels?”

“More than anything any bank in the world combined could have in their stores,” he promises to every inch of your breasts, tongue lapping at the nipple. “More than any king could ever want.”

“Yoongi,” you sigh when he finally slides into you, completing you. You’re nothing without him, nothing without the feeling of him within you.

“Say it again,” he whispers against your ear as he thrusts into you gently, holding you tenderly in his arms.

“Yoongi.”

His head falls against your own, foreheads touching as he bores his eyes into yours. His. His, his, his. You’re his only, and his forever, and he never wants to live another moment, another day, another second, without you.

He claims you, seed spilling deep into your womb at the height of your shared climax. Your body welcomes him, clenches with desire and milks him to the last drop, desperate to keep him within you for as long as you can.

“It’s just you and me forever, baby,” he says after he’s cleaned you up and laid you down.

Suddenly, there’s sirens and the flashing red and blue lights outside the window.

“Come out! We have you surrounded.”

Yoongi helps you throw on clothes, whispering hurriedly as he stashes the guns he needs into his pocket and throws one to you.

He throws a look at you as he knocks the glass out of the back window of the bathroom.

“You ready for another adventure, baby?”

The gun feels heavy in your hands, but solid. Comforting. The gun is your means of staying with Yoongi, never leaving his sight. You’d take down anything that stood in the way, eliminate any threat that posed a risk of taking him away.

He notes your silence and kisses you quick, before hoisting you up to climb out the window and make a run for the hidden Camaro in the alleyway.

He catches up to you, hand slipping into your own and tugging you to run faster, the Camaro coming into your sights like a sanctuary. You can hear the pounding footsteps of the police around the building, the splintering wood as they force themselves into the now-vacant motel room, still wet and hot from where you made love.

Yoongi grins as he slides into the car and fires the engine, pulling you in for a deep and passionate kiss, hands hovering over the steering wheel.

With a quirk of his lips, he places his hand back on it’s spot on your thigh.

“Ride or die, right, baby?”

#bts smut #bts fics #min yoongi smut #yoongi smut #yoongi fics #suga smut #suga fics

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beomglocks · 3 years

Text

sleepover ; c.sb

summary : it's time to figure out where to sleep for the night. part 3 of dilf soob chronicles. send ask for more hehehe <3

pairing : dilf neighbor!soobin x (legal)!reader

warnings & other : smut, oral-fem receiving, threesome(?), some fingering, requested, DON'T read if you're uncomfortable with age gaps, daddy kink, (i just got out of having this kink but it was requested so why not), dirty talk, some beomgyu (no incest), slight possessiveness, this ones for the dilf soob shooters, a bit of somnophilia, soobin possible brat tamer moment, idk lol , semi proof read

w/c : ~3000 (long for no reason)

“alright funs over kids,” soobin yawns as if he wasn’t just trying to finger you a half hour ago. beomgyu rolls his eyes as he stretches and you just look at the man beside you in bewilderment.

“kids?” you ask. you raise your eyebrow at him. it’s only about 1am which wasn’t too late for you. that and the fact that you feel like you were left bothered when soobin didn’t finish what he started earlier. you figure beomgyu wouldn’t be tired at this time either but soobin on the other hand-

you had to hold back a remark about him suddenly being so fatherly when it seemed like he was ok with fucking you right in front of his son earlier.

“yes kids,” he smirks. you hate that he’s teasing you right now. that was the thing about mr. choi that drew you in every time. one thing you had learned from being around mr. choi was that this man was a tease. perhaps it was because you were used to being around people your age who were much more straightforward with their advances but either way it made you want to do more and more.

you push those thoughts to the back of your brain for when the moment arises and hold back the urge to roll your eyes in front of his face. is this what beomgyu is used to?

“daddy’s taking his kids to bed, isn’t this fun,” he offhandedly says as he jokes with his son while you sit and wait for further instructions on where to sleep. maybe he thought you wouldn’t hear him but what- did he just refer to himself as daddy? you didn’t know that hearing him say that would have such an effect on you.

if you didn’t know whether or not you had a daddy kink well this moment just confirmed it. what would it take to make him refer to himself like that again?

“daddy?” you blurt without thinking. shit- beomgyu wouldn’t think that’s weird right? you were just reiterating what was said. you could play it off as being confused as to why his “playful father” was talking to his clearly grown son in such a way.

soobin pauses and takes a while to turn to you. perhaps hearing you say that affected him too. daddy? saying it himself wasn’t such a big deal because he didn’t think much of it but coming from your lips made him want to hear it more. he could get used to that sound.

“yeah...” soobin thinks out loud to himself for a moment. he could make use of this. you think your heart or something else pounds at the way soobin is looking at you right now. he looks like he has plans to eat you out right then and there but you can tell he’s holding himself back.

“yeah, daddy’s gonna take his kids to bed,” his reiterates with emphasis on the word daddy and bed. “is that ok with you y/n?”

you nod silently, suddenly giddy at the thought of finally being alone with mr. choi uninterrupted for sure this time.

“where will y/n sleep?” beomgyu asks. “i think i have the inflatable bed still in my-“

soobin cuts his son off with a click of his tongue. “i can’t have two adolescents of opposite genders sleeping in the same room together, that’s controversial.”

you subtly raise your eyebrow at him. essentially your entire relationship, if you could even call it that, was controversial. however, you were interested to see how he would play this off. it’s clear soobin wants you to himself tonight.

beomgyu almost looks like he wants to speak up to shut down the mere idea of you both fooling around alone but mr. choi continues.

“i can’t just leave y/n alone on the couch in the living room, that’s not safe. since there really are no other spare rooms i guess she’ll have to sleep in my room?”

this was true. soobin thought ahead to a plethora of different excuses as to get you in his room without coming off as suspicious. he remembered that thankfully all of the junk they had during the move was shoved into various spare rooms around the house with no space or option of clearing out a room for guests.

“i will sleep on the couch,” soobin annouces valiantly. beomgyu takes a moment to process this and takes you a bit of time too.

you thought soobin would make some lame excuse about having you sleep on the floor in his room or something to have to you near him so you’re left dumbfounded and somewhat frustrated at his thought process. he’s gonna leave me alone in his room? wasn’t the point for us to fuck?

“that sounds fair,” beomgyu concludes. he doesn’t think much of it because why would he. his father is sleeping on the couch and his neighbor is sleeping soundly in a different room. no need to get suspicious.

“well, have a good night,” beomgyu gives both of you a tight lipped smile, mainly aiming it at you and you return it kindly. i sure will.

beomgyu strides off to his room, leaving you and his father in the living room. “my beds quite comfortable but let me know if you need anything else,” he says, setting up the couch as his makeshift bed.

you look down at it. yeah, he’s definitely taller than the couch so it will be a bitch for him to sleep on that throughout the night. “i need you,” you shyly mumble. you hear him laugh a bit and look up.

he’s still wearing his work clothes except the white collared shirt has some buttons popped off and his pants have become wrinkled and baggy from wear.

you move closer to him and start to unbutton his shirt for him so that he gets comfortable. he looks between both your eyes and smiles. you almost tiptoe to reach his mouth but steps away for a minute.

“ill meet you there,” he says as he starts to set up the couch for himself. you hold back a frustrated sigh and soobin raises his brow at you. typical teen behavior.

“i’ll be asleep before you even get to the door,” you mumble impatiently. “i’ll surprise you then,” he says. “don’t be a brat.”

you roll your eyes, walking away from him to head to where you’ll be sleeping which is his room. he watches you walk away with a shake of his head. what will he do with you?

in the meantime, he sets up the living space to make it look like he was sleeping for a while in case beomgyu walks downstairs or something. he would make it look like he was sleeping and woke up to get something from his room, simple.

he didn’t even know why he felt the need to sneak around his son. he was an adult and could do what he wanted essentially. he sucks his teeth trying to not think too hard about it at the moment.

once he’s done, soobin knocks on his bedroom door lightly. while waiting for you to answer he looks around the hall. he can faintly see beomgyu's light still turned on and wonders for a moment what he could still be doing awake.

he doesn’t have time to ponder on it because all he wants is you right now. he narrows his eyes back at his door when a couple of minutes pass with no sign from you.

why is he even knocking, it’s his room after all? did he need an excuse to be here? that was the point of having you take his room instead so that he wouldn’t need an excuse to be near you because it was his room.

he opens the door slowly and peeks his head in. he’s surprised to see you sprawled out on his bed, not waiting for him but instead fast asleep. he thought you were bluffing about being asleep before he got there.

he fully steps in, eyebrows raised at the scene.

soobin closes the door lightly, contemplating whether or not to lock it, he opts for leaving it unlocked. the lights are off except for a nightlight by the bed that he uses when he can’t sleep and decides to pop open a book to read.

the glow of the light hits your skin in a way that makes you glow despite the darkness of the rest of the room. he can’t take it, if he does nothing now he won’t be in a good mood for the rest of the time that you’re here. now is your guys' only chance.

he places a knee at the foot of the bed, cringing at the squeak of the springs, fearing they might wake you up prematurely. he pauses and waits to see if you’ve awoken but sighs when you simply turn your head over.

“y/n~” he sing songs lightly. his fingers dance around your body as gently as possible. his eyes widen when he realizes you’ve put on a spare worn work shirt of his over your braless chest. “y/n~” he calls again. “why are you wearing this huh?” he plays with the mismatched buttons, popping them off one at a time leaving you topless and exposed.

you shiver when the cold air of the room hits your chest but try to shuffle yourself deeper into the warm sheets. “are you gonna wake up baby?” he shakes you but you only groan in response.

“you should wake up...you’re getting a little too wet to stay asleep for long, what will daddy do?” he hums while rubbing your panties. he visibly looks bored, as if he’s waiting for you to wake up so he takes it upon himself to speed up your waking up process.

he slides of your underwear with ease and tosses them aside. lazily he runs his two fingers up and down your folds a couple times before pushing them in you slowly to get adjusted to a slow pace.

he sighs at the warmth and the quiet wet sounds coming from you. “please wake up,” he half pleads. at that moment, you unconsciously clench around him and he bites his lip looking up at your face. your eyebrows are furrowed but you’re still asleep from what he can see.

do you think you’re having a wet dream? soobin rolls his eyes. if you would wake up you would see that it’s, in fact, real. “baby you should wake up before i start to...” he removes his fingers before he leans down and places his lips where his fingers were. tongue stroking your clit and simultaneously going in and out of your pussy skillfully, he starts to get a little too into it when you moan quietly from your "dream”. he allows himself to moan into your pussy, gripping your thigh harshly.

“at this rate..” he stops for a moment to catch his breath and breathes heavily on your sensitive skin. “you won’t need my cock,” he chuckles to himself, licking his lips of your cum.

he suddenly feels his pink hair being grabbed and when he looks up from below you, he sees your eyes are slightly parted. “no~” you whine softly, referring to his recent comment.

he says nothing witty to this, only happy to have you conscious again. maybe you planned this or maybe you really were tired, he doesn’t care anymore. “no?” he asks as he gets himself ready, positioning & aligning his cock with your entrance.

“did you know that somewhere during the end of the movie your skirt had risen up? did you do that on purpose to catch my son's attention or was that a sign? where you so needy that you wanted to give me a sign to fuck you right there? maybe you didn’t want my cock maybe you wanted beomgyu hm?” he pushes himself into you and you grab his arm for support. ok. he’s bigger than you thought.

your still half asleep mind can barely comprehend what he's saying either. is he jealous? you didn't realize your skirt came up but now you're curious to know if beomgyu was watching you instead of the screen.

soobin had gotten you ready while you were asleep and you thought you knew what to expect when you saw his cock but you weren’t expecting it to take time for you to adjust his size. you think you hear soobin mutter the word "tight" but you’re too busy trying not to die.

he goes slow at first, mumbling words under his breath in frustration. "you would open your legs for anyone that even resembles me in the slightest, that’s just what a slut you are." he rocks his hips forward expectantly and it leaves you stunned for a moment. "you would take my cock from behind while choking on beomgyu's how does that sound? maybe we could make it happen? but then again that wouldn’t satisfy someone like you, huh," he taunts when you whine. you want him to shut up so badly but at the same time, it only made your pussy throb against him at the thought. now that he placed the image of a threesome in your mind, you couldn’t shake it. it was wrong, so wrong on so many levels so why did it turn you on? you weren’t even attracted to beomgyu in that way! maybe you really were a whore just wanting to be filled up even if it meant with soobin plus his own spawn.

"shh, do you hear that?" he covers your mouth his cum drenched fingers, cutting off whatever sound you might produce from slowing down. at first, you don’t hear anything other than soobin's heavy breaths in your ear. after a moment, the faint sound of grunting hits your ears. it takes you a while to figure out what that sound is and where it could be coming from but when you recognize the low sounds your eyes widen as they stare back into soobin’s smug expression.

“they grow up so fast~," he sing songs. "see what happens when you tease? he probably caught a glimpse of your panties when your skirt rode up and he’s going just off that, poor kid." he frowns, he rocks his hips teasingly. you squeeze your eyes shut, there's too much tension right now. "i wonder how he would feel if he found out his dad was fucking his neighbor?" he bucks his hips up into you and thankfully his hand is still covering your mouth or you would’ve moaned loud enough for beomgyu to hear.

“daddy please," you beg, albeit a bit muffled. "please what slut?" "please fuck me please" you whine pathetically. you try to move your hips to gain some kind of friction but he stops you. "aren’t you afraid beomgyu might hear? it would be bad if he found out what we were doing right now."

you can feel your throbbing pussy going numb with soobin’s cock just sitting there inside you so you have to be quick witted and play with his ego. even though he was a grown man and father he was still just a man. "daddy please,” you moan. if you fuck me beomgyu won't disturb us after he hears how good you make me feel? and if he does he’ll just have to watch and see how it’s do-”

short gasps of air leave your throat as it’s all you manage as he sporadically slams himself deeper into you, hitting your sweet spot repeatedly. "stop thinking about beomgyu", you think he says. you’re not sure and you don’t care because at this point you’re too dazed to form a single thought. you for sure aren’t thinking about beomgyu, not with dick like this in you.

you think you hear beomgyu's pained gasp and chants of your name get louder but it could just be soobin. no, those breaths sound further away and deeper. you want to cry thinking about how beomgyu's deep voice would mix with soobin's lighter one. you can only imagine soobin’s grunts in your right ear as beomgyu whines in your left. it almost overstimulates you.

maybe beomgyu thinks both of you are asleep or perhaps you all are being so loud that no one can hear each other but you’re almost certain beomgyu is being painfully loud and obvious right now, as are you both.

soobin doesn't even try to hold back anymore as he leans up from his hovering position over you to hang his head back and full on moan when you clench around him for the last time. he pulls out and comes all over your stomach and chest, staining a bit of his shirt that you were wearing. you shudder at the feeling of being empty so suddenly.

"go back to sleep," he says, brushing his hand over your sweaty face. "don't worry, i'll clean you up and stay for a little while after."

the next morning is awkward, to say the least. seemingly all three of you wake up around the same time, soobin being the first one up to make breakfast for all of you. as you and beomgyu walk down the stairs together, beomgyu doesn’t bring up how he saw his father earlier walk out of his room after explicitly stating he would sleep on the couch or how he masturbated to you loud enough that he's sure you heard.

you’re only slightly at ease the beomgyu doesn’t mention anything about the sound levels of last night or the limp in your step.

you don’t remember much but you think it got to a point where you and soobin didn’t care much about how loud you were being and you were sure beomgyu heard.

you wanted to face palm at how this all turned out.

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