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korliatnight · 1 year

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hmm... kinda alot but scrooge/goldie sfw 12+13 and yunan/olivia sfw 13+14 and nsfw 1, 2, 4-7, 12, 13

Hoo boy that is a lot- but I am more than up for the challenge!

13: Who stays up late? Who sleeps the most? Does the other have to force them to sleep/wake up? (Olivia/Yunan)

Oh, Yunan has a horrible sleep schedule. She's always up late practicing her sparring, and Olivia has to constantly drag her away and bring her back to bed. She's also the one who sleeps the most, though- and constantly has to be woken up by Olivia. Multiple times.

However, if politics get complex enough, it can get to the point where their roles are reversed, and Olivia is the one who needs to get dragged back to sleep.

14: Who is the highest maintenance? Does the other mind? (Olivia/Yunan)

I mean, Olivia's constantly overworking herself, and she gets pretty bad anxiety at times which Yunan needs to be on the lookout for, but honestly? Yunan. She's the higher maintenance of the two. I mean constantly needing to get dragged to bed, always getting herself into fights that leave her beaten and battered and dying, constantly needing her full title to be said anytime she's introduced- I mean the girl's a handful.

But Olivia doesn't mind. Honestly she gives off 'I need to fix/mother someone at all times' vibes, so she kind of likes being able to do that with Yunan. (Doesn't keep her from berating the living shit out of the woman, though.)

1: How often do they have sex, if at all? (Olivia/Yunan)

Oh they fuck a decent amount. Not necessarily the most, considering their much different sleeping schedules, but fights key Yunan up and she gets in a lot of those, and Olivia gets turned on by seeing her beat the shit out of people. So if Yunan gets into a fight, you can be pretty certain they'll be fucking that night.

And if Olivia gets into a fight? Hoooooooo boy yeah no they're fucking immediately. If you don't wanna watch, you can go somewhere else.

2: Who brings forth ideas? Who initiates? (Olivia/Yunan)

Yunan's actually the one who brings forth ideas. She's always coming up to Olivia like 'So I was talking to Grime and he had this idea where he used his weapon...' 'Marcy mentioned this 'roleplaying' thing and that sounded like fun...' 'I saw these two sand worms going at it in the desert the other day and that gave me this idea for a thing we could do with our tails...' That sorta thing.

And Olivia's almost always the one to initiate. Yunan gives her ideas, which she appreciates and tells her she'll think on, then when she's decided how they'll work she'll approach Yunan with the fleshed out idea and they'll fuck.

4: Oddest place they'd have sex? (Olivia/Yunan)

Oh they've fucked in a lot of weird places, most notably being at the bottom of a pool one time, and on the top of a chandelier in the palace another.

5: Favorite Positions? (Olivia/Yunan)

Honestly, they're pretty basic- they enjoy the 69 position, but also the missionary position has a lot of uses for them.

Yunan's guilty pleasure though is when she'll grab Olivia, pull up her skirt, and fuck her in the middle of her work in a stand and carry position. She's done that a few times, and it always leaves Olivia a fucked-silly mess.

Olivia's guilty pleasure is sitting on Yunan's face. She likes how Yunan eats her out when she does that (and how her face looks when she can't breathe as well)

6: Dom/Top? Sub/Bottom? Any switches? (Olivia/Yunan)

They're both switches, honestly. Though for the most part, Yunan tops and Olivia bottoms. Olivia is, however, a bit of a power bottom, so really they're both Doms.

7: Genital Headcanons? (Olivia/Yunan)

Well they've both got tiddies even though they're cold-blooded egg layers, because they deserve to get them.

Also Yunan has a hemipenis. Because again- she deserves it.

Big hemipenes, too. Big enough to make Olivia blush like mad.

12: How are their afterglows? (Olivia/Yunan)

Yunan's is fairly light, though it sticks around for a long time.

Olivia's, though- man that girl's afterglows are heavy when Yunan really gets her going. When she gets fucked silly, she is out of it for a good while. Yunan enjoys it, honestly- she likes petting her when she's in that state (and Olivia likes it too, but she'll never admit it).

13: Who's loud? Who's quiet? Does one try to make the other louder/quieter? How? (Olivia/Yunan)

Oh that one's pretty straightforward. Yunan's the loud one, she's constantly grunting and moaning and making all sorts of obscene noises/remarks during sex.

Olivia, meanwhile, is very very quiet. She seems to take it as a challenge to be as quiet as possible during sex, and is always keeping a tamp on any noise made- it's honestly a pretty good way to get her to shut up, which Yunan has (guiltily) used in the past.

Usually, though, Yunan is always trying to get Olivia to go loud. And she actually succeeds, too! A little bit, at least. (After all, why do you think one of her guilty pleasures is randomly sneaking up behind Olivia, grabbing her and pulling up her skirt, then fucking her silly right in the middle of her work? She gets loud then)

Olivia, on the flipside, is constantly trying to get Yunan to be quiet. Mostly with a lot of 'shhh'ing, though she has actually used a gag on the woman multiple times before.

12: Can they stand silence? Who talks the most? Who talks the least? (Goldie/Scrooge)

They're both actually pretty good at standing silences, for the most part. I mean they're 150+ years old, they don't need to constantly talk these days- their presence together is enough.

That being said they can both still be awkward as fuck around each other at times, so every so often you can get them burning up inside at the silence while trying to think of something to say.

And Goldie actually talks the most. Scrooge has his stories, sure, but Goldie's got both her stories and her bullshit. She once managed to speak for a whole day about the difference between beeswax and booswax (one of which is entirely fake, but by the end of the day she'd managed to convince Scrooge was real)

Scrooge enjoys listening to nature though, so he's pretty good at not talking for a while.

13: Who stays up late? Who sleeps the most? Does the other have to force them to sleep/wake up? (Goldie/Scrooge)

Oh they're both insomniacs. Utterly horrible about actually getting sleep. But, if everything goes well- Scrooge generally is the one to sleep longer. Largely because he has a sleep schedule that he attempts to stick to (he fails usually, but at the end of the day it's better than no sleep schedule)

Goldie, meanwhile, tends to be... busy, at night. So she tends to stay up a lot.

When she does sleep, though, she is not a morning person. So (when they sleep in the same bed at least) Scrooge is constantly dragging her out of bed and downstairs for breakfast.

Now, I'm not sure if you wanted Goldie/Scrooge NSFW headcanons as well, but I wanna answer them so fuck it! You're also getting Goldie/Scrooge NSFW headcanons! (Under the cut)

1: How often do they have sex, if at all? (Goldie/Scrooge)

All. The. Time. Goldie is a horny fucking bastard, so any chance she gets she is pinning Scrooge to the ground and going to town on him.

2: Who brings forth ideas? Who initiates? (Goldie/Scrooge)

Goldie, in both cases. Honestly, Scrooge isn't really that big on sex (he's sex-positive, but he doesn't really care to initiate it that much), so Goldie's almost always the one getting him into bed instead of the other way around.

And the ideas she has- you name it, she's tried it, (Seriously) and she can and will do it with Scrooge. It vexes Scrooge a fair bit that they can't just have 'normal sex' every so often, but even he can't deny that he likes it when Goldie O'Gilt has him all tied up.

4: Oddest place they'd have sex? (Goldie/Scrooge)

Man, the better question would be where haven't they had sex? They've done it in Scrooge's office, in the backseat of his limo, on his dining room table (in front of the rest of the family), on multiple rooftops, In hundreds of closets, in the mouth of an eldritch god that one time...

But honestly the oddest place they've had sex would have to be in the middle of a party. They were both extremely bored at some rich dude's party, and ended up deciding to see how far they could go before anybody noticed.

(Scrooge walked out of their with -eh hem- dripping down his legs, that's how far they got)

5: Favorite Positions? (Goldie/Scrooge)

All of them. Goldie will fuck Scrooge in any position she can manage, and Scrooge likes it.

Her guilty favorite is the breeding press, which she's used a lot. She enjoys seeing her dick get that far in Scrooge.

Scrooge's favorite is getting Goldie on her knees for him- he likes being above her when she lets him.

6: Dom/Top? Sub/Bottom? Any switches? (Goldie/Scrooge)

Scrooge is a switch, he enjoys being both a sub and a dom. Goldie, however, is Dom and Top all the way. She loves to see Scrooge underneath her, and very rarely (if ever) lets him top. She likes how easy it is to fuck him silly like that.

7: Genital Headcanons? (Goldie/Scrooge)

I headcanon both Goldie and Scrooge as trans, which means Goldie has a dick and Scrooge (usually but not always) has a pussy. Goldie absolutely loves having her dick, though Scrooge is so-so on not having one.

Goldie also has a pretty solid rack and a good pair of hips, because that Duck is sexual. Scrooge doesn't have titties anymore (he got top surgery), though his hips are still 'birthing hips' as Goldie claims.

Oh, and Goldie's dick is huge. Like, only Donald's dick is bigger (discounting Santa Claus, of course- he doesn't count).

12: How are their afterglows? (Goldie/Scrooge)

Goldie enjoys hers, they're light but they're pretty pleasant feeling. She enjoys getting to see Scrooge in his afterglow more, however. In her opinion it's when he's at his most beautiful.

13: Who's loud? Who's quiet? Does one try to make the other louder/quieter? How? (Goldie/Scrooge)

Oh, they're both pretty darn loud. If they're not fighting during sex, they air is filled with their moans and screams of ecstasy. Goldie is just a little bit louder, however- she likes to revel in her feelings when she's with Scrooge.

Scrooge is constantly trying to get her to shut up, mostly by berating her- to which she responds by getting him to shut up, either by filling him up or by gagging him (or by putting her hands around his throat, but they tooooootally don't do that a lot, no siree bob.)

(She saves that for Della)

#what do you mean this took me all day I dunno what you’re talking about

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allthingsarmin · 3 years

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nerd!armin x popular bimbo girl!reader?

the reader needs a tutor so she asks the smartest boy on campus and they have a “study session” in the library

Thank you for your request! I hope you like it! (ALSO: I’m so sorry this took so long to write omgmgg please forgive me) ~ I also would like to write a better version of this later. Though I'm in love with this prompt, I feel I didn't write the smut part that well.

Minors DNI! NSFW below the cut. Fem!Reader, FemBodied!Reader.

_________________________

At this point, Armin’s legs were burning, his heart racing and hands uncontrollably shaking, while you were practically out breath, your lungs tightening as you released yet another hearty laugh and not caring about the sweat running down your forehead. Neither you nor Armin expected to be running away from the librarian at 2am in the morning on the cold, campus sidewalk, your hair and makeup questionably messy and his shirt noticeably unbuttoned with hickeys staining his neck. However, the thrill of it all was something you didn’t know you both needed…

Earlier:

“Y/n?” Armin questioned, waving his sharpened pencil in front of your face. “Are you paying attention?” He awkwardly laughed as he scratched the back of his neck. You look up at him, battering your mascara-covered eyelashes at him. “Ahh… I have no idea what’s going on,” you sighed.

Armin wanted to bang his head against the library table. He knew it would be difficult teaching the ‘campus bimbo,’ but he didn’t know it would be this hard… yet there he was. 1am on a Thursday, the test tomorrow, and you still couldn’t grasp the basics of quadratic functions.

“Why don’t we take a break?” he suggested, loudly dropping his pencil on the table, leaning back in his chair, and adjusting his disheveled collar poking out of his blue sweater.

“Okay!” you giggled mindlessly, turning to face him in your chair as you twirled your hair in your fingers. “Even though I’ll probably fail the test tomorrow, thank you for teaching me!” you exclaimed, fiddling with your compact mirror and checking your dolled-up face.

Armin tensed up at your backhanded words. Pushing his hair back out of frustration, he cursed the fact he was wasting his time with such an ai-headed girl. “Y-you’re welcome,” he hastily said as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Why didn’t he say no to your study session - if you could even call it a study session - ? Even though Armin was the school nerd, it’s no surprise to him that you came and asked him for help because, well… Everyone does that - always taking advantage of Armin - only talking to him because they want to use his neat, color-coded notes, only inviting him to parties so that he would later help them study.

You felt bad for Armin. Though you couldn’t deny he was way too uptight, everyone did make fun of him for every little thing; the way he dressed like a professor, how he was always so punctual, the way he was the first to raise his hand when the teacher asked a question, how he came extra prepared to class with extra pencils.

But being so close to him now, this was the first time you realized how handsome he actually was. His turquoise veins protruding from his soft, pale skin… his slender fingers gently holding his flashcards, his toned muscles peeking their way through his rolled up sleeves and making his clothes just a little tight, the sharpness of jawline contrasting with his kind, bright smile, the way his ocean blue eyes stared intently with such passion, and his thick, golden hair growing to his eyebrows, allowing his cute ears to shyly show themselves while his undercut beautifully shaped his face… he was beautiful.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” you suddenly asked.

Armin was taken aback by this question. No one had ever asked him this nor did any one seem to have any interest in his personal life whatsoever.

“No,” he paused, “I don’t have time for that stuff…” he trailed off. Armin never had a girlfriend, and thinking about it now, he never really had any crushes. He was way too busy keeping up with his grades, extra curricular activities, and student council. It would be practically impossible for him to keep such close relations with his kind of responsibilities, but that doesn’t mean he’s not lonely… his arms aching for someone to hold, his heart cold due the absence of warmth of a person he loves.

Armin didn’t bother asking you if you had a boyfriend. You were the most popular person on campus, partying with countless dudes every weekend, hanging out with a large group of girls at the mall nearly every day, your phone buzzing so much during class that your professor told you multiple times to turn it off, and you were pretty - your hair was always done in a pretty style, your makeup (though a bit slutty) always brought out the best features of your face, your nails were always painted, your skin was smooth and silky, and your perfume scent was addicting. Not only that but your clothes showed off your body so well; your skirt that was just a little short allowed people to see your cute panties when you bend over to pick something up, and your shirt that was barely even a shirt was always cropped above your waist and showed off your bouncy, plush cleavage… so of course you had a boyfriend. But even though Armin was an incredibly focused nerd, he couldn’t deny that your sweet smell, tight clothes, and lipstick-covered lips made him lustful.

“Too busy for that stuff?! Aren’t you lonely? It’s like you don’t even know how to have fun,” you chuckle, jokingly hitting his shoulder which happened to be really muscular underneath his sweater.

“Haha yeah,” he said, seemingly uninterested in where you were going with this.

“If you’re so busy, does that mean you don’t have time to masturbate?” you giggled, covering your plump mouth with your hand and fluttering your eyelashes at him.

Armin became extremely flustered as tints of red washed over his body in waves.

“W-what?” he stuttered. “Why are you asking me these questions? We are supposed to be studying!” he quietly shrieked, looking away to break eye contact with you and playing with the watch on his wrist.

“Haha, I am just joking. You’re such a nerdy boy, just want to make you blush,” you sincerely smiled.

“W-well I am a young college student, so obviously I - I do that from time to time thanks to p-porn,” he stammered.

“Woah woah wait. Someone as uptight and rigid as you watches porn?” you harshly laughed, genuinely shocked. You scooted your chair closer to him and leaned into his neck, your hot breath caressing his skin and your hair resting upon his shoulder. “What kind of porn does this nerd like to watch?” you inquired, widely grinning as you saw how embarrassed Armin had become.

On the inside, Armin was fuming, mostling frightened that he had gotten himself into an embarrassing loop with no escape that would most likely be gossiped about amongst the popular students, but mostly angry that some dumb, slutty bitch was wanting to pry into his personal life, not even appreciating the fact that he spent countless hours in the library helping you study to no avail because you couldn’t pay attention if your life depended on it… that this same dumb, slutty bitch was just getting her fun from teasing some nerd who is taken advantage of and forgotten by everyone… angry that you - with your pretty makeup, plump lips, short skirt, and overflowing cleavage - weren’t paying the price for your teasing.

Suddenly, Armin sat up in his chair, his muscles tensing through his clothes, and an aggravated look forming across his face, wrinkling his brows. He quickly takes a fistful of your hair and pulls you close to his face, allowing you to see the different shades of blue in his eyes and his soft, blond eyelashes. His innocent, geeky look is nowhere to be found on his face as he intensely stares into your eyes.

“It just so happens that this nerd likes to watch useless, empty-headed bimbos like you get their pussies abused,” he said, dominance seething from his teeth as his mint breath hits your face. Before you even have time to think, Armin unbuttons his slacks and practically forces your mouth on his hard, pretty cock.

Watching you gag and choke on his cock with saliva dribbling down your chin made him laugh. “You’re gonna have to be a little quieter, slut, we’re in a library remember?” he coos. He abruptly pulls you off his cock, taking in the sight of his lipstick-stained tip and the mascara tears streaming down your face. His treatment was so harsh and so sudden, making you miss the ‘nicer’ and ‘quieter’ Armin, but you couldn’t deny his sudden dominance made your aching cunt flood with arousal.

Before doing anything else, Armin scans the library, making sure no one is around. Grabbing your wrist, he forces you to sit on his lap, facing him on top of the library chair. Everything happened so quickly, barely even leaving you time to think, barely leaving you time to think that Armin was using your body to relieve his anger and frustration, not leaving you time to realize how sopping wet your needy cunt actually was.

Sitting atop his lap, he spreads your plush, soft thighs, exposing the fact that you didn’t wear any panties to this study session, causing Armin’s eyes to widen.

“I don’t know why I’m so surprised that a whore like you wouldn’t wear anything underneath your short skirt to our little ‘play date,’” he snickers. He leans close to your ear, softly biting your neck. “It’s almost like you were asking to be fucked by me.”

You don’t know what to say. Your mind is so empty, fuzzy, and shocked that the only thing you can do is comply when he demands that you ride his cock. Armin lets out a low groan from the bottom of his throat as your tight, warm pussy encloses his thick cock. You let a pathetic whimper as he begins to thrust up into you, and Armin gives you a glare, reaching up and tightening his hands around your throat. “Remember, you have to be quiet, or are you too dumb to remember that?” he sinisterly smiles.

Armin begins to harshly thrust into you as you wrap your arms around his neck, holding onto dear life as he deeply penetrates your spongy, sensitive walls. He slithers his slender hands into your shirt and starts toying with your nipples and pinching them when you’re being too loud.

Groping your ass, he whispers in your ear, “you know, I don’t even know why you’re in college… you’re so dumb. Why don’t you just drop out and be my little slut for when I come back after class, huh?” You sink your head into the crook of his neck, embarrassment coming over you at the same time as pleasure fills your walls when he tells you those mean words.

He grabs your hair, forcing you to look at him. Your hair is a tangled mess, your makeup completely smeared, and your eyebrows furrowed as your innocent-looking eyes beg for some type of release.

“F-fuck, you look so dirty,” he groans, leaning his head back.

“And you look like two students who are going to be in so much trouble…”

Both of you tense up and look behind you to find the librarian staring daggers into your souls.

Immediately, you hop off of Armin’s dick, gathering your things as he struggles to pull up his pants. Both of you at an ungodly speed bolt out of the library doors. Yeah, getting potentially banned from the library would suck, but maybe it was something you both needed. Armin needed to learn to loosen up, have some fun, and you needed to learn to take things seriously and maybe just put in a little more effort.

“Ya’know, it’s kind of late. We can go back to my dorm, and I can help you study for maybe another half hour… if you want,” Armin shyly asks as you both continue running down the sidewalk.

“What about the other half hour?” you questioned.

Armin’s face grows red. “We can finish… chemistry…”

#armin arlert #armin x reader #armin smut #aot x reader #aot smut

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uvobreakmylegs · 3 years

Text

Within the Forest

part two of the vampire!Hisoka story

Part 1

Warnings: threats of violence, graphic depictions of violence, blood, gore, graphic imagery, death, noncon, slapping, reader does not have a good time

Some time had passed since Hisoka had taken you. Whether it was days or weeks you weren't sure, all you knew was that time was steadily passing as the bites on your wrist and neck healed and the bruise on your lower back slowly faded away.

You weren't sure where exactly he had taken you, either. When you awoke, you found yourself in a cold room with stone walls and a solid wood flooring. Parts of it were crumbling away and the draft in the room was horrible, and all he had left you with to fight it with was an old bed and a thin blanket.

At first you had thought that the window in the room was a small blessing, something to keep you connected to the outside world, but when the first night in that room came it was anything but. Noises from the forest traveled up, the sounds of otherworldly things assaulting your ears and keeping you from sleeping. More often than not, you would hear the sounds of creatures fighting, with one of them eventually being defeated, and then you needed to suffer through their cries as the victor tore them apart with no remorse. After the end of those ordeals you always found yourself grateful that the room was so high up and they couldn't get to you. You had once ventured over, peeking over the window sill to see what you could, and you found several pairs of glowing eyes staring up at you. You heard them begin to chatter and you had never moved faster in your life, dashing from the window and into the corner where the bed sat. It felt like you were a child again, hiding under the cover while holding the pillow firmly over your head to try and block out the sounds they were making.

And then there was Hisoka.

On your first day in that prison, you threw the food he had brought you while you demanded he let you go. He easily dodged the bowl you threw at his head and left without a word, locking the old wooden door behind him. He didn't come back until the next day and by that point you would be in trouble if you went without food for much longer.

“It would be dangerous if you went on any longer without sustenance, little fruit. Are you sure you want to throw a tantrum again?” he asked you, balancing a new tray of food in his hand.

As much as you wanted to tell him to fuck off, you needed food and water.

You shook your head.

“Good. But if you want to eat, I need you to clean that up first,” he said as he pointed to the meal you had ruined the day before.

Sitting down on that floor and gathering up the remains of the meal and the bits of broken tableware was humiliating, and it was made worse by the way he watched you, that wide grin back on his face as you obediently followed his orders.

When he placed his hand on your head and congratulated you on “being good”, you wondered if he'd still be able to catch you if this time you managed to gouge out both of his eyes.

Despite the things he had said to you when he attacked you that day, Hisoka didn't do much to you. He wasn't feeding off of you. In fact, he didn't even touch you all that much. The furthest he had gone was catch you when you tried to jump him one afternoon, twisting your arm around your back and asking if he should break it. You were thrown to the floor after and he withheld your meals again for a bit, but nothing more was done.

You were thankful that nothing had happened so far, and especially for the fact that he hadn't tried to force himself on you. The memory of him talking about “fucking you into the forest floor” wouldn't leave your head. The other thing that haunted you was his claim to make you like him, to turn you into a vampire as well. Although he had said that he would keep you as you were for a few years, but he seemed to be rather fickle and you had a hard time believing anything he told you.

But since he wasn't feeding off of you, you figured he must be going out somewhere else to hunt humans. Or he could have just been feeding off of the creatures located outside the house, though with the disdain he showed for them you wondered if he would consider it to be beneath him to do so. If he was going out to a town or something that would mean that you weren't too far away from civilization, right? But when you dared to poke your head out that window again (doing your best to ignore the noises that sounded when you did so) you couldn't spot any lights in the distance that would indicate as such. It could have been because your view was restricted to one side of the house, but it wasn't like you'd ever get the chance to check in any other direction.

Hisoka allowed you out of that room for trips to the bathroom, but always wrapped a thin piece of cloth over your eyes when he did so, leaving you to depend on him to lead you through the halls and down the steps. You didn't get any opportunity to lift the blindfold even slightly as he made it clear that he didn't want your hands going anywhere near your face. You tried to get a sense of how large the house was by counting how many steps it took you to get to the bathroom, but you kept losing count, and at times you swore Hisoka would lead you up and down the same hallway just to disorient you.

It felt like your mind was slowly deteriorating whenever you were left alone in that room, and you hated how you had begun to look forward to seeing him, because that was something to rely on while you were trapped there. It was a routine that gave you some sense of stability, something to keep yourself grounded, which made it worse whenever he punished you for any outbursts by letting you starve for a day or two. Punishments like that forced you to fall in line, and you slowly became used to this life you were now living.

You became accustomed to the way he spoke to you, teasing you at times and trying to goad you into retaliating just so he could punish you for it. You became accustomed to his various colorful outfits, suits that sported those card symbols that looked nicer in the afternoon than they did in the morning. His clothes tended to look messier when he came by in the mornings, his hair messier than normal and his makeup smudged. Occasionally you also saw spatters of blood on his shirt. It seemed to you that he was going out at night to hunt at night and came back just in time to feed you. He slept during the day, then? Or did he even need to sleep?

And although he had still yet to actually do anything to you, you had become painfully aware of the way he would look at you during those times together. With that same sick grin on his face as he looked you over, not even hiding it or showing any shame when you caught him looking. He still wanted you just as much as the day he took you, and you had no fucking clue what the hell he was waiting for.

At first it had been a relief that he hadn't touched you, but the longer you waited for something to happen, the more nervous you became. What the hell would happen when he did finally decide to act on his urges? You didn't want to be around when that happened, but with the tight leash he was keeping on you, how the hell could you get out?

You'd been trying to see if you could pry off a piece of the wooden bed frame in an attempt to fashion a stake to use against Hisoka. It wasn't even a good attempt as you didn't have any sort of tools to make a proper one, but desperation had you thinking that you could pull off a piece of the battered wood with your bare hands. The end result was you being left with sore and blistered hands, and an idea that came to mind when you spotted a rusty nail sticking out of the leg of the bed. It was old and blackened and it shifted slightly when you grabbed at it. You looked back to the keyhole then, taking in the age and style of the door and determined that if you could get the nail out, it would most likely fit.

Something else you had noticed soon after being brought here was that Hisoka kept the key to the room in the door, as when you attempted to look outside of the door through the keyhole you found that you couldn't see anything. You weren't sure if he was doing it out of laziness or what, but it gave you an opportunity for escape.

With the bottom of your shirt over your hand to try and keep from cutting yourself, you pulled at the nail as best you could. All too often the result of hours of working to yank it out was just that it was slightly more loosened. You needed to make sure you didn't spend too long on it and end up a sweaty mess because of it. If Hisoka saw you in a state like that, he'd likely figure something was up and find the nail you were trying to take out of the bed. The last thing you needed was for Hisoka to decide to start carrying the room key with him.

In those cool-down periods, you tried to strategize on what you'd do once you left that room. The blindfold that always went on whenever you left the room meant that you had no idea what the layout of the house was, nor did you have a good sense of how big it was and how long it would take you to get outside. And you would need to do all of that while making sure Hisoka didn't catch you.

Ideally you should leave while he was out, but he only ever seemed to leave at night. And with those things that chattered beneath your window, escaping at night wasn't an option. It would need to be during the day. Not ideal, as the brightness of daylight made it harder to hide and Hisoka would be able to catch you even in the daytime. If only Hisoka was more like vampires you had read about in stories: the kind that would burn up the instant sunlight hit them.

Then there was the issue of how you would manage to navigate the forest and get back home. Who knew how deep you were and how far you'd need to travel to get back to your little town. At least one advantage to going in the day was that you wouldn't need to stumble around in the dark woods to try and find civilization.

There was a bit of comfort in knowing that the thing you needed to get the key would hopefully be easy enough to procure.

“Could I have something to read?” you asked him one day as he was about to leave.

“Getting bored?” he asked.

You sighed.

“Extremely.”

“I don't have much lying around; does it matter what it is?”

You could give me a goddamn porno magazine I don't give a shit, you were tempted to say. But that was a tad too aggressive to just ask for a favor from him, so instead you just shook your head as you wrapped your arms around your knees. From where you had positioned yourself Hisoka couldn't see the nail that was now sticking out halfway.

He hummed to himself for a moment before leaving, the lock clicking shut but no sound of the key being removed.

When he came back, you weren't expecting a copy of Sun Tzu's The Art of War to be tossed at your face. You weren't sure what you thought Hisoka might read during his downtime, but you didn't take him for the type to care about military strategies.

“That belongs to a someone I know, so be careful with it. Chrollo would be upset if his book was damaged,” Hisoka told you.

Then why did you throw it in the first place?

Instead of voicing that thought you just nodded at him again.

He paused as made to leave, tilting his head at you curiously.

“You've been rather submissive these past few days. Have you finally learned your place? Or.....” he trailed off, his eyes narrowing as he continued “are you planning something?”

Fuck fuck fuck

“.... Is it that bad that I don't like it when you don't feed me?” you asked him, “I don't know what you want from me; I just don't want to starve up here.”

Hisoka didn't say anything to that. He merely shrugged and smiled at you, giving you one last look-over before leaving the room.

Did he suspect?

He probably knew you were planning something. But if he knew exactly what you were going to do he would have called you out on it, wouldn't he? Or maybe make a show out of ripping that nail out of your bed so you lost your key out. It made sense that he would suspect something because it made sense you would try to escape. But your explanation on why you were cooperating also made sense. Unless you were that bad of a liar.

You shook your head to get rid of those thoughts. Getting into your own head and over-analyzing everything wouldn't do you any good. Just lay low for a little bit, let some time pass so he lowered his guard and then get out.

A little over a week passed before you finally did it. After getting out the nail and hiding it in a small space between the bed and the wall, you spent the time before your escape reading the book while you tried to determine if Hisoka was still suspicious. Though the narrowed glances at you continued, he didn't say anything more about it. On the morning that he seemed a bit more relaxed and playful, you waited for the sun to be at its highest and well after Hisoka would have fed you in the morning.

You offered a mental apology to whoever Chrollo was when you ripped out a page of the book. It was a shame as you found yourself enjoying the read, though with how little there was to do you probably would have found as much joy in reading an instruction manual.

With the torn page in one hand and the nail in the other, you knelt down before the door and saw that the key had been left in the keyhole as you had hoped. You slid the page under the door, trying to determine the spot where the key would land. You would only have one shot at this, you told yourself.

When you were satisfied with the placement of the page, you slid the nail into the hole. As you had hoped, it hit the end of the key, and with a bit of pushing, you felt the key shift out of place and heard the way it clattered it fell out and onto the floor.

You wanted to cheer when you tugged at the paper and found that it had some weight to it now but you kept your mouth shut. The key could easily slide off, or worse, Hisoka may have heard the key falling out. You had no idea what he did when he wasn't harassing you or going out to feed, so you really had no clue if whatever he was doing, it would distract him enough from your escape. Luckily, the key stayed on the surface of the page even as it was dragged over the uneven flooring. You snatched it up the instant you pulled it out from under the door, and with shaking hands, you placed the key in the keyhole and twisted it.

The locking mechanism clicked, and the door creaked open when you slowly pushed on it.

Every part of you wanted to burst out of that door and start running, but remembering that you didn't know where Hisoka was kept you from acting rashly, so you slowly stood and opened the door the rest of the way as quietly as you were able. Slipping through the entryway and closing the door shut just as softly, you put the key back in, twisting it until you heard it lock again. If Hisoka glanced down the hallway he wouldn't find anything amiss.

Navigating the hallways for the first time without the blindfold, you kept to the walls and walked slowly, peering around any open door you came across and making sure the coast was clear before you went forward. You grabbed a fire poker from a room that you passed. It probably wouldn't kill Hisoka, but he had vulnerabilities. If you could manage to take out his eyesight again it would give you an advantage. But he likely would be more protective of his face because of that last scuffle you'd had.

You made it down two flights of stairs without running into him. This place was already much bigger than you had anticipated and somehow you had yet to find a way out. You were getting to the point that you would take jumping out of a window to escape, but you spotted a set of double door as you walked by another room.

You hurried over, finding that the lead to a balcony that overlooked a space below, what may have been some sort of garden at one point. The doors hinges had clearly not been oiled in some time as the squeaked loudly when you pushed one of them open. Because of the noise you didn't bother closing it after. If Hisoka heard that then you were already done for.

Stumbling down the stairs of the balcony and into the overgrown courtyard below, you looked about as you tried to find an exit. There were walls on either side of the courtyard and nothing around that you could use to climb over them. There was an open space before you, but when you got closer you found it to be the edge of a cliff. The drop was far too much for you to be able to survive; you'd need to go back inside to find an exit, then.

You turned back to the house, you noticed an opening beneath the balcony that lead back inside. You were on the ground floor now, right? That meant there was a good chance you could find an exit somewhere on the other side.

With that thought in mind you made your way across the courtyard.

But in your haste to find a way out, you didn't notice the movement that came from the woods to your right.

You only noticed when something hit you.

You were sent flying before you were knocked to the ground. And just as fast, whatever hit you was on top of you, holding your head down as it forced your face into the dirt.

Sharp nails nicked your face and your first thought was that it was Hisoka.

But when you managed to move your head so you could look up, a different sort of creature was on top of you. It was spindly with brown fur that covered its arms and legs while its stomach and pectorals were bare. It had a tail as well, resembling that of some sort of monkey, but the head looked like that of a human, as the pale face of a balding old man looked down at you.

It smiled at you, showing you its mouth full of sharp teeth and the long pink tongue that slithered out to lick it's lips as it held you down.

Then the face began to change. The features of the old man began to smooth out, the bones within its face loudly breaking apart before reforming beneath the skin that tightened and wiped away the wrinkles while the hair on the top of it's head began to grow out. The skin tone, hair color and eyes all changed, and within a matter of seconds, your own face was staring down at you, grinning with all of those teeth as it looked at you hungrily.

It bit down on your shoulder, shaking its head to try and tear the flesh away and you screamed. You thrashed beneath it but it stayed firmly attached to you, hands holding down your head and torso and pressing down harder the more you fought its grip.

The fire poker was still in your hand, and you brought it up to stab it in the neck. Or at least you tried to. You couldn't see exactly where you were aiming, but the creature screeched, pulling away but also ripped the poker out of your grip. It threw the poker in front of you where it clattered against a pile of broken stone before it bit down on your shoulder again, this time harder.

That pile of broken stone caught your eye and you reached for it, grabbing a moderately sized stone with one hand. You smashed it against the face of that thing on top of you and it shrieked, this time pulling away from you just enough so you could turn and kick it as hard as you could while you scrambled back.

You forced it back, but only a little. It glared at you once it recovered, clearly pissed off as it bared its teeth at you, sitting on its hind legs before it pounced at you, claws outstretched and ready to tear you apart.

But you were ready, too.

With both hands this time, you picked up a larger slab of stone and threw it at the face of the creature. With the way it had jumped at you, it couldn't dodge, and it fell back to the courtyard floor, holding it's face as it writhed around in pain.

It felt like your body went on autopilot. When you grabbed the next piece of stone, it was far heavier than the other two, but adrenaline helped you to carry it over to where the creature lay. You kicked it so it lay on its back and sat on top of it, raising the stone over your head.

It froze, taking you in as you sat over it, looking up at you with your own face. The sadistic expression from earlier was gone and it now looked up at you in fear.

For that brief moment it looked human.

And then you brought the stone down.

It screeched when you hit it, blood spurting out of its nose when you brought the stone back up. It made a move to scratch at you, but you quickly brought the stone down again.

And again.

You hit that thing in the head over and over. And you kept going, even when its arms fell to the sides and it stopped moving, you brought that stone down on it's face. Your face, covered in blood and becoming more and more misshapen the longer you went on.

You weren't in control. You had lost yourself, consumed by the anger you had felt because of your captivity, anger at Hisoka for keeping you here, and anger at yourself and your own stupid actions that had brought you here. You finally had something to take it out on and you weren't going to let it go.

The stone was brought down again and again until you heard a sickening crunch and you felt the creature's skull give way.

That was when you stopped. Breathing hard, you pulled the stone away for the final time and let it fall to the side.

The sight of the creature's face was grotesque, and when you stood on shaky legs, you felt for a moment like you were going to throw up.

It lay there, its face battered and smashed in, the hair it had modeled after you still visible beneath the blood and brain matter. One of the eyes had managed to stay intact and it hung on the side of it's face, the pupil blown wide open. Nothing else that had been copied from you remained. With the head in the state that it was, you doubted anyone would have been able to tell that its face resembled that of a human if they came across the body.

Once or twice you swore you saw the creature twitch again, but you couldn't be certain if it was actually still alive and moving or if it was your eyes playing tricks on you.

Moments passed and you couldn't take your eyes off of it, what you had done to that thing.

You didn't want to see it anymore.

Grabbing it with your uninjured arm, you dragged the thing to the edge of the cliff and unceremoniously threw it off. It hit the side of the cliff a few times as it fell into the canopy of trees below, and when it hit the ground, you heard movement from below as other creatures noticed the new source of meat and were eager to have their fill before it was gone.

You backed away from the cliff, letting out a shaky breath as you came down from your adrenaline high. You felt the ache in your shoulder from where you had been bitten and you instinctively brought your hand up to cover it, wincing at the tender spot.

The sound of something growling brought you back to attention, and you turned to see another one of those beasts standing in the courtyard. It was bigger than the other and its face resembled that of a younger man.

But when you turned to face it you found that it wasn't looking at you.

It was staring at something on the balcony.

You followed its gaze.

Hisoka was standing there, one hand on the railing as he looked down into the courtyard.

Looking right at you.

Those golden eyes were wide, alight with excitement. His lips had been drawn into an almost-grin, those teeth on display as he breathed through his mouth, his body shaking lightly. He looked deranged, almost feral, as he took you in. It reminded you of the day you had met him.

That grin widened when you made eye contact, and he let in a sharp intake of breath.

That slight movement angered the creature that still stood to the side of him. And with an unearthly screech, it jumped at Hisoka, claws protruding and teeth bared.

Hisoka didn't even look at the thing.

He stopped it with one hand, thrusting those sharpened nails into its chest with so much force that his hand burst out through the back, leaving the creature impaled on his arm. It gurgled as it began to cough up blood, hands grabbing at Hisoka's arm as it tried to pull itself off.

Hisoka flicked his wrist upwards, and his arm came tearing through the creature's collar bone, slicing through the bone and muscle to free up his hand.

You had stayed where you were by the cliff, unable to move under Hisoka's gaze. Some part of you was aware that the instant you moved, he would come for you, and you wanted to push that moment away for as long as you could. But when that thing fell and hit the floor of the balcony, the noise spurred you and you bolted. You made a mad dash for the doorway beneath the balcony, vaguely remembering your thought process for why that would lead to the way out.

Hisoka was on you within moments.

For the second time that day, you were crushed beneath a solid body and forced to the ground. This time, however, Hisoka grabbed both of your wrists as he positioned himself on top of you, his mouth easily finding yours and forcing you into a kiss. His tongue found its way in to your open mouth, and without thinking you bit it.

He groaned, the noise rumbling within him before he pulled away to slap you. Your cheek stung, but you had barely any time to think about that before you felt your clothes being torn away, Hisoka's nails cutting them to ribbons as he ripped them off of you, slicing up some of your skin in the process.

That playful personality of his that you had grown to know was nowhere to be found. When you looked back up at him, trying in vain to keep what little remained of your clothing on you, something more animalistic was staring back. Hisoka was being driven by pure want, and he held you down by your chest as he shoved his fingers into you.

You cried out, trying in vain to push him off of you. The way he brutally pulled his fingers in and out hurt so much, your tight entrance not nearly loose enough to take that comfortably. But your cries and protests went ignored as he leaned down to lick up the blood that was dripping from the cuts he had left on your skin. All the while you felt a prominent bulge in his pants that rubbed against your thigh.

When he pulled his fingers out of you, you weren't surprised by the blood that was coated on them. Hisoka went as far as to make a show out of licking them clean, sitting up over you with those fingers in his mouth while his other hand shoved his pants down and pulled out his cock. That wild look in his eyes hadn't dissipated in the slightest.

If you'd been able to remove yourself from the situation mentally you might have wondered why Hisoka even bothered trying to prepare you with his fingers, as when he roughly shoved his dick into you it felt even worse as he hadn't allowed you any time to adjust. But all your brain was able to focus on was on the pain of him harshly snapping his hips against yours while your body writhed beneath his in response.

It hurt so much.

The way Hisoka pounded into your tight cunt, the ache in your shoulder from where that creature had bitten you earlier, and even the cuts that Hisoka had left on you stung as you were pushed against the ground, the overgrown grass brushing against those tender spots and sending little electric bolts of pain that shot through your body and made you squirm.

Then there was a mouth on your neck and the feeling of teeth biting down into your throat. Hisoka bit you on the same spot as he had before, opening up the healed wound as he began to drink your blood again. You tried to pull on his hair to get him off, and he lifted off to slap you harshly once more before going right back to that spot.

He seemed to delight in the way he hit you.

Strength was leaving you as you began to feel lightheaded. Your hands ended up on his shoulders, not pushing against him, just resting there. You felt the way he chuckled as it vibrated against your throat where his mouth was still connected.

He was going to drain you completely. You were really going to die with all of your blood being sucked out while being split in half by a vampire's cock.

Hisoka pulled away to look at you. He seemed a bit more composed now, but the brutal pace he had said didn't slow. Blood was smeared all over his lips, dripping down his chin and falling back down onto you in fat drops.

That tongue came out to lick his lips, licking away the mess on his face and savoring the taste of it. He grinned and his lips found yours again. This time you did nothing when his tongue pushed into your mouth. All you could taste was the blood. It was all you could smell, too. And all of the aches in your body slowly began to fade as you felt your consciousness slipping. You still felt the way Hisoka thrust into you, the pace starting to increase to a point that it would have been unbearable if you weren't in this semi-conscious state. Hisoka pulled away to let out a loud groan as he snapped his hips a few more times before stopping and grinding against you.

The sudden burst warmth you felt inside of you was the last thing you were aware of before you blacked out.

There was a warmth hitting the left side of your body, and you instinctively turned on to your side to face it fully. In the hazy stages of your awakening, you were able to register a crackling noise.

Slowly, you opened your eyes, and you found yourself laying in front of a large fire while wrapped in a mess of blankets. Under normal circumstances you might have been worried about how close you had been placed next to the fire or how safe it was to have this many blankets piled up in front of it, but the sight of the fire was comforting and the blankets were warm, and you closed your eyes again as you felt some sense of contentment for the first time in weeks.

You were only allowed a few moments of that peace as you lay before the fire until the circumstances of your situation snaked back into your mind.

Hisoka-!

You sat up and instantly regretted it. Everything ached, especially your pelvic region, and you were forced to fall back down. Your movement shifted the blankets out of the way and you saw the extent of the damage that had been done to you. Your skin was covered in an assortment of bandages and bruises, some of the deeper cuts leaking through and turning the white wrapping red. There were two heavier bandages as well, one that was wrapped around your shoulder and the other on your neck. Oddly enough, your arms seemed to be in the worst shape, as you could barely move them when you tried again, the muscles screaming in protest.

“Woken up, have you?”

The voice came from behind, and you twisted your head as best you could to find Hisoka standing in a doorway. He was naked except for a small towel he had wrapped around his waist. His hair was down and dripping with water, and for the first time you saw him without any makeup.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, walking over and leaning down next to you.

“.... Hurts,” you answered hoarsely.

“Hm. I might be able to do something about that if you ask nicely,” he said.

As he said that you saw the way he was looking over your body, the blankets that had been over you pushed down to your waist after you had forced yourself to sit up, leaving your chest exposed.

“D-depends,” you began carefully, “on what that 'something' is.”

“Just some painkillers,” he answered cheerfully, “what else would it be?”

He smiled at you, as if you hadn't seen just how truly depraved and monstrous he could be.

But pointing out that fact wouldn't get you anywhere.

“.... Then yes,” you said, “please, I'd like some help.”

“Good girl,” Hisoka said, patting you on the head before he got up and made his way to a different part of the room you couldn't see.

You heard a cabinet door being opened and the sounds of him rummaging through before you heard him hum to himself. He returned quickly, holding two pills in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.

“Can you get up on your own or do you need help with that?”

You needed help, and he likely knew that. But you pushed yourself anyway, the muscles in your arms straining as you tried to pull yourself up again.

“Stop that.”

His voice was stern and an arm wrapped around your waist to hoist you up into a sitting position. Hisoka held you against him, pushing the pills into your mouth as he continued “your determination is admirable, but I don't want you to break, little fruit.”

He lifted the rim of the bottle to your lips and tilted it, and the cold water washed down the tasteless pills that had already begun to disintegrate in your mouth.

“Drink it all,” he said, “I went a little too far; you've lost a lot of blood.”

You complied as best you could, but some of the water spilled down the side of your mouth when he tipped the bottle too far over. The water was nice, though, as it was only now that you realized how dry your throat had been.

Hisoka threw the bottle behind him when you had drained it and wrapped both arms around you.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

You only managed to grunt out a response.

“Really, I should be punishing you. You did escape, after all. But after what you went through with that ape, I think you've earned this much,” said Hisoka, “since you've proven that I can't leave you alone for long periods, I'll have to keep you in here with me. But I'll need you to be good if you want to sleep on the bed with me; until then, it's the floor.”

You were only half-listening to his rambling, sleep beginning to overtake you once more. Hisoka noticed, and seemed amused by it.

“You're tired, aren't you? I shouldn't keep you up.”

He laid you back down, and then pulled the blankets away to settle down next to you, the towel around his waist falling off as he pulled the covers over the both of you. Pulling you in close, he kissed you on the cheek.

“Sleep well, pet.”

You kept your focus on the fire that crackled in front of you, willing yourself to not even think about the way Hisoka had pressed himself up against you while he held you close against his chest.

#Hisoka #hxh hisoka #hisoka x reader #reader insert #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere hxh #hisoka morow #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hisoka

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hansolmates · 3 years

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me time (m)

summary; the first time virgin!mc meets her mans (but she doesn’t know it yet) pairing; jungkook x virgin!mc genre/warnings; fluff, college!au, boarding house!au, based on the virgin!oc discourse, female masturbation (thanks to the pretty bridgertons), a lil sad and longing at the end w/c; 1.3k a/n; y’all really brought manhater!mc and virgin!mc to life! this couldn’t be done without all of your fabulous input and support. obviously the virginverse is freeform at this point—think of this more as a prequel for these two. set in freshman year of college, when they’re just acquaintances. (do you guys think of cher from clueless when u think virgin!mc? very outgoing n’cute but also very innocent?) anyway, happy valentine’s day i hope you and your boo (whether digital or in-person) get your me/we time💖

Your wooden lap desk is toppled to the side. Good thing the space between the mattress and floor is small, your pink monstera-shaped rug softening the blow when your water bottle, pencils and laptop fall to the floor. In the back of your head you know everything is fine because the last episode of Bridgerton is still playing, an orchestral version of Ariana Grande’s Thank U, Next continuing on as if nothing’s astray.

Yet you’re nothing but astray, forgotten about the episode and writhing against your too-small twin as you let yourself cum for the umpeeth time.

You’ve lost track at this point (how couldn't you? Bridgerton is hot) but from the way your hair mats to your face like a second skin and your pussy feels spent and battered, it’s been awhile. This should be your new Valentine’s Day tradition, fucking yourself until you pass out on your vibrator.

“Ah, ah fu—uck, yyyes!”

The sheets are sopping. The grey cotton fabric does nothing to hide your juices that seep from your bare cunt to the mattress. Flinging your silicone toy to the side, you pull your hair up and out of your face.

Water, you need water. Maybe a cup of green tea with a dollop of honey. Sugar always helps the immediate low after a good couple of rounds.

However, you’ll never get used to the feeling of cleaning up yourself. The feeling that you’ve done something completely lewd all on your own, no one to assure you the things you’re doing are weird. It’s okay though. You love to be alone, it takes a lot for you to feel lonely.

You slip on a pair of dolphin-cut shorts, too tiny that they are drowned beneath your emerald green slip dress. Quickly opening the door to your room, you’re met with absolute silence. White walls containing empty rooms and a living room without a soul. Just like you’re expecting in a college boardhouse on Valentine’s Day.

What you’re not expecting however, is Jeon Jungkook staring at you the second you crack your door open.

“If you’re screaming that loud, your partner must be doing a good job.”

Jungkook lives on the other side of the boarding house, therefore you’ve never really interacted with him. Excluding the landlord there’s only five other tenants, a group large enough that you’ve never had to have one-on-one with him.

You really didn’t think anyone would be in the house on Valentine’s, especially Jungkook. He’s an absolute cutie pie, even though you don’t know anything about him. The only thing you really know is that his sparkly brown eyes are to die for, they remind you of coffee milk tea, a craving you only indulge in at the end of finals season.

To your surprise, Jungkook looks like he hasn’t gone out all weekend. Him, single? As if! Yet you can’t justify any reasoning behind him being home if did have a girlfriend or boyfriend. His dark hair is fluffy and freshly showered, and you can’t ignore the smell of linens from his soft sweats and long navy hoodie.

Normally, you’d be quiet during Me Time. You’ve perfected the art, stuffing your mouth with your pillow or playing action movies to muffle out the sound. You thought you were in the clear. The thought of Jungkook overhearing you turns you on a little, makes the dampness between your panties even more evident, but you keep that self-indulgent secret to yourself.

“Oh, well,” you curl your lips in a smirk, closing the door behind you so he doesn’t see that your room is actually very much devoid of life, “she’s very powerful.”

She, meaning your favorite vibrator in your entire world. It has ten settings and a heating mechanism. More importantly, it’s rechargeable. You don’t know how you’d survive freshman year otherwise.

“Okay, TMI,” despite the fact Jungkook’s blushing he’s chuckling, holding a hand out for you in the narrow hallway, “after you.”

You quickly slip past him, walking into the shared kitchenette. Bare feet slapping against the hardwood, your eyes immediately gravitate toward the upper cabinet. Jungkook is following you, presumably to get his own late night snack. When you lift your arms to reach your mug, you feel a little bit of cool air brush against the uppers of your thighs. It’s a nightgown, a pretty satin slip that falls over your curves and leaves much to the imagination. A couple more centimeters to get your mug and you’ll be definitely flashing Jungkook.

“Um,” you practically hear the twisted face he’s making.

“Sorry—I’m sorry!” you blurt, waving your fingers to catch the handle of your mug, “I’m really not trying to flash you—please don’t fill a harassment report! I just can’t reach my mug.”

“No, that’s my mug.”

“What, no! I’ve been drinking from this mug all year!”

“You’ve been drinking from my mug?” Jungkook is affronted, walking past you to easily grab the mug you’ve been struggling to reach for the past minute. He flexes the bottom part of the mug in your face, where his initials are painted in black. “This is my mug, my parents put my handprint on it when I was a year old.”

It’s then you notice on the lower shelf, there’s an identical mug. This mug has been buried all the way in the back, dust collecting on the rim. It also has a baby handprint on it, although upon closer inspection it’s smaller and in a more faded shade of black. That’s your mug.

“Oh, Jungkook,” you feel your heart fall all the way to your ass, feeling guilty, “I’m so sorry. I’ve washed it and everything, if it makes you feel any better.”

He frowns, holding the white porcelain between his hands. A litany of ideas run through your brain. Is he disgusted by using the same mug as you? Have you potentially ruined a prized family treasure?

Thrusting the mug into your chest he says, “Make me a hot chocolate and we’re even.”

You smile a little, eager to please. You quickly get to work, simmering the pan with warm milk and melting chopped chocolate. You rinse your mug with some hot water, letting it sit next to his awaiting mug. For a bit of flair you add a capful of vanilla extract, all while Jungkook watches you with mild awe. The smell of sweet late night confections fill the kitchen, a fitting theme for a Valentine’s night.

“You’re not burning the milk,” Jungkook murmurs more to himself than you, watching as you pour the hot chocolate in cups without spilling a drop.

Jungkook is known to burn things in the house. The only thing he doesn’t burn is ramen, and that’s purely due to survival skills.

“What can I say, I’m an expert,” you wink, handing him his mug and you holding yours.

With matching mugs, the two of you take your first sips of the melty beverage. You lean against the stove facing him, while he faces you against the marble island. Jungkook smiles and a bit of cocoa touches his petal pink lips. He says it’s perfect and you smile into your cup, absolutely swelling with pride.

Jungkook’s probably working on his photos. He always says his editing bug is itchy at night. While in passing you’ve said you’d love to see his work, however that gesture of kindness never really amounted to anything. Maybe tonight’s the night. You like art, you’d love to be a little more educated with it. Just as you’re about to ask and strike up some conversation, Jungkook beats you to it.

“Well, hope you and your partner have a good Valentine’s,” Jungkook holds his cup in salute, walking back into his room, “just keep it down.”

Oh well. You sigh to yourself, letting Jungkook walk away without a fight or a retort. After all, it was you who implied you were sneaking in a bed partner tonight. Sinking your eyes into the brown liquid, you fall into a lull. The creamy liquid swirls in your grasp, making your muddied reflection ripple away.

You love to be alone, but it takes someone like Jeon Jungkook to remind you that life gets a little lonely.

#ficswithluv #kwritersworldnet #btsghostie #btsguild #btswritingcafe #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook fic #bts fic #bts fluff #bts smut

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clarawatson · 3 years

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It Only Takes a Taste

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x [Fem]!Reader (GN pronouns, fem coded stuff, but I’m not sure where this is going as a larger work so we’ll say Fem!reader to be safe) Summary: You work at a diner. Aaron Hotchner falls in love with you. We’re not kidding around trying to make us all sound like profilers, just accept the diner life, we love it here. W/C: 1498 Warnings: none yet! A/N: First chapter of that diner!au i was talking about here! AO3 ps. I forgot to tag people, so: @willowrose99 & @genevievedarcygranger my beloveds. If you want to get added to the tag list jump in my inbox and i’ll try to remember to add tags every time i post. Where am I in this series? 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 |

When you first meet him it’s 5am and raining. You’re switching over shifts for your friend, Rita, because she’s been doing night shifts at the diner. This late into her pregnancy she shouldn’t be working, not technically, but she needs the money and she’s got insomnia because of the baby, so she works nights now. There’s always someone working with her, be it Joe (who’s got far too much muscle for a chef) or Lola (who can beat anyone to a pulp with a pie tray). In the early hours of the morning a bunch of tatt’ed bikies come and sit and talk about their extracurricular activities (definitely not legal) because one time there was an armed hold up and the police didn’t turn up until two hours after it had happened. People don’t like holding up a diner full of men who eat their own motorbikes for breakfast.

But when he comes in, he’s not any of them. He’s not even one of Lola’s nightly hook-ups (she needs the money, you don’t ask). He’s too well dressed in a grey suit (or is it black? Maybe it’s black), trying desperately to shove his I.D. badge in his pocket. He has a look about him that says ‘I’m part of one of the alphabet soup agencies’. A smile on his face, dead in the eyes, and the weight of the world on his shoulders. He fumbles with his wallet as he squints to read the menu behind the counter. The rain’s stopped dripping from his hair, instead he’s got droplets like his woken with the morning dew upon him.

“Hi love,” Rita coos as she hangs her apron up. She has a look about her that says she’ll eat this man for her breakfast. It’s an effort not to curse those pregnancy hormones some days.

“Go home,” you tell her, swatting her arm. “Put your feet up, rest, sleep while the baby does or some shit.” Rita sticks her bottom lip out and pouts, but she’s making grabby hands for her purse, which is stored where the tea towels used to be. Far too high to reach even when one’s not pregnant. You grab it down for her, ignoring the showering of thank-yous.

The new guy (who is getting more and more handsome by the second) is still looking at the menu. He doesn’t look like he’s going to stop looking and order any time soon.

“Are you sure you’re fine to take the metro in this weather?” you check. She’s rubbing her swollen belly and looking longingly at the booths that haven’t had anyone sit in them for hours now.

“Wait forty-five minutes and I’ll take you!” Joe yells. He’s slaving over something in the kitchen even though it looks like no one’s ordered in hours. “Wife gave me the car ‘cause of the storm!”

“Forty-five,” you repeat and point her towards the seat that she’s been eyeing off. Rita sighs, nods, then goes out to the seat. “What can I get you?” Usually when addressing the customer you’d add something gentle like ‘sweetheart’ or ‘love’ or ‘dear’ because the customers like it and they come back because they think you’re treating them like a long lost friend.

He bats his dark eyelashes and rubs at his forehead.

“I don’t know.” He sounds tired, balancing on the very edge of exhaustion. He might just fall off into a pit of sleep that he won’t wake up from. Been there, done that. “Do you guys do coffee?”

You laugh and point to the brewed pot beside you. There’s one for each table, free refills with a pie purchase. It’s written in decorative lettering right above you on the blackboard.

“We can put it in a take-away cup. It’s before six so it’s free anyway,” you offer. The last bits a lie, but Joe doesn’t care about a cup or two of coffee going missing. He’ll catch it up later when he flirts with all of the mom’s coming through after school drop off. The new guy nods and pulls out a ten dollar note and shoves it in the tip jar. You raise an eyebrow at him, but he nods anyway. He’s like a broken bobblehead.

“I know.” He goes to the sweets display and searches through it like he’s looking for something specific. Maybe he is. You’ve not seen him in the diner before, and neither has Rita, but maybe he’s one of Lola’s regulars. Maybe you’d judged him wrong.

“Anything caught your eye?” you ask, leaning over the counter as if you could see it from his angle too. Maybe you do it to show off just that little bit of cleavage. He notices, then looks like he’s done entirely the wrong thing as he licks his lips and blinks like a school boy.

“S-sorry,” he stammers, and Rita giggles. You point at her and give her a stern look, but she just puts her hand over her mouth and lies down on the seat. She’s still silently giggling because her belly keeps bobbing above the table.

“I just…” he has that exhausted look on his face again.

“Long day at work?” The answer is always yes for the people who work at the alphabet agencies. He nods. “Take a seat, grab some coffee, take a minute. It’s only just gone five, you’ve got time.”

He nods. He looks like he’s gotten his words all mixed up and they’re just sitting in his mouth, refusing to leave. Tongue tied doesn’t exactly encapsulate what looks like is going on inside his head. He sits at one of the chairs in front on the counter, and takes the coffee cup gratefully as you pass it to him.

He’s definitely an alphabet soup man. He sits in this weird stance like he’s countering his weight against a gun. His shoulders are hunched forward as if he spends hours a day doing paperwork. He’s got a nervous twitch in his hands like sitting still is only going to bring the next case.

You think about making a joke about turning on the cellphone jammer, but last time Joe made that joke the whole place ended up swarming with cops. Absolute disaster. No one’s going to do that one again.

“Cherry, berry or apple?” you ask, grabbing a plate.

“Sorry?”

“Cherry, berry or apple?” Rita repeats from her booth. “For the pie, sweetheart.”

“Uh, I didn’t—“

“Eat it,” Rita growled. You pull a face at her even though she can’t see you. The guy smiles.

“Apple, please.” Well mannered. Sweet. He looks elated as you slide the apple pie to him and hand him the canned cream.

“Not as good as fresh, but it’s better than nothing.”

He puts a generous amount on his plate. You half think he might like it more than proper cream. Rita leans up just enough to look at him as he digs in, fanning herself playfully before sighing and collapsing back down.

Joe brings out his tray of caramel salted cookies. They’re thick enough to look like cakes with a gooey caramel center, and they usually sell out pretty quickly. The new guy watches them intently.

“How much trouble am I going to get into if I give those to my son?”

“How old is he?”

“Ten.”

You smile. That’s a good age. “How much do you hate his teacher?”

He considers this with a gentle tilt of his head. “Not a lot. I’ll give it to him after school.” He pulls out his wallet again and Joe looks like he’s just hit the mother lode as he grabs one of the cardboard boxes.

“If you really want to spoil your kid, y/n here can write really pretty on top.” You glare at Joe. He shrugs. He’s covered in cake batter and cookie dough, and smells like pancake batter. He’s always smelling sickly sweet, and like a well lived in home, despite looking like the living embodiment of Gaston. “She does it for my wife all the time.”

The handsome man’s phone buzzes. He checks it, then shovels the rest of his pie in his mouth like a starved man.

“I have to go,” he says. He gives Joe another ten and tells him to keep the change. Joe looks like he’s about to break into a song and dance. You pour a fresh cup of coffee into a take-away cup and slide it across the counter to him. He thanks you a thousand times over then goes. With his cookie.

“Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME?” Rita screeches the moment the door shut with it’s little jingle. “I’ll-show-him-my-cleavage-but-I-won’t-ask-his-name?? No wonder you can’t get a date!”

“I’ll do it next time.” Not that there’s ever a ‘next time’ for these alphabet soup agents. They’re always looking for the next place to go to so they don’t have a ‘regular place’ that can be ambushed.

But in a perfect world... you’d see him every day.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female!reader #Diner!AU #It Only Takes a Taste

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nataliedanovelist · 3 years

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GF - Timestuck AU: The Power of Mabel ch.7 (finale)

While fighting over a time machine so one twin can win a pig or the other can win the heart of a girl, Mabel is left stranded in a snowy forest with no time machine and no brother. Oops.

ch.6

AO3 link

~~~~~~~~~~

Ford sat on the kitchen floor with his back against the cupboards, clinging to his knees, his glasses still in hand. His throat was sore and his eyes hurt and his nose was runny and his heart was raw and broken, and yet he wasn’t done crying. Though he was done sobbing and occasionally crying so hard he thought he would throw up, free-flowing tears still streamed down his face as he hid the bottom-half of his head in his beefy arms.

“What do we do now?” He moaned.

Stan looked at the know-it-all who didn’t have a clue. He sighed and moved to sit next to him, his back against the cupboard and his knees up by his chest as he combed his mullet. “I dunno… Sit here and die?”

Ford hiccuped a cruel laugh and buried his face in his arms fully. “I wish I could.”

Stan snorted. “What’s that saying? The good die young?”

Ford groaned and started to sob again.

Stan rubbed his back, his head against the cupboard and he looked up at the ceiling. “O-Okay, okay… Let’s think about this. So we never made up, or something else really bad happened between us, and that’s the timeline Mabel was from, right?”

“Right.” Ford gruffed, lifting his head up and rubbing his eyes dry.

“So, since that didn’t happen, or it happened differently… B-But that doesn’t mean she’s… She’ll still exist in our timeline, won’t she? She’s gonna be okay?” He asked the scientist, digging for some kind of hope.

Ford sighed and rested his cleft chin on his arms. “As long as what happened didn’t interfere with Alex’s life too much… Which I don’t know how it could… Mabel and Dipper should still be born in 1999. There’s a small possibility they’ll be different than what they once were, or because of some unseen butterfly effect, their birth might be different or might not happen at all… But…”

The eldest by fifteen minutes slipped his glasses back on, stood, and said stubbornly, “I’m going to do what I can to ensure it is a better future than what the kids had. Our entire family was broken because of what we did and didn’t do. Clearly either one of us went insane or died or something horrible, and I won’t allow that to happen.”

“I don’t think we gotta worry too much about that happening.” Stan said from down on the floor. “I mean, if Mabel changed things so much that an entire reality changed, then we don’t really gotta do much except not screw this up.”

Ford laughed and held out a hand to his twin, who gladly clasped it and stood. “You’re right.”

But the men were disheartened to finally notice the mess in the kitchen. Mabel’s cake batter sat on the flour-dusted counter, the oven was hot and ready for baking, and the muffin tray was on the floor from where Mabel dropped it. Ford looked down at the sweater he was wearing - the sweater she had knitted for him - and without a word he walked to the living room and saw Mabel’s knitting sitting on the couch where she had left it, a completed red sweater with a golden heart on it.

Ford smiled mournfully and held the sweater as Stan joined him and gasped at the sweater. The big brother held it out to the little brother and croaked, “We’ll see her again.”

Stan smiled, cleared his throat, and took off his hoodie and snagged the new sweater to slip it over his old white t-shirt. “Yeah.”

~~~~~~~~~~

July 22nd, 1980

Ford held the lantern up to better read the writing in the cave. He peered at it and was intrigued by a description of a being with answers. It would be summoned if he read out-loud, and though there were many clear warnings against this, the desperate scientist was extremely tempted.

“Sixer! Let’s move before we get caved in or some shit.” Stan called as he walked up to Ford. “What are you reading, cavemen graffiti?”

“Look, Stanley, there are tales of an all-knowing being with answers. It could help me with my theory…”

“Nope.” Stan grabbed Ford by the collar of his trenchcoat and dragged him away like dragging a child out of a toy store.

“Stanley! Let me go!”

“That shit’s got bad voodoo written all over it! You’ve gotta be inhaling toxic cave gas or something to think summoning a demon is a good idea!”

“We don’t know it’s a demon.”

“Really? Then why does that wall read in old blood ‘Do not summon demon!’?”

“Huh. Well, um…”

“That’s what I thought, now don’t make me pick you up and carry you. Let’s move.” And he lightly shoved Ford forward to lead the walk away from the cave and through the tunnels for sunlight.

~~~~~~~~~~

Alex’s wedding was wonderful and a joyous day, but it also made Ford and Stan nervous. They both agreed not to say a word to anyone (as far as Fiddleford knew, Ford had found the girl’s parents and all was over and ended well), and white they were happy to be one step closer to meeting the kids, they were slightly worried that something might be different than Mabel’s timeline.

She never told them her mother’s name. Did Alex marry someone else? Did they marry at the correct time? There was no way of telling, and they both agreed to allow themselves to enjoy the day and maybe drink a little. Or a lot.

~~~~~~~~~~

When Shermie called and told them that Alex and Dana were going to have a baby, Ford choked on his coffee and Stan dropped the phone. They silently exchanged looks and were terrified that there was only one baby. But it was seven months before the end of August, so maybe the new parents were choosing to keep everything a surprise. Knowing Alex, that is something he would do, especially if there were twins. A beautiful surprise for his twin uncles.

So they congratulated Shermie and made him swear to call them if anything happened so they could be there. And despite their fear, they were very joyous of becoming grunkles again.

~~~~~~~~~~

August 31st, 1999

The entire week leading up to the day, the men were incredibly anxious. The birthday was on 31st, which meant Dipper and Mabel could be born at 1am on the 31st, or 11pm on the 31st. They had no way of knowing, but as long as that damn telephone stayed silent, they weren't leaving the house all weekend. Neither of them slept the night of the 30th, just in case.

Finally, a little after coffee on the 31st, the phone rang. Both Ford and Stan tackled each other and fought for it, but Stan sat on Ford and grabbed it first.

“Stanley, get off me!”

“Stanley, what are you doing to your brother?” Shermie chuckled on the other end.

“Nevermind that, Sherm!” Stan laughed. “What’s going on with you?” He asked casually, though he smiled down at Ford, who smiled back, despite still being sat on in the kitchen.

“Well, you guys know I’m gonna be a grandpa soon…”

“Really? Had no idea.” Stan said sarcastically as he stood up to get off Ford. “So? Is it happening now?!” Ford ran down the hall.

Shermie laughed. “Yup. I just got here myself and Alex and Dana got here about twenty minutes ago.”

“Piedmont Hospital, right?”

“Right.”

“We’ll be there in six hours.”

“It’s an eight hour drive!”

“I said six hours!”

“STANL-” But Stan hung up the phone.

Stan hurried up to his attic bedroom and dressed in his baby-blue Hawaiian shirt and slacks, while also grabbing a suitcase he’s had ready all week, prepared to stay as long as Alex and Dana needed him.

He ran back downstairs with suitcase in hand, with Ford by the door, and they sprinted into the Stanmobile and drove down the road.

~~~~~~~~~~

Shermie was waiting for them in the hall, beaming with joy, and his little brothers ran to him for a tackle-hug.

“Good to see you, Grandpa!”

“Congratulations, Shermie!”

“Thank you, thank you!”

“Did we miss it?!” Stan asked. “Has it happened yet?!”

Shermie grinned and nodded. “Yes, everyone is safe and fine.” And he opened the door.

The aged explorers beamed (and no, they weren’t crying) to find Alex holding one baby and Dana holding another baby. The eldest pair of twins high-sixed and cheered and then gently approached the little ones, beaming down at them.

It was like they had been holding their breath for twenty years, and now they could finally breathe.

“What are their names?” Ford asked quietly, seeing how each newborn was sleeping soundly.

“This is Mabel,” Alex introduced, giving the bundle to Stan.

“And this is Mason.” Dana said tiredly, giving her son to Ford to hold.

Stan and Ford were a bit concerned with the name change, but one look at the baby boy relaxed them. Of course a name like Dipper was a nickname.

“Matching names, huh?” Stan asked cheekily, cradling Mabel and looking down at her with shining brown eyes.

“We couldn’t help ourselves.” Alex chuckled.

Ford’s eyes were glued to Mason. While of course he had been dying to see Mabel again, he had also been excited to meet his science-loving nephew. He was so cute and small in his polydactyl hands and Ford knew it would take a lot more strength than what he had to let him go.

The author tore his eyes away to see his twin looking down at Mabel with tears in his eyes, holding her close to his heart and trying really hard to hold it together, but his joy and peace was far stronger than any bad habits that stopped him from showing his emotions. Stan lightly kissed Mabel’s cheek and Ford saw his lips barely move, though he didn’t hear what he said. Which was fine by him. Ford smiled back down at Mason, finally content.

No one heard him say it, thank Moses, but Stan couldn’t help himself. He had whispered to his niece as quiet as a mouse, “I’ve missed you, pumpkin.”

And finally, after all these years, the small hole in the boys’ hearts could be filled.

THE END!

#GF #gravity falls #gravity falls au #timestuck au #fanfiction #stangst #thank you guys SO much for reading!#im sorry i hurt you last chapter #hopefully this makes up for it ^^;#august 31st

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spunkpunx · 3 years

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Say You Love Me - Jimmy Darling

Plot: Reader is heartbroken when she hears Jimmy has lost his hands, but when they're replaced he decides to make up for lost time

Word count: 3105

Warnings: Smut, Smoking, Mild violence

The words hit me like a ton of bricks when Dell brought the news. Jimmy's hands were gone. My Jimmy's hands were gone. Taken. That no good piece of shit Richard Spencer and his lies. I couldn't believe Elsa had fallen for his bollocks, but I supposed that was his game. The rest of the freaks stood in shock.

"Oh no, not Jimmy!" Ima cried over dramatically. I felt my blood boil. My skin crawled as she wailed. I felt my ears burn up with my rage. She'd been here not five minutes and here she was, caterwauling over what they had done to him. I couldn't out loud admit what I felt about Jimmy, but I sure as hell could let it be known how I felt about her. I ran at her and swung one hard punch to the side of her head. The force did not knock her over, but the shock certainly did.

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" I spat out the words repeatedly as I continued to hit her face and chest once she had fallen. I felt my eyes prick as I screamed at her, before Paul and Eve pulled me away. The second the anger cleared I collapsed in tears. Penny came over to me as Eve followed Dell out the tent. She held me tight as I sobbed into her chest. Ima was taken out the tent, bloodied and bruised and sniveling. I lifted my head only to spit in her direction.

"Shh, shh," Penny cooed, stroking my hair.

"What have they done to him?" I whimpered, my voice coming out far more feeble and cracked then I had ever heard it. "How's he going to survive in there without his hands?"

"I don't know," Penny told me, honestly. "I'm sure he'll find a way."

She took me back to my caravan and I poured myself a drink. I pulled an ashtray out the cupboard and lit a cigarette.

"You don't have to watch over me Penny. I'm sure you probably best go check on your man."

"I don't want to leave you like this," she admitted, sat delicately on the edge of my bed. She was still so beautiful, despite the lizard tattoo, and so kind as well. I couldn't bear to be around anyone at the minute though.

"I'll be fine," I told her softly, but when she didn't move I snapped at her. "Piss off! I don't want you here!" I hadn't meant to be so harsh, but she gathered herself up and left. I knocked back my drink in one. It burned my eyes and stung my throat but I hoped for my own sake it would help me sleep.

I went through more alcohol and more cigarettes. My ashtray overflowed. My head was spinning as I reached toward the bottom of the bottle. With my head heavy I fell over into my bed and pulled the covers round myself, only bothering to clumsily remove my shoes before shutting my eyes tight and trying to forget my thoughts. I lay there, my mind playing a reel of horrors of what could have happened to Jimmy. I pictured him beaten in a jail cell, battered to death like Meep was, or sat in despair at his own situation. I knew he couldn't have killed those women, even if he didn't, because he was here in this caravan when it happened. I knotted my fingers into my hair, reeling drunk. I was just as bad as he had been.

I eventually passed out, but kept waking, sweaty and restless after nightmares. At one point my stomach turned and I chugged up my guts off the side of my bed. I rolled back over after that and caught half an hours rest before I woke again. The night went on like that until the sun rose and Eve came in to get me up.

"Oh sweetheart," she muttered upon seeing my sorry state. She delicately picked her way to the bed past the vomit and brought me out of bed to go sit on the seat I had. I blubbered pathetically while she tossed a towel over my mess and brought me a glass of water. I was still slightly drunk, but tried to be as co-operative as possible. Eve sat next to me, pulling me in for a hug while I continued to feel like a maudlin burden on her. She took me over to have breakfast with the others, and I hiccuped my way through some bread and butter, as everyone threw pitiful stares my way. I began to sober up.

"I'm sorry, Eve. I'm sorry I'm so useless."

"Don't be silly, come with me," she directed, taking my hand and leading me away from the show ground. As we walked further away I wiped my eyes with my sleeve.

"It's awful nice of you to try cheer me up but I'd rather not go anywhere," I told Eve, following her through the undergrowth. We passed the spot where Ethel had ended her life, which brought back more memories of how Jimmy had been after she passed. My eyes welled, but I tried hard to keep it suppressed. I didn't want anyone to think I was being such a pathetic mess over Jimmy Darling. I didn't want to be another of the freaks that he's fucked and now loves him.

"It's Elsa who said you ought to come here," Eve explained. It was probably her plan to distract me from my wallowing, or punish me for what I did to Ima. I expected hard labour ahead of me. We reached a small barn with the doors locked. Eve produced a key, unlocking the chains. "Now listen. Elsa says its your job to look after him," she instructed pulling the door open to let me see inside. It took me a minute to realise there was a bed, a bed and a familiar face.

"Jimmy!" I gasped, rushing to his side. I burst into tears again, this time from pure relief. "Oh baby your hands!"

By his side lay two bloodied stumps wrapped in bandage. His eyes filled with tears when he looked at me.

"Princess I haven't ever seen you cry before," he told me lightheartedly, but his voice cracked and he wept. I placed my hand on his face and he leaned into my touch as I wiped his tear with my thumb. I turned back to give Eve a thank you but she had left. I turned to Jimmy.

"I thought you were gonna be gone forever," I told him, sniffling.

"Me too baby." I bent down and pressed my lips down against his. We shared a salty kiss. I felt him flinch hard and cut off the kiss when he lifted his arm hold me. He immediately broke down in tears again. "I'm never going to be able to hold you again," he whimpered, and I sensed that there was certainly more to it than that. It stung to see him in such a sorry state.

"Oh Jimmy don't upset yourself," I tried to comfort him. "I have to change your bandages. Okay?" He shook his head. "I let you do it for me," I reminded him.

"Well you have no fucking idea how much it hurts," he snapped. I understood his frustration, but I couldn't help but pull away, hurt. His eyes softened. "I'm sorry (y/n), I just... I just don't know what I'm gonna do."

"Hold, still." I ran my hand down his arm slowly until I reached the bandage trying to cause minimum pain. I unwrapped it slowly, Jimmy putting on a brave face. As I pulled the bloodied part away from his wound he flinched and gritted his teeth. "This is really gonna sting," I warned as I poured alcohol onto cotton to clean his injury. He bit down on his pillow and nodded for me to go ahead. I wiped it as gently as I could and tried to ignore his muffled howl. "I'm sorry." He let the pillow from his teeth.

"You have nothing to be sorry about, doll," he assured, breathless from pain. I took his stump in my hands, wrapping it in bandage.

"I tried to tell the police it wasn't you, but they wouldn't listen."

"It might have been me, I was there, I was blind drunk."

"It wasn't, Jimmy. You were in my caravan. You said you loved me."

"I do." He looked at me sincerely. I avoided his eye, focusing my attention back to binding up his arm.

"You don't Jimmy, you love Maggie, you only wanted me because you were scared she might leave you and you thought I wouldn't." I sighed.

"That's not true, I kept coming back because I love you." Tears pricked my eyes again. He probably thought Maggie had left and was settling for me. I tied off the bandage and he raised his arm up to my face, sucking in his breath sharply as his stump brushed my cheek. "And you love me too."

"No, I don't," I lied. He watched me, his stare breaking me apart like it always had.

"Paul came by before you. I haven't seen you cry once before, (y/n), but he said you have been tearful all morning. He also told me about Ima," he teased, smugly. I didn't know it was possible to sound both so weak and so smug at the same time.

"I was worried, it doesn't mean-"

"Please just tell me it does. Just tell me you love me, it's all I ever wanted to hear." I let out a breath I never realised I was holding.

"I love you, Jimmy Darling." He smiled at me. I reached into my jacket pocket, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it before taking a few draws. I put it between his lips for him so he could take a puff.

"Look at me," he complained. "Can't even hold my own cigarette."

"Hush now Jimmy. Things will take time," I reassured him, to little effect. We shared the rest of the cigarette and I moved round to change the bandage on the other side. Jimmy didn't speak until I'd finished and stood up to leave.

"Thank you, (y/n)," he said sincerely. I went back to his bedside, leaned down a pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.

"I'll be here to change your bandages again tomorrow," I told him softly.

Although Elsa had not left, she had still sold the show to Chester, who although had a definite screw loose, seemed harmless enough. He was bright, chirpy and certainly not bossy. His odd qualities only came from the wooden ventriloquist doll he was so attached to. The twins seemed quite smitten with him, and, if I didn't know any better, I'd say they were screwing him.

I was civil with Maggie after her trickery, especially knowing how difficult the world could be, but Jimmy had far from forgiven her. This was a hard situation to negotiate. She had asked about him, and I knew she cared, but Jimmy was set in his hatred of her. It was hard to sympathise with a woman who had been part in a scheme resulting in the death of Ma Petite and the loss of Jimmy's hands. For the most part I told the truth. Jimmy was not going to soften any time soon.

I apologised to Ima too, hard as it was. She didn't really take my apology, but it hardly bothered me. It was mainly for the sake of the others, and to keep the peace.

That night, Dell was shot. He, it turned out, had been the one to kill Ma Petite. I felt bad for his death. As shitty as his actions were, I always felt he was trying his hardest for a better life. Still, killing another freak was unforgivable, and Ma Petite was innocence itself. It was my job to deliver the news to Jimmy, which was horrible.

"He was my father!"

"I know Jimmy! I'm sorry!"

"Don't you dare start apologising for those murderers, (y/n)!"

"Jimmy he killed Ma Petite!" I ended up snapping. "He killed an innocent and he paid the price." Jimmy broke down into tears again, and I ended up wrapping my arms around him.

"I'm losing everything."

"Come on, baby. It hurts to see you cry so much," I mumbled into his neck. He sobbed into my shoulder.

"Don't ever leave me (y/n). Don't ever break my heart.”

The day Jimmy's hands were ready was the happiest I had seen him in months. I came into the barn again to see him, when I spotted him sat on the bed. The moment he saw me he stood up and rushed toward me. I opened my arms to him and he caught me in his grasp, lifting me off my toes. He kissed me, properly. His dark eyes seemed full of hope. I took his arms from around me and held one of his new hands in mine. Mr. Dolcefino had created perfect wooden hands, still with Jimmy's finger shapes. They were works of art.

"They're beautiful, baby," I told him, smiling.

"They ain't half as functional as they were, but my hands have never looked so good."

"Your hands always looked good." I kissed him again, harder this time. He pulled me flush against him.

"It kills me I can't touch you the same baby," he told me, running his wrists down my side in place of his hands.

"I don't care, Jimmy. I love you," I said, and it was the first time I'd said it since he asked me to. He pulled me in again for another kiss, slipping his tongue into my mouth and pushing the backs of my knees against the bed. "Easy tiger," I teased.

"I haven't held you in so long (y/n)," he replied, pushing himself even closer to me, my body flush with his own. I felt him, hard against my thigh. I kissed him again, hard, and let him push me onto the bed, his own weight on top of mine. He began to nip at my neck, and I sighed contentedly. He went to cup my breast with his hand, but came short when he realised his hands could not move the same, could not feel. "Baby, I'm sorry," he apologised, sitting up on his knees and pulling away. I sat up with him and put my hands around his neck, fiddling with the hair at its nape.

"You aren't giving up that easy are you?" I jibed. "After all, you have a mouth in perfect working order." He grinned at me, pulling me into another hungry kiss. He nibbled down my neck again.

"I'm afraid you're going to have to undress yourself, doll." I did as instructed, pulling my jumper over my head while Jimmy watched. He returned to kissing my collarbone as I undid my bra. His kisses travelled over my breasts, wooden hand against my side. He kissed along my chest, eventually moving to take one of my nipples in his mouth, swirling his tongue over it as I sighed. He bit down on it and I yelped, scolding him lightly by giving him a little slap on the arm. He grinned again at my reaction, before kissing his way down my sternum. He stopped for a second, giving me an opportunity to pull my trousers off for him. I went to pull my underwear down but he stopped me, instead using his teeth to pull them down and bringing them the rest of the way with his prosthetic. I laughed at his actions, until he buried his face into my heat, licking over my clit again and again. I felt myself get quickly wetter as he flicked his tongue up my slit. His attention went back to my clit, circling it as I dug my fingers into his hair, pulling at it and moaning as I did. I felt my cheeks flush when he came back up the bed to kiss me again, my taste still on his lips. "I'm feeling a little uncomfortable in these pants, do you think you can help doll?" he asked. I happily obliged.

"Of course baby." I pulled his shirt of his shoulders slowly, the removed his vest, taking my time to run my hands all across his chest and take it all in again. I ran my hand over his stomach and reached to palm him through his trousers. He groaned and closed his eyes. Then I took off the trousers, getting him to sit up in order to help me. I could see the shame in his eyes so as soon as they were off I kissed him hard and put my hands into his pants, stroking his cock. He let out the most delicious moan into the kiss. After a minute of this we were both desperate for it so I bit his earlobe and pulled his cock out of his pants, guiding it to the right place. He pushed into me slowly.

"Fuck," he swore, before capturing my mouth with his and thrusting again. I let out another moan into his mouth as he bit down hard on my lip. He pressed wet kisses into my neck, speeding up his thrusts with considerable lack of control. It had been a while since we had sex, so the desperation in his movements was very apparent. He let out the most beautiful gasps and moans, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, tangling my fingers into his hair as he continued to nip and suck at my collarbone. I tugged at his brown curls and he groaned breathily. He recaptured my lips in his own and I let out a moan as he pushed deeper into me.

"Jimmy," I panted into his ear, before pulling on his earlobe with my teeth. He let out what was almost a growl and fucked me even harder. I felt myself drawing closer to finishing and let out a desperate string of swears.

“Come on, baby doll, fuckin finish for me,” Jimmy murmured deeply, kissing along my jaw and neck before biting down on my collarbone. I let out a gasp as I felt a wave of pleasure over me, clenching around him and digging my nails into his back. He kept going, his thrusts sloppy, coaxing me through my orgasm until a faltering moan fell from his lips and he pulled out, spilling his load onto my stomach. He lay on top of me, spent, and I pulled my fingers through his hair, running my nails against his scalp.

“You really love me?” I asked, as his hot breath brushed my neck. Before he answered he pressed soft kisses against my shoulder.

“Of course I do, doll face.”

#jimmy darling #jimmy darling smut #jimmy darling x reader #ahs smut #ahs freakshow #ahs x reader #evan peters #evan peters x reader #american horror story

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palbabor-writes · 3 years

Text

Unknown.

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x puppy!girl OC

For: @kazooli

Warnings: sex pollen, tw.dubcon, tw.unbalanced relationship, tw.blood/gore, unrequited feelings, puppy!reader, established OC, NSFW/18+only

Word Count: 3681

Notes: the is part of the Evil Exchange! i had a lot of fun with this concept & am so glad i got to take part! this fic does have an established OC & while she is not named, she does have physical descriptions that are not neutral.

[ 2:15 am, Monday morning ]

He shouldn’t have taken you along. You don’t belong here.

Your quirk isn’t equipped to deal with something like this [ or is it perfect? since all of your senses are acutely attuned to him, your lips open, tongue heavy between your teeth, drool pooling under your jaw and down your neck, your eyes gleaming with an unnatural sheen as you try to hump against his leg like a bitch in heat ] and you have little in the way of melee attacks, or a true defense. No, all you have is your pretty blonde hair, floppy ears that prick each time you hear him, and that incessantly wagging tail that sticks out from your pert little ass, like a goddamn antenna. You’re absolutely too pure for this, too fucking saccharine, and too damn nice to be here.

Fuck. This was a mistake.

[ 72 hours before the mission ]

“It’s in that old warehouse, the one by the docks.”

“Which one? The images that we have show multiple buildings.”

“The fuck do I know? You only wanted me to ask around about the place. If you wanted me to do the damn job for you, you should have said.”

Shigaraki narrows his eyes at Dabi’s hunched back, doing his best to remind himself that they’re already low on funds, on members, and they can’t afford to lose anything else. Not now, when they’re literally scraping along the bottom of the barrel, yanking out whatever dregs they can find and trying desperately to make them stick.

“Did they give you a time?”

“For the exchange? Yeah, said they’re gonna be down there around 1am.”

“And the date?”

“Date?” Dabi questions, whipping his dark head back to Shigaraki’s impassive face, arching one dark brow.

“Yeah,” Shigaraki intones, a half concealed snarl lifting his cracked lips. “The date for when this is all going to take place. We can’t send someone down there every night, hoping it’s the correct time. They’ll be noticed.”

“Said they wanted it to be this Monday, something about shelf life. Apparently this shit is better when it’s fresh. Sells quicker, is more effective.”

“How much did they agree to hand over?”

“Fucking–look man, I didn’t grab a cup of coffee with them, or ask if they wanted to go get some lunch. I told them our terms, they agreed and gave me the location, ‘date’ and time. What did you want me to do? Paint their nails? Suck em’ off? If you’re wanting to get into the drug trade, maybe ask a few more questions yourself. Not leave them to middlemen. You act like you wanna be a leader, so fucking act like–”

A quiet knocking breaks Dabi’s tirade and both men turn toward the closed door.

“What?” Shigaraki snaps, raising a hand to his neck, scritching his long nails against the scars that he finds. It’s a shitty habit, and he knows it gives his agitation away, but he doesn’t care. The sooner Dabi loses his temper and fucks back off to the streets, the better.

The door creaks open and your golden head pops around the corner, hair falling into the empty air as your dog like ears waggle, listening, testing the safety of the room. Your eyes shift from Dabi’s bristled form to Shigaraki and the moment they alight on his stony expression, you smile.

“M-mister Tomura, um, the others… well, we were talking and heard Dabi shouting… uh, they… I mean… I was wondering if you’ve assigned anyone to the new mission? The one you mentioned the other day?”

Dabi snorts and you toss his lanky frame a glare, ears flattening along the side of your head. “Yeah, I bet you wanna know who’s going with Mister Tomura. Got news for you girly, it’s prolly not gonna be you.”

Your quivering pink lips are about to form a retort when Shigaraki’s voice croaks out. “Enough. Tell the others we’ll discuss this later. Dabi, don’t you have some recruits that you’re supposed to show me?”

The flame user waves a lackadaisical hand and stands, inky head cocked toward your pouting face, letting his sharp gaze linger against your angry expression. “Soon boss. Told you already, quality takes time. Not that you know that, since all you seem to attract is freaks, like this one.”

[ 21 hours before the mission ]

“You’re really taking her?” Toga asks, twirling a small knife between her splayed fingers. “I mean, isn’t she kinda lacking in… experience?”

“She’s the only one who can smell out any fakes. I don’t trust these guys. They might try to offload a lower grade product to us.” Shigaraki explains, tucking the battered case of quirk destroying bullets back into his jacket pocket. In the last 24 hours things have gone from bad to worse, what with the news that Twice couldn’t replicate the serum, and the potential, permanent loss of Kurogiri. He’s not about to add double crossed by some two bit drug dealers to that list.

“You want me to give her some weapons? A knife or something? I’ve got plenty of extra. Can’t ever have too many and besides, I like her. And I know she’ll bring them back, safe and sound. She’s such an obedient girl.”

Obedient.

That’s an apt word for you. Maybe it’s an after effect of your quirk, or the puppy-like way you act around him [ with that permanently blissed out smile and thumping tail of yours ] but your swift, unquestioning compliance always makes him think of an over eager pet.

“She’s malleable, and that’s what I need on this mission.”

“Ah! You saying I wouldn’t be?”

“Tch. You wouldn’t even try.”

[ 7 hours before the mission ]

He’s taking you.

It hadn’t been some kind of dream, he’d really shown up in your doorway, with his red eyes glowing in the low light, his sharp jaw tensed, and told you that you’d be accompanying him. Just you and him, together, alone, on a mission where he’d need to rely on you. Could trust you, would talk with you.

As soon as he left, you’d flopped back against the ratty mattress that sat in the middle of your room, trembling fingers already shoving the elastic lining of your shorts down, letting you thumb a quick circle over your throbbing, distended clit. In seconds you’re leaking all over your hand, mind whirring, picturing how he’ll look as he walks beside you, listening for the bite of his voice, imagining him telling you what a good girl you are. He’ll be so pleased, so happy with you. Oh, the things he’ll say to you.

Look at you, you did so well.

Thank you. Thank you for coming on this with me.

I can’t wait to take you [ bend you over and ] with me again.

I can’t wait to [ fuck your little pussy until you’re screaming for me ] get you home safely.

You did such a good job.

I wouldn’t have [ until you’re cumming all over my cock ] been able to do it without you.

You’d make the perfect apprentice, you know?

You really [ such a greedy little bitch ] would.

You’re perfect [ look at how you’re taking me. i’m gonna fuck you stupid, you dirty slut ] and I’m happy that you’re here with me.

That I found you.

Your release builds swiftly. Making your feathery tail ripple over the tattered sheets and your ears tremble in the chilly air. You feel you’re catching alight. It’s too much, and you hate that you’re not taking your time, but you can’t hear his voice as well now.

The memory of it is fading as Mister Tomura pads away from you, down the long hallway that leads to his room.

You remind yourself to listen more, as your fingers pinch and twist at your shuddering clit, to memorize every detail of him. You want to see him every time you close your eyelids and be able to picture him again each morning. To wash yourself in that hazy vermillion of his eyes and the timbre of his voice.

It’s too soon, but your toes are already curling, your back is arching, welcoming the rush of wetness that slips between your shaking thighs. You feel lightheaded, but your dulled senses does nothing to mask the giddiness that keeps bubbling its way out of your chest.

Tomorrow. Mister Tomura is taking you with him tomorrow.

[ Mission begins: 1 am, Monday morning ]

“Um, Mister Tomura… do you want me to go in first? That way you can–”

“No, they know I’m coming.”

“Oooh! So there’s no need for surprise!”

“Correct.”

The dark buildings along the wharf are slowly peeking into view and Shigaraki peers over at your grinning face, his red eyes watchful under the dark hood of his jacket. You look happy, a little too happy. You’re the best choice for this mission, but he can’t shake that uneasy feeling that keeps nagging at the back of his mind.

Eager is one thing, but you’re practically vibrating with excitement. That tail of yours won’t stop lashing back and forth and each time he sees your ears twitch and your head snap up to his, he’s reminded that you’ll need to be looked after on this. Unlike the others, you don’t have an affinity for combat or a quirk that gives you any kind of advantage in a fight. Nevertheless, you’re a member of the league and that connection affords you certain privileges.

Unless he has no other option, he won’t abandon you.

As the two of you step toward the fifth warehouse, you lean closer to him, your shoulder brushing against his obsidian jacket, a quiet huff of air falling from your parted lips. “This is it,” you tell him, mismatched eyes blinking up at his impassive expression.

When he says good, you almost snatch at his arm, and you try to hold back your panting breaths, to not let them slip out, but you know he can see, he can tell. He always can. You feel his sharp gaze passing over you, and sense his blistering annoyance when you subconsciously lean into him a little harder, rubbing your clothed shoulder against his.

“You ready Mister Tomura?” The question leaves you on a whisper and you bite your lower lip into your mouth, wanting him to say yes, wanting him to tell you what a good job you’ve done, finding the location like this. That he’s ready for anything as long as you’re by his side.

“Step back,” he murmurs, lifting three fingers to the door as he shoves it open, the metal wheels screeching into the static quiet of the night.

[ 1:45 am, Monday morning ]

“What’s wrong with her?” Shigaraki demands, releasing the throat of the leader of this de facto gang, sending him crashing across the grimy floor of the warehouse.

“I– koff, koff, I d-don’t… fucking know! She just… shit… sniffed the stuff and started shaking.”

“What’s in it? I’ll give you five seconds.” There’s no time for this and if you’re having some kind of reaction to the drugs, he’s honestly not sure what he’s going to do with you. A villain hospital is out of the question and sensei’s doctor can’t be located. Shit.

“It’s… it’s got some kinda quirk enhancing property… I don’t think that–”

“Five,” Shigaraki begins, stepping over the gristled remains of the others, his red shoes bright against the pools of darkening blood.

“What!? You can’t be serious! Look, man, I’m not the one who manufactured them! I–”

“Four.”

“Oh my God, oh m-my…. look, he said something about increasing the instincts. Making the user less–”

“Three.”

“Libido! It increases libido! I think… no! No! Please! Don’t you–Keep the fuck away from me, you freak! Don’t–I’m trying to tell you! Come on! Please! I don’t–”

Shigaraki lets the man struggle, watching his fruitless scramble across the floor; hands flapping against the gritty concrete with loud smacks, and feet slipping. He looks like a fish on a line.

“None of those things let me know what’s in the drug,” he informs his prey, blood slicked shoes stepping down, trapping the man under his heel, halting his frantic motions.

“That’s not… not… Y-you said you’d give me until five?”

“Did I?” Shigaraki asks, a wide grin cracking over his face, one hand lowering, fingers splayed, reaching. “Looks like I lied.”

The man’s shrieks quickly turn into deep throated garbles as the decay of Shigaraki’s quirk races up his body, reducing him to a mass of shattered bones, hollowed teeth and gushing ichor. Pity, Shigaraki thinks, wiping his bloodied hand against his dark pants and twisting back to your trembling form.

You’re whimpering, your voice catching as you try to gulp down a few breaths and your tail is flat, its usual golden hanging lusterless in the darkness. When he steps closer, your head lifts and he can see the hopeful prick of your floppy ears. Your cheeks and the line of your neck are flushed, creating a burst of dusty pink that blends perfectly with your flaxen hair. You look like a doll, tiny and shivering in the cold, your puppy-like features wilted under the weight of the drug that’s coursing through your bloodstream.

“M-Mister T-T-T-omura,” you whine, one hand lifting, straining for him. “I-I feel… I feel… hot. It… it’s too warm. I think I’m… I don’t know if… if I–”

“Can you walk?” He cuts right to the chase, not liking that shimmering line of desperation that’s laced within your words. You look like you’re about to fall to pieces, but he needs more information. He can’t help you, he reasons, pushing down that inner voice that’s screaming for him to step away from your curled body, if he doesn’t know what’s wrong.

“D-dunno…” you stammer, licking your pastel tongue across your lips, making them slick, pouting them forward. “I don’t… I don’t feel so good.”

“I know,” he reminds you, kneeling in front of you, placing himself within your reach.

In hindsight, it was a stupid move. He knows better. It could have been avoided. He should have paid more attention, not underestimated your tenacity, your want.

Your fingers are under his shirt before he can blink, and before he can breathe, you’re coiling your way into his lap, forcing him to fall to the ground, pressing against him until he’s sure there’s nothing else of you he can hold. “M-Mister… please… p-please! Mister Tomura! Make it go away!”

He tries to shove you off, carefully lifting fingers away, pushing at you with eight digits, hoping you’ll stop squirming. But it doesn’t work and the wet lap of your tongue catches him utterly by surprise. He stiffens under you, his arms falling to his sides, neck rigid, vermillion eyes wide, but you don’t care.

Mister Tomura smells so nice this close.

It’s a musty scent, sticky and clammy, but oh, there’s something else under there. Something that makes you think of slickening skin, the rub of your fingers, and the tacky drip that sometimes falls from between your legs. It’s too much; it’s making you feel woozy and your hands shake as they reach for his face, but you want more. You need more.

“Is this ok? I-Is this alright Mister Tomura? Can I pet you? Please?”

There’s no reply. So you continue, lacing your hands into his pearlescent hair and lowering his lips to yours. He feels rough against your soft lips, so you dip your tongue out to loosen him up, poking until he gives you a halfhearted press, the hot exhale of his nose passing over your pink tinted cheek. “That’s right Mister,” you repeat, encouraging him to let you taste more, rutting your hips against the stiffened plane of his upper thigh. “Let me take care of you, Mister Tomura. Can I be your good girl? Hmm?”

When your fingers pad over his crotch, he groans and his back arches. You pull away, awed by his reaction, hoping he’ll be looking at you, imagining how pretty his eyes will look when they’re lit up with the want of you. But his head is turned and his jaw is set in a foreboding clench. “Mist–Mister Tomura?” you blurt out, hands grabbing at the sides of his face, forcing him back to you.

The dark look he fixes you with makes your heart pound and you can tell your tail is wagging furiously behind you. You like it when he looks at you like that. He likely thinks it’s cold, uncaring, but you know. You know the truth, that he wants you.

Everything inside of you is clattering, rattling at you, screaming out that he wants this.

“I see,” you begin, your hips picking up their pace, hoping he’ll let you slip your rapidly dampening pants off. “You want me too, right? You want me to help you with that.” Here you pause, lowering one hand to trace up the curve of his clothed cock, cupping at it until he’s gritting his teeth, showing you a bright line of white. “I can do that, Mister. I’ll do anything for you, anything. Just let me be your good girl, ‘kay?”

[ 2:24 am, Monday morning ]

He’s pushed you back, but not too far. Not far enough that your delicate toes can’t reach him.

It hadn’t taken much to work his black jeans open, just a quick flick of your wrist and a sharp tug and then there he was, his tip red, beads of pre-cum frothing against his slit, weeping downward. Delicious, is all that you could think, and your lips were around him before he could stutter forward. He makes the cutest sounds when he’s shoving past the ring of your mouth, but it’s gotta hurt his hands when he’s clawing them along the ground like that.

He should relax.

Once you’d worked him over, hungrily slathering over his dripping cock head, and greedily felt him pulse against the flat of your tongue, you’d shifted off of him. He gasped when you let go, and you thoroughly enjoyed the pop that all that wetness made in the still air.

When you slid your pants over the curve of your hips he’d stood, but maybe this drug had given you some kinda super strength besides that fire that was thrumming in your veins, because after you’d trapped him between your spread knees, he hadn’t struggled since.

Maybe he’ll like this? Or this?

It’s really just a guessing game now, and even though Mister Tomura isn’t the most enthusiastic player, he is a reactive one.

The mess of your saliva quickly lubricated the arch of your foot and his copious pre-cum and you run it up and down his straining length, pressing the other forward when you hear him grunting, his hips bucking upwards, helping you.

“You like this Mister Tomura?”

You’re still waiting on your good girl and you hope you’ll do something that ekes it from his clamped lips. But you can wait, after all Mister Tomura likes when you work hard, when you do your best for him.

He lets out a yelp when you speed up and you laugh, so happy that he’s happy.

[ 2:56 am, Monday morning ]

“Mister! Mister Tomura, please! It… ah… it hurts again. C-can you p-put it… mmm… in… inside me?”

It’s the third time you’ve asked him that question, but he’s not listening to you anymore. Instead, he’s shoving you down, lifting the round globes of your red smacked ass and tracing the heavy tip of his cock over your leaking slit. He presses forward and back, slicking himself with your milky release, tacking your arousal all over him. At some point, something broke within him and you’re still exalting in the heady feel of him over you.

“M-Mister Tomu–”

“Shut up. If you call me that one more time, I’ll stop right now. Just leave you here, naked, all alone and unprotected,” Shigaraki threatens, reaching around for your swollen clit and giving it a sharp pinch. You quake under his hands and he watches as your puppy ears fall and your tail brushes against his sweat slicked chest. “Imagine what would happen if someone came along and saw you like this? Saw you panting and humping the floor. You look like a fucking dog. Like some loose bitch who can’t think of anything other than the feel of someone’s dick. You want this? Huh?”

He grabs at your golden hair and pulls you upwards, forcing your spine into a u shape, watching as your tongue flops out of your mouth, as your drool falls down your chest. The tiny buds of your breasts do little to catch the saliva, so most fall on your trembling hands and you let out a piteous whine, hoping he’ll show you some mercy. Hoping he’ll fuck you until you can’t think.

“Answer me.” His voice is iron and you shudder, ass wiggling as you gasp out his name and a chorus of yeses. When his tip aligns with your entrance, it sends a jolt of electricity across your heated skin.

“Want me to call you a good girl?” he asks, pushing until his bulbous head is just tucked inside that first ring of pink muscle, grunting as you try to take him deeper, your cunt ravenously clamping around him.

“Y-yes! C-C-Call m-me that! T-Tell meee!”

“Then promise me you’ll never touch me again. Promise me you’ll never come near me. Tell me I’ll never have to look at that simpering face of yours and I’ll tell you what you want to hear.”

“B-But Mister… I mean… but… T-Tomu-Tomura. I-I can’t do that. I l-love you!”

“That’s too bad,” Shigaraki hums, jerking his hips forward, feeding you another tantalizing inch of his cock, watching as your viscid arousal gushes outward, coating the flesh of your inner thighs and staining his curled thatch of pubic hair.

“Because I don’t love you.”

#evil exchange #tw: blood #tw: gore #tw: dubcon #tw: unhealthy relationship #tw: unrequited feelings #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x oc #puppygirl #sex pollen #bnha smut #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki tomura #kazooli

271 notes · View notes

plant-flwrs · 4 years

Note

hi!! can i request a sad fred/george out past curfew after doing a prank or detention and they find (more like smell) the reader making sweets from the kitchens - he falls in love with her bc she helps him feel better and everything she does reminds him of home and his family 🥺 thank u!

sweet treats // george weasley

masterlist!

a/n: i love this request! it’s such a cute little blurb and idea and i hope i did it justice! i might even like ur request more than what i wrote 😳 n e way i hope u like it!!! thanks for requesting!!!

------

He knew the sound of his feet shuffling on the stone floor was audible, the risk of getting caught after curfew loomed over him like a rain cloud. It usually would have thrilled him, but right now he couldn’t feel anything besides paralyzing fear and worry.

It had only been a day since Ginny went missing, presumably taken into the Chamber of Secrets, and George was nauseated every minute since he found out. He hadn’t been able to sleep, and he didn’t think he would ever sleep again. His eyes felt heavy, but his mind whirled with every possibility of what was happening to Ginny. The entire castle felt different, every looming shadow felt like a threat, and every hidden passageway felt like a death trap.

He made sure to avoid all shadows, and walked cautiously in the center of the hallway. He hadn’t even bothered to take the map with him, deciding he didn’t care if Filch caught him.

He walked aimlessly. The only thing on his mind was Ginny. He felt his eyes watering, and didn’t bother to wipe the tears away.

He hadn’t known how long he had been out of bed for. He was nearing back to the common room, walking past the Great Hall. The massive doors were cracked open, and the dim light of a few candles shown through the small opening. George shuffled in, deciding to sit at the table for a minute. His eyes fell on the spot where Ginny had last sat for dinner, and his body felt weak. He sat there, where she had sat, and ran his hands over the wood. Tears fell from his eyes and onto the table. He looked up, glancing at the enchanted ceiling above him. The sky had clouded and the dazzling stars were barely noticeable.

Regaining some composure, he lifted himself from the bench. He then looked around, trying to find where the light was coming from. He noticed that the door leading down to the kitchens was ajar, light spilling from the entrance as it did the Great Hall. He walked over to the door, wiping his face of any tears. Pulling it open, he was rushed by the smell of pumpkin and baked goods. He looked over his shoulder, making sure no one saw him start down the stairs. He made one last effort to conceal the fact that he had been crying, bringing the neck of his sweatshirt up to wipe his face.

He pulled open the door to the kitchen, and the smell was stronger. It reminded him of a specific moment of his childhood. He had woken up in the middle of the night, feeling scared from a nightmare he had. He stumbled down the rickety stairs of his house, going to get a glass of water. There was candlelight illuminating the bottom of the stairs, and he followed the light. He turned the corner to see his mother pulling cookies from the oven. She turned to place them on the counter and nearly dropped them when she saw George watching her.

“Fred?” she narrowed her eyes, shaking her head, “George, what are you doing up?”

He shrugged, moving to sit at the table, “had a bad dream.”

His mother looked at him suspiciously, trying to decide if the mischievous boy was telling the truth. She saw the sweat stained brim of his shirt, his watery eyes, and his disheveled hair. She filled a glass with some milk and put a couple of cookies on a plate. She brought them over to George and sat next to him.

“It was just a dream, dear,” she said, placing a hand over his.

He drank the milk and ate a cookie, feeling very grateful for his mother’s cooking skills.

“I know, just scary, ‘s all,” George said.

“You’re alright now,” she smiled at her son, pulling his head to rest on her shoulder, “safe and sound.”

He leaned into her touch, still chewing on some of the cookie. His eyes felt heavy and he nearly fell asleep there, safe in his mother’s embrace.

Peeking into the Hogwarts kitchen, he was disappointed when he didn’t see his mother making cookies. Instead, he saw a girl from his year leaning over an old and tattered book, twirling her wand between her fingers. Bowls and utensils littered the counter around her, some flour and batter stained her pajama shirt.

You furrowed your brow, reading the cookbook intently. You were trying to figure out how much was too much pumpkin essence, always feeling tempted to add extra. You read your messy handwriting on the side of the page, a note you had left to yourself about not adding too much of the sweet ingredient.

George watched you brush some hair out of your face, leaving a trail of flour on your forehead. You moved back to a large bowl, opening a bottle in the shape of a pumpkin and pouring it generously into the bowl. You bit your lip in concentration, capping the bottle when you were done. He watched your eyes flicker to your wand before you picked up a wooden spoon, deciding to do it by hand. You stirred the mixture, and once you were satisfied, you ate a little bit off the spoon. Smiling to yourself, you reached for a pan across the counter. You applied some parchment paper and began to spoon on scoops of the mixture.

George was debating whether or not to go back upstairs. He would climb into the unfamiliar bed, try to fall asleep but be unable to, haunted with worry. He heard a noise from above him, and startled, opening the door to the kitchen and shutting t it behind him.

“Ah!” you yelped, dropping the wooden spoon with a clatter to the floor.

You stared at the boy, who had his back pressed against the door. He looked sad. Big, heavy, purple bags hung from under his eyes and his skin was ghostly pale. You recognized him to be one of the Weasley twins, and you narrowed your eyes at him, trying to figure out which one he was. You bent to pick up the spoon, meeting your eyes with his once you straightened. He began moving from the door, standing awkwardly behind the counter between you two.

“Hi,” you said, wiping your hands on a rag.

“Hi,” he said, his voice cracking.

He looked down at the floor, seeming to be embarrassed.

“What are you doing down here?” you asked him, putting the dirty spoon on the counter.

“I couldn’t sleep. I was walking around the castle when I smelled something down here,” he said, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his plaid pajama pants.

“Oh,” you replied, looking down at the mess you made in the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I was baking. I bake when I can’t sleep,” you smiled nervously at him, thinking he might find you odd.

He hadn’t found you odd. He smiled fondly, and nodded his head.

“Do you mind if I stay down here?” he asked.

“Not at all,” you responded, blushing from the way he smiled at you.

You took the spoon to the sink and washed it, bringing it back to the bowl. George sat at a small wooden table a few feet away, where he could still see you. The chair was far too small for his long body, and he realized it was because it was made for house elves. He watched you begin to scoop the batter again, the pan nearly full now.

“What are you making?” he asked.

“Pumpkin cookies,” you said, not looking up from your batter.

George smiled again, a small smile he couldn’t seem to wipe off. Moments ago he had been torn with worry, but now he felt strangely at peace with you in the kitchen.

Your face was illuminated by the candles on the counter, an orange glow warping your features. He thought you were very beautiful in the candle light and he felt very comforted just by your presence.

You could feel George’s eyes on you, but you didn’t mind. You could tell something was bothering him, and you had heard about what had happened to his sister. You felt terribly bad for all the Weasleys. You had seen the redheads moping in the halls, and many people in Gryffindor ties were crying in the halls.

You slid the cookies into the large oven by your feet, and looked at the clock to mark when they would be done. You wiped your hands on the rag, and picked up your wand. You moved all the dirty bowls and kitchen equipment to the large sink, where you then casted a charm to make them wash themselves. You looked at the kitchen one last time, feeling accomplished, and moved to sit with George.

You smiled widely at him, looking at his large legs bent awkwardly as he sat in the chair that was too small for him. You bent a little too, fitting into the chair easier than George did. You looked at him, his eyes cast down at his hands in his lap.

“Are you alright?” you asked.

His eyes met yours and his brow furrowed. His lips were pulled into a tight line.

“Not really,” he said, his voice weak.

“I’m sorry,” you hadn’t wanted to say what you were sorry for, in case he didn’t want to hear it.

He nodded appreciatively at you, and his eyes fell back down to his lap.

“I couldn’t sleep either,” you broke the silence, hoping that you could distract him from his thoughts.

He looked back up at you, interest piqued. He raised his eyebrows as if to ask you why, and you sighed.

“I’m feeling a bit homesick, I suppose. My mum wrote to me today and it made me miss her even more,” you said, bringing the letter from your pocket. You twisted it in your hands and placed it on the table. You had brought it down with you to read again while you ate the cookies.

“I guess I am too,” George said, looking back at the kitchen where you had been, “my mom bakes a lot. She’s a great baker.”

George seemed like he was trying not to cry, and you frowned at him. You reached forward and placed a comforting hand over his on the table.

“She sounds lovely,” you said.

He looked at your hands, swallowing back some tears. He ran his free hand through his hair, pushing it off his face. He turned his hand up so your palms were touching. He closed his hand around yours and squeezed it.

He looked up at you, meeting your concerned eyes with his sad ones. The two of you sat like that for a while, holding hands.

You eventually glanced at the clock, and felt glad to see that your cookies were just about done.

“The cookies should be done,” you said quietly, and the both of you retracted your hands.

George’s eyes followed you as you went to get the cookies. You waved your wand, and all of the now clean and dry dishes flew back to their right places. You levitated the pan from the oven, putting it to rest on the counter. You retrieved a large plate from a cabinet, and a spatula from a drawer. You dished the cookies onto the plate and got two glasses from another cabinet. You pulled open a fridge and got a jug of milk. George smiled fondly at you, his heart spinning in his chest.

You balance the plate on the inside of your arm, your hands full with two glasses of milk. You put one glass in front of George and the plate of cookies between you two. The room filled with the wonderful smell of pumpkin, and George felt at home.

The two of you ate cookies together, and you were able to make George laugh a few times. He felt better, he wasn’t consumed with thoughts about his sister, and he felt like he could actually get some sleep.

You put the remaining cookies in a container you had conjured, closing the lid and holding the box in your hands. You and George stood at the bottom of the stairs, about to walk back up.

“I’m glad I found you here,” George said, turning to you.

“Me too, I’m glad you came.”

He smiled and sighed heavily, his eyes feeling very heavy.

“You made me feel a lot better, and the cookies were delicious.”

“Here,” you moved the container into his bigger hands, “you can have them.”

You shifted, moving your cookbook to fill the space in your hands.

“Oh no,” he said, holding them back out to you, “you made them.”

You shook your head, refusing to take them back.

“Are you sure?” you nodded your head, “Alright, thanks.”

You smiled up at him, and he smiled back down at you.

The two of you walked wordlessly upstairs, and you walked George back to his common room. You faced each other one last time, still smiling.

“Goodnight, Y/n,” he said, his voice hushed.

“Goodnight,” you replied, and started walking to your own common room.

George watched you until you turned the corner, his only thoughts about you.

The next morning, George’s eyes felt heavy and swollen from lack of sleep and crying. He had felt happy for a moment when he first woke, his mind still occupied by you, until he saw Fred’s abandoned bed next to his.

He pulled the covers off of him and changed from his pajamas. He wore his Weasley family sweater, feeling awfully homesick.

The Gryffindor common room was eerily quiet. Everyone’s mouths were in downcast frowns, moping around like scared animals.

George couldn’t stand it; he had to get some fresh air. He passed his brother on the couch, leaning into Angelina’s comforting arm. Their eyes met and neither of them smiled.

George stuffed his cold hands into the pockets of his jeans. He looked at the cloudy sky, sitting at a bench in the courtyard. He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of a tin hitting the table in front of him. He looked towards the noise and saw you. You had put a tin full of assorted cookies on the table. You were wrapped in a scarf with your house colors on it, the tip of your nose pink.

“Hi, George,” you said, moving to sit across from him.

“Hi,” he smiled, relieved to see you again.

“I made these this morning, and I know it’s early, and you just had some yesterday,” you rambled, and George found it adorable, “but you looked like you could use some more.”

He looked at you, eyes full of adoration. He nodded happily, picking a cookie up and taking a large bite. His eyes closed in euphoria, appreciating how good of a baker you were.

“These are really good, thank you,” he said, taking another.

“No problem,” you said, pushing the tin forwards.

“Do you feel better?” he asked.

“Me? Oh, yeah,” you replied, smiling bashfully at him, happy to know he remembered what you said the night before.

“Good,” he said, smiling at the blush on your cheeks.

“What about you? You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want,” you told him, lowering your voice to a serious and comforting tone.

“I’m just worried, you know?” George said, his expression saddening at the thought of Ginny.

“I know, but I’m sure she’ll be fine, really,” you said, bringing your hand to cover his again. He smiled at them, turning his palm like he did last night and holding your hand.

“I hope so,” he said, squeezing your hand.

George and Fred left the infirmary, saying goodbye to their parents as the adults went to Dumbledore’s office. They began the walk to their common room, finally feeling a release from their shoulders. They had seen Ginny safe and sound, a bit torn up, but safe. Just as Fred said the password to the portrait, George realized there was only one person he wanted to see, and you weren’t in the Gryffindor common room.

He told Fred he had to go, and broke off into a run. He ran down the stairs, taking them by two, and his long legs carried him through the halls. He ran through the doors of the great hall and down the stairs to the kitchens.

He found you there, putting icing on a beautiful cake. You eyes shot up at him, and you smiled,

“George? What are you doing down here?” you asked, and he walked towards you.

“I had to see you, I had to tell you; they found Ginny,” he said, and he was breathing heavily. He couldn’t tell if it was from running or from being so close to you.

His face was inches away from yours, and his hands gripped your shoulders.

“Oh! That’s great, I’m so glad!” you said, dropping your icing spatula and embracing George.

He wrapped his arms around you, breathing in the smell of freshly baked cake. He pulled you away from his chest, bringing his hands up to cup your cheeks. You stared at him, and he looked down at your lips.

He closed the distance and kissed you gently. He tasted the sweet icing on your tongue, and smiled a little. Your hands were messy, but you didn’t care. You ran your hands through his hair, letting your fingernails drag through the red locks. You both pulled away, out of breath. He smiled at your swollen lips, and you smiled at the icing you had just rubbed all over his face.

You pulled out of his embrace, reaching for the rag on the counter. You brought it to his face and wiped away the sugary substance. You both stood there, smiling senselessly at each other.

“I baked a cake,” you said, “now it’s a celebration cake.”

“Can I have some?”

“Of course,” you moved away, finishing the frosting and slicing a generous piece for George.

You watched him take a bite, his mouth turning into an even wider smile.

“It’s delicious.”

#harry potter #hogwarts #weasley fic #weasley twins #george weasley x y/n #george weasley imagine #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley fic #george weasley

423 notes · View notes

hooniee · 3 years

Text

— ꒰‧⁺ baking with jake*ೃ༄

↷ jake x reader ⋯ ♡ᵎ

↷ genre: fluff | romance⋯ ♡ᵎ

↷ warnings: none! ⋯ ♡ᵎ

♡ :: can i request a baking w/ jake??? hehe love ur writing lots!! the jungwon bakery one was really really cute! <3333 @chanlixed

⇢˚⋆ ✎ hello butterfly!! thank you so much for requesting and thank you for that🥺🤲🏻 i really appreacite and i’m glad you liked the jungwon bakery one🥺 i’m sorry for taking so long but i hope that you still enjoy this <333ˎˊ-

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*

baking with him at a bakery

“jake can you pass me the-”

“right here sunshine!”

you look at jake, granting you the sugar before you had even completed your sentence. jake was an attentive boyfriend who recognized what you need. smiling, you swiftly press a kiss on his cheek.

jake didn’t anticipate that as his cheeks bloom into a rosy glow, gazing at you with a giggle.

“do i get one every time that i get something right?’ he questions, taking the sugar bag out of your hands

of course, jake thrived on affection. once you give him a small kiss or hold his hand, it won’t stop.

“yes you do jake, but right now is not the time to think about that! the bakery is opening in an hour and we need to finish before manager yeji-”

“(y/n)! jake!” yeji screeches out

you both wince, turning around as the back kitchen had opened broadly. this wasn’t going to end well.

yeji was a stern manager. pleasant woman who was a bit older than you guys, but a tiger in the morning. you guys just played it off that she was just grouchy.

“yes manager?” jake squeaked out

you grab a hold of jake’s hand and he squeezes it gently.

yeji’s eyes narrow at you guys, skeptical when peering at the large metal bowl with ingredients that have hardly been blended.

“move,” yeji forces through, causing you and jake hands to leave each other. she looks down to the counter to see only 10 pastries made out of your typical 30.

you and jake brace for impact, preparing your ears for a noisy scolding.

she picks up the bowl and turns to you guys, which you guys shudder away. you nibble on your bottom lip and jake clears his throat.

“guys,” yeji sighs, setting the bowl down, “i know you guys are dating and it’s super cute to be lovey-dovey when working together but this is also a fast-paced job. i’m afraid i might have to fire you gu-”

“no ma’am! it was my fault, i wasn’t moving fast enough to help (y/n)-” jake replied to take the fall.

jake always wanted to take the fall for you and was always prepared to do so.

“no manager! it was me, i wasn’t paying that close attention to getting the batters mixed fast enough.”

but you weren’t having it. you needed to defend jake too.

“no! it was-”

yeji huffs, observing the young couple bicker of who’s fault it was. “young love” she thinks in her head

“alright, i believe it was both of you, okay? just please try to not get sidetracked to each other.”

you and jake both frantically nod. you had recently gotten this job together at the bakery since you loved to bake together. you noticed a flyer on your school bulletin and rushed to show jake.

jake would assist you when baking when you were at home and you decided that perhaps doing a bakery job together wouldn’t be bad at all.

and that was a close call to nearly getting fired as quickly as you got hired. jake lets out a sigh of relief and you sense your shoulder relax, as yeji proceeds back to the front.

she is one scary woman.

you put one hand on your hip and turn to face

you wagged your finger in front of jake’s face, “alright mr. sim, we need to focus”

jake tilts his head, an amused smile plays on his lips.

“mr.sim? okay, mrs.sim. before we start, i think we’re missing something,” he points to his lips, puckering them.

as much as he pesters you, you know you want it too, you roll your eyes but contributed, luring him into a delicate kiss.

“guys don’t for-” yeji opens the kitchen door to be welcomed with the display of you and jake.

uh oh

the bakery job was manageable

only four people worked during your shift

you, jake, yeji, and sunoo

you and jake made the pastries in the back kitchen

while sunoo and yeji handled the customers and served them

sunoo was the one who always shrieked when he discovered you and jake displaying any sort of affection, yeji shaking her head and trailing behind him

besides them being bothered when catching you guys locking lips, the four of you were close

sunoo had just graduated, meaning he gave you and jake all the tips on how to pass high school

"so if you don't know an answer on a test, just take a bandaid and write the answers on it. when it comes a time, just slowly open and close the bandaid when you need it-"

"sunoo what are you teaching them?"

"nothing yeji!"

yeji was the older sister to you and jake.

she was one year older than sunoo and was educated, opening this bakery by herself

yeah, she is terrifying at times but she adores you guys

she despised sunoo but always cooed at you and jake

"my precious babies, did you sleep well?"

"i slept very well, thank you for-"

"NOT YOU SUNOO"

jake and you enjoy working there

even if you get scolded for making out on break time </3

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*

baking with jake at home

"so what's our plan today baby?" jake chirped, fastening the strings of his apron on. you slip on your matching apron.

"let's just make some chocolate chip cookies," you grabbed the tray. you spray it with butter and lay a fresh sheet of parchment paper on it.

opening the cabinet, you grabbed all the ingredients you needed and a large pink bowl.

"what's with all of the stuff? aren't we just putting cookie dough on the tray and shoving it in the oven?" jake asks, checking the pink bowl and spatula.

"jake, have you ever seen me do that? you should know i make things all from scratch," you stifle a laugh, looking at his expression

"looks like i have to buckle in then"

baking with jake was a turmoil chaos

in all fairness, jake was a helpful person when you were in charge

supplying you the sugar, measuring the right quantity of flower, pouring a drop of oil when needed

but him being in charge?

not a good plan

jake knows how to make those simple 10 minute cookies that are frozen

you know? the frozen cookie dough that you have to smoosh out and set on a sheet

that’s jake’s idea of making cookies

but you enjoy making things from scratch (i know most people don’t so bare with me)

when you asked jake if he wanted to bake with you, he said he wanted to take the lead <33

and you were surprised but agree nonetheless

“alright, so where’s the cookie dough?”

“cookie dough? we don’t have any at home. why? are you craving some?”

“but how are we supposed to make cookies then?”

“oh baby, i make them all by scratch”

and jake had never regretted anything more in his life

preparing the batter was an even HARDER process

he kept glancing at you with his puppy eyes, pout on his lips

he was confused and kept asking you on repeat if this was enough or if it was even the correct ingredient

you nodded and kept a lookout over him

he was doing well so far and you decided it was okay to let him finish up the batter, without you watching him like a hawk.

you began to clean up the area so that you didn’t have to bother with that later

you take your eyes off of him for one second

and a tiny voice calls out to you

“um (y/n)”

when jake whispered your name, that meant something went wrong

you gradually turn around, hands soapy

jake was coated in flour </3

how does that even happen?

“my dear, lovely, jake, wha- no how?”

“wellididn’tmeantoutiacccidenltyputtheelectircmixeronahighsettinganditjustpuffedinmyface”

you sigh, cleaning the remains of soap off of your hands

“it’s okay, baby, just wipe off the flour and i’ll help you from here”

he nodded, still pouting

baking with jake

was an experience, to say the least

127 notes · View notes

westmoor · 3 years

Text

the ocean still roars

↞ ↞ | main post | ao3

(2.5k // tw: blood and violence)

When Jaskier left him on that mountain, something had shifted.

Geralt had found excuses for it at first. Told himself it was the sound or lack thereof; songs unsung, no lute strings plucked, no stories told or tangents pursued with details growing grander with each telling. That it was just the lingering smell fading over time, the perfumed oils and musk underneath, the trailing scent of herbs or flowers stooped for and picked on their way. Of dandelions in spring and apples in autumn, of wild berries and clovers at the height of summer.

But Jaskier had left before, too. Taken his voice and his scent and his lute with him, and it was not the same.

Something in the air had changed, its taste or its weight in his lungs. Colours looked strange to his eyes, like someone had changed their hue and no one else could tell. It was as though the world had tilted slightly on its axis, without proof or reason as to why.

Geralt found meaningful excuses for what he could and pinned his heart as the cause of the rest.

He still does.

But too much has happened since, too many solemn notes making his medallion tremble with the beat of the other’s heart to only blame his own.

There is a memory of lights in the forest and a woman in green, the taste of blood in his mouth and gentle hands turning his face to the sky, slipping from the grasp of his mind like fevered dreams.

At the bottom of his saddlebag, wrapped in cloth, is a broken silver bell.

He had hoped that the flicker of emotion that crossed the other man's face had been a sign that perhaps it could be fixed - that he’d be allowed near enough to start to chip away the wedge he had driven between them. That maybe, just maybe, his friend would walk back into his life and he’d be afforded a chance to make things right.

Most of that hope had gone down the storm drains by the time he made it back to Hagge.

Ever since waking up in his half-made camp beyond the forest's edge, head fuzzy and the taste of foreign magic on his tongue, news of his former travelling companion had dwindled. Jaskier hadn’t been there. He hadn’t been anywhere. No note or song, not even a rumour, not for weeks.

It seems that now, for the first time since the day a fresh-faced youth approached him in a tavern in a valley of flowers, the position in his life occupied by Jaskier the bard is truly vacant.

And still, he can’t give up.

He doesn’t know what Jaskier is, exactly, nor where, but he knows now there are places to look. In caverns and hollows where they first crawled into legend, glades and groves where their roots have grown deep with power and patience. Nooks and crannies where, with luck and circumstance, one can slip from this world into the one below.

He also knows that for whatever purpose, if they wish to find him, they will.

There are questions.

He doesn’t give a damn about the answers.

When it comes, it comes in the form of a guardsman with a debt to pay.

Odd things afoot, the man claims. A diseased harvest, unseasonably sour weather. Livestock acting strange and wildlife even stranger. And an overheard conversation in the next town over - word of a band of lawless men having captured the White Wolf’s companion.

If true, Geralt doubts they know what they have captured. In fairness, neither does he, but he knows this: They have his bard.

Geralt takes the bait.

No veiled pretense. No loosened horseshoes or impish little children, no stolen potions or fox tracks in the dirt.

He rides north toward the town in question, a hamlet nestled at the mouth of a river valley, along a road flanked by firs. The trees near the road are willowy and young, felled in rotation to keep the villages with firewood and kindling. But above, further up the slope of the mountain, they tower tall and dark against the afternoon sky.

His medallion stirs before they even leave the road.

He brings Roach as far as he deems safe, until the forest grows too dense to pass through with ease. Too far in and she’ll be more a hindrance than a help. He leaves her at the edge of a deertrodden glade, where the canopy opens enough to retain the light for a few more hours.

It’s a bit of a hike - needles of spruce and dead branches crunching underfoot, nothing to hear but the rustle of wind and birdsong, present but frantic in a way that sets his teeth on edge, as though they too can feel the thrum of foreboding reining him in - but eventually the trunks space out and give way to what seems to once have been a wide trail.

Years must’ve gone by since the last wagon passed this way, overtaken as it is by bushes and undergrowth. Life claws its way out of the grasp of barren darkness, to stretch its shrubs and saplings towards the sun.

There are no tracks but the ones behind him. He didn’t expect there to be.

It had been an outpost once, perched at a height to overlook wide open fields to the east and narrow passes to the north, sheltered from the west by the steep rise of the mountain proper.

Now it’s a derelict ruin, crumbling timber roof cast in shadow by the jagged rock face above. What had been a tidied yard for corralled horses and the loading of carts shrivels by the season as the forest eats its way closer, devouring fertile ground and reaching with many-fingered hands to a weathered tower hunched against the rock from which it once was built.

Standing in front of it, Geralt weighs his options.

It’s too quiet, too still, as though he stands at the shrine of a god he can’t name. Despite the open air and sinking sun, it feels enclosed. Walled in by trees as tall as city gates - their spiny crowns like battlements - the acrid scent of junipers is even thicker than it ought to be; the sound of the woods too uniform and dull.

On one hand, he has no hint, no proof, no true sign at all that the ramshackle structure hides what he seeks. On the other -

The hinges have rusted nearly solid, the frame warped by age and moisture, and he has to put the full force of his weight on it to shoulder it open.

His body blocks the light and when his eyes adjust, he is faced with a rough wall and a narrow walkway, moss creeping along the cracks between hewn stone. The air inside is as cold and damp as an earth cellar, except for the sour coniferous tinge prickling like needles at the back of his throat and burning his sinuses.

He rounds a corner and faces another door - this one slightly agape, tilting at a steep angle from its fastenings. Prying it open and sidling through, he scans another, longer hall, this one winding inwards to the mountain. It slams shut behind him and the world plunges into darkness.

And then it's blinding.

And then the scream.

Guttural and wild like a dying beast. Geralt is knocked back by the force of it, bile rising in his throat.

People never scream like that. In terror or pain, he never heard a human make a sound like that.

His heart knows the sound when his mind doesn’t.

There is a boy in a tavern and a man on a mountain and a creature in a clearing, and Jaskier was never human.

It rises and ricochets too loud in too small a space. Notes bend until they break, echoing and doubling back until he fears his skull might split.

Flashes of light and dark beating at his vision like frenzied wings, too quick to catch and too fast to adjust to. His eyes are burning with it and he screws them shut. Ears still ringing and he can’t see, can’t hear. He needs to get out, but he needs to find Jaskier.

Something scrapes against his shoulder like talons or teeth and he spins around, a lunge for his ankle nearly has him off his feet. When the walls prove too close for swords he pulls his hunting knife instead.

Fighting deaf and blind and hampered by the pounding in his head, there is still a weapon in his hand. He digs his heels in. Roots himself.

He finds his rhythm soon enough. The practiced ease of combat gives respite from his battered senses as he learns the pattern of his adversary.

There are noises around him, differing like voices, but melding together to a single mass of sound.

A shift in the order and a change of pace, his space is empty and he thinks his opponent has retreated - then a cry like a call of a name, and he adapts without thought. Rushing air and the warmt of a body provides direction; near-hits become deflections.

With a twist and a turn his blade hits home, sinking into solid flesh and grating against bone.

If life could give me one blessing -

Blood wells hot between his fingers and the feel of it, smell of it, is so close and so familiar -

Horror turns his gut.

- it would be to take you off my hands.

He can hardly hear himself shouting. Jaskier slumps against him.

Panic consumes the moment and the next, and he is staggering out into the fading light of day.

Jaskier's knees fold in the grass and Geralt follows him down, grappling at his shoulders, his clothes, anything to keep him righted and assess the damage he has done.

It’s a decent hit. Certain. Deep enough to stay embedded between his ribs. Had it been a contract -

He knows he’s talking, feels his mouth curl around Jaskier’s name, swearing, curses, promises he can’t keep - and all he can see is red, and tawny brown, and blue.

Jaskier is staring, silenced for once by shock and the fear rolling off him in waves. But when he is stopped from grabbing at the hilt of the knife to pull at it, he grasps for Geralt like a plea. Like he can save him, in spite of it all.

It can’t be real. He should wake in his camp, clouded and drained and relieved.

Pale silk drenches red, slow and steady, like ripples in a pond.

That fire in his eyes, lighting them like moonlight reflecting in a clear tarn, is burning white-hot, burning out. There’s no grounding but the shaking hands fisted in his shirt. He prays for that grip to stay firm.

He doesn’t know how this works, or if it works at all, but there is no choice but to try.

Geralt gathers him up, one arm below his shoulders and the other under his knees, and he runs.

It seems impossibly far. His own tracks through the grass make an even trail to follow. The forest passes in a blur.

At the sight of Roach, he grinds to a halt and lowers Jaskier to the ground as slowly as he can afford, ignoring the whimper in protest when he goes out of reach.

He ignores, too, the uncertain shift of his horse as he rifles through saddlebags without care for their contents, digging blindly under blankets and supplies for what has weighed on his mind for a month. And there, beyond a scrap of cloth wrapped around a warped piece of silver, his fingers find a bundle of twigs.

Rushing back and cradling his bard in his arms with as much gentleness as he can bear, he nearly hesitates, then. Jaskier is already too pale, life ebbing steadily out of him and this - this is a waste of time.

But the hilt of his own blade moves with each laboured breath and he’s not- he can’t- it can’t end like this. He curls his and around the knife, and braces for the strangled scream and struggle that comes.

Presses the handful of now-dried heather against the wound in Jaskier’s chest as he begs for whatever power, whatever luck or chance has followed them this far to take hold.

The prickly stems soak quickly, white flowers dyed red, then black, in seconds.

Willing his voice to some semblance of steadiness he taps a pale cheek, trying not to cringe at the cold creeping in.

“Jaskier.” He shakes the arm beneath his back to keep him waking, and is rewarded with a flicker of attention. “I need you to sing for me, lark. Can you do that?”

A grimace, or possibly a smile, sluggish and wan but he tries - the notes sound roughened in his throat, words garbled, more a mumble than a song but he tries.

The silver pendant between them quivers in response to each rising sound and for a moment, he hopes, maybe - but the heart beneath the press of his touch staggers on, rabbit-quick and panicked. Geralt can’t see his own hands for all that red.

There are lessons to this, ones imprinted in him since childhood, the cost of loving what is mortal. Reasons for tempering your heart, for why Witchers do not feel. None of them matter now.

In their place is a barrage of moments, fleeting glances, the hand at his elbow by instinct when he comes back weary and injured, half-formed melodies by dying fires hummed to no one in particular. The scent of camomile and lavender and ink, ringing laughter, the rustle of silk. The lightness of a pack with provisions just for one, the deafening silence of a thousand lonely mornings, the chill of a bed too narrow for two.

Jaskier’s voice dwindles and fades and he doesn’t know what to do, he does the only thing he can think of. He pulls him so close he fears his bones might break, and he kisses him.

It’s desperate and too forceful and wet with his own tears and Jaskier gasps for air against his lips, and it’s nothing like the stories.

And nothing happens.

“Please, Jaskier, I can’t -” he chokes out, and it’s all he can muster against the waves that clog and tear at his chest. “I can’t lose you. Not like this. Fuck, I wish I hadn’t let you go.”

There is a deep, ragged breath shaking the body in his arms. His medallion stills on its chain.

And then another breath.

And when Geralt forces his eyes open the ones that meet his gaze are wet and dull with pain, but awake and alive, blinking up at him with confusion and something like disbelief.

“Geralt?”

Something breaks in him, then. A wall or a barricade, something old and rigid, shatters like glass and he crumbles with it.

“I’m here,” he murmurs into Jaskier’s brow, and for now his world is only that: Hair tickling his nose. The smell of blood, still, but less bitter; tempered by earthy musk and summer flowers. Grass under his knees. Jaskier in his arms.

Breath against his neck, calmer, pained but not panicked. Stutters a few times, stops and starts before the words form softly to his collarbones. “Don’t let me go.”

“Never.” It’s barely a whisper, but he doubles down, makes it a promise. “Never.”

And the world tilts slightly on its axis.

--------

Tag list: @llamasdumpsterfire @stinastar @elliestormfound @love-more-today-than-yesterday @fontegagrilledcheese @geraskier-trashh

#geraskier #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher au #geralt #jaskier #*gestures vaguely*!jaskier #the witcher #the witcher fandom #creature!jaskier #inhuman!jaskier

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imthethot · 4 years

Text

Pancakes?

✧ Pairing: Jungkook/Reader

✧ Genre: The fluffiest of fluff

✧ Words: 1,307

✧ Summary: “You slept with my roommate who is notorious for one night stands, and now I’m meant to tell you that the reason you woke up alone is because she had to get to an early class. I should then proceed to get your phone number and tell you that she’ll call in a few days before binning it as soon as you leave, but I never do that so hi, sorry my roommates a jackass. Pancakes?”

✧ A/N: Lmao so like 4 years ago I posted this fic on a blog that doesn’t exist anymore, and I found it hidden in some old files on my laptop yesterday, so here’s a rewrite bc 16 year old me had no business trying to call herself a good writer

If your roommate was designating you as her ‘one-night stand wrangler’, she should at least have the decency to wait until eight thirty to wake you up.

Instead, you’re searching for wherever your phone found home in your sheets last night while answering the quiet two knocks at your bedroom door with a quick, “Yeah, what’s up?”

Your roommate peeks her head in and whispers, “Hey, so, I went out last night and brought a guy home, but I don’t want to-”

Grasping your phone from its hiding place (how did it even get that far under your side pillows?), you squint at the too bright screen and read the time. 7:15.

“Yeah, yeah. I know the drill,” you cut her off.

Glancing at her, you can see the relief on her face. She mutters a thank you before closing your door. The sound of your apartment door shutting follows very quickly after.

You heave a sigh, planting your face in your pillow before letting out a slow groan. You don’t even know why your roommate bothers asking anymore when the routine is like clockwork at this point. Regardless, you throw your covers off your body and get out of bed. You do a quick mirror glance to make sure you’re decent before leaving your room to head to the kitchen.

The clock above the stove tells you it’s 7:20 now, which most likely leaves you with a little over an hour before your roommate’s boy toy from last night emerges. It’s safe to say when he wakes, he’ll have one hell of a hangover, so you start a pot of coffee and grab two aspirin from your medicine cabinet.

Onto food now, you spare a glance in your pantry to spot a box of pancake mix. Almost at the same time, your stomach growls and it seems like your decision is made. Pancakes it is.

You quickly whip up the batter and start pouring it on a hot skillet when the coffee machine beeps to signal it’s finished. Grabbing a mug and filling it, you place the coffee and two aspirins on the counter in front of the stove. Not even a minute later, you hear your roommate’s door open and heavy steps coming towards the kitchen. You grant yourself a little smile while flipping the pancakes – your timing really is impeccable.

The boy from last night turns the corner into the kitchen, and suddenly this morning is different from the so many mornings previous. You actually know this guy. Well… sort of. You have a couple of classes together, but you’ve never spoken to him. Taking in the disheveled boy’s tousled hair and downturned lips, you have to hand it to your roommate – at least she has good taste in men. Your eyes meet his, and you give him a smile.

“Good morning! You probably had quite a bit to drink last night, so the coffee and aspirin are for you.”

The boys gives you a look before speaking.

“Thank you, but sorry I don’t remember you? I could have sworn you were someone else last night. Guess I did have a bit too much last night,” he laughs lightly.

You allow yourself a little laugh too before answering, “No you’re right. You came back with my roommate, not me. She’s a bit notorious for one-night stands, so now I’m supposed to tell you that she left because she has an early class. Then I’m supposed to get your phone number and promise you she’ll call in a few days before binning it as soon as you leave, but I never do that so hey, sorry my roommate’s a jackass. Pancakes?”

The boy – you really should know his name – looks a little bewildered, but you don’t pay it any mind. His reaction is about what you usually get, so you simply flip two pancakes onto a plate before sliding it, a fork, and a syrup bottle in front of him.

He mumbles his thanks again before taking a seat at the counter and begins eating. You give him another smile before starting two more pancakes on the stove. The boy is eating silently while you cook, but you can feel his gaze steadily on your face.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” You glance up at his question and see his eyes still trained on you, eyebrows scrunched.

You can’t help the slight quirk of your lips. “Kind of. We have a couple of classes together – general calculus and statistics, I think. I’m usually second row towards the middle.” You offer your name, and the confusion clears a bit from his face.

“Jungkook,” he supplied back.

“Well, Jungkook, it’s nice to finally meet you. Sorry you’re probably fighting a raging headache during it,” you offer with a little laugh.

Your smile widens when you hear his laugh following yours.

“So, this happens a lot?” Jungkook asks.

You answer with a shrug. “More or less, yeah. Sometimes it’s an easy week and she only does it twice. Sometimes I’m up making a random guy breakfast more days than I’m in class.” Jungkook’s eyebrows shoot up a little at that. “Don’t take her leaving personally or anything, she never calls anyone back.”

“And you don’t mind at all? Having to clean up what she brings home?”

You shrug again, flipping the last of the pancakes onto a plate before starting to eat, yourself.

“I mean, it’s not my favorite thing, but it’s not the worst thing. I don’t really mind doing it. I’d rather make them breakfast and tell them what’s up than just tell them to get out and have them wait for a call that’s never going to come. That’s just kind of a shitty thing to do, don’t you think?”

Jungkook is still watching you, but something in his eyes seems to shift. You raise an eyebrow at him, but he just shakes his head.

“Okay then, well I actually do have an early class to get to, and seeing as that my class is at 9, and it is,” you check the time on your phone, “8:30, I should probably get ready to leave. You can stay a little bit longer if you need, but just lock the door on the way out. Oh, and don’t try to steal anything. I’ll know it was you, and we have class, so I know where to find you.”

Your classes seem to drag on through the day, but before you know it, you’re turning your key in the door and entering your apartment again. You can hear the tv in the living room going so you know your roommate is home. You shout a greeting to her before shutting the door behind you.

“Hey!” Your roommate returns politely. “Was the guy from this morning pushy or something? You forgot to trash his number.”

You pause in your walking and scrunch your eyebrows. How is Jungkook’s number here? You never asked for it in the first place.

“What? I thought I threw it away before I left?” You call back out to your roommate, feet resuming their path to the kitchen.

“Nope, look on the counter.”

Turning the corner, you see that your roommate’s right. Sitting nicely on the counter right where he ate breakfast, there’s little sticky note with a number on it, signed at the bottom with a “JK”.

Your eyebrows pull together once again. You definitely told Jungkook your roommate wasn’t going to call, so the poor guy was really setting himself up to be upset. You sigh before snagging the note off the countertop, fully intent on throwing it away for real.

Well, that was the plan before your eyes caught a little extra note on the back of the sticky.

‘Thanks for the pancakes. You’re really cute. Call me sometime?’

#bts imagines #jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #bts x reader #jungkook reader insert #bts reader insert #jungkook fluff #bts fanfic

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