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devilmademewriteit · 1 year

Text

Ultraviolence

pairing: raider!joel miller x fem!afab!reader

summary: thank god—a handsome stranger saves you from the grips of a pack of cruel, cruel men. unfortunately, said stranger, joel miller, is cut from the exact same cloth as the rest of them.

warnings: oh. boy. rough sex/smut (fem penetration, fingering, cum play if you squint) so 18+ only content; fem!afab!reader; raider!joel; canon typical violence; mentions of hair pulling/reader having long hair; light dacryphilia; age gap; pet names (baby, darlin’, sweetheart, girl); slapping, spanking, choking; !!!NONCON!!! (sexual violence/assault, coercion, allusions to more sexual abuse—Dead Dove, Do Not Eat y’all, protect yourselves).

word count: 4k+

no use of y/n in this fic

alright y’all!!! here is the non-con raider!joel fic!! stay tuned for the version coming out soon wherein Joel actually rescues the reader LOL join the taglist to be notified when I post it!!! y’all’s requests will quite legit be the death of me BUT this was fun to write so im not mad. this version is just purely depraved & Joel ‘Big Dick’ Miller is a mean mean man. wrote it pretty fast too so b nice 2 me.

love u all, sorry for searing your eyeballs:)

-em<3

—

The stucco prickles and tears at the flushed skin of your cheek, a reminder that it’ll be winter soon. The birds are sure of it, and most of them managed to get away before the frost stood a chance of nipping them.

You didn’t.

After a few years of non-stop struggle, losing everything but your own life, you figured there were worse ways to go. At least you would be… well—you, in the end.

In whatever shape this man and his leering group of accomplices left you in.

“Against the wall,” and his voice had been the crack of a whip, snapping by your ear as electricity shot up and down your spine, as the tingling realization that the chase was over—the jig, up—settled into your bones. “Spread your fuckin’ legs.”

There were more hounds around… waiting.

Always waiting.

They’d already gotten to your old, tattered clothes. The brisk air bites at your exposed skin, but at least the cold would account for the violent shivers wracking your limbs. Even as the beast pins you to the side of the decrepit house, forces himself between your knees, your primary preoccupation is to stifle your fear.

They’d get everything else on display—but they would never get to see that.

When the screaming starts, those confused grunts, huffs, and squelches of a blade carving into flesh, you mostly commend your own imagination:

“I did it. I’m in my happy place. This will be quick, then.”

But then a rough, unfamiliar hand grabs hold of your naked waist, flipping you around, slamming your spine against the frosty stucco.

This is real.

And you bear witness to his carnage.

He painted the side of the house into a mosaic of inter-mingling blood, splattered like a Pollock against the grass, the wrinkled clothes and the rugged face of your salvation.

His eyes rake over your still-trembling body before he wrenches a red-coated knife—never breaking eye-contact—from the throat of the man you’d been at the mercy of just a few seconds ago.

Blood gushes up from the fatal wound, and you both watch the cruel scene, mesmerized. The attacker’s eyes dull, all evil dissipating from that once-ferocious gaze. The rescuer’s big, wide hands flip him over, stripping him of his stained beige jacket. Then, he carelessly kicks the lifeless form face-down onto the yellowing grass.

“Put it on.”

You uncross your arms, snatching the coat from the stranger’s extended hands. It doesn’t bother you, its belonging to him.

He’s dead; you get his coat.

A fair exchange.

He keeps an eye on you as he sorts through the pickings: a few strips of dried meat here, a loaded gun there (two bullets in the clip—you watch as he checks), and a few good blades, stashed inside pockets, bags, and down shirt-fronts.

The man straightens up.

Tall.

“Get in front of me,” his low baritone strikes you, causing your knees to concede to a slight wobble. “You run, you die. Got it?”

Texan.

Slowly, you nod, and a firm grip circles your wrist, tearing you from the wall.

“Walk.”

Your heart hammers—near deafening in your ears—as the stranger stalks behind you, directing your trembling movements with brusque, snapped commands.

Finally, the scattered orangey-red leaves begin to multiply, the domestic remnants of a past civilization thinning. The neighborhood opens into a field; large oaks and slouching willows shiver under the weak glare of the afternoon sun.

There’s a house up there. It seems to be in alright shape (some things are built tougher than others) and it’s certainly a step up from a few of the more… unsavory places the outbreak had led you to.

Nearing it, you take not of how much it resembles a barn-house. Red, pentagonal roof, and a big, wide, brown front door.

Gingerly stepping a foot on the cracked wood of the porch, you turn to face your rescuer, uncertainty tying slippery knots in your tummy.

Because there’s clamour coming from inside. There’s people in there.

The momentary hesitation allows you to get a good look at your rescuer: he’s greying and dark—mixed, likely, or just disposed to a stubborn tan—and probably in his mid forties. Probably handsome, too, if it weren’t for the resident cruel scowl deepening his apathetic expression, or the violence dancing in his eyes.

A raise of his eyebrows.

“I tell you to stop?” He nods towards the looming house. “Move.”

But… you don’t.

“Are you gonna kill me?” and you’re downright shocked by the strength—the resignation—of your tone, the way the question comes out so matter-of-fact.

That sparse mustache crinkles in the corners, teasing into something wicked. “You want me to?”

“No.”

“So get movin’, then.”

That left little room for debate.

So, you turn, fingers and knees shaking with anxious anticipation. He cuts in front of you at the last minute, shoving the front door open with his knife at his side—for you or for something else, you’re not entirely certain.

He pulls you into the foyer by your forearm; to your great dismay, you’re faced with an entire group of middle-aged men. Killers—for sure—leering at you with that same starved, animalistic look your rescuer had fixed you with.

Then, he tosses the bag on the floor.

“Found ‘em by the school. Decent haul.”

Their eyes tilt to your shuddering frame, dwarfed by the jacket weighing down your shoulders. One of them looks strangely familiar, proud features reminding you of something else you were afraid of. “No shit, huh,” he commends, “Nice work, Joel.”

Joel.

As the shaggy-haired man speaks, his voice strikes familial resemblance, and it dawns on you. Your rescuer’s brother, or at the very least a cousin.

And what he says is a clearly marked taunt. That much is clear. Uttered with the kind of cruel camaraderie which collected on the tongues of men who committed acts of violence together.

Who hunted together.

And it’s obvious you’re not being rescued. Just… reclaimed. Redistributed.

Fuck.

Another voice joins the mix. “How much you think y’could get for her?”

Joel’s profile turns, harsh, brutal lines forming as he assesses you. “Depends,” and then—ohmothermary—he smirks.

“Gonna have to test her out first.”

A few snickers.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

You’re trapped with nowhere to go, once again surrounded by a gaggle of soulless monsters. Fear grips you, but thankfully, it’s muted, now, having been mostly expended during the harrowing events of the morning.

Just an hour ago, pressed to the side of an abandoned house, you’d allowed yourself to give up.

So, it feels easy—natural—settling back into that rhythm.

To submit to your inevitable, violent fate.

Joel’s voice cuts through the clamour of your racing thoughts. “Upstairs, the room with the open door. Go.”

Eyes glued to the floor, you put one foot in front of the other, your insides twisting and turning inside your core. Fuck, you can feel the pairs of eyes following you with every step you take. The stairs creak as your weight presses into them, squealing like wounded prey.

“N’ take that fuckin’ jacket off,” Joel calls after you, the echoes of his booming voice and the group’s degrading laughter chasing you all the way up into the room—the one with the open door.

And it’s nice, surprisingly. Dusty, admittedly, and clearly having belonged to someone else—a long, long time ago—but the bed is made, the window lets the light in, and the walls remind you of cinnamon.

No, this wouldn’t be the worst prison. Or the worst place to die. It’s a sure-fire step up from the gutter between two dilapidated houses.

You keep the jacket on, shivering under its weight. Even as you hear footsteps climbing the stairs, even as the more rational, civilized side of your mind urges you to accede to your (non)rescuer’s every command.

The conversation downstairs dies off just as Joel rounds the corner, appearing in the doorway—a giant. Though your stomach lurches, and though your legs feel like putty, you hold your ground.

“I’ll fight, you know,” you hiss, watching him seal off the entrance to the room behind him. His flannel has droplets of blood on the collar—reminders of your previous captor—would your other attacker have been a better option? Who’d be more merciful to your quivering body?

You charge your voice with every last modicum of strength at your disposal. “I’ll fight.”

He turns, smirking softly at your clenched fists. “S’good, sweetheart. I like a little fight.” He stalks towards you, swiping his thumb along the plushness of his bottom lip, his intimidating presence forcing your back to meet the flat hardness of the wall behind you.

So much for fighting.

There’s nothing living in his eyes as he says it—nothing save the roiling flames of hunger: “You see those guys downstairs?”

You glare up at him, trying not to notice the alluring hook of his nose, or the way your body works against you, responding to the earthy smell of him.

Then, you nod, wordlessly.

“Did you count ‘em?” He splays a hand beside your head, using one hand to pry your arms uncrossed.

Again, you nod. “How many?” He asks, his voice deceptively soft.

“Five.” Breathless.

“S’right, sweetheart. Ever had your lil’ holes stuffed by five guys at once?”

A swallow, and your voice cracks when you’re finally able to put it to use. “No.”

He pries your elbows to your sides, pulling the beige fabric open, revealing the torn remains of your underwear.

It’s almost a croon, feigned concern underpinning his low tone. “You wanna see what it’s like?” He drinks in the sight of your bare chest, almost groaning at the sight of your naked front.

It’s not cold anymore; no, suddenly you’re very hot.

“No, please, no.”

He slips the coat off of your shoulders, letting it fall in a heap to the ground. He assesses you once more: studying every square inch of your skin under his shadowed eyes.

“M’only gonna say this once, sweetheart.” All that fake-gentleness fades from his tone, replaced by the sadistic, authoritative timbre he’d first greeted you with. “I need you to be very careful.”

You’re frozen—all that fight, it drains out of you, captivated by the raider’s looming form, his mesmerizing speech.

“You’re alone, yeah?” A nod, which he acknowledges, trailing a hand up the length of your waist. “S’what I thought. N’ the way I found you today? That’s a best-case-scenario for a girl like you, out here on your own.”

He drags a finger up the centre of your breast, skilled fingertips just barely brushing the peaked nipple. You lean into his touch—the near imperceptible arch of your back doesn’t go unnoticed, and you kick yourself internally as the corners of his lips twitch up.

Still, the raider ignores your trembling.

“You’re mine, now,” he continues, egged on by your involuntary movement. “Means you’re gonna be a good girl n’ do as I say, n’ I’ll make sure I’m the only man who touches you.” His big hand drops to his heavy silver buckle, and the clearly defined, bulging lines underneath it have your heart clawing out of your chest. Joel senses your fear—and it only makes him harder. “I don’t like sharin’ what’s mine, y’know? But you try anything—you step outta line—I’ll throw you to my guys downstairs.”

His hand finds your throat, hunger and warning beating to the same rhythm in his gaze. “I have no problem watching.” He gives your larynx a squeeze, multitasking as he pulls the strap of his belt through the worn loops of his denim. “Understood?”

You have no words left, shaking from head to toe as the reality of the situation finally settles in.

As he works the intimidating weight of his cock out of his jeans.

A huff. Joel flips you over, impatient, pressing your scraped up cheek to the cinnamon-brown of the wall.

Déjà vù.

Your knees are separated by his own, and his weight flattens you. He wastes no time: lining himself up, his tip separates your folds. Resistance is futile—with one hand, he holds your thighs open—even as they try to press themselves closed, even as you whimper at the rough, male knuckles pressed to bruise on the insides of your legs.

Leaving his mark.

It’s not an option to simply take it. Joel forces you to participate in the sinful act: “I asked you a fuckin’ question,” he growls, gripping your chin indelicately. “You understand me, girl?”

A swallow and a flinch as you feel the head of his cock poke at your entrance. “Yes. Okay. Yes.”

“Yes, Joel,” he corrects. “Use my name. You’re mine now. Use my fuckin’ name.”

Tears prick the corners of your eyes at the promised savagery in his tone. Holding back a sob, you respond: “Yes, Joel.”

You watch his hand, large and capable, splaying out a mere inch away from the tip of your nose. “Good,” he commends. “Z’are the only fuckin’ words you know, from now on.”

His free hand slaps against your hip, yanking you down onto his hard length. Your hips buck up against his abdomen, responding to the pull of his fingertips, even as you cry out at the sting, the stretch. The raider tries to force himself between your walls—muttering a grunted “shit”—and thrusting up against your ass.

But you’re too tight, too tense, and your stubborn body refuses to open up for him. Finally listening to you.

“Relax,” he orders, surprisingly softly. He moves his hand from your hip to the apex of your thighs, rubbing rough circles against your clit. Fuck, how’d he find it so fast? You gasp at the feel of his fingertips against your most sensitive, touch-starved spot, hating yourself for the way his pressure makes you feel.

Because…

Because—fuck.

It feels… good. The man knows exactly what he’s doing—methodical in his ministrations, prepping you only enough to ensure his own eventual pleasure. “S’too tight, baby,” he breathes against your neck, “Need to loosen up for me, yeah?”

He’s not gentle. No part of it is gentle. Nonetheless, pleasure ripples through your centre and down your thighs as he effectively turns you on.

“Thaaaaaa’s right,” and his voice is mocking and taunting and degrading as he drags his digits away, grabbing and pulling at your breasts, instead. Feeling the involuntary release of your cunt, Joel finally pushes himself in, sheathing the long, thick length of his cock inside you.

“Need to show this pussy what it’s fuckin’ made for.”

A current of pain flutters up your cunt just as he fills it up to the brim. You can’t help it—your stoicism crumbles to dust—and a soft, scared, pained whimper tumbles from your lips.

And he groans at it, thrusting roughly, over and over again. And again. “Hurts, does it?”

His breath is hot against your ear, and despite the fear, the ancient instincts gripping your bones, telling you to run, run, run, fight, fight, fight—it’s… enticing.

Hot.

“It hurts.”

He laughs, low and dark, bringing his hands to circle your hips, steadying you as you stumble on your tip-toes.

“Cry about it.”

And he keeps on going, tearing you open. The way his girth touches every starved part of your insides leaves you wanting, even despite the sting of his fingernails biting into your hips, the tears and cuts stinging at your opening.

You hate yourself for it.

But you clench around him, stifling a pathetic moan.

God, no—I am not enjoying this.

He breathes another laugh. “Feelin’ full, baby? Tell me how good it feels, c’mon,” and your inhalations come in heaves as he pounds into you, delivering a harsh slap to the side of your hip, hard enough for your skin to ripple from the contact. “Do as I say.”

When you refuse to sate him, swallowing all of your little noises, Joel grips your throat, bringing your head slamming against his shoulder. Your back arches into a perfect crescent, spine contorting at his will. A gasped cry fans out against his salt-and-pepper jaw.

A sob—of fear, of frustration, of reluctant pleasure. “You’re evil.”

The grip on your throat tightens, and he looses another laugh, squeezing your skin, muscles, and tendons oh-so-tight.

You’d be wrecked, bruised—branded—come sunrise.

“Yeah?” He groans, cock slamming up into your very guts.

“M-mhmm—” and the saltwater tears start pouring, trailing glistening slopes down your cheeks in long, long lines. Distantly, you hear his answer—“Yeah, well, you’re wet”—as those silver droplets keep on falling. Where they come from, you aren’t certain; of course, the terror, the physical torture, and the frustration at your entrapment contribute to the mess under your eyes.

But that warmth… the unbridled desire radiating between your thighs… that wasn’t helping, either.

“Fuuuuck,” he groans, muttering another “S’it—s’right,” and releasing your throat to tilt your head up to face him. He drinks in his creation, the ruined sight of your tear-stricken face, and his cock swells between your beaten walls. “God, you look so fuckin’ pretty takin’ it from me—cryin’ like your lil’ pussy ain’t desperate for this.”

Joel smiles when you sob.

It goes on for a while. He doesn’t tire quickly, bringing you right up to the edge of reluctant ecstasy before you remind yourself of the hatred you owed the man fucking into you. You get used to the sound of his hips snapping against your skin, your cries mingling with his gravelly, low grunts. It’s a dirty, depraved symphony—orchestrated by the monster between your thighs.

You can’t help the moan that escapes your lips when he finally, finally brings his fingers back down between your legs. He grunts in approval, barely grazing the length of your folds, pressing his thumb into the delicate flesh of your thigh, instead. “Dirty lil’ girl—fuckin’ dyin’ to be an old man’s whore, z’that it?” and he doesn’t even touch you, focussed on his own pleasure, but the proximity alone is enough to have you wrecked.

And you just can’t help it: “J-joel—”

“Y’know,” he chuckles, slightly out of breath, slowing his strokes to address your wanton whine, “You’re gonna make such a good lil’ fuck-toy, baby, f’you keep makin’ those pretty lil’ noises for me.”

The reality of the situation comes barrelling down on you as he acknowledges—praises—your enjoyment of his torture.

This man… this man was cruel. He was hurting you, and enjoying it.

You struggle against him, a pathetic show of weakness. Joel holds you in place effortlessly, arching your back further, keeping your hips preened back to receive the harsh thrusts he delivers to your torn, ruined cunt. “Where you goin’?” He laughs at your pathetic attempt at resistance, grips tightening. “Thought we were havin’ fun, baby—don’t it feel good?”

And he quickens again, slamming into every needy spot inside you. His breaths grow shallow, as rough as his hands and the ferocity of this punishment.

“No,” you manage, fingernails digging into his forearm.

He tuts, the vocal click constricted with lust, and his hand travels the length of you, settling against that aching bud between your thighs. “Fuckin’ liar.”

He presses down, proving his point. Your entire body tenses as pleasure ripples through you—despite your best efforts, climax crests through your core, threatening to implode within you. Joel hums, smirking when he feels your legs parting even wider.

“S’mine now, alright? You’re mine now.” He crams every inch of his cock up inside you, pulling you flush against his chest. “S’okay to come for me—s’okay, baby, I want you to—s’fuckin’ right, let go for me, baby—” and his crooning takes you over the edge.

Christ, it feels so good.

You clench around him, high-pitched pleas and moans tumbling from your lips, his own pair dragging down the swoop of your ear. In that split second, Joel—the devil at your back—is your favourite thing in the world: your hero, your haven, your God. Fuck, you could just kiss him, marry him, fuck him over and over and over and over—

A hand clamps over your mouth during those brief, blissful moments; the man practically bounces you up and down the length of him, muffling the cries of pain and pleasure tearing from your sore throat against the rough skin of his palm. He groans inside your ear—a stammered, sinful “fuuuck”—and then he’s spilling his seed inside you, shoving it impossibly deep as those quick, harsh strokes stutter and slow.

You come to, waking up from your pleasure-drunk daze. Before you get the opportunity to wriggle away from him, the monster flips you over again, slamming your shoulders to the wall. With his forearm barring your chest, and despite your fear and ire—somehow, all you can think about is the fact that he’s not as out of breath as he really should be (given his age and, of course, what he’d just done to you).

Joel leaks out of you. His cum paints masterpieces down your legs.

He slides his free hand down the length of his cock, collecting the last bits of slick clinging to him and not dripping out of you. The intermingling juices are brought to the roundness of your breasts—the raider slathers your sore peaks with his own spend.

“Nobody’s gonna fuck with you—but that means you’re Joel’s girl. Hear me?” With your head bowed, you glare up at him through silver-lined spider lashes, shame beating at your cheeks. When you hum your acknowledging “uh-huh,” the stranger continues on, gripping your jaw to angle your gaze up: “Means you listen—you-you don’t fuckin’ try me—n’ you take everything I give you, every fuckin’ time. Understand?” He tucks his softening length back in his pants, dark eyes dancing with satisfaction as he leers at your destroyed form.

When you don’t respond, he brings the back of his punishing hand colliding with the side of your face.

Something between a squeal and a gasp tumbles from your lips; Joel catches it, placing the pad of his thumb to your bottom lip, pressing down. Your cheek stings from his harsh slap, delivered on top of the scrapes and wounds a different cruel man had left upon your skin.

“I don’t wanna hurt you, baby, but I will f’I have to,” and he’s earnest, commanding and pleading at once. “You gotta answer me.”

Slowly, you croak out a timid, “Yes,” and an “I understand,” followed by a final “Joel.”

Nodding, he straightens, the violence in his gaze fading just minutely. When he lets go, you stagger—the raider senses the instability of your knees, reflexively snaking a steadying arm around your waist.

You’re not sure where the impulse comes from. Perhaps it’s exhaustion, the aftermath of your orgasm, or maybe it’s just a sick, twisted desire to sink into something beyond your body—either way, you respond to Joel’s support by throwing your arms around his neck.

And he responds by lifting you, walking you over to the bed, and tossing you down on the sheets. Awakening into reality, you scamper back, grabbing and yanking at the surrounding bedding in a desperate attempt to cover yourself.

But Joel pays you no mind.

Having had his way, he’s through with you—for now. Nonchalantly, apathetically, he runs a hand through his hair, tracing heavy steps towards the door.

“Lock the door when I leave,” he instructs, but his tone is soft… possessive and commanding, yes, but… caring. “Don’t open it for anyone but me.”

He waits for your show of understanding, your near imperceptible nod.

Then, he sighs, yanking on the handle and giving you his final address over a pair of creaky, squeaky, rusted hinges. “Try to sleep, sweetheart—got a long night ahead of you.” Chuckling to himself, he leaves the sanctuary of the room.

All you can hear as your body grows heavy and warm, travelling somewhere far, far beyond this violent world are the echoes of male laughter down the hall, and a familiar, satisfied, gravelly voice:

“Not worth much, now. Might just fuckin’ keep her.”

And you slip away, dreaming of belt buckles, blood-stained collars, and the lung-squeezing heat of the setting Texan sun.

—

He used to call me DN

That stood for deadly nightshade

'Cause I was filled with poison

But blessed with beauty and rage

Jim told me that

He hit me and it felt like a kiss

Jim brought me back

Reminding me of when we were kids

With his ultraviolence

Ultraviolence

I can hear sirens, sirens

He hit me and it felt like a kiss

I can hear violins, violins

Give me all of that ultraviolence

He used to call me poison

Like I was poison ivy

I could've died right then

'Cause he was right beside me

Jim raised me up

He hurt me but it felt like true love

Jim taught me that

Loving him was never enough

With his ultraviolence

Ultraviolence

I can hear sirens, sirens

He hit me and it felt like a kiss

I can hear violins, violins

Give me all of that ultraviolence

We can go back to New York

Loving you was really hard

We could go back to Woodstock

Where they don't know who we are

Heaven is on earth

I would do anything for you, babe

Blessed is this union

Crying tears of gold, like lemonade

I love you the first time

I love you the last time

Yo soy la princesa, comprende mis white lines

'Cause I'm your jazz singer

And you're my cult leader

I love you forever

With his ultraviolence

Ultraviolence

I can hear sirens, sirens

He hit me and it felt like a kiss

I can hear violins, violins

Give me all of that ultraviolence

—

TAGLIST: @millllenniawrites @inkedells @stardust-chords-enthusiast @mattmurdocksgirlfriend @bookofbee @liviloo12346 @anyas-stuff @readingsunshine97 @maudlinflowers @sullysflm @sexygaypalpatine @livyjh @s-unflowxr @lostsoldieronahill @chapterhappygirl @raeluvshammett @silkiers @jupitersmoon-cal @supernaturaldean67 @razrsharpwhiteteeth @peqchsoup @corrodedcherries @hawsx3 @monboudoir @theonewithacrush @pono-pura-vida @sallymilkweed @fruitcupsworld @mads-grace4 @ayehomo @dzaga890 @killerrxger @niallsbunny @cilliansangel @snowyarcher @grnherbs @mswarriorbabe80 @tercabed @sweettea-and-honeybutter @bbyanarchist @thisgirl-knm @pedrit0-pascalit0

TAGS WILL CONTINUE IN A REBLOG (there are simply too many of you & I don’t want this post to crash <3)

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #raider!joel miller #raider!joel #tlou #the last of us #joel miller the last of us #Joel miller fanfiction #Pedro pascal #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #tlou fanfiction #joel the last of us #joel miller tlou

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lueurjun · 6 months

Text

slytherin boyfriend sunghoon

request: Hi, Can i request a Slytherin Sunghoon x a Ravenclaw reader? Thankss <3 — you certainly can. hope this is alright for you my love. you didn’t specify a trope so i just improvised, i hope that’s okay<3 slytherin bf!sunghoon x ravenclaw!reader. @vickys-witchylife

ps. i apologize for how long this is… i got carried away- no but really this is really long like i didn’t intend on this but it just happened 💀

everybody pause because this makes so much sense

like sunghoon gives off major slytherin vibes

remember his blonde hair? draco malfoy could neverrr

and could you imagine him decked out in green and silver?

lord have mercy im about to faint

anyways before we get into the whole you guys love each other, cutesey vibes

let’s start with how it all came to be

how my man sunghoon managed to pulled YOU

yeah he’s fine but i have 3 galleons in the bank so #rollinindough #icanbeabetterboyfriendthanhim

now we’re not gonna go down the route of ‘all slytherins are bad’ because they’re absolutely not

but sunghoon wasn’t exactly the warmest at first

bro is not 🙅‍♀️ the sun

not in the sense that he bullied you or anything

me and the homies would jump him if he did… the homies being my demons 👹

he just didn’t see the point in befriending you because naturally the two of you were so different

you were just the ravenclaw smarty he was forced to do his prefect duties with

ravenclaw smarty 🤓 my delulu self would be flattered because to me that’s a nickname- you’re half way to marriage already

ah yes you read that right

prefect duties

more specifically: hallway patrol

paw patrol, paw patrol, we’ll be there on the double 💃

so the two of you spent the majority of your evenings together

being a prefect wasn’t a huge deal to sunghoon, it was just another gateway to his parents approval

not him thinking he’s too cool 😎

but you took your role very seriously and that was something that annoyed him about you

because you never allowed him to slack off

him slacking off could get you both in trouble and you weren’t going to let him take you down with him and potentially jeopardise your chance of snatching up the head ( whatever you identify as bae ) position

just because he didn’t want to be head boy didn’t mean you didn’t desire the position

needless to say it was a little frosty between the two of you at first

aimless bickering would echo off the walls as you demanded he stay on task and not stray off to go cause mayhem with his friends

personally i would take on all of his duties just so he could have fun- DON’T look at me like that, you’d be a pick me for him too smh

he wasn’t just put off by the fact that you ruined his fun and actually made him do his job

you’re a ravenclaw, one of the smartest people in your year and naturally, he assumed you wouldn’t want to be friends with someone like him

not bro having a victim complex

but that wasn’t the case at all

you weren’t one to judge, you didn’t care about houses, the only thing that mattered to you was principles

in fact, you were actually looking forward to befriending sunghoon at first

he just pushed you away all too soon and started acting like a rebellious idiot for the sake of his ego

what an idiot

things remained at a stalemate for several weeks

you’d both show up for your perfect duties, he would try to slack off or cause trouble, and you would scold him until the two of you walked side by side in silence

him sulking and you scowling

then, he’d stomp back to his dorm and talk crap about you to his friends

and you’d go to your own friends and express disappointment in the lack of progress made with him

don’t worry bae, you don’t need him. come put your head on my shoulder, mines comfier than his 🤭

things didn’t take a turn until a week before the winter holidays

one evening, sunghoon was over an hour late for prefect duties

you tried not to worry because why should you care? Without him, things would probably be much easier

but alas, something niggled inside of your heart and you found yourself abandoning your responsibilities to find him

you searched high and low, but to no avail. sunghoon was absolutely nowhere to be found

hide and seek in hogwarts is wild

eventually, you headed down to the slytherin common room—perhaps he hadn’t even left his dorm

but when you arrived, a crowd of people stood outside of the door whispering rather loudly

“how do we get him out of there?”

“i don’t know but he can’t afford to step another toe out of line, you heard his dad. one more detention and he’s being yanked out of the school.”

as you cautiously peered around the corner, your eyes settle on a distinctive group you recognize all too well — sunghoon's friends

they remained oblivious to your presence until you muster up your courage and break away from the shadows, facing them head-on

“where’s sunghoon?”

that’s right, you show ‘em who’s boss! hellos and how are yous? never heard of them 💅

“what’s it to you?”

jay fixed his gaze on you, analyzing you with careful scrutiny

“he hasn’t shown up for prefect duties.”

you square your shoulders and cross your arms, exuding an air of forced confidence

not that you were scared, they were hardly anything to fear. it was more the embarrassment of admitting that you were concerned for the safety of sunghoon

‘hardly anything to fear’ NOT YOU VIOLATING UNPROVOKED

lord knows that if it was you who hadn’t turned up, sunghoon would have most definitely thrown a party

this time, heeseung breaks the silence with a deep and weary sigh

“look if you’re here to get him into trouble—“

“who said i wanted to get him into trouble?”

“well—no one but he’s told us all about how you’re on his ass about following the rules. it’s not far fetched to believe that you’d use this as a chance to finally get him out of your hair.”

so he talks about you??? 🤭🤭

you try not to let that hurt your feelings

but it does a little because is that what they really think? is that what sunghoon thinks? that you just want him far away from you?

“look, i don’t want to get him into trouble. if anything i’m ‘on his ass’ to save it from getting kicked off the prefects. i even abandoned my own responsibilities to make sure he was okay, so can you just tell me where he is?”

the group of wizards looked perplexed for a moment, their eyes darting to each other with specific expressions before falling back onto you

and after a silent debate, sunoo spoke up

“he snuck into snape’s office to try and get back jungwon’s special quill. it was a gift from his grandmother, it’s got an unlimited ink charm on it. snape accused him of trying to cheat and confiscated it.”

jake continued next, looking desperate:

“it means a lot to jungwon, so sunghoon snuck in to try and get it but snape entered and now he’s stuck in there. we don’t even know if he’s been caught but he’s in a lot of trouble if he is.”

you eyes land on jungwon, who looks at the ground shamefully

me to snape rn 🤺

the expression on his face caused your heart to ache, but the thought of sunghoon getting into trouble had an even stronger grip on your heartstrings

i sense a crushhhhh 🤭🥰

which is how you find yourself outside of potions classroom, after instructing the boys to stay where they are, you formulate a plan

with your heart racing and your body filled with trepidations, you hurriedly entered the classroom, only to find sunghoon missing and snape seated at his desk

“sir-sir! i was on night duty when a slytherin and hufflepuff got into an altercation. they started hexing each other and i didn’t know how to stop—“

snape was already to his feet, the long black cloak sweeping against the ground as he hurried out of the room to find the ‘altercation’

“feel free to make a run for it!”

you call out, keeping your voice low in hopes that sunghoon can hear you from wherever he’s hiding

and then you follow after snape, leading him aimlessly around until you’re sure sunghoon could have escaped

oh you perfect mastermind you 🤭

“where’s the altercation?”

snape speaks with a snide drawl, his penetrating gaze fixed on you as impatience radiates from his every word

“they must have dispersed. very sorry to bother you, professor.”

you: 😬 snape: 😒

snape snarls, glancing around the dark and empty corridor one last time before turning around to make the gruelling walk back to his classroom to finish his evening work

once he’s out of sight, your shoulders slump in relief and you can only hope that sunghoon had gotten out okay

and you find out the very next evening, when he meets you for the night shift

you’re waiting for him anxiously, when he rounds the corner with such haste that it startles you

he doesn’t slow down until he’s right in front of you, gripping your shoulders

“i know i haven’t been the nicest to you, but what you did for me last night… i can’t thank you enough”

calm down bae they saved you from detention not a burning building 🙄 ( i’m bitter. you should be mine )

prefect duties for the next few days are a lot smoother now the two of you are actually getting along

the silence is replaced with genuine facts about yourselves, or you telling him things you had read and found interesting

every now and then, your fingertips meet in an unbidden caress, but neither of you pull away; instead, both of you savouring the warmth of the moment

it’s giving awkward crushes

finally, winter break approaches and sunghoon meets you on the platform

“i’ll write to you.”

you’re kinda surprised at that, but you beam up at him anyways

“i’ll write back.”

and you do, the two of you write back and forth for the entire of winter

friendly letters turning into awkwardly cute confessions that neither of you are brave enough to say in person

that’s actually adorable shut upppp

by the time term starts up again, the letters have transformed everything between the two of you

you’re no longer ‘just prefect buddies’, nor are you friends… but something more

sunghoon’s last letter highlighted that for you

‘i’ve never been the best with words, especially not in person. i find it much easier to hide behind a piece of parchment and confess that i’ve always found you rather endearing…perhaps when we return to school we could explore the spark between us?… man that was cringe, sorry.’

and explore you do

awkward hand brushes on prefect duty turns into gentle hand holding with matching rouge cheeks

if you see me on the road tonight, mind your business

sunghoon pushing your head away affectionately when you peer over his shoulder at the book he’s reading to pass time

the two of you avoiding your friends at all costs because they all do that annoying thing where they wiggle their eyebrows and make hearts with their hands

horrible flirting attempts

“you have really nice earlobes.”

“thanks? i like your knees…”

“thanks.”

me tryna flirt ^

you still have to stop him from slacking off, but you’re less irritated by it and more amused

because everything sunghoon does amuses you

you’re all surprised at how loud he can be

he always seemed quite reserved, like the normal one in his friend group but you come to realize that he’s just as mental—if not worse than most of them

and your first kiss is just so… you guys

sunghoon had tried to kiss you three times and every single time, you accidentally moved away

the embarrassment- i cannot 💀

it finally happened on the fourth time

the two of you had just finished up for the evening, and sunghoon insisted on walking you back to your common room

things weren’t verbally official yet, but it was an unspoken agreement that you were basically together

you paused at the door, ready to turn and bid your farewells when you were suddenly met with his face mere inches away

taken aback, your immediate reaction was to...

headbut him

even the portraits were absolutely mortified because that could not have gone worse

me and the portraits rn: 🫣

sunghoon recoiled, hand reflexively covering his face in shock. you couldn't help but gasp in surprise, one hand instinctively flying to your mouth

“oh my gosh—i’m so sorry. are you okay?”

his ego wasn’t the only thing bruised, now his head too

“yep. fine. don’t worry about me, though a simple ‘please back away’ would have sufficed”

“i didn’t realize you were going to kiss me! i’m so sorry, sunghoon…”

it takes several moments for everyone to recover

but eventually, the portraits stop hiding behind their hands and sunghoon can finally face you again

the way this would keep me up at night

“i’m really sorry…”

“no it’s totally fine. i should have asked permission first.”

you nervously clasped your hands together in front of you, your gaze drawn to the tender spot on his head where a bruise was already beginning to form

the guilt consumes you and you don’t know how else to make up for it

“i mean…you do have my permission now, if you still want to kiss me that is”

sunghoon looks unsure at first but takes an attentive step towards you

he hesitantly rests his quivering fingers against your delicate jawline, one thumb tenderly pressed against your rosy cheek whilst the other gently wraps around your hand

sunghoon leaned in until he was but a whisper away from your lips, his gentle breath grazing your face and making you close your eyes in anticipation

“you’re not gonna like punch me are yo—“

overcome with impatience, you closed the gap between you and sunghoon, capturing him in a timeless kiss.

those damn portraits are whistling, causing the two of you to pull away shyly

“well go on, make it official.”

“didn’t you see that kiss? that sealed the deal! i would’ve swooned had they not given the poor boy a concussion first.”

“personally i think they should’ve ended up with lueurjun” oh would you look at that! the portraits hey ship us too 😌

this is so long but anyways onto the actual relationship vibes

you have a habit of fixing sunghoon’s tie and robe whenever you see him

and he responds by fixing your hair for you

don’t ask why but sunghoon gives off ear scratches vibes like i just feel like he would like them

so you scratch behind his ear lot and he relishes in it

once the two of you get more comfortable with each other, he sees how unhinged you actually are

and he loves it

biting his lip during makeout sessions

now that is scandalous 🤭

his parents adore you because you keep him on track

you tying his laces because he’s prone to just letting them hang loose and almost tripping himself up

sunghoon getting cuteness aggression over your existence and just having to squeeze your cheeks

bickering like there’s no tomorrow

“i didn’t say i hate you, you just annoy me”

“next time, i’ll let you rot in snape’s office”

harmless shoving of each other

though it wasn’t harmless once ‘cause sunghoon miscalculated his strength and accidentally shoved you into a random classroom

this happened to me once but it wasn’t romantic-

he then ran off and left you to deal with the awkward conversation with your professor

you being more lenient and sneaking down to the kitchens 15 minutes before your duties end to feed each other snacks

which then turns into a mini food fight

drinking each others drinks when you go to the three broomsticks

like you both have your own drinks but end up drinking each others

listen that probably didn’t make sense, i’ve been writing this for days AND IM EXHAUSTED

you helping him study

studying usually ends in makeout sessions in the library

you putting little notes in his books to remind him that you’re thinking of him

and him drawing a penis on yours

he’s so real for that

overall, the two of you are a pair of awkward cuties who can’t get enough of each other and i love it so much

even tho you should be with me but i’ll allow it 🙄

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woso-dreamzzz · 5 months

Text

Hurt II

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Sam feels terrible

Sam hides away for two days after you fall.

She's watched the video so many times now that it's imprinted on her eyelids when she closes them. It's horrifying to look at, you slipping down the stairs, your head hitting each one of them until you're sprawled out by Emma and Jessie's feet at the very bottom.

It's been radio silent from Magda and Pernille and everyone knows better to ask if they're going to be training next week. Emma's already given them enough paid leave to stay at home with you until you're fully recovered.

Eventually, after days of silence, someone on the team must have called Kristie because Sam gets a phone call that essentially tells her to get up off her ass and go to Magda and Pernille's house to either apologise again or beg for forgiveness.

Thoughts swirl in her mind as she approaches the house. The thought at the very forefront is if Magda will ever leave you alone with her again.

You've got an infectious energy that she loves and seeing your broken little body at the bottom of the stairs was traumatising.

Her hands shakily reach up to the door knocker, a cardboard box tucked under her arm as she waits.

It swings open within the minute and Sam feels glad that it's Pernille and not Magda that answered.

"Sam?" Pernille looks confused. "Has something happened?"

"Er...No...I mean, no? Well, I hope not." Sam knows she's rambling now but she can't stop herself, feeling so uncharacteristically nervous that she almost cries.

Pernille seems to notice as well because she stops blocking the hallway. "Do you want to come in?"

Sam toes her shoes off in the doorway and peers inside properly.

The first thing she notices is the way that every sharp corner in the house is covered in either soft fabric or bubble wrap. The second thing she notices is Magda, sitting on the floor with you held possessively between her legs. The third thing, of course, is you. You've got a big bandage stuck to your forehead and your every movement is a little slow and sluggish.

All of your hard plastic toys are packed away in the corner of the room. The only ones you're touching are the soft ones that you couldn't injure yourself with even on accident.

The tension between Sam and Magda feels frosty and Sam tries not to feel the anxiety drop in her stomach when Magda holds you a little tighter when she notices Sam standing there.

Having Magda as her Captain is good most of the time. Magda can be firm sometimes but still fair. She rarely gets angry enough that it impedes her professionalism but the one exception is always you.

Sam can understand. It's a different situation to her and Kristie but there are still parallels. Magda spent so many of your first few years in London, only seeing you on long weekends or through a phone screen. Sam can only really do the same with Kristie and she already knows that anger that swells in her chest when she sees Kristie injured on the pitch.

She can only imagine that those feelings are amplified when it's you, Magda's only daughter, lying bloody and broken in the stadium.

"What's in the box, Sam?" Pernille asks, also noting the tension and refusing to comment on it.

"Oh...er...For y/n," She replies awkwardly.

Sam sits across from you, not nearly close enough to be in the range of Magda's legs but close enough that even your sluggish nature can keep track of her.

"As an apology."

Magda's eyes narrow but she doesn't say anything.

Sam takes it as an invitation, opening up the flaps of the book and pulling out the toys she had gathered. She hadn't been too sure what to get for a kid recovering from a head injury so had Kristie on facetime while she shopped.

She must at least get something right because you seem interested when she pulls out more stuffed animals for your collection. There's an emu just for the fun of it and some kangaroos too but you're especially interested in the koala bear that's right at the bottom.

You stand on shaky feet (shakier than Sam's ever seen you) and try to wander over. You can't though because Magda catches you by the waist and holds you close.

"Magda," Pernille says, her voice low in warning.

Magda relents with a huff and lets you go towards Sam. You make it two steps before you've seemingly exhausted yourself and crawl over.

Up close, your bandage looks even worse and Sam's sure that she can just about make out the bruise poking out from under it. She almost shudders in disgust at herself but with Magda looking like she's a second away from snapping you into her arms again, Sam doesn't.

"It's a koala," She says instead.

You blink up at her, crinkle in your brow as you try to translate her words. It's slower than usual and Sam knows that this concussion must be really bad. You're somewhat of a language prodigy, picking everything up like a sponge.

"Koala," You echo, brushing a finger over the little Steve Irwin-esque hat the toy is wearing," Koala."

"Yeah, koala."

Sam digs around in the box again, bringing out a soft blanket and pillow she had eyed up when she went shopping a few weeks ago.

"This is for you too."

You take it slowly before rubbing the blanket over your face.

Sam looks to Magda and Pernille - who has curled herself into Magda's side and is holding one of her hands.

"I...Er...I read somewhere that kids with concussions get tired a lot."

"That's very thoughtful, Sam," Pernille praises before elbowing Magda in the gut," Isn't that right, Magda?"

"Yeah," Magda grunts," It is."

It's very clear that she's still very annoyed at Sam for what's happened but isn't willing to say anything with you in the room.

You stand up on your shaky feet again, clutching the blanket in one hand and the koala in the other. You stumble forward and Sam watches as both of your mothers surge forward.

Pernille gets there first, pulling you securely into her body and tucking your face into her neck. "Okay, okay, princesse," She says quietly as you fidget and whine," We're gonna stay right here for a moment, alright? No walking."

You struggle weakly against her hold before sagging as a wave of exhaustion comes over you.

Sam watches as Pernille settles fully on the floor, wrapping you up tightly in the blanket as you lay on her. You're still holding the koala, rubbing it over your cheeks and letting out happy little giggles at the soft feeling.

At Sam's staring, Pernille explains," She's been exhausted lately...because of the concussion. She doesn't have the energy to do a lot of the things she likes to."

Sam gnaws at her cheek, flashing back to how disorientated and confused you were when you first got hurt. "Her walking-"

"She's getting better," Magda cuts her off, still glaring," She's doing fine. She's good. She's recovering. There's nothing more to say."

Her tone is firm and makes it clear she doesn't want to talk about your symptoms. Pernille lays a hand on her shoulder and Magda settles for a moment before pulling you into her arms. You end up in the same position you were in when Sam arrived, sitting between Magda's legs and leaning back comfortably against her.

"Koala," You say again, slowly like you're sounding out the letters," Koala."

"Ja," Magda says," Koala."

"Koala."

You stare at it for a moment before sighing a great big huff and pulling the blanket over your head.

"Nap time," Pernille says quietly. She takes you back from Magda, keeping your head covered as she moves to lie on the sofa.

You don't fight like you normally do and a lump forms in Sam's chest when Magda stares at her for a moment before indicating that they leave the room.

They end up in the hallway, with Magda closing the door so you're impromptu nap won't be interrupted.

"That's my kid," She says finally," My only child."

"I'm-I'm sorry."

"And she got hurt. On your watch. You said that you would get her back to the changing room. I trusted you. Pernille trusted you."

"I know. I'm sorry."

Magda sighs, hands clenched into fists and, for a moment, Sam wonders if she'll swing. "I've watched that video so many times. And..." There's silence for a moment. "And she slipped on a bit of ice. You couldn't have caught her."

Sam freezes in shock. That wasn't what she expected Magda to say. "Wh-What?"

"What I'm saying is...I'm sorry for throwing you against the wall. And I'm sorry for yelling at you like that. It's just...She's my kid and it scared me."

"I..." Sam has to take a moment to collect her thoughts. "I'm sorry too. For everything."

Magda nods. "Thank you, for coming over with the toys. I'm sure when she feels better, she'll thank you properly too."

The thank you from you comes barely half an hour after you've woken up from your nap. Pernille guides you over to Sam, who has been allowed to stay just a bit longer by Magda.

You sit in her lap, your new blanket draped around your shoulders and still clutching your koala. You're unbelievably sluggish and your crinkle is more present on your face than ever before.

Somehow, you've roped Sam into playing with you - though Pernille looks incredibly worried when you try to stand up by yourself and nearly crash into the side of the coffee table.

Your speech is slightly slurred though, lacking your usual fluency as you make your emu peck at your koala. Your head rolls slightly off to the side sometimes, as if you've suddenly realised that it's heavy and you can't hold it up. Sometimes, you even try to brush hair out of your face but tap at your bandage, leaving you to pull away and stare at your open palm in confusion.

You hum as you glance around the room - at the soft corners of your house and the pile of soft, fuzzy things that have accumulated around you.

"Than...Thank you," You manage to get out eventually after several long seconds of nothing," Thank you, Sam, for-for my...for my presents."

It's slow and halting at times and your voice is incredibly quiet but Sam still manages a smile.

"You're welcome, kid. I'm glad you're feeling better."

You smile softly - it's more of a lift of the corner of your mouth than a true smile but Sam takes it. "Not too better," You say, turning yourself so you're pressed against Sam's chest, voice dropping so Magda and Pernille couldn't hear you," 'Cause I get to sleep in the Big Bed when I'm hurt."

Sam chuckles. "Really?"

"Uh-huh. Wanna sleep...sleep in the Big Bed forever."

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #sam kerr x reader #sam kerr #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #The Big Adventures Universe

680 notes · View notes

minichrismd · 1 year

Text

Welcome to the Family - Ominis Gaunt

Requested! - I've merged a few requests together for this one :)

Word Count - 1.6k

Themes - Fluff

Ominis’ heart was racing, the end of seventh year was quickly approaching meaning that he’d no longer have the safety of Hogwarts, that he’d have to return to his family in the south of England, away from Sebastian and away from you. It wasn’t something that he wanted to think about, however the harsh reality was starting to set in.

He sighed softly to himself as he perched on a bench in the Transfiguration courtyard, waiting for you and Sebastian to finish your last class for the day.

The warmth from the summer sun felt nice on his skin, he appreciated it. He worried that soon he wouldn’t feel warmth anymore upon his return to the frosty, uncaring atmosphere of his parents home. He was snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of your voice travelling across the courtyard.

“Ominis!” You called out to him, catching his attention. You walked quickly to him, Sebastian following behind you. Ominis smiled as you approached, however the smile seemed half hearted.

“Are you alright?” You asked, slightly concerned at his mood. Ominis was normally very open with you, he trusted you with some of his deepest secrets so to see him closed off was a cause for concern.

“Not particularly, no.” He responded, rubbing the patch of skin between his eyebrows. Sebastian caught your eye, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Undercroft?” Sebastian mentioned, trying to guide all of you to a private place, one that would be more suited to this conversation. Ominis nodded, standing quickly and allowing his wand to guide him. You and Sebastian followed after Ominis in silence, unsure of what to say.

Once you’d arrived at the Undercroft, Ominis sat on the floor, his back against one of the pillars and hands folded into his lap. You and Sebastian took spots on the floor next to him.

“What’s happening Ominis?” You asked, worry lacing your voice. Ominis sighed again, he was unsure of how to explain his situation.

“I can’t go home.” He spoke softly, feeling his eyes stinging slightly at the thought of going back home. It made him feel physically sick. Realisation dawned on you, Ominis had told you about his family and their use of dark magic on muggles for sport, he’d never condoned it and the thought of him returning to that environment was stomach churning for you. You cared deeply for Ominis, spending many a night up late and talking about anything you could think of, it pained you to see him like this.

“Then we come up with a plan so you don’t have to.” You spoke softly, trying to think of a way that you could keep Ominis away from his family. Ominis let out a small laugh at the thought, as kind as you were to suggest trying to help him escape, to him it seemed impossible.

“I agree, you shouldn’t have to go back there Ominis.” Sebastian chimed in; brows furrowed in thought.

“I may have an idea.” You spoke cautiously, unsure as to whether your idea would work. Both boys looked at you, waiting for you to speak. “I need to send an owl, I’ll let you know when I hear back.” You mentioned as you stood, making your way to the Undercroft exit, heading straight for the Owlery. You knew just the person to contact for help but you could only hope that it would happen in time.

By the time you had received a reply from your owl, it was only a day before the start of summer, a day before you would all return home.

As you sat at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, you saw your owl swooping in from above, attached to its foot was a small scroll tied with a blue ribbon, your mothers signature sign off to any letter that she sent. You smiled at the sight of your owl as it landed on the table in front of you. Making quick work of the ribbon, you unfurled the scroll and began reading your mothers response.

My Dearest (Y/N),

After receiving your letter, you’ve reminded me of myself at your age. Please invite your friend to stay with us over the summer until we can arrange a more permanent solution.

Any friend of yours is a friend of the family.

Love

(Y/M/N)

You couldn’t help the smile that broke out across your face, quickly attracting the attention of Sebastian who was sat opposite you.

“What’s that?” He asked curiously, gesturing to the letter in your hands. You quickly passed the letter over to him, letting him read through it. As he read the letter a small smile formed, he glanced up at you, gently handing the letter back.

“I told you I had an idea.” You laughed, overjoyed that your mother would allow Ominis to stay with you. She’d told you of her own troubles as a child, growing up in a prominent wizarding family and being expected to marry a pureblood, however she’d had other ideas, finding love in your father, a squib. She’d packed her belongings one night and disappeared, never contacting her family again. She’d followed her heart, the same way that you were now.

“We need to tell Ominis!” Sebastian exclaimed, almost shooting out of his seat with excitement. You both made your way towards the Slytherin common room, running down the corridors to get there more quickly.

As you entered, you spotted Ominis immediately perched over by the window looking out into the Great Lake.

“Ominis! We have a plan!” You yelled over to him, causing disgruntled glances to be cast in your direction from the other students present in the common room. Ominis’ head snapped around in your direction, a small smile forming.

“Enlighten me?” He asked softly, beckoning you to continue.

“You can stay with my me and my family.” You said happily, his smile grew more but you could tell that he had some reservations. The Gaunt name was well known in the wizarding community and not for pleasant reasons.

“Are you sure your family won’t mind (Y/N)? I don’t want to be a burden.” He asked cautiously. You responded softly that they wouldn’t. You knew your family and everything they’d been through, if they believed that someone needed help, they’d be the first to step in, regardless of their last name.

“I’m sure Ominis, now you need to pack your trunk. My mother will meet us outside of the castle grounds tomorrow morning.” You spoke reassuringly, placing a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. Ominis smiled at you gratefully.

“Thank you, I’ll never forget this.” He mumbled, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into a hug which you gladly returned. You stayed that way for a moment, catching Sebastian’s eye as he made kissing motions, referring to you and Ominis. You rolled your eyes at him, shaking your head softly before pulling away from Ominis.

“Now go and pack!” You exclaimed, emphasising the urgency. Ominis quickly stood from his seat at the window and scurried off to his dorm, Sebastian following quickly behind him to help him pack.

You took a seat in Ominis’ place, watching the swell of the water hitting the window as the creatures of the lake swam about. You were grateful to have the family that you had, a kind, supportive family, a stark contrast to Ominis’.

The rest of the day passed in a blur, Ominis had packed all of his things into his trunk and left it by the common room door next to yours. Before you knew it, it was the next day. You had said goodbye to all of the friends you’d made over the few years that you’d been at Hogwarts. Tears flowed, hugs were exchanged and promises to write were made. You and Ominis had promised to visit Sebastian and Anne in Feldcroft over the summer, making plans to explore the area and swim at the local beach, you couldn’t wait.

Your mother arrived to collect you and Ominis shortly after Sebastian departed, greeting you warmly. You ran to her, embracing her in a warm hug.

“I’ve missed you my love.” She spoke softly to you. You smiled into her shoulder.

“I’ve missed you too.” You mumbled. You pulled away gently, stepping back towards Ominis. “Mother, this is Ominis, the friend that I wrote to you about.” Your mother smiled softly at Ominis, greeting him kindly. You saw Ominis relax at your mothers greeting, seeming to believe that he would be accepted into your home.

Your mother took the arms of you and Ominis, quickly apparating away back to your home. You appeared in the living room, startling your father who was sat in his chair reading a muggle newspaper. His eyes were wide to start but they softened when he saw you and your mother, quickly embracing you in a hug. When he pulled away, he turned to Ominis.

“You must be (Y/N)’s friend, what’s your name lad?” He spoke in a friendly tone, smiling at Ominis.

“Ominis Gaunt, sir.” Ominis replied, a tinge of shame lacing his words, worried for the reaction of your father. Even though you’d reassured him that everything would be fine, he wasn’t able to believe that your family would accept him.

Your father paused for a moment, glancing over at your mother, your heart sunk slightly until your mother approached Ominis.

“May I hug you Ominis?” She asked kindly. Ominis looked shocked, unsure of what to say, he simply nodded. Your mother embraced him in a warm, somewhat bone crushing hug. Ominis was unsure at first as to whether he should hug back, but soon returned the hug.

“Welcome to the family dear, you’ll be safe here.”

A/N - As always, feedback is appreciated!

#ominis gaunt x you #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt imagine #ominis gaunt oneshot #ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy reader insert #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy imagine #sebastian sallow

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urdepressedslut · 10 months

Text

You’re Mine, Sunshine ❝part six❞

♡ Pairing: Grumpy!Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Fem!Reader

♡ Summary: Bucky receives a morning visit from Steve, with the news about what was in the box. Bucky continues to think about what he should do. Should he tell you the truth about your stalker?

♡ Warnings: language, angst, fluff, stalking, hints to death threats, mentions of parent death

Part 7

Trope ⇢ Grumpy x Sunshine | Mob!Au Bodyguard!Au

Loud knocking had woken Bucky up from his slumber— his sagging body in the chair next to your bed, straightening.

He felt his back crack, along with his neck— the seat wasn’t the most comfortable. But there was no way he was going to leave you last night— not after you had asked him to stay.

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, giving you a quick look— smiling at your sprawled out form on the bed.

He made it down the hall and down the stairs, checking through the frosty glass before opening. His body was tense— on alert for a possible intruder. It was only Steve. Swinging the door open, he was met with a tight lipped smile— one that didn’t mean good news in his opinion.

“Good morning Buck. Sorry to wake you up, but this is pretty important.” Steve told him, and Bucky rolled his neck around— already feeling stressed for the day.

“Morning— yeah come on in.” He stepped aside to allow Steve to enter.

Steve walked in and shut the door, securing the locks before the two headed towards the living room to sit down.

“So what’s going on?” Bucky asked, running a hand through his hair.

Steve took a deep breath, rubbing his temples in preparation. That didn’t make Bucky feel better. Truthfully— he’s rather never see Steve too often. He felt like it only meant bad news when he saw him. Or maybe he just wanted it to be you two instead.

“Well trust me, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.” Steve added, and Bucky nodded for him to continue. “It’s about the box.”

At first Bucky was confused— having forgot about it completely after yesterdays events. But now with the mention from Steve, his mind spiraled. He dreaded to find out what was in the box— but he also was curious.

“What was in it?” Bucky asked the golden question.

Steve looked down nervously to the floor, taking a second to glance around— making sure you weren’t around.

“If I tell you— it’s not to be repeated to her.” Steve warned, and Bucky scoffed and shook his head.

Here we go again— the big secret that is being kept from you. When in reality, you deserve to know out of everyone. It was about you— a threat to your life.

“Steve this is bullshit— she deserves to know someone is stalking her for fucks sake!” Bucky complained, frustrated that he had to keep something from you.

The more he got to know you better— the more he truly believed you didn’t deserve this. He blamed his defensive behavior on the fact that he was your bodyguard— nothing more.

“We have orders from the boss Buck— I would think you’d understand that.” Steve pointed out.

“Yeah well, it’s not right. She deserves to know. She deserves better.” Bucky defended you, running his hand through his hair stressfully.

Steve gave Bucky a once over, looking at him like he had five heads. Steve was confused at his change in behavior.

“Seriously Steve, what was in the box?” Bucky changed the topic, clearly still frustrated but trying to focus on business.

Steve dismissed his confusion for now and got serious again. Doing another quick glance to make sure you weren’t listening in on the conversation.

“There was another note,” Steve started, “It read wonder if you’d squeal like a pig just like your mother.”

Bucky’s stomach knotted up at the sinister message, the way he was glad you didn’t know about this one. This was something that wouldn’t just shock you— it would disturb you to no ends— haunt you to your core.

“And along with the note was her Mother’s necklace.” Steve finished, and Bucky’s eyes went wide.

This wasn’t just a stalker— this was someone with bad intentions. Someone who already had blood on their hands possibly. Someone who was capable of sick shit.

“The necklace was a locket of her and (Y/n).” He explained. “We still aren’t sure if this has something to do with Pierce— or if this is just a secret admirer.”

Bucky bit the inside of his lip in thought, the whole situation making him uncomfortable— for you. He felt even more protective every time Steve came with bad news. For a second his protective side wasn’t coming out because it was his job— it was coming from the heart.

“She needs to know about this shit.” Bucky muttered lowly.

Steve scoffed, leaning back in his seat. An entertained expression etched his face.

“What happened to you Buck?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, glaring at Steve for a moment before he spoke. His voice defensive— annoyed.

“What are you talking about?”

He wondered for a quick second— was Steve always this annoying?

Steve scoffed again, rubbing a hand down his face, but he wore a shit eating grin, a knowing look sporting his face.

“Miss perfect rubbing off on you?” Steve chuckled, watching Bucky furrow his brows in confusion.

Bucky tried to ignore the anger that built up inside at the nickname Steve gave you.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Bucky pushed.

“Buck— you’re soft man. Quit defending her, the things her dad has said— you need to be watching your back man.” Steve warned and it only had Bucky boiling with anger.

Bucky was sick and tired of this judgement that everyone held against you— this persona that didn’t even exist. You were wrongly labeled as a monster. Bucky just knew it wasn’t fair, especially when you were as sweet as pie. The farthest thing from a monster. He had also seen a side of you— a sensitive side of you that made him melt even more. He saw through the cracks of your bubbly personality— the side that was secretly broken. It made him hurt, and in a way he related to you.

Another part of him hated the way you were able to break down his walls. He had built them for a reason, protecting his heart from the pain the world could cause. Then here you were, skipping right into his life— turning the walls to dust with just the touch of your finger. He felt indifferent about it all— hating it and loving it.

“You don’t know her— so I’d quit talking about her like you do.” Bucky warned, the air now thick with tension as Steve huffed in his seat.

“She could be tricking you Buck. It’s still early— you only just met her.” Steve argued.

“Again— I know her better than you ever will.”

Steve scoffed again, waving his hands towards him.

“Look at you, defending her,” Steve laughed, “You’re her bodyguard— not her boyfriend.”

With that last sentence, Bucky’s jaw was clenched painfully in anger. His hands fisted uncomfortably— his knuckles whitening.

“Thanks for the info— you need to leave.” He tried to say calmly. Although his face was red with frustration.

Steve shook his head, a flash of emotion that looked apologetic passing through his features.

“I’ll see you later.” Steve said lastly, standing up to exit.

Bucky stayed silent, with angry eyes— watching Steve walk to the door until he left. As soon as the door closing sounded, he relaxed in his seat. The air seemed to be breathable now that he was gone. He liked it when it was just you two. Things seemed easier, everything felt lighter.

You’re her bodyguard, not her boyfriend.

The words shouldn’t of rang through his head— but they did. Over and over and over. He was confused at his reaction, but wouldn’t of reacted any other way. Things would be different if you were everything your Father said you were— but you were the opposite. He knew parts of you now and was learning more about you everyday. He had to react like that, if your Father wasn’t going to defend you— he’d do it.

His being craved the lightness your brought— the peaceful aura you’d leave when you were in the room. He found himself wanting to head back upstairs to you— needing to drown himself in the comfort that was your company.

He decided to do just that— headed upstairs to find you. Without him knowing it, he walked up the stairs and down the hall— all with a gentle smile on his lips.

He opened the door slowly, peeking in to make sure you were still asleep— afraid that his knocking would wake you. He was shocked to find you sitting up, legs hanging over the bed.

The door was open, but your back was to him and he knocked anyway— alerting you he was coming in.

“Hey, is it okay to come in?” He asked, his tone soft now versus the harshness from talking with Steve.

You didn’t jump like you usually did, instead you turned slowly and sent him a tired smile. Your hair was messy from sleep, and your eyes were slightly puffy from just waking up. Bucky had to bite his lip to stop the smile from approaching.

God— you looked like… an angel.

You nodded for him to come in, watching his bulky form walk towards the bed.

“You sleep okay?” He asked, shoving his hands in his pockets.

He was suddenly feeling nervous around you, and he wasn’t sure if it was Steve’s comment that kept repeating in his brain.

“Yeah, I did.” You told him shyly, your cheeks heating up.

He nodded and avoided eye contact as the silence was killing him. He had so much to say, yet there was so much stopping him from doing so. He’d try again later when he didn’t feel so stressed out.

“Listen uh…” He started, sitting on the edge of your bed, a professional distance away from you, “I’m sorry about last night— I shouldn’t of said what I did.”

You grew serious but still kept a small smile etched on your face.

“James, it’s okay— you don’t have to keep apologizing.” You reassured him, waving it off like no big deal.

Truthfully, you weren’t upset with him.

He shook his head, his face flushed in embarrassment.

“Yeah I do. You’ve been…” He trailed off, wondering if he should go there, “You’ve been nothing but sweet to me since we met, and I’ve been… well— me.”

He dropped his head in shame, missing the way you were looking at him in awe.

“I’m sorry I’ve been acting like a dick most of the time— I promise I’ll try to be better.” He told you, and you scooted closer and placed your hand on his arm.

“James, I don’t want you to feel like you have to change yourself for me.” You told him.

Bucky felt hot under your touch, but otherwise ignored the feeling and totally disagreed with your statement. Of course he had to change— he wanted to change. He wanted to be a better version of himself for you. He hated that he did, but he couldn’t control it.

“I just wanna make it up to you, you know— for being a dick.” He repeated and you playfully glared at him.

“James if you tell me you’re being a dick one more time— I’m gonna slap you.” You threatened playfully.

Your words sounded goofy coming out of your mouth, but you didn’t expect the reaction from Bucky. His head leaned back and he let out a hearty laugh— one that was echoing off your room walls. You stared at him in shock— the bear was laughing? The bear was smiling like the cheshire cat. You were speechless.

Bucky wiped his eyes, noticing your shocked expression and smiled even more.

“Doll— I’d like to see you slap me. In fact, I’d like to see you beat someone up.” He pushed, the scenario playing through his head— it was adorable.

You shook your head, ridding yourself of the shock that had paralyzed you for a moment.

“Hey! I could hurt somebody if I wanted to!” You argued, crossing your arms in offense. But the corners of your mouth were lifting— his smile contagious.

Bucky had to hold back the snort that tried to escape, and just gazed down at you with a grin.

“Whatever you say doll.” He teased, loving the way you kept blushing at the nickname.

Why else do you think he keeps saying it?

You both sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, both of you content with each other’s presence. Bucky lost his smile just lightly before he spoke again.

“So— I wanna make it up to you,” He started, grabbing your attention, “How about we go get the baking supplies you wanted?”

You beamed at his suggestion, nodding you head excitedly.

“That sounds perfect, thanks James.” You said softly, his gaze giving you butterflies.

He nodded his head in a welcome, and stood up to head out of the room— to give you some space. You watched him leave with a look you had never sported before.

Something within you longed for him, even when you dismissed the thought— it’d come back stronger. You couldn’t starve yourself for the affection that Bucky had provided. Maybe you’d think differently about his suggestion, not thinking twice about it. But after witnessing Bucky defending you— your heart sped up at the memory.

You knew you shouldn’t of spied— but you had heard raised voices from the hallway and grew concerned.

Earlier…

You had cracked your eyes open, just enough to see Bucky’s back retreat from the room. The way his steps were sluggish— sleep still consuming him.

He stayed. Just as you had asked him to.

You opened your eyes all the way and felt the corners of your mouth lifting. Butterflies started to swarm your tummy. You had just woken up and he was already giving you butterflies. He had your day starting good.

While getting lost in a daydream about him— you decided to follow him. You weren’t sure what you even wanted to say to him— if there was anything to say. You just wanted to be around him, even if no words were spoken.

Sneaking down the stairs, you slowed your steps. Questing your breathing when you heard the sound of two voices. They sounded like they were arguing.

“What are you talking about?”

Bucky had sounded annoyed, the way his voice was edgier around this Steve guy.

“Ms. Perfect rubbing off on you?” The man called Steve laughed.

You couldn’t help the hurt that came to you from those words. You weren’t trying to be perfect— bell you knew you’d never be. You weren’t sure what you had done to earn that label. But you hoped it was some misunderstanding.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Bucky boomed, and you were sure if he was spitting those words at you— you’d be intimidated. His voice was thick, heavy with anger.

“Buck— you’re soft man. Quit defending her, the things her dad has said— you need to be watching your back man.”

The mention of your dad had you biting your lip, willing the tears to stay away. Of course he had something to do with this. You wondered like always— what you had done to make him hate you. You loved him and only ever talked highly of him.

“You don’t know her— so I’d quit talking about her like you do.” Bucky defended you, his voice laced with venom towards Steve.

Your heart sped up at the way he was defending you, no one had ever had your back like that. After your Mother passed, it was just you. You unfortunately learned that the only person that had your back— was you. It was depressing but that’s how things were. That was until you heard Bucky.

“She could be tricking you Buck. It’s still early— you only just met her.” Steve pointed out.

You opened your mouth in shock, confused and hurt with the way he spoke about you. You were talked about like you were a disease and nothing more. What did you ever do to him?

“Again— I know her better than you ever will.” Bucky hissed, the venom unfamiliar— at least with you.

“Look at you, defending her,” Steve laughed, “You’re her bodyguard— not her boyfriend.”

You were again— shocked at Steve’s words. But you forgot your own reaction and slightly peeked around the corner— trying to see Bucky’s reaction. From the thick silence that covered the room, you knew his reaction couldn’t be good.

Just barely you could see the side of Bucky’s face, and one of his arms. His metal one that is. You could see the metal fist shake, the way his jaw was clenched so tightly it looked uncomfortable.

“Thanks for the info but— you need to leave.” You heard Bucky try to say calmly.

You could easily tell that he was still angry, but was trying his hardest to hide it. You wanted to know why that sentence out of them all bothered him the most. Just the random theories flying through your head had you blushing.

You had heard enough, deciding to tip toe back up the stairs— and wait patiently for Bucky to come back up. Should you tell him you had listened in?

You found yourself stuck in an internal debate, until you had heard soft knocking come from your door. You knew who it was. You weren’t sure why you felt shy all of a sudden— Bucky had clearly seen you at a pretty low point. You knew you should tell him you were spying— but found yourself backing down in the moment.

Bucky knew it wasn’t smart to be out while someone was threatening you. But he’d be damned if he let anything happen to you. He’d kill anyone without hesitation if they tried anything towards you.

In fact, he’d cleared out the entire grocery store just for you. Letting you roam freely through the place, in search of your ingredients without having to worry. Instead he kept his eyes trained on the glass doors at the front. He didn’t know if he has the power to request such a thing— but had done it anyway.

He didn’t miss the glaring men across the street, who obviously worked for your Father. They sent him judgmental stares— most likely sending a message to Pierce. Bucky knew he should be worried about his position after going against Pierce’s orders. But he was starting not to care. You were deserving of so much more than what your Father had given you.

He rolled his eyes, breaking his staring contest with the men— focusing back on your humming throughout the isles. The music was muted in the store, leaving the sweet sound of your voice echoing throughout the space.

He wasn’t sure if it was paranoia— but everyone that passed by the window and glanced into the store. He immediately labeled them as the stalker. He wasn’t sure if it was his brain desperately wanting to find them— or if he was just worried about you. He obviously was taking a risk bringing you out, but you didn’t deserve to be locked up.

He knew he needed to tell you, and with his brain going back in fourth in a stressful debate— he had found his answer.

He was going to tell you.

“Okay, I got everything. Ready to go?” You announced, pushing your cart towards the only cashier in the store.

Bucky glanced back at you, giving you a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was still lost in his internal debate.

With a nod of his head, you headed towards the checkout. Bucky watched as you talked politely with the cashier— causing them to smile widely at whatever you were saying.

Truthfully he was too stuck in his head to hear what you were saying, but he wasn’t surprised to find you making someone beam. You seemed to have that effect on people.

🤍taglist for this series is officially closed 🤍

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partycatty · 4 months

Note

Hear me out bi han with a figure skating reader?..

YAS i actually have two other requests for the same thing! u guys r so cute i love ur lil ideas :))

bi-han > foolish

how it goes when you're an elegant skater and he's a stoic ninja!

warnings: u almost die, controversial bi-han character writing?

notes: this reads like a barbie movie it's a little corny, also i imagine his frost/ice shoots out like elsa LMFAO like all beautiful n shit when he's not trying to spear someone w an icicle

masterlist <3

•when i say bi-han is absolutely horrible at verbalizing his romantic thoughts, i promise with my entire being that i mean it.

•so it comes to nobody's surprise when all bi-han can do is watch you as you glide across the ice like a gorgeous fairy, eyes closed and completely encapsulated in the movement. he was supposed to be scouring the land for raiden and kung lao to confirm their whereabouts, but he stopped when he heard your pretty humming and scraping of ice. all he could do was stand atop a roof and observe you quietly, suddenly feeling a little warm, which was completely out of character for the cryomancer.

•your skates were handmade and your movements weren't professional. you learned through VHS tapes and magazines growing up, and you wanted nothing more than to leave fengjian and make it big in the olympics.

•each time he returns to fengjian to spy on the farmers and report back to liu kang, he's sure to stray from the path when nobody is looking, and checks on the frozen pond to see if you're skating. something about it entrances him. perhaps it's because he uses his ice for dominance and strength, while you submit your entire life to the deadly pond in such a beautiful display of grace.

•it takes him several visits to actually approach you, and it was entirely unintentional. you had actually fallen into a thin patch of ice, your leg trapped in a jagged part and effectively sucking your leg into the freezing water. he leapt from the rooftop and revealed himself to you. while he may not be the best at encouraging words, he's great at barking commands. so, in his all-ice-knowing voice, he tells you how to save yourself step by step, since you seemed entirely clueless about this incredibly important survival skill.

•your nerves got the better of you as you cry out and squirm, and the ice cracked even more. bi-han let out a growl of frustration with the situation before stomping across the ice to you. you wanted to shout out and tell him to stand back or he'd make it worse, but the words get caught in your throat when, with each step, his footsteps spawned large swirling waves of frosty ice, effectively repairing the cracks around you.

•bi-han doesn't outstretch an arm, he just stands menacingly - and silently - over you as you whimper in pain. saving yourself, you use his thick arm as leverage and hoist yourself out of the water, and he barely flinches at your soggy weight.

•"you... you did that," you say incredulously and out of breath, pointing at the intricate patterns along the ice top. bi-han's eyes follow your point and he exhales before turning back to you. "with the ice... how?"

•"you were foolish," he replies coldly, though you sense a morbidly caring tone in his voice. "stay near the shore. you'll lose that leg if you're not careful. no more skating then."

•your hand is on his chest as you regain your balance, and your eyes fall to the emblem on his uniform.

•"how did you know i was skating?" you ask, with a smirk teasing your lips. bi-han tenses up at your question, looking away momentarily. he would literally rather die than admit he was staring at you, and you sense that, so you move back to the emblem.

•"you are in a clan," you mutter, reaching to trace it. "what are ninjas doing in fengjian?"

•instinctively, he snatches up your wrist and holds it in the air, warning you silently not to touch it. but even so, bi-han's lips part for a moment, his eagerness to speak to you overtaking his stoicism. he covers his mouth and furrows his brows. something about your gentleness, your kindness, causes him to desire to match it. your sweet eyes looking into his, you tilt your head and he nearly collapses.

•he decides not to answer your question, and you assume whatever it is is a private matter. perhaps the whispers in madam bo's restaurant might offer an explanation later.

•"well... thank you," you thank him gently, with your arm still in his grip. it's evident that... he doesn't scare you. in fact, you're fascinated by this man. everyone knows everyone, so who could this big yummy scoop of ice cream be??

•"don't thank me yet," he replies, eyes looking down at the ice and back to the shore. "with me. come."

•you do an awkward combination of skating and walking beside bi-han as he leads you back to the snowy shore. his hand rests on your back, full palm taking up a great amount of space on your back. you shudder at the thought.

•"may i thank you now?" you ask with gentle playfulness, smiling up at the ninja before bowing out of respect. "you saved my life, sir. the least you can do is tell me your name."

•"bi-han," he finally replies, his lips in a firm line. "don't make me save you again. be smart. be vigilant."

•his lecture halts when he hears his brothers call for his name in the echoey distance. he shares one last glance with you before walking off into the village alleys, and you're utterly dumbfounded. did that actually happen, or was that a weird hypothermic hallucination? do those even happen?

•before the lin kuei end their exploration of your village, bi-han decides to leave one last lesson for you at your doorstep. how he even knew where you lived baffled you. but, the uneasiness went away when you opened the hastily put together box, and see a brand new pair of ice skates, the blades frosted with the same beautiful pattern you saw on the ice that day.

•never again did you get near the thin points of the icy pond. and, every winter after that, you can't help but feel a pair of eyes on you in the distance as you improve your flips and pivots using your gorgeous skates. and you're pretty sure the lin kuei's business in the village ended quite some time ago...

#mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat #bi han x reader #bi han #sub zero x reader #sub zero #mk1

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 2 months

Text

The Dangers of Hope Ch. 6

Series Summary: When Y/N shows up at Camp Chitaqua with her little girl in tow, her bloodshot eyes leave no doubt that she's infected. Or is she? Everything Dean has come to know for certain over the last five hellish years, is about to be challenged.

Pairings/Characters in the series: Endverse!Dean x Reader, Emma (OFC), Castiel, Sam Winchester, Lucifer, Michael, Zachariah, Risa, Johnston (OMC), Patrick (OMC), Theresa (OFC), other survivors and soldiers.

Series Explicit 18 +/Warnings: Show level violence, some gore, angst, smut, fluff all the usual for a series of mine. ❤️ Endverse!Dean (that's a warning for his anger and callousness as well as his extreme hotness. 😁) Each chapter will have their own specific warnings.

Chapter Warnings: Nothing major.

Word Count: 3,308

A/N: So, I've had this idea for quite a while. Basically since I watched The Last of Us. I loved Pedro in the role of Joel, but I kept thinking how incredible Jensen would have been. Which then made me think of how amazing he was as Endverse!Dean which then led me to this idea. Lol! I've stolen the premise of Ellie's storyline from TLOU, but made her a grown up, a reader insert, and a love interest for Dean.

If you've never seen TLOU, don't worry - you don't need to have seen it to understand this story. 😊

I've taken some liberties with the Endverse in my story, changed a few things from canon, but kept lots of things too.

I sincerely hope you enjoy the story. It will be ten chapters and I will do my very best to post one chapter every weekend. ❤️

A/N 2: Hope you enjoy this chapter! I'm getting excited to finish up the series. Four chapter left and so far it seems like the story is staying on track, and it shouldn't go over. (But you never know! 😁) Thanks so much to everyone who has been reading, liking, commenting and reblogging this series! It means SO much! ❤️

Series Master List || Main Master List || Tag Lists

The dividers below were created by @saradika

Y/N felt her heart beat triple time as she watched Dean’s face return to the stony granite it had been when she’d first come to camp. Over the last couple of months she'd begun to see him soften slightly; there were even a few moments where he’d seemed on the verge of smiling. His eyes had eventually lost their frosty hardness, and their look of perpetual suspicion.

But both were back with a vengeance now.

She shook her head at him again and tried to understand what he was talking about. “What kind of psychic am I?” She asked, the question conjuring up an urge to laugh. The idea of her having psychic abilities was laughable to her. But she didn’t think Dean would appreciate the humor around it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dean. I haven’t done anything, and I certainly have no psychic powers.”

Dean said nothing, just shuffled sideways towards the door without taking his eyes off of her. Y/N took a few steps towards him, but froze when his hand dropped to the pistol on his thigh and he hissed at her. “Stay back.”

She felt Emma come up and hide behind her leg and her daughter's renewed fear made anger start to burn in Y/N’s chest. In the last few weeks that Dean had been coming to dinner, Emma had been gradually losing her fear of him, offering him shy smiles and even bringing him one of her books and asking him to read to her.

But now Y/N could feel her tremble slightly and frustration flared in her. What was Dean doing? And why? Because her mother had died in a fire when she was a baby? What kind of logic was that? Where was all this insanity coming from?

Dean walked to the entrance of the cabin and called to Patrick. When the soldier appeared in the doorway Dean spoke to him brusquely.

“Go get Castiel.”

Patrick looked back and forth between Dean and Y/N and frowned at the obvious tension. “Sir?” He questioned.

“Now.” Dean said with finality. As the man turned to leave Dean spoke again. “And send Risa in here.”

Dean continued to stare at Y/N, keeping his attention intensely fixated on her, the way he’d done during those first few days she’d been there. When Risa came into the cabin she frowned; like Patrick, she could clearly sense the hostility in the room.

When Dean saw her he nodded towards Emma. “Take the kid.”

Panic suffused Y/N and she began shaking her head. Emma clutched tightly to her leg and began crying and whimpering softly. She shook her head and buried her face in Y/N’s hip. “No, mommy.” She hiccuped softly.

“Take her.” Dean said quietly but firmly. There was a pause for a moment as Risa’s eyes lingered on Emma and Y/N before she shook her head.

“No.”

Dean turned his head slowly to look at his soldier, his expression incredulous and furious at the same time.

“Excuse me?” He said softly, and Y/N felt a shiver run down her spine.

Risa looked away for a moment, clearly intimidated by Dean's anger. But when she looked back at him, her brow was crinkled and she still questioned his demand.

“Why?” She asked.

“Because I gave you an order, soldier.” was Dean's softly spoken reply.

Risa stared at Dean a moment longer before she took a deep breath and then exhaled loudly and forcefully, turning and walking towards Y/N and Emma.

Emma started crying in earnest and Y/N knew that no matter what, she had to try and ease her daughter’s fear. She got down on her haunches and smoothed back Emma’s fly away hair. “Oh baby, it’s okay.” She smiled brightly at her, desperately trying to erase all her own fear and anxiety about what was happening.

“Dean and I are just gonna be here for a little while trying to figure out some boring grown up stuff.” Y/N’s happy smile seemed to be fooling Emma slightly because her tears were slowing and she sniffled.

Y/N kissed her cheek. “Why don’t you let Risa take you to see Keisha and Julianne. It will be so much more fun to play with them for a while, rather than staying here and listening to boring grownups talking. And I’ll come pick you up later, okay? I promise.”

She felt awful making a promise she wasn’t sure she could keep, but she wanted to believe she would be picking her up later, and she wanted Emma to lose the look of panic in her eyes.

She nodded towards Risa. “Go on now, and have fun playing. I’ll see you soon.” She kissed her forehead and gave her another bright smile.

Emma nodded, still obviously unsure, but willing to believe what Y/N was telling her.

Y/N kept her happy smile in place until Emma was out the door and then her mask dropped and she looked at Dean, her eyes accusing.

“Why are you doing this?” She asked quietly.

Before he could answer, Castiel walked through the door. Like the others, he seemed to notice the tension immediately and questioned it.

“Dean? What’s going on?”

Dean motioned for Y/N to move backwards. “Sit down.” He said, with a gesture towards the folding chair she’d been sitting on to read the story. When she did, Dean turned his head towards Castiel, but never took his eyes off of her.

“I know why she’s immune.”

Y/N felt her stomach lurch. “You do?” She asked, some of her anger burning away from pure shock. It was the last thing she’d expected him to say. Though she still had no idea what this had to do with her mother’s death.

But evidently it was connected, because the angel’s eyes widened in disbelief as Dean continued. “Her mother died in a fire when she was a baby.”

It was to her that Castiel looked for an answer. “Is that true, Y/N?” She nodded. “My God.”

“Will someone please explain what my mother dying has to do with anything?” Y/N asked with immense frustration.

But the men ignored her for the moment. Dean was finally looking at the angel properly and he nodded at the questions in his blue eyes.

“Yeah, she’s a psychic kid. She’s immune, just like Sam was.”

“Who is Sam?” Y/N asked, but was ignored again.

Castiel was shaking his head. “Maybe…” He looked back towards her briefly. “Maybe it’s just a coincidence.”

Dean scoffed. “Come on Cas! This is way too big a coincidence to be…coincidental.”

Cas nodded reluctantly and then frowned. “But, if she's psychic...then what’s her gift?”

Both men turned to stare at her, and Dean spoke softly. “That’s a real good question. Because she could be doing anything to us, mind controlling us, or manipulating us to only see what she wants us to.”

Y/N finally did let out a bark of laughter. “Are you insane? You think I’m mind controlling you? If I had the power of mind control, I’d definitely make you be nicer, or I’d make you let me go, because this whole thing is ridiculous! And you still haven’t explained why on earth you think I’m psychic and why my mother’s death is involved.”

Dean stared at her for a long time, and Cas just watched him. Finally Dean spoke and his voice was calm and even, as though he was just telling her a story while they sat around her table eating dinner.

“Ten years before you were born, your mother or father made a deal with a yellow-eyed demon. They got something they desperately wanted and he got permission to enter their house. When you were six months old he came into your room, slit himself open and bled into your mouth. Your mother likely interrupted him somehow, and he killed her and burnt the place down around her.”

Y/N felt her stomach turn at Dean’s words. He had to be insane, there was no way it could be true. Demon blood? A demon killed her mother? She shook her head.

“How on earth could you possibly know any of this?”

“Because it’s exactly what happened to my mom, and my brother. The demon fed him his blood, killed my mom, and when Sam turned 22 he started having psychic visions. And he wasn’t the only psychic kid. There were a bunch of them, and without fail every single one of them had powers and every single one of them went bad.”

His jaw clenched and he folded his arms over his chest. “So, if you’re gonna sit there and try and tell me that you’re the only one that never had the blood take hold, the only one who managed to avoid being triggered when you turned 22? Well, then I know you’re lying. So, I’ll ask you one more time.”

His eyes were chips of ice once again. “What can you do? And what have you done already?”

Y/N blew out a puff of exasperation. “I can’t do anything, do you hear me? I am not psychic! I have no powers!”

Cas stepped forward, putting himself between the two of them. “Okay, Y/N, have you ever felt something, something that made you different from other people? Like,” he snapped his fingers, “the ability to connect easily with people maybe? You seem to make friends quickly, people respond to you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “So being a nice person makes me a psychic now?”

Cas shook his head. “No, but maybe it’s more than you being nice, maybe people can’t help but like you. It could be involuntary on both their part and yours. Like some sort of psychic charisma”

Cas seemed to like his idea, his expression saying that he thought he’d figured it out.

But Y/N was again shaking her head. “No, look, that’s not true. I’ve had lots of people not like me, I’ve had people try to kill me in my sleep just to steal my blanket, I’ve had men attack me just for…well, for being a woman. And I can promise you I didn’t get away from those people by smiling at them and asking nicely.”

Y/N felt the old fears rise in her as she remembered the panic and terror of those moments and so many more like them. To think that she had some kind of mind control or psychic abilities and hadn’t used them then, was laughable.

Cas looked slightly defeated and Dean pushed him aside. “The fact is though, that you could be lying through your teeth, you could be saying anything to knock us off your scent.”

Y/N scowled at him and then stood up. Dean stepped back, and yanked Cas back by his shoulder. “Sit down.” He ordered her but she shook her head.

“This is ridiculous, Dean. You have to know it is.” She took a step towards him. “What about our…our friendship? What about what happened last night?”

Dean’s eyes just got colder and his voice was deep and demanding. “I said, sit down. Now!”

“Dean.” Y/N began and stepped closer again, reaching out to him. But she stopped dead and dropped her hands to her sides as Dean pulled his gun from its holster in the span of a breath.

“I said get back, and sit down.” He said, slow and deliberate.

Y/N looked at the gun pointed at her, looked at Dean holding it, his hand not wavering an inch, and she was suddenly, unbearably sad. She stared at him and knew her heartbreak was plastered on her face, she was bad at concealing emotions.

She nodded slowly and moved back to sit in the chair. She had lied to Emma; she wouldn’t be picking her up tonight.

***

The night passed just as her first night in camp had; with her sleeping lightly, troubled by disturbing dreams and waking to find Dean watching her almost unblinkingly. He took her to the outhouses on his own this time, and she wasn’t in chains so, that much had changed. But his hand hovering over his gun the whole way there and back definitely felt binding, and kept her locked in place just ahead of him.

When they got back to the cabin Dean walked over to the door and said something quietly to whoever was just outside. A few minutes later Theresa arrived with breakfast. She looked at Y/N back in her spot on the floor by the table leg and her young face creased in confusion.

“What’s wrong?” She asked Y/N with a look thrown at Dean.

Y/N tried to smile and put her student’s mind at ease. “Nothing, sweetie. Just trying to sort something out. Tell your mom thank you for the breakfast, but I’m not hungry. You should take that back to her so it doesn’t go to waste.”

“Eat it.” Dean’s voice rang out with authority and Theresa took a step closer to Y/N.

Y/N didn’t bother looking at him. Instead she gave Theresa a reassuring nod and the girl bent to set the tray on the ground. “It’s okay, thank you. I’ll probably be hungry later.”

But she wasn’t. She felt guilty enough about wasting food to try and swallow some down, but it just stuck in her throat and she gagged on it and spit it out. At lunch Brandy brought the food tray and she was slightly more vocal with her questions than her daughter was.

“What the hell is going on here?” She asked Dean. “All the parents are confused and worried. They said you ordered them out of here yesterday and no one has seen Y/N since; Emma’s back with Monique.”

She set the lunch tray on the table Y/N leaned against and bent to pick up the uneaten breakfast tray. She was looking at Y/N, but still addressing Dean when she spoke. “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing that concerns you.” Dean answered brusquely.

Brandy stood to her full height and her large chest rose and fell with indignation. “Since when do you keep me out of the loop?”

Dean frowned at her and his voice was laced with annoyance and anger. “Since this isn’t something that requires your attention. And I’d like to know, exactly when did everyone start questioning my orders?”

Brandy shrugged, seemingly unfazed by his foreboding tone. “I guess when your orders started to seem stupid.”

Y/N’s eyes grew round, beyond impressed at the woman’s boldness and nerve. Dean seemed much less impressed by it though, staring the woman down with a furious expression. But Brandy kept his gaze and never wavered. Finally Dean spoke through gritted teeth.

“Take away the tray, and send someone else with the supper tray.”

Brandy stayed still until Dean took a step towards her and yelled, “That is an order!”

Brandy shook her head, but turned towards the door as she answered. “Don’t forget, boss, not all of us are your soldiers. Some of us follow you because you’ve been a good leader.” She paused at the door and looked back at him. “Don’t fuck that up.”

She walked out, leaving behind an electric buzz of tension in the air. Dean turned back to her and the muscle in his jaw was still jumping.

“Eat.”

But Y/N shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

“Bullshit!” Dean said bitingly. “You haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday. You have to be hungry. I don’t know what kind of hunger strike, sympathy ploy you’re going for here, but it’s not gonna work. Now, eat!” He ended on a shout and something snapped inside Y/N.

She jumped to her feet and yelled back. “This isn’t a sympathy ploy, you bloody dumbass! I can’t eat the food because it tastes disgusting to me and it chokes me. My stomach is in knots and I feel sick! And do you know why that is? Because you keep threatening to kill me!”

Dean thundered towards her, stopping barely two feet from her. “Yeah, and I’m not gonna have you starve to death before I get the chance! Now eat!”

Y/N threw her arms wide. “What the hell do you care if I starve! It’ll just save you a bullet!”

She took a deep breath, feeling herself unraveling but unable to stop. “You have me locked up in this place, again! You think I’m some kind of horrible monster. Again!” Her voice broke. “You have taken my child away from me! Again! So don’t pretend to give a shit about my fucking health and wellbeing!” She reached out to furiously smash the food tray to the ground.

Silence descended and Y/N breathed hard and heavy through her nose, her anger carrying her through a little longer before she turned away from him and buried her face in her hands, quiet, uncontrollable sobs shaking her.

By the time she managed to get herself under some kind of control, she turned around to see that Dean was gone. She looked around the room as though he might be hiding in plain sight, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Y/N walked over and fell down onto the chair he'd sat in all night. She felt exhausted and deflated. She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, but it felt like ages before Cas walked through the door. He looked solemn and he nodded at her.

“Dean says that you should go.”

Y/N felt her stomach drop. “He’s kicking us out?”

Cas held up a hand. “Oh, no! Not…he didn’t say for you to go from camp. I mean that he said for you to go from here. Go get your daughter, go back to your tent. That kind of go.”

Y/N shook her head, more confused than ever. “I don’t understand. Now, suddenly he doesn’t think I’m some kind of psychic menace?”

Cas shrugged. “Psychic yes, but menace no. He said, and I quote, ‘She was pissed enough to take off my head if she could have, and she didn’t, so she can’t.’” He shook his head. “Occasionally his thought process is hard to follow.”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah, you’re telling me.”

She didn’t waste anymore time right then, though, contemplating Dean’s bizarre behavior; she was free to go and she ran to get Emma, apologizing for taking longer than she said she would to come get her.

Emma forgave her easily for not keeping her promise, relief clear in her big, deep cerulean eyes. They spent the evening cuddling in the tent; Y/N read her a dozen books and played clapping games with her until Emma’s eyes were shining again, and no more fear or worry clouded them.

At bedtime she sang her a song and Emma drifted off to sleep happily; Y/N found no such easy reprieve. She laid awake for hours trying to understand Dean and the way he thought. He’d been so angry, so sure of her wickedness and evil. And then, just like that, because she’d exploded in anger, he let her go?

How did that man’s mind work? And how did he see her now? Harmless psychic freak? Or someone he’d still have to keep a close eye on?

She shook her head. It didn’t matter, he’d made himself perfectly clear on one thing, the relationship she’d thought they had, the friendship that she’d hoped would grow into more had meant nothing to him. The kiss they’d shared had meant nothing.

She meant nothing. He couldn't have acted the way he did if he cared about her at all.

She needed to remember that going forward and not let her heart get entangled so easily.

From now on, she needed to keep her distance.

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters: @lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33 @akshi8278 @evznackles @jackles010378 @impala67rollingthroughtown @krazykelly @candy-coated-misery0731 @envyaurora95 @spnwoman @deans-baby-momma

Dean Fics Only @roonthelittlespoon920 @slamminmine @zepskies @safiyas-world

Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom: @kazsrm67 @slut-for-evans-stan @sexyvixen7 @nancymcl @waywardcheshire

Everything Incl. Fan Edits: @k-slla @leigh70 @eevvvaa @kickingitwithkirk @foxyjwls007 @notinthislife50 @roseblue373 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @avanatural @mrsjenniferwinchester @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @deangirl96 @hobby27

#dean winchester #endverse!dean #endverse!dean x reader #dean x reader #dean x y/n #endverse!dean x y/n #endverse #endverse!dean series #dean winchester fan fic #the dangers of hope

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 1 year

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We bleed tonight II

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a/n thank you so much to @brekkershadowsinger for beta reading this for me! Who am I without you.🤍

warnings: mentions of past trauma

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Azriel's life was falling apart as he rushed up the stairs. He couldn't stop. He had to move. He had to keep going. If he was to miss a step and tremble down, he was never going to stand up again. Move, move, go, the spymaster muttered to himself. The walls started to cave in on him. His chest suddenly felt as tight as the chains around your wrists. Your wrists. At that minute, Azriel wanted the tightness around them to hurt, but now he couldn't help the worry. Couldn't help the regret. Azriel didn't mean it. Or did he?

"Azriel", a voice rang out from behind the spymaster, but Azirel didn't turn around—he couldn't. He couldn't because he was feeling ashamed. He felt as if he had failed Rhys. Failed his court. He was the protector. He had to stop thinking like that before they grew roots and shared what they had all built throughout the years together. But he didn't. For the first time in his life, Azriel missed a threat. "I saw the tint before I… did nothing and missed it", Azriel choked out, hand coming to clap his own throat as he braced himself on the wall. His wings sagged behind him as he sank to the floor. "Azriel", the high lord repeated, kneeling before his spymaster. Before his brother. Yet not recognizing him. Azriel's distant demeanor was just as unfamiliar to him.

"What were you doing to get the towels so dirty?", you were seated in Azriel's leather chair, spinning around as you munched on an apple. "Touched up my hair", "It looks like someone had some serious diarrhea in our bathroom", you let out an offended gasp. "I'm sorry, are you saying that my hair looks like shite, spymaster?", you leaned onto his table, narrowing your eyes. Azriel stepped closer, "That is not true, but you are a messy one. So small but so messy", Azriel leaned to your level just as you let out a huff. "You're full of insults this morning, lover bug", "Not true again, however, I would love to see your natural hair". Your heart skipped a beat, but you didn't lose the smile. This conversation had occurred many times before. The first time it happened, you had gone so pale that Azriel thought you were going to faint on the spot. Then he managed to learn that you just hated your hair color. Then that you hated it because it reminded you too much of who you had been. It had stayed at that for a long time now. Whenever the conversation flowed to this, you always got defensive, so Azriel chose to drop it. And now he wishes he hadn't. If only he hadn't, he would have figured this out way sooner.

"Azriel", it had almost turned into a mantra on Rhys's lips. He had no clue how to pull Azriel out of his spiraling head. Stuffed with thoughts that were drowning him slowly. Dunkig him deeper and deeper. "I fucking missed it, Rhys. She slept in my bed", Azriel muttered, pulling at the roots of his hair. Rhys clasped his brother's shoulder, trying to meet his eyes. The sound of your laugh filled Azriel's mind; his hands clasped over his eyes instantly.

"What are you looking at", you muttered, still sleepy. White sheets the only thing covering your body. Azriel inched closer, leaving feather-like kisses on your exposed arms. "You, I'm looking at you", Azriel murmured against your skin, and you let out yet another chuckle. Azriel soaked up the warmth of your skin. You were always so warm. At nights, when he felt like he was drowning, it was your warmth that pulled him out. Warming his frosty heart. Wrapping him up from all the freezing darkness that he loved to surround himself with. His sunshine. His light. "Why are you being so sweet?", your fingers pushed through Azriel's messy hair, "Because I love you." His body had stilled when the realization of the words that had slipped through his lips hit him. Your big eyes gape at him now.

In a perfect world, Azriel would have disappeared between his shadows, but then a little smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "Say it again", you ordered him quietly. Azriel watched you for a heartbeat. Your hopeful eyes had been glazed with a shine that glimmered in the morning sun. As if his words had just broken a curse. As if you had never imagined anyone saying those words to you. "I love you. All of you. Had for a while now", Azriel admitted right as your arms and legs wrapped around his strong torso, bringing him closer to you. A little sob echoed as you pressed yourself closer to your lover. "I love you, I love you so much", you had muttered. Muttered and meant it. Azriel, you knew deep down that you did. Because he felt it. He felt the love. He felt you.

"Azriel, for mother's sake, breath", Rhys's voice ripped Azriel out of the memory. The spymaster drew in a harsh breath in. Yet his lungs seemed to reject oxygen. "She could have killed us all… She", "AZRIEL", Rhys roared this time, "Brother, look at me. What the fuck is happening?", But when Azriel did look up, there was no resemblance of the worrier Rhys knew. No, right before him sat a scared and broken boy. The boy that Rhys and Cassian had dragged out of the dark basement and built up into a man.

Your tears had dried. Sitting with your head still resting on the cell wall, you gazed blankly at the rat that had come out in search of any food scraps. Oddly, it didn't seem foreign. The majority of your childhood, as it was, was spent in places worse than this. You're a disgrace. Your mother should have lost you before you even started to form within her womb. You closed your eyes. Trying to escape the voice that never stopped hunting you.

You knew that you should have handled so many things differently. Velaris wasn't a place where you were meant to stay. You came here with a mission. A task you were meant to carry out and leave. No harm was intended. A promise to fulfill. And be gone after. Nothing but a light autumn breeze. But then Azriel came around, and selfishly, you wanted to stay. You wanted to feel. Wanted to finally have someone who saw you. Who wanted you. Who was ready to start a war for you. Who looked at you. Who listened. Who would never harm you. Until tonight… You pressed your palms over your eyes as another wave of tears came.

"Even if you showed me your darkest secrets, I would stay", Azriel had said to you as you sat under the stars, warped up in each other's arms. You should have said it back then. Should have explained. Because Azriel valued honesty. Mother, trust was key to any relationship. But you couldn't find it in you. It plagued you. As if you were marked by the devil itself. With a tag that you wished you could have ripped off. You didn't want it. It wasn't who you were. You knew what it meant in other courts. Autumn's rat. Your lover's words rang in your ears. No longer his girl. No longer his light. A rat. An ache clasps around your heart. You knew that Azriel was never going to forgive you. And could you forgive him? For tonight. Could you forgive the fact that he believed them? The people who had run you down for decades. Who had stepped on you. But he didn't know. You never told him. A cracking sound made your head quickly dart up as you grasped the cold metal bars. Let it be Azriel, you thought to yourself; let it be him; let me look at him one more time, please.

"You're not thinking straight", Rhys was still kneeling in front of his spymaster, "What happened in Autumn, Azriel?". The high lord's voice wasn't demanding, but he knew this was some sick, twisted joke that Azriel got pulled into. "Because, brother, you just shackled the woman you love in a cell. Let that thought sink in", Rhys said calmly. Cassian grunted from beside him, arms crossed over his chest. If not for Rhys's mind-to-mind request to be with them here, Cassian would be in the dungeons with you. He didn't find it in himself to believe that you had done something wrong, let alone conspired to make a move to spy on Azriel.

"They…", Azriel rasped out, but the speed at which his mind was turning made it so hard for him to pick the right words. "There are papers full of information that she had given to Beron about our moves". Rhys looked up at Cassian, who was already shaking his head, "Let me guess. It was also Beron who so kindly gave it all to you", Azriel didn't even need to nod his head for the two males to know the answer. Now that it has been put in perspective, it did feel stupid. Beron, of all the high lords, knew how to rile people up.

"He knew so much about her, Rhys. He just kept on pulling things one after another. He knew where her birthmark was", Rhys closed his eyes at Azriel's words. The spymaster caught onto the action straight away. "Rhys", "He knew because she grew up with that sadist", a cold shiver ran down Azriel's back. You weren't just from Autumn court. You didn't just work for the man. You were a Vanserra. No, that couldn't be true. I hated what I was, Azriel; I don't want to be that person anymore. You had told him so many times. Every single flinch, every time you zoned out while looking at the fire, every night you woke up drenched in sweat gripping Azriel's hand, every single scar that painted your skin now made sense. You were hunted by him. Beron was the man you looked for in the dark shadows, shivering. Everyone knew how Autumn's high lord was and how his kids were brought up and treated. The fact that you didn't exist in Autumn family's list was clear evidence of how they viewed you.

"It's his vendetta against her. Her existence is what he hates", Rhys continued, "You should have told me", Azriel whined. Scraping to get up. The only thought was now about you and how he had dragged you around the way your father had probably dragged you around for years. "I found out by accident. It was her story to tell, Az. She was going to tell you, but she was scared you were going to view her differently", Azriel cringed at his brother's words. View you differently. He had proven your fears to be true. He had done what you had feared. He had let you down. Azriel looked down at his hands. The scared palms that you had kissed so many times. The palms that you always nestled closer to when he caressed your cheeks. Now he hated them more than ever before. Those hands had hurt you. The thought of the tight grip that he had on you made him feel sick. He was meant to protect you. Keep you safe. What had he done? What was he going to do now? "Let's start by getting her out of there Rhys said, as if reading his spymaster's mind, and Azriel only nodded.

You shook your head as the figure crept closer to you. Wrapping the chains around your body. And when the strand of red hair slipped from under the hood, you couldn't help the shriek of fear that escaped your lips. No, there was no way he found a way in here. There was no way that Azriel or anyone would allow him free access to the night court. You knew that you should have pulled yourself together. Don't show it; lift your head; don't show him that he got under your skin. But the man pulled the hood from his head. A scared face glanced right at you. His eyes pierced your soul.

"Lucien", you muttered so quietly, afraid that this was a dream and if you talked too loudly, he was going to fade away. He opened his mouth to speak, but not a single word came out. He stepped closer and pressed his hands onto the bars, his eyes never leaving you. "Your scent", he muttered finally, "You always seemed so familiar. Like I knew you somehow". Your bottom lip trembled again as you crawled closer to him. "Why are you here? How did you…", if you got framed by Beron. Mother only knew what he was going to do to Lucien. Was he going to be dragged into this as well?

"Eris", the male said, "Eris heard what happened in Autumn and sent me a letter". A tear ran down your cheek at the sound of your brother's name. Spoken so bitterly in this court, but if only they all knew how much he was doing behind closed doors. He was the reason you were here. He was the one who told you to look for Lucien. He was the one who sneaked into your cell back in Autumn, warming you through the night. Who offered to beat you himself so you would escape the real blow from his father's hands. Who did everything he could to keep you safe to keep you alive. Eris was the reason you were breathing now.

"You", Lucien pushed his hand into the cell, twisting the strand of your ginger hair around his fingers. "A sister", he let out a choked chuckle. Your chained hand reached for his. "Mother was pregnant with me when Eris got out to the border". At least that was what Eris had told you. And Lucien was almost always a part of the stories told to you. "Father locked her up after that. I never got to see her again", Lucien added, and you nodded your head. "Because of me, because of us", you trailed off the last part. "What does that mean?", his face suddenly was laced with confusion. You hesitated for a moment. In the position you were in now, you had no idea what was to come next. And this and now might have been the only time that you had with him. The only time to tell him "Beron is not our father, Lucien. Helion is", his face paled, and he backed away slightly. Bracing himself on the cell bars, his brain rushed through every detail that he could think of. "I know it sounds insane…", you started, but he was quick to cut you off, "Stand back". Worry clouded your eyes. Was he going to turn away from you as well? Was he going to leave you behind? Pretend that it never happened? "I don't want to hurt you; stand back", he said once again. You obeyed, moving to the other side of the cell while still watching him.

The walk to the dungeons never felt so long to Azriel. But now he dreaded it. Dreaded seeing the consequences of his actions. Because a part of him knew you were never going to forgive him. Yet he clung to the hope, still clung to the hope that if he explained… He was ready to crawl, to beg for a chance to fix it. Losing you would crush him. Something in his chest tightened at the thought of that. No, he was going to make it all right. No matter what it took, he was going to make it all okay.

Yet, his newly found hope got crushed as quickly as it blossomed. It was empty. The door to the cell was ripped open. Patches of burned-out fabric were splattered inside. The spymaster stepped forward. "Azriel", the high lord had called out for what felt like a thousand times that night, but the spymaster only lifted his hand to silence him. He didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to hear a single word. Had you fled? Melted the chains off your hands. Ripped the cell open. There was no way. Then he caught onto the scent—someone else's scent that hadn't been here before. Lucien. Lucien had come to your aid. Or was he bringing you back to Beron? No, he wouldn't. The emissary could be brutal in a fight, but not with the people he loved. Where to? Was he going to be able to find you? To tell you what he wanted to say?

Azriel sank to the floor when the realization of what he had done hit him again. You've been running for so long, and the moment you found your safe haven, Azriel ripped it away from you. Silent tears rolled down his cheeks right as the glistening object caught the spymaster's attention. He reached out to it without a second thought. A necklace. Your necklace. A gift Azriel had given you. The shadow singer wrapped the small pendant in his fist. Mother only knew how much he wanted to roar.

"I will never take it off", you promised, looking down at the blue sapphire, "I want you to have a piece of me with you always", he had said, "Territorial and so Fea-male like, but you're lucky because I love you". Your eyes had been so full of love that night as you reached up to kiss him. You were his back then. Back then, Azriel was sure that he was never going to do anything to hurt you. He knew what this was. Your silent goodbye. Your way of letting him go. Your way of telling him that what he had done had ripped a void between you two. That he had done things you weren't willing to forgive him for. Azriel pressed the palm with the pendant to his chest. A part of him still felt your presence there. Yet there was nothing Azriel could do besides let his heart bleed tonight.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel imagine #azriel shadowsinger #acotar imagine #acotar x you #acotar x reader

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mydearlybeloathed · 6 months

Text

OLD MASTERLIST

𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜. ♡

➼ moodswings

in which the hormones attack. zoro x f!reader, sanji x f!reader, luffy x f!reader

𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐲 ♡

➼ are you still sad?

luffy had always been more observant than you gave him credit for. f!reader

➼ i remember thinking i had you **

you'd always had a feeling luffy's dreams would outgrow you, but when that day finally arrives, you're not as prepared as you'd thought you'd be. now he's willing to take a chance to make his dream come true, fully believing you're right behind him. you have a decision to make: risk everything for the boy who means everything, or set him free of your doubts. gn!reader, multi part fic, opla!luffy

𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐣𝐢 ♡

➼ flavors of home *

in which even though you've been rescued, you're homesick. a certain pirate chef is more than willing to help cure the ailment. f!reader

➼ we are never getting back together (?) *

in which you, now a successful singer, and sanji, now a pirate, reunite unexpectedly when you return to baratie for a one night only performance. f!reader

𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐣𝐢'𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐚 ♡

➼ my sister, my responsibility **

even as you grow older, you'll always be his baby sister.

➼ another birthday down the drain

you would have thought your birthday would keep zeff and sanji from bickering—well, you thought wrong.

𝐳𝐨𝐫𝐨 ♡

➼ get some sleep

you just can't get to sleep thanks to a terrible rainstorm terrorizing the ship. luckily, your tossing and turning inspired nami with an idea: just go sleep with the swordsman. f!reader

➼ got me spinning like a ballerina

in which zoro doesn't dance, but he has no issue in watching you twirl yourself off your feet. so long as you twirl back to him when your feet get tired. f!reader

➼ sail again **

once upon a time, you'd weaseled your way into the demon pirate hunter's confidance, and maybe even his heart too. but one bounty gone wrong leads to you being left behind, and you just can't understand why. f!reader, opla

𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜. ♡

➼ hindsight * foresight

in which your death brings the heroes of olympus back together, after nearly a decade of fighting. f!reader

➼ a fatal habit

in which nico intends to prove that your habit could kill you. platonic!gn!reader

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐡 ♡

➼ surprise

in which annabeth has a birthday surprise for percy.

➼ spider slayer

in which mortal!annabeth really doesn’t like spiders, and is lucky to find someone willing to fight them for her.

𝐣𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 ♡

➼ clear sight *

in which you do some late night investigating in the woods near your house. f!mortal!reader

➼ a loss for words

in which you and jason have a moment alone over the city. gn!reader

➼ a camp halfblood christmas **

in which you thought creating a real life frosty the snowman for estelle blofis, a regular camp visitor. it goes... unexpectedly. f!reader

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐲 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧 ♡

➼ goner

in which the castellan that stayed has a hard time at camp. f!castellan!reader

𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜. ♡

➼ granger danger *

in which hermione’s time turner malfunctions.

𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 ♡

➼ frostbite *

in which sirius better have a very good reason for being late to your date. f!reader

➼ sleepless nights

in which sirius, a year after azkaban, is still suffering from nightmares. gn!reader

➼ sunday mornings *

in which you and sirius have always bonded over what you might just love more than each other: your hair. f!reader

𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐬 𝐥𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐧 ♡

➼ my boyfriend's back

after rejecting a boy in your hometown, he goes around spreading rumors about you and him. luckily, you have full faith in your wizard boyfriend, who just so happens to be coming back form his fancy wizard school in just a few days. gn!muggle!reader

𝐚𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐫

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐲𝐚𝐦 ♡

➼ rainshowers *

in which neteyam is more affectionate than you’re used to. fem!omaticaya!reader

𝐥𝐨'𝐚𝐤 ♡

➼ grounded

in which you have nothing better to do than fix your lover’s hair. fem!omaticaya!reader

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜.

𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐚 ♡

➼ dating jim headcanon

➼ the sword on the table **

in which whilst in the depths of the heroes forge armory, you and your friends come across a peculiar sword that has a mind of its own. gn!reader, hinted jim x reader

𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ♡

➼ the accidental confession

in which those three little words finally slip out steve harrington x f!reader

𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧 ♡

➼ an evening out

in which you’re a princess visiting camelot, and both you and arthur are aware that a marriage is likely in the works arthur x princess!reader, wip

𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟 ♡

➼ selenophile

in which ondine beck doesn't believe in monsters... until she doesn't have much of a choice. liam dunbar x fem!oc, hiatus

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐬 ♡

➼ star boy's lament

in which the more important things could wait till morning. for now, it’s only you and him and the sky. ezra bridger x f!reader

➼ not it!

a simple day on the ghost goes awry as chores are assigned, and the age old law of Not It is enacted. ghost crew x gn!reader

#masterlist .#nav .#divider by @cafekitsune

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lazyjellyfish300 · 4 months

Text

DD part 6

Fem reader x Miguel O'Hara

Synopsis- fem reader drinks too much and the bartender calls a random Uber for her which happens to be Miguel O'Hara himself. Her friends suck and ditch her. There's a lot of tension on the ride home... plot inspired by the original comic.

Commissioned art by ejpuki on Instagram

Part 1 (contains link to all prior chapters)

Word count: 2k

@mysteris-things @averagefloydlover @roserfz27

@latenightcravingz

TW: MINORS DNI, BLOOD, LITTLE ANGST, SUGGESTIVE CONTENT, NO MAJOR SMUT YET, JUST SEXUAL TENSION AND MAKING OUT, age gap(reader is 26, Miguel is 34)

A/N: Sorry y'all, I need to drag this out just a tiny bit so I can make this series at least 10 parts, otherwise I feel like I didn't meet my mission of making a full length series fanfic. I also tried a little harder with the Spanish. (Being a woc but being monolingual is so fkn embarrassing LMAO 😭) If I messed up, Spanish Speakers please call me out. 🙏🏽

Hope you enjoy! 🖤 Thank you for all the support, means so much.

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The snow starts to dust your shoulders as you and Miguel just stay on top of the J condominium building in Brooklyn, kissing.

You've been at it for a few minutes now, the kisses growing deeper and more hungry. The frosty bite of the December air seemingly kept at bay outside of the steamy bubble you two were creating. You both have now transitioned so he's sitting on the ground and you're in his lap with your legs crossed around his lean waist.

He's running his hands all over your back until they come to rest on your ass, squeezing and massaging the flesh through your leggings which makes you gasp into his mouth. You can feel him smile in response as he continues to move against you, slipping his tongue over your lips and back into your mouth. You jerk suddenly when you feel the tiniest prick on your lip, realizing he nipped you with one of his new fangs.

His eyes widen in alarm. "¡Lo siento!...¿estás bien?" (I'm sorry! Are you okay?)

You nod, a little bit shocked as you bring a hand to your lip, a small dot of blood caught on the plump part of your bottom lip.

"I got a little carried away." Miguel admits bashfully, running the tip of his knuckle gently across your chin, giving your booty a love squeeze with his free hand.

You give him a little smile and tickle the nape of his neck with your fingertips. "It's okay, I kind of liked it," you assure him.

He smiles at you and notices you've begun to shiver. "Let's go home?"

A warm feeling washes over you when he refers to your apartment as home, as though it's his too. "That sounds great. This cold is something else."

"Yeah, I can tell it's starting to get to you." Miguel answers, scooping you up, noting how adorable you look, shivering in his bulky arms. "It's probably going to be a cold ride home. Just hang in there and I'll get us back as fast as I can." Miguel reaches around and pulls your hood over your head, tucking in your hair and sealing it with a kiss on your forehead. "Hold on tight," he reminds you again with a whisper.

Your breath hitches in your throat once more as the quiet outlines of buildings zoom past your vision, the frigid air harsh and relentless as it brutalizes your face. The only things you can focus on is your death grip around Miguel's torso, and the bitter cold. The sky is completely dark now, save it for the persistent city lights below. You turn your head a little, daring to look in front at what Miguel's focusing on.

buzz thwap, release, buzz, thwap, release.

The rhythmic motions of the way he's casting and swinging from the red webs is mesmerizing, other worldly. You can't help but marvel at his power.

His eyes are full of concentration, aiming expertly. Incredibly skillful already at his powers he acquired just less than 24 hours ago. You turn your face back into its resting spot in the crook of his neck and squeeze your thighs a little tighter around him for safety, to which he grins fondly.

Finally, you two reach your apartment. He lands gently on your small balcony and you let go of him, landing back on solid ground with a small thud. You smile at him. "Thanks, babe. That was absolutely incredible."

"No, thank you for letting me take you into my new world for a bit. It's good practice for me to get a hang of things. But I'm glad you enjoyed yourself." He squeezes your hand as he opens the sliding door into your apartment, letting you go inside first.

You sigh as the warm air of your apartment welcomes you. A cozy feeling rises in your belly when you realize you and Miguel have all night together. But, you panic slightly as you realize that you hadn't exactly prepared yourself for any spicy time, as you were not expecting him to come knocking at your door after ghosting you on your second date, covered in blood with new fangs, talons, and eye color to match.

"¿Te sientes cansado, cariño?" He asks warmly, pulling you closer to him. (You feeling tired, dear?)

You look sheepishly up at him. "Not really...but I could use a little time to freshen up, if that's okay with you?"

Miguel runs his hands along your belly, causing you to squirm a little. "Of course that's okay, take your time."

You stand on your tiptoes and give him a small peck. "Make yourself comfy. You can find a movie for us to watch in the meantime."

Miguel smiles. "Yes ma'am." He takes his shoes off and walks over to your couch, splaying himself out and stretching with a small grunt, the bottom of his hoodie receding up over his toned stomach ever so slightly.

You feel butterflies as you admire how handsome he looks relaxed in your space like that. Then you snap out of it and bolt for your shower. As you let the warm water run down your back you feel tingles of excitement and arousal, imagining him in there with you.

When you've washed your entire body, you get out, the air in your bathroom chilly on your wet skin. You dry off and waddle into your bedroom, frantically searching for a matching pair of bra and panties but you find none and curse when you realize you forgot to do the laundry. You sigh and settle on a pair of plain black panties and no bra, figuring there's a possibility they might come off anyway.

You brush your teeth and throw on a crew neck sweatshirt, some booty shorts, and some fuzzy socks, messing with your hair in the mirror one more time as you make your grand entrance into your living room carrying a blanket.

Miguel sits up a little as you walk in, his eyes taking in the thickness in your legs, your ass, hips. The way your hair and bare face cast a simple glow around you. You look absolutely divine in your element. The faint smell of your soap emits a sweet flavor off your skin.

He scoots over and drapes an arm around you and scoops your legs into his lap, stroking the skin around your knees absentmindedly as your movie begins. Hunger Games starts, and every now and then Miguel asks a clarifying question which you answer patiently, admiring that he's getting immersed in the plot.

"Making a bunch of kids fight to the death for entertainment? Heh...that's uh. That's kinda fucked up."

You give a little snort. "That's just the tip of the iceberg, babe."

As the romantic tension between Peeta and Katniss builds, it does between you two as well. Your eyes start to droop quite a bit. It's well past midnight at this point, approaching 1 am? You're not sure. But you are feeling more daring as you feel the desire start to overwhelm you.

Your fingers move to his ear, lightly tracing the outer part, and then moving down to carefully massage his lobe. His eyes close at the sensation, warmth starting to pool in his body at your touch. You feel your heart speed up a little, you're starting to steer this night to where you want it to go. He turns his head to you, a sneaky smile starting to spread across his pretty face.

"¿Qué haces?" (What are you doing) He says in his rich voice, the silky drip of seduction lining his question ever so subtly.

You give him an innocent closed lip smile. "Just looking at you..." Your finger moves to trace his neck, your knuckle curling around the collar of his hoodie, tugging it down to get better access. Miguel inhales slowly, trapped in the spell you didn't know you were casting.

"Allow me to let you get a closer look..." he breathes softly.

His eyes stay locked on you and before you know it, those alluring full lips of his are pressing against yours again. You let out a soft moan in surrender as you feel him getting up, overpowering you as he lays you backwards on the couch and allows his hands to slip under the back of your sweatshirt.

Your back arches on instinct which drives him crazy. He kisses you harder, slipping his tongue into your mouth, groaning into you, aching for this to be the night that you two christen your love with a heated first fuck.

A sharp sting jolts into your ribs, leaving your eyes watering in pain as you gasp. Miguel stops abruptly and looks down at you with worry, and then realizes his passion has caused his talons to spring outward and into both sides of your torso, just midway around your ribs. He pulls his hands back from you in horror.

"Shit, shit shit.....I'm so fucking sorry...are you okay baby? Shit... Hold on!"

He sprints to your bathroom and gets the first aid kit you used on him earlier. You try to shake off the pain that's still ringing on both sides of your ribs with a wave of your hand, but the salty tears gathering behind your eyes starts to run down your cheeks as you suck in air between your teeth.

Miguel comes back, gently applying a gauze pad to the two tiny puncture marks on both sides to stop the bleeding. He blinks furiously, breathing heavily as he mutters quiet reassurances and apologies to you.

Once you're putting some bandaids on the cuts at your urging, he runs a hand through his hair, blowing out air from his cheeks as he looks off, the Adam's apple in his neck bobbing with a lump in his throat. He tenses his jaw and closes his eyes, tears threatening to spill.

Now, he can't even express his love to you without fear of hurting you. Tyler and Aaron. Sons of bitches. Not only robbing him of his brown eyes that connected him to his family, but now his ability to love you too. A starved man forced to sit at a table and gaze at a feast he could not devour. Your body a delicate vase in his hands he threatened to shatter. A tiny shudder of a flame he ignited with a match, only for the dark, contemptible winds of the night to blow it all away. The emptiness of the shadows consuming his soul, extinguishing all light within it and driving a stake through his heart once more.

He balled his hands into fists and leaned into you, this giant of a man becoming small in your arms. "I'm so sorry baby...estoy un monstruo." his voice cracked with grief. (I'm a monster)

"Don't say that." You say sternly. "They did this to you. It's not your fault. I don't care what you look like. I don't even care if you'd hurt me..."

He brings his face slowly up to yours, and your heart breaks at the small tears that trickled down his cheeks. You lean in, cleaning them away with gentle kisses, dragging your lips down the side of his thick neck.

A low rumble appears in his throat and he closes his eyes and sighs, his heart coming back to life slowly, swelling with love for you and brings a hand to the back of your neck.

"Baby..." he groans, slowly unraveling underneath the trail of your lips.

"Hmmm?" you respond innocently, still focused on kissing every square inch of skin around his neck.

"We don't have to do this..." his voice shudders. The way you're kissing his neck is bringing him closer to just dragging you to your bedroom down the hall.

"Please...I want to...." you moan into his skin.

His voice shudders again, he grits his teeth as he feels himself rising in his pants, pleasure smoldering throughout his body. "I might hurt you again..."

"You won't," you whisper earnestly. "You won't hurt me," you repeat firmly. You turn to the first aid kit and get out a couple bandaids and wrap them around the tops of his fingers, retracting and pushing the talons down a bit, cushioning the sharp edges from the outside as a protective sheath.

Miguel raises his brows then smiles at your ingenious. "Que inteligente tú eres," he compliments you softly. (How smart you are)

You smile, lean in and plant a tender kiss on his lips as a thank you. He groans and runs both of his hands through your hair, picking you up, eager to return the favor to you in the form of taking his time on you for the rest of the night.

You wrap your legs around him instinctively and he continues to kiss you passionately as he carefully carries you down the hall into your bedroom, a whispery moan escaping his lips.

🖤

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Part 7

#Spotify #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel atsv #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara smut #atsv miguel #fanfic #across the spiderverse

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sweetheartmotives · 7 months

Text

❆⊹ ₊Yandere Arctic Fox Hybrid₊ ⊹❆

Desc and possible Cw: Yandere themes, sexual themes, staring, awkwardness, and mentions of dying.

Let me know if I missed any!

(Blizzard noises)

The Blizzard gets worse by the second. It scratches your skin and rings your ears. All you hear is the harsh winds scratching and scraping your skin.

Every step you take burns and aches. But, You push forward. Walking- no, Crawling through the thick blanket of snow. It comes up to your knees and if you stay out here any longer, up to your Thigh.

How did you even end up in this situation..? What caused you to get stranded? What happened before this?.. You can't think properly. The cold scratching your face and numbing your body as you move drains whatever energy you have left to think. After another cruel, long 30 minutes of walking, you finally give up. You fall face first and just lay there, awaiting your frosty, snow-filled death.

(Crunch.. crunch..)

You feel something sniffing your head, after a minute of sniffing, it grabs the hood of your jacket and drags you away.

You've passed out.

Your eyes gradually open, and you feel your entire body as warm as a cozy Christmas, all wrapped up in blankets while drinking hot cocoa. The fluffy fur-like material covers under and over your body. Your body is warm and at ease, which means, you're not thinking about where you are or what you're doing. You lay in the big pile of comfy fur material and relax your aching muscles.

(Snow noises)

The noise of snow falling is faint, but apparent.

It's comforting. You can't even understand or comprehend what's going on; all you can think and feel right now is warmth. That is, until you hear a noise. You sit up and look towards the noise.

It's a man wearing only pants and a hooded cape with fur all along it. He makes eye contact with you, giving a blank but threatening stare. He appears to be trying to gauge your reaction to him, but after a few seconds, he backs off. When you finally look around, everything is dirt. The walls, floor, etc. Where are you? You finally look down at yourself; you're naked. You cover yourself with the material that you're lying on, you obviously don't want to flash the guy who most likely saved you from dying in the snow.

When he comes back into the room you're in, you decide to ask the question. You ask where your clothes are. "Drying." He says simply. His voice is smooth and deep. The atmosphere is awkward, well, for you at least. He's doing his whole thing, which is staring at you. You lean back a little and continue to glance around the "room" you are in, again, everything is dirt. You awkwardly look at the man and ask another question, "where are we?".

He sits down, next to the pile of fur that was constructed into a makeshift bed of sorts. You feel even more awkward since he's looking at you like he's expecting something from you. You ask again, "Uh.. where are we?" You notice him shifting a little, maybe into a more comfortable sitting position. And his hood is still on? Maybe it's cold outside of the fur pile? Probably is. The man's lips part, like he's ready to speak.

"My den." His voice seems to have a little bit of excitement, but it's quickly masked by his intense stare. Is he expecting you to say something? "Do you like the bed? Is it comfortable?" He stares at you with big intense eyes, is he waiting for a compliment? Or reassurance? You play along. You don't know this guy, sure he saved you and stuff, but you still don't know him. "Uh- yeah. Yeah, it's comfortable, thank you." You respond, in a polite yet kind of awkward tone. Wait. Did he say you were in his "den"?

You look up at the man with a confused look, "Your den? What do you mean your den?" You asked, super confused. "My den, or what you humans call it, a fox den." He says in his smooth, deep voice. He still looks at you with those big eyes. ".. wait what?" You question. Your trying to process what the hell he just said until he speaks. "Do you like it?" He asks, a little excited for your response. "Wait.. but you aren't a fox? right?" Right? He obviously isn't a fox.. why would he live in a fox's den?

"I am" he lowers his head, still looking at you with big eyes. ".. but foxes are animals?" Is this guy a furry?? "I'm aware of that." He responds. "Then what do you mean you're a fox?" You question, conflicted. Is he a furry or one of those human-animal hybrids you see in shows and other genres of streaming services?

He pulls off his hood.. he has ears. Fox's ears. He looks at you with big eyes once more, like he's expecting a positive response. "Oh." You respond, unsure of their real or not. ".. are those real?" The man nods at your question and leans towards you. Is he trying to get you to pet him? "Feel them.. They're real." It's a weird request that you wanna refuse but then again, he did save you from dying. You sigh and reluctantly touch them, he rubs his head in your hand. You cringe internally.

They're as real as they get. You're obviously surprised, you thought he was just some crazy dude who lived alone in the Arctic or a furry. He continues to rub his head in your hand, making noises of pleasure and joy. You sit there, still naked, and let him pet himself with your hand. He begins to lean towards you, still petting himself with your hand. He's enjoying this a lot, how long has he been alone?? He purrs and begins to come very close to you. You freeze. You don't know what to do but stay still.

He begins to.. lay next to you? He tries to cuddle you while rubbing his head against your hand. You don't know what to do. He continues to pet himself with your head and purrs more.. until..

He snaps out of his trance. He quickly grabs your wrists harshly and stares deep into your eyes. "Now that you're in my den.. my home... you're now my mate, my lover, my soulmate." He stares at you with intense eyes, it's creepy. You can't even respond, you're just shocked and creeped out.

"I'll claim you. I'll mark my territory."

"Wait what?-" You try to speak, but you get cut off by the sound of the fur getting thrown away from you. You are now completely naked.. and cold. Very cold. Before you can do anything.. he harshly grabs you, turns you around, and forces you face down into the makeshift bed of fur. You groan and grunt at the harshness and rough treatment.

You lay flat for at least a second until he grabs your hips and brings them towards him. You go wide-eyed.. oh god.. is he about to?-

your thoughts get cut off as he harshly slams into you. He pounds into you, raw. You cry and scream, it burns and aches. Slowly, the pain mixes with pleasure. Your cries and screams mix with moans. He goes impossibly fast and rough, not giving a fuck about you. It's almost like he's teasing you with the fact you can't do anything about this situation.. he's wrapping his arm around your neck and biting you harshly.

Until he finally stops.

You take a big breath and take a moment to process what just happened.. but then he roughly slams back into you. You gasp and scream, obviously startled by the sudden movement. His cock is warm and thick, you can't help but moan as he pounds into you. It hurts so bad.. but so so good..

He slams his hips very hard into you, rocking you forward. You wanna cum.. you wanna cum so bad but his harsh pounding is making you dizzy. You sputter and mutter words of "I'm gonna cum" in a messy and incomplete manner. He only smirks at your mutters and goes harder. You scream and squeal those messy and incomplete words of "I'm gonna cum". Your voice is breathy and whiny, you can't breathe properly. His cock reaches the deepest parts of you.. It's a warm yet full feeling.

With a final scream-moan, you came so hard it shook your entire body. And not even seconds later.. he cums into the deepest parts of you~ ♡

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And it's finally finished! I spent about a week or two on this fic. It doesn't seem like much, but I put my entire creative mind and soul into this fic! Hope it tingles your senses and gives you a mental picture of what I'm givin ya!

I hope you all enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing! (*^▽^)/★*☆♪

#Yandere Arctic Fox Hybird #yandere male #male yandere #yandere #yandere oc #x gender neutral reader #x gn reader #yandere x reader #gn reader #x gn y/n #x reader

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its-time-to-write · 2 months

Text

please don’t be - ch. 1

for context! this takes place after season 3, and in my head Jamie plays one season with Richmond under Roy, then goes back to City to play for Pep bc let’s be real, he’s a Manchester boy at heart. so that’s what’s happening, that’s the timeline, this is def the most non-canonical thing I’ve written. it might be out of character. it might be self-indulgent. I don’t know, I would say I don’t care, except I do. enjoy.

table of contents be good to me

It’s Julia who reminds you, he’s the one who asked for your number. Because she has to remind you. Otherwise you’ll tear yourself to pieces thinking about how it’s all your fault.

Oh, it was easy in the beginning. You meet Jamie Tartt of all people in a chicken shop of all places. Things like that don’t just happen. Except it did, and he smiled at you first, and you had a stupid, stupid thought that became a stupid, stupid reality.

And Julia was there from the beginning, what with her raised eyebrows and frosty opinions.

“Be so careful,” she warns. “He doesn’t understand that he doesn’t deserve you.”

You laugh and squeeze her arm as you slip out the door and into Jamie’s car.

Because it’s fun and silly and he has exactly the right words all the time. Words about your eyes, your voice, your humor; words you know not to take seriously, but he says them with such sincerity that you allow yourself to believe them for a second.

He says strange things too, things about meeting his mum and holidays in the far future where you’re on a beach with him or maybe in the stands or in a room that costs more than you make in a month.

He says the word marriage on the third date and it’s not even in reference to the both of you, just to him. He wants it, someday, sooner than people think. You study the wall behind him and sip your water. It’s ice-cold, with just the right amount of lemon. You keep your thoughts on the matter to yourself. No sense in filling the air with meaningless words. Marriage is a conversation for another girl. Not you.

No, you do your best to take it for what it is, although you’re slipping.

It’s a fling, albeit long-term. You have incompatible schedules, never mind the way you bend your time to the breaking point just to see him for ten minutes. You have a career, bills to pay, people to fix; he has football, a team, and history to make.

It’s a whirlwind of parties, matches, flights to Dubai, photographers, dresses, jewels. You know it’s a dream. You do.

Still, it’s hard to think of it as such when he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and tells you, “My mum really liked meeting you the other day.”

It doesn’t matter how many times he tells you you’re just going out, he’s not your boyfriend (as if you aren’t painfully aware). He’s acting as if it’s more.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Julia says when you come home, confused and conflicted. “I don’t fault you for staying, but don’t forget you can leave whenever you’re ready.”

But you’re not ready.

You’ll bend over backwards, put everything on the shelf if it means loving Jamie for half a minute. He’d never ask, no one ever does, because they always assume they know how you’ll respond.

But they don’t.

There’s a horrifying moment when you’re at some posh coffee shop, and you’re standing up to grab extra sweetener from the counter. Jamie grabs your wrist so gently to ask for a cup of water, but all you can see is the sweet expression on his face and an eyelash resting on his cheek. He’s smiling up at you and you brush away the eyelash with your free thumb, palm cupping his face. The air changes for a split second and you know.

You’re not making it out of this unscathed.

One of you will leave. It’s inevitable. It will not be you.

It’s inevitable.

So you hold his face for a beat too long before heading inside to compose yourself. You pretend not to notice the family with their cameras out. It’s a common occurrence, as common as footballers being seen with a girl who comes from another life and means nothing in the grand scheme of the Premier League.

There are so many times you want to scream that there are bigger things than the Premier League.

“I can fix him,” you tell Julia. “I get it. I understand his whole brain, how it works, what he thinks. I understand all of it. I can fix it.”

Julia sighs. “You’re not his therapist. It’s not your job, love.”

Still.

You do what you do best: love.

It shows itself in the way you smooth out the knots in his forehead, his chest, his back. The way you smile that special, soft, just-for-Jamie smile. The way you listen extra carefully and joke and laugh when things are especially difficult.

“I won’t change for you,” he says one day, early on, when you explain the panic you feel when he doesn’t speak to you for a week.

“I’m not asking you to,” you say, voice steady despite the fact that your hands shake so hard you almost drop your tea. “I’m just explaining to you why I’m a bit strange today.”

Except he does change. His words- they don’t match his actions.

I won’t change for you.

Except you hear from him every day.

I won’t change for you.

Except he makes time to see you.

I won’t change for you.

Except he’s inviting himself for tea with your family.

I won’t change for you.

You never asked him to.

So why is it your fault?

“You knew I was moving back to Manchester at the end of the season,” he says accusingly, because you did know. You’re not asking him to stay, even now.

You nod silently, letting as few tears streak down your face as possible.

“What did you think was going to happen?” he asks.

Nothing. You didn’t think anything was going to happen.

You reply, “I didn’t expect anything to happen. I never pressured you. I never- I didn’t ask for any of this. Am I not allowed to be sad?”

There’s no point in telling him you’d move with him if he asked. Seven months together… it’s a long time. But it’s not forever, and it’s not long enough, apparently.

Julia’s in the flat that night. She always seems to know which nights to be home and not out with her sickeningly perfect boyfriend.

She doesn’t say anything, just hands you the box of takeout as you whisper, “I’m so tired of begging to be loved.”

It’s a cheap shot, you know that, but still. There’s plenty of love in your life. But the begging…

It’s silent, never leaving your lips. But it’s always screaming inside your head.

Love me, love me, love me. I am making myself lovable for you. Love me.

He knows not to text, not to call. You hear he’s in town and are relieved that you don’t hear from him. At least he knows enough to leave you alone.

You’ll love someone for eternity, until they decide they don’t want it anymore. Once they decide, they’re not allowed back. They can’t come back. It wouldn’t be healthy.

And fuck if you weren’t going to be healthy.

table of contents

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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ihearthes · 5 months

Text

Christmas Thyme part 1

Author: @ihearthes

Pairing: Harry x Reader Insert (1st person)

Rating: Smut (NSFW, 18+ Only)

Word Count: 2665

‘Tis a week before Christmas, and just as I am preparing to twist the “Open” sign to its “Closed” side, the bell over the door jingles. Inwardly, I groan. Outwardly, I paste on my brightest smile as I pivot towards my (hopefully) final customer of a very long, very exhausting day.

I freeze.

Because standing there in the doorway of my boutique is Harry Styles. THE Harry Styles. You know. As It Was. Watermelon Sugar. Sex on a stick. That last one isn’t a song. Just a description.

“Um, hi,” I mumble, not knowing what else to say, but then I quickly tack on a “How may I help you?”

His eyebrows draw downwards, and he looks around at the merchandise which, after a long day of Saturday sales in the last few frantic days before the most important gift-buying holiday of the year, is scattered everywhere.

I’ve no idea if I want him to decide to leave immediately or if I should beg him to stay and shop. I do neither.

But only because I spot another person on the street outside, pointing at one of the most sought after and most frequently purchased soy candles. She and her friend appear to be heading towards the door, so I summon the last of my energy and lunge for the door ahead of them, pulling the shade while simultaneously rotating the lock. My panicked movements mean I jostle the popstar as he stands nearby.

“Oops! I’m so sorry. I just…”

“Are you open or closed?” He asks, worry etched on his forehead where it peeks out underneath his black beanie. I take him in, recognising his face instantly. With a pair of joggers, he wears a black Pleasing crewneck, and I’m briefly jealous of how cosy it looks. I wouldn’t mind snuggling close – to the crewneck, of course.

I am, after all, a competent businesswoman. Pfft. Okay, I’m trying to be one.

“We’re closed now, but if you don’t have much to shop for, you’re welcome to look around while I tidy up in preparation for Tuesday’s maniacal clientele.

He grunts, and I assume it’s affirmation that he’d like to look around, so I nod. “Are you looking for something in particular? Or shopping for a certain someone?” Wracking my brain, I attempt to recall if he’s currently dating anyone, but I’ve no idea. Since opening up my pop up last month, I’d not had time to do much more than work daily until exhaustion forces me to crawl into bed with a heating pad on my back and warm peppermint compresses on my feet.

“Just looking…” He smiles, and I’m nearly blinded by the left dimple.

Holy shit. No wonder he’s so popular.

I have the silly idea that I should sniff him. It would be easy to make a tonne of money from bottling his scent and selling it. Then I would have enough money to set up a permanent shop to sell my organic candles, soaps, and lotions.

Resisting only because I have managed to maintain some self-respect after being yelled at and cursed at by customers all day long, I decide to provide him some privacy.

“Absolutely. Let me know if you have any questions.”

He nods once, and I swear my insides melt into a puddle like Frosty the Snowman when the sun has come out.

Stepping to the counter, I fiddle with the sound system, turning off the grating holiday tunes that permeate the atmosphere this time of year and sliding instead into some soothing jazz from Alfa Mist. As soon as the first song starts playing, Harry’s head whips around and he stares in my direction.

“Excellent choice.” His voice is gravelly and kind with a bit of surprise in it.

“It’s the kind of music I prefer,” I shrug, not knowing what else to say.

“Me too.”

It’s such a surprising thing for him to say that I do my own double take, but he’s returned already to smelling the candles on the wall display.

Shrugging, I move to the first shelves to the right of the register, straightening products, and making mental notes of what I need to restock. When I move to the next set of shelves, though, it’s clear that a mental note isn’t going to be of any help. There are simply too many hand lotions, soaps, and other products that need to be replaced. Sighing, I move behind the counter again, withdrawing a pad of paper. Quickly, I jot down what I need to replace on the first two shelves.

Turning my head, I see that Harry has barely finished sniffing one shelf of candles. “Um…” He glances up at my utterance. “...would you mind if I stepped into the back to grab some more stock?”

“Whatever you need to do.” His voice is so silky that I could easily wear it and nothing else against my skin forever.

In the small stockroom, I remove my shoes, wiggling my toes that have been screaming at me for the last two hours. Grabbing a basket I keep for just this purpose, I fill it with the items on my list before stepping back onto the main floor. The coolness of the tiles under my toes is soothing, and I sigh at the pleasure of it on my hot skin. Quickly, I restock the first two shelves, giving my feet a workout as I have to rise onto my toes multiple times. My knees also get to practise squatting so I can place items on the bottom shelf.

After I slide my protesting feet back into my shoes, I sneak a peek to check on Harry. He’s moved on to the next set of shelves, opening the sample shampoos and smelling them one by one.

At this rate, he’ll be here another hour at least.

Surveying the third set of shelves, I jot down the merchandise I need to pull from the back for this one. It’s the shelf of eye compresses I’ve made that include differing herbs to soothe the skin around the eyes and quiet the mind. With a quick glance at Harry, I return to the storeroom, trying to recall where I’d placed the box holding more eye compresses.

Spying it on a higher shelf, hiding behind a box of the scented rice neck pillows I’d designed to be heated and worn next to the skin, I stand on my tiptoes in order to reach. Just — one — more — inch — CRASH! Both boxes clatter to the ground, the sides splitting open on the box holding the neck pillows, and I sigh.

“Are you okay?”

His voice startles me, and I jump like that time I’d been forced to watch a horror movie by my previous boyfriend. The arsehole.

Placing my hand on my chest to calm my pounding heart, I smile at where his head has emerged through the curtain separating the sales floor and stockroom.

“Thank you for checking on me. I’m okay. Just knocked off a couple of boxes.”

“Shit. That looks annoying. Let me help.” He muscles his way past the curtain, assisting me by setting the box right side up. I locate the roll of packing tape I’d used earlier to package some items for a customer who wanted them delivered, handing the tape to Harry as he repairs the box. “I’m Harry.” His introduction is endearing, and I share my name too.

“No one else working tonight?” His hushed tones do things to my body that are inappropriate for work.

“No one else is working ever. It’s my shop, and I couldn’t afford to pay for help this year.”

“Damn. How do you manage?”

“Well, I take it slow on nights like this with the restocking and tidying because I know I’ll get the next two days to soak my feet and relax.”

“But how do you do it during the day with all the customers?”

“I think that’s clear from the state of the front. I muddle through.” My shrug is intended to communicate that there’s no real answer to that question.

“Can I help?”

“YOU?” I yelp, clamping both hands over my mouth at my shriek.

“Why not me?”

“Um, cause you’re Harry Styles.”

When he smiles this time, his eye crinkles come into focus, and I’m lost in him. I could stare at those crows’ feet all night, I think.

“And that means I can’t help?”

“It means that you probably have plenty of plans that don’t include stocking shelves.”

“Hmmm… tonight, I actually do not have plans. My sister and I were supposed to shop for our mum, and then my sister ended up ill, so…” Trailing off, he raises both hands to the side in imitation of a shrug. “You can pay me by helping me choose gifts for my mum and my sister. And my manager’s wife. And maybe the wives of my friends.”

“That’s silly. I’d help you with that for free.”

“Ah, well then, you can take me out to dinner after we’re done.”

My jaw drops. Dinner with Harry Styles?

Is he asking me out on a date?

“Just as repayment, right?” I ask.

“For starters,” he smirks, and my panties become uncomfortable as I rub my legs together. “I’ll take these boxes out front.” Bending his knees, he picks up the box of neck pillows with the box of eye compresses on top. Striding through the curtain, he drops the boxes on the floor and immediately starts artfully arranging the merchandise. Occasionally, he brings a pillow to his nose and breathes in deeply.

Mesmerised, I watch from the door to the store room. After a few minutes, he removes his coat, carefully draping it over the counter, smiling at me as I straighten the bottles of lotion on the table, ensuring that the rosemary mint doesn’t get mixed up with the rosemary thyme. It’s easy to get them confused as the labels are similar.

“How long did it take you to prepare all of this?” Harry asks, his hand encompassing the entire shop.

“All year. My dad –” I pause as emotion invades my throat, layering it with sorrow. Finally, I swallow, clearing the grief. “My dad was ill for the last couple of years, so I quit my job to move in and take care of him. I started growing the herbs in his garden. And then I needed something to do with all of the herbs I grew, so I started making soaps and selling them at the local farmer’s market. Demand was swift, and I’ve been expanding the line for the last eight months or so.”

“That’s amazing!” His face has lit up like the Christmas tree that’s in the corner of the shop, and his grin takes over his entire countenance. “And how’s your dad doing now?”

I wince. “He actually died in July.”

“Oh. I’m sorry for your loss.”

My watery smile hopefully conveys my gratitude. “He was ready to go. At least that’s what he told me. And I needed a project after his death to keep me busy while I cleaned out the house and prepared to sell it.”

“Sell it? Why?”

Moving to the next table, I straighten the bars of soap. Wiping a tear from my eye, I answer his question. “Too many memories. I’ve had a lot of loss in my life, and now I’m the only one left in my immediate family. So when I’m in the house, all I can see are the people no longer with me.”

“That must be hard.” His hand rests on my shoulder, and I’m startled because I hadn’t realised he’d approached.

“It’s life. Lucky for me, I have my dreams to keep me going.”

“Dreams of expanding beyond a popup shop at the holidays?”

“Something like that,” I nod.

“Sounds lovely. Listen, I’m done with these shelves, and those over there look pretty good. I, um, straightened them earlier when I was testing the product. Is there a broom so I can sweep up?”

Astonished, I blink at him. “No. No. No. I draw the line at having a number one pop musician sweep my floor.”

He giggles, his laugh growing until he’s slapping his knee, his full body moving with glee as he heartily releases his mirth. “So if I were the number one classical musician or number one jazz musician or number one country musician, you’d be okay with me cleaning the floor?”

Seeing the humour in my comment, I laugh along with him. “Okay. Okay. You’ve found me out. Only pop musicians aren’t allowed to sweep up. Everyone else is fair game.”

Bopping me on the nose, he grins. “Good thing I’m not a number one pop musician tonight. I’m just a customer who is quite taken with your goods.”

And the way he rakes his eyes over my body lets me know that he’s not talking about the merchandise on the shelves.

Dammit. Why don’t I keep a pair of spare knickers in my bag in case I run into the handsomest man alive? Because the ones I’m wearing right now are ruined.

Sticking his head through the curtain and peering into the back, he joyfully exclaims, “There it is!” Seconds later, he’s pushing the broom around the shop floor, and I am both pleased and appalled.

Reluctant to let him do all the work, I watch him and squirm. Using the broom as a partner, he dances to the music, and I can’t help the giggle that escapes.

“I remember when you couldn’t dance at all,” I reveal, then clamp my hands over my mouth at my rudeness.

“Some would say I still can’t.”

“Screw ‘em.” I grin. “Listen, I’m about to count up the money for a night deposit. Are you planning to pay with cash or credit?”

Wincing, he bites his lip, resting his arm on top of the broom handle. “Oh yeah. I was having so much fun that I forgot I was here to shop.” He looks around at the merchandise. “You’re taking me out for dinner, right?” One eyebrow raises while the other stays in place. It’s a talent not many have.

“I believe that was the deal in exchange for your labour.”

“Then let’s eat first. I can tell you about those I need to shop for, and you can decide what would be most fitting for each.”

“Hmmm…” I tease, “Are you trying to get out of buying products from me?”

“Nope,” he grins, stepping closer to me. “Trying to let you get to know me more.”

“Who's to say I don’t already know everything about you?”

“Ah, I see.” The expression on Harry’s face is smug. “You wanna have a quiz? Find out what exactly you know and don’t know?”

“Sure,” I smile, “but somehow I’m not sure I trust you. You could easily say all of my answers are wrong, and I wouldn’t be able to contradict you.”

“Let’s start. What colour are my eyes?”

“Are you taking the piss? They’re green. That one’s easy ‘cause I can see them.”

“Okay, okay. You got one right. What colour are my lips?”

Which of course drags my eyes right to the body part in question. And they look lush. Soft. Slightly chapped, but not enough to keep me from…

Shit. I’ve gotten lost in staring at his lips.

“I didn’t hear your answer.”

My tongue dips out to lick my own lips, and he steps closer, his eyes locked on my tongue. Shaking my head, I dart my gaze back to his eyes, and I can feel his breath on my cheek. Leaning forward, he reaches his arm to my left, and I briefly wonder if he’s going to wrap his arm around my waist and haul me to him for a snogging session.

Which is when he grabs his coat from the counter.

“Let’s count the money so you can make your deposit. I’m getting hungry.”

Really? I'm experiencing a powerful thirst.

Author's note: Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed it, please reblog. I know not everyone reblogs, but it really helps writers out.

READ PART 2 HERE

#harry styles #my writing #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles reader insert #original writing

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