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casuallyimagining · 6 months

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Set Me Free || myg

min yoongi x female reader

Summary: Tired of being told how to live his life and unsure of where he stands in the world, Yoongi--your soulmate--yearns to be free. When you give him what he wants, it causes a rift in your relationship that seems irreparable. 12 years later, you find him back in your life. Can you mend your relationship? Do you even want to? Word Count: 14,377 Genre: friends to enemies to lovers, supernatural au, witch & familiar au, soulmate au, angst, fluff Warnings: death of a parent (brief mention), alcohol, soulmate breakup, smooching

Notes: banner by @itaeewon. thank you to @daechwitatamic and @oddinary4bts for beta-ing and listening to me struggle my way through this. as always. and extra thanks to ella for helping me write Yoongi's letters and to my friend tanya for giving me a super helpful base for the ending.

It’s cold. The late autumn wind rustles through amber-brown-orange-yellow leaves, swirling the fallen ones into little tornadoes that scuttle across the pavement. The cold doesn’t bother Yoongi, necessarily. It’s been a while since he’s been here, in this town, on this street, but even after so much time, his body remembers the chill of November in the same way his feet remember the way to his destination. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets and pauses at the street corner.

It’s strange being back here. He’d once known this neighborhood so intimately, he could map it in his sleep. Not much has changed in the almost 13 years he’s been gone. The park on the corner is the same. The playground, massive to an eight-year-old with a near-infinite imagination, stands resolute, its plastic and paint sun-faded and weathered. Further up the block is the head of the trail that snakes its way through the forest, where he’d spent countless hours playing pirates as a kid and exploring as a teen. And there, at the end of the street, is his destination.

The closer he gets, the more his stomach roils with nerves. Thirteen years since he’d walked down this sidewalk. Thirteen years since he’d walked onto that front porch. Or rather, 12 years, 5 months, and 11 days.

But who’s counting?

There’s a light on in the front room of the house, he can see it through the big window despite the shades being pulled closed. He hesitates. He’s spent days–no, weeks–playing out in his head how this was going to go. In a moment, he’ll know if any of those scenarios were correct. And frankly, right now, he’s terrified.

What if you start to cry? What if you slam the door in his face? What if you hug him? What if you yell at him? What if you don’t answer? What if you want to talk? What if you never want to see him again? What if you invite him in? What if you have someone over?

He takes a deep breath and knocks.

It takes a second. He can hear shuffling around on the other side of the door, so he knows his knock was heard. But the longer it takes, the sweatier his hands get, and the more he considers turning and running away. The door opens before he can make a move.

You stand in the doorway, bathed in the warm light of the living room lamp behind you. And shit, Yoongi doesn’t know what to say. In many ways, you haven’t changed since the last time he saw you, but at the same time, you look so different. He can see in your eyes the moment the realization hits, and your expression changes drastically. You looked tired–and Yoongi can sense that it goes deeper than just physical exhaustion–and you were slouching, but now, you’re standing ramrod straight, and there’s a hard look in your eyes. One he knows all too well.

“Hey.” He raises a hand, offers a wave that, in hindsight, is rather pathetic. You stare at him, unblinking, and slowly, he lowers his hand. “I uh… I heard about your parents,” he says softly, scuffing his shoe against the wood of the porch. “I’m sorry you have to go through it.”

“Brave of you to show up.” You sound almost bored, but Yoongi knows–he senses, in that kind of primal, gut feeling he gets when it comes to you–that it’s an act. “You know I could turn you into a bug and squash you if I wanted to.”

“I know.”

There’s a tense moment where you stare at each other, the scowl you wear pulling your lips downward and creasing your brow. But then you heave an exhausted sigh.

“Why are you here, Yoongi?”

“I…”

I want to apologize.

I’m so sorry.

I miss you.

It all catches in his throat. He coughs in a meager attempt to entice something–anything–to come out of his mouth. “I wanted you to have this.”

He holds out his hands, and in an instant, he’s holding a box. It’s full but not heavy, and he thrusts it out in front of him in your direction.

“A 10-year-old shoebox?” You do nothing to mask your surprise.

“Letters,” he corrects. “You don’t have to read them but… I wanted you to have them.” He pushes the box into your arms, leaving you no choice but to take it. Then, he steps away and nods his head. “Thank you for not turning me into a bug. I am sorry about your parents. I… guess I’ll go.”

Without another word, he trots down the porch steps. And then, in a blink, he’s gone. Disappeared into the night.

You sigh and shut the door, the box he’d given you cradled in the crook of your arm. You don’t have the energy for this right now. Honestly, you aren’t sure that you’ll ever have the energy for it, but certainly not the day before your parents’ funeral.

Whoever had decided that witches and their familiars die together clearly never thought of the ones left behind.

You collapse onto the couch, placing the box beside you. This would be easier if you weren’t alone. It would be easier with Yoongi, your brain supplies less than helpfully. You curse yourself. You curse him. After all these years, you thought you were over it, over the abandonment, over the betrayal. But all it takes is for him to show his stupid face, and you can feel it all bubbling up anew. Angrily, you push the box off the couch. It explodes when it hits the floor, what seems like thousands of pieces of paper tumble out and scatter from the force.

The forest was almost silent as you stalked the trail. Not even the birds were happy that day. Twigs snapped under your feet. You weren’t even paying attention to where you were going, your feet carrying you along the path that you’d hiked countless times before. You needed to get away, to escape, to calm down. But you couldn’t, because what you were running away from was hot on your heels.

“Would you slow down?” You could hear the frustration in Yoongi’s voice as he followed you. You ignored him. “Goddamnit,” he breathed, picking up his pace. “Will you at least listen to me?”

Quite frankly, you didn’t care what he had to say in that moment.

“It wouldn’t be a permanent thing,” he continued. “I just… I don’t know. I need to do this.”

You stopped, sliding a little on the damp new growth below your feet. “What the fuck are you talking about? You’re not being oppressed, Yoongi. No one’s stopping you from going out and exploring the world.”

“Maybe this way of life isn’t for everyone. Maybe not everyone wants their whole existence to be predetermined at birth. Maybe not everyone wants the universe to choose who they’re supposed to be with and how they’re supposed to live.”

His words stung, and until then, you weren’t quite sure why. Rejection. Not just of how you lived, and who he was, and how things had always been. But of you. Yoongi was your familiar, you were destined to be together in some way since you were six years old and the bond gem first appeared. Not all witches and familiars were in romantic relationships–your parents were, sure, and Yoongi’s parents–but plenty of them had other partners, lives separate from each other. Platonic soulmates navigating the world together.

Until a few months before, you’d been content with that. There was no doubt you’d been best friends from the jump. You’d been practically inseparable through school. Then, months before, he’d kissed you at the winter market. Right there in the park, under the aurora. Before that, you hadn’t thought of him as any more than your best friend. But the kiss had unlocked something inside you. And now…

Now he wanted you gone.

“You want to be free that badly?” By some miracle, your voice sounded positively venomous, even though you felt like you could crumble at any moment. “Fine.”

“Wh-”

There’s a saying your mother told you once, back when you were a child. You and Yoongi had found a turtle in the woods, stuck in the mud. His little turtle leg had been hurt, and you’d rushed it to your mother immediately. Familiars were excellent with animals, and she was no exception, healing the turtle in days when it should have taken weeks. You and Yoongi had both cried when you had to release it back into the wild–you’d both so wanted it to be your friend. ‘If you love something, set it free,’ your mother had said, ‘Sometimes it’s the kindest option.’

Kinder for whom?

The chain around your wrist snapped easily when you wrapped your fingers around it. The incantation meant to keep the bond gem safe became meaningless as soon as you wanted it gone. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been without it around your wrist. You loved it, with its gem of swirling, inky black and navy blue. It reminded you so much of Yoongi, deep and calm and unwavering.

Without a word, you tossed the bracelet to the ground. Yoongi’s eyes widened as it hit and the gem cracked. For good measure, you stepped on it, crushed it into dust. There was a pitiful swirl of blue magic that puffed up from the dirt. When you moved your foot, there was nothing left of the bond gem or its chain.

“What the fuck?” Yoongi’s eyes were glassy when you finally looked at him. He looked almost as crushed as you felt. “What the fuck?”

“You’re free.” And this time, you couldn’t hide your sadness behind your anger.

He didn’t follow you as you walked away, and honestly, it was for the best. It was faint, but you could still feel his emotions, and you weren’t sure you could handle that kind of heartache in person.

There is paper everywhere. Hundreds of pieces, folded neatly in thirds. You have no idea how Yoongi had fit them all into the shoebox. He must’ve enchanted it. Groaning, you start to pick them up.

Letters, he’d said. You flip through some as you gather them up. Now that they’re on the floor, they aren’t in any particular order, but it quickly becomes clear that these letters span years. There are some from 12 years ago, written shortly after he’d left. Some are more recent. You stare at one, from December of the year he left. Glancing through it, you expect it to unearth your anger, your rage. But it doesn’t. Just like seeing him again, all Yoongi’s letter brings is sadness. Grief.

You’d spent the past 12 years grieving. Sure, he hadn’t died, but when he left, you’d lost the closest relationship you would ever have. In 17 years, you’d grown so accustomed to having him there, that when he was gone, there was a Yoongi-sized hole left in your life that you had to learn to fill. And you did your best, sewing yourself back together and moving on. But it wasn’t the same.

Glancing through his letter, it seems you weren’t the only one struggling. You aren’t sure if that’s a comfort or not.

It’s been almost a year since the night market–one year since everything started crumbling around us. I still remember it like it was yesterday. It felt right in the moment, didn’t it? I really thought you would understand.

I’ve tried to figure out where things went wrong. But shit, I can’t wrap my head around it. Why did you react like that when I told you I just wanted to be free?

At the end of the day, I guess we didn’t understand each other as much as I thought we did. As much as this bond brings us together, I guess it doesn’t reveal everything. But… that night I just wanted to kiss you, and so I did. Maybe it was selfish. Sometimes I wish the bond didn’t exist, that we could just be free to choose things for ourselves. That we weren't forced into what the universe wants from us… Maybe that’s selfish, too.

Why couldn’t you understand? I just wish I could turn back time and make you understand. Maybe then you wouldn’t hate me, and maybe then I’d stop hating myself too.

Because watching you destroy the gem nearly killed me, but it wasn’t half as bad as watching you walk away. Should I have run after you?

Would you still be there if I had?

You sigh and lean back against your couch. That damn night market. You hadn’t been back to it since the year he’d kissed you. It’s silly, but a part of you blames it for everything that happened. Because Yoongi’s letter is right. It had marked the beginning of everything going wrong. It wouldn’t change anything, but there’s a part of you that won’t listen to logic, that refuses to believe that maybe, if he hadn’t kissed you–if you hadn’t kissed him back–he wouldn’t have left.

The night market was beautiful. It always was, but that year was particularly beautiful. The park had been decorated in all of its sparkling, winter glory. Candles twinkled in the trees, suspended by sheer force of will. Through some magic you weren’t familiar with, they’d enchanted the sky, and an aurora shimmered far above, slowly swirling in greens and blues and purples. Snow fell gently, and you weren’t sure if it was natural, or if it was also magic.

You browsed the various tents and tables, going from one to the other to see the different things people were selling. Some had crafts, others baked goods, and some were even selling things like potion ingredients and spellbooks. There were a few tables dedicated to familiars–books on shifting and specialty items and insets and jewelry for bond gems.

Yoongi followed you closely, clutching a hot chocolate. You knew he wasn’t cold, the temperature was nowhere near low enough for either of you to be uncomfortable, but the way his fingers tapped against the paper cup, you knew something was up. You could sense his anxiety, could feel it in the pit of your own stomach.

“Want to go sit?” you asked softly, gesturing over to the picnic tables they’d set up under one of the sparkling trees.

His eyes widened. “No, that’s okay. You’re looking.”

“I’m done. Let’s go sit.”

“I-” He deflated a little and didn’t argue further, allowing you to lead him over to one of the tables.

You sat side by side on the bench, backs against the table, and watched the snow fall around you. The night was peaceful, quiet for the most part except for the occasional laughter that bubbled up. Most of the older crowd had left, leaving only the teens and young adults to explore the market. You watched the other festival goers in silence, Yoongi’s arm pressed against your own.

“You okay?” you asked softly, bumping your shoulder into his own.

Yoongi being quiet was nothing new. He was an observer, a listener, he took in information like a sponge. Which wasn’t to say that he was never loud and boisterous, that he didn’t talk incessantly to the people he cared about. But he was absolutely the calmest presence you’d ever been around, even compared to the adults in your life.

But you could sense what he was feeling, could feel his nerves and unease and conflict. And you knew that he’d rather explode than burden anyone with his feelings. So you prodded. Ever so gently. Because he was your best friend, and when he was suffering, you were too.

He stayed quiet, and when you turned to look at him, he was much closer than you were expecting. A moment passed. You shared a look. You’d always thought that Yoongi’s eyes were pretty, but in the twinkling light of the candles above, they were deep pools of warm, dark cedar and flecks of honey. Slowly, subtly, he leaned in–or maybe you did, you weren’t sure– as though some mysterious force was drawing you together. An emotion flashed in his eyes, but you couldn’t quite take the time to consider what it may have been because he was kissing you. Lips chapped from the bitter wind moulded against your own for the shortest of moments. It was tentative and delicate and brief, but as he pulled away, your mind reeled.

That day had affected you in ways you never would have expected. Before, you’d never considered Yoongi as anything more than your best friend, the platonic other half of yourself. And then the kiss, and suddenly, it was like you’d been awakened. For as long as you could remember, your thoughts had been filled with Yoongi. Of the things he liked, the things he didn’t, of spending time with him, of the academy (with him). Suddenly, you were suspecting that maybe there was more to that, more than just the bond of a witch and their familiar.

You sigh. The letters are all finally back in the box, though nowhere near as nicely as they’d been before you’d kicked it and it had exploded. You should get up. You should go to bed. You have to be up fairly early for the funeral. But you stay seated, the box of letters in your lap.

Seeing him again was hard. You’re willing to admit that. You’d spent 12 years convincing yourself that you were fine, harboring anger and resentment and frustration, all for it to melt away the second you saw him. The bond makes it tough to stay mad at him, but it doesn’t let you forget the betrayal.

You stand out of the way, looking out over the funeral attendees in the park. Your parents didn’t have a lot of friends, but there are enough people here that you’d officially call it a crowd. They’re all mingling–you’d bought beer and wine, and if you didn’t know any better, it could maybe be a party and not a wake. You tighten your fist around the bond gem in your hand. For as long as you could remember, your dad had worn it around his neck, tucked under his shirt. The gem is like your mother–bright pink, fiery orange, deep yellow–and when you were a child, you’d loved to look at it, mesmerized by the swirling, glittering colors.

The gems have always been a gift from a familiar to their witch, given to symbolize the soulmate-like bonds between them. Most witches–especially those who were romantically involved with their familiars–wear them as jewelry. They don’t really do anything, though some people claim it made their magic stronger (you aren’t really sure about that, seeing as most gems appear in childhood).

As a child, you hadn’t been particularly close with your parents. Especially as a teen, you would have much rather hung out with Yoongi than them. But they were kind, and supportive, and for the most part, they left you to do your own thing. They’d been almost as devastated as you when you’d crushed your bond gem.

Days after your fight with Yoongi, the doorbell rang. Your mother had opened the door. You were upstairs. You’d stayed home from school that day–sick, but not in the way the administrators would have accepted. For a few brief moments, you’d ignored whatever visitor was downstairs. But then-

“She’s not here.” Your mother’s voice drifted up to you. She sounded disappointed.

“Please.” It was Yoongi, you’d recognize his baritone from miles away.

Quietly, you’d slipped out of your room and crept down the hall, sitting at the top of the stairs. You could hear your mother sigh, could see her shift her weight from one foot to the other. Your father appeared from the kitchen and joined your mother at the door.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now,” he said, shaking his head. He leaned against the doorknob, pulling it a little more shut in the process so it blocked you completely from the door’s sight.

A long moment of silence passed before your mother called, “Yoongi?” You couldn’t hear his response–he must have already gone down the porch steps. Your mother continued, “It can be scary, and you’re both still young. Give it time.”

The door shut quietly, and both of your parents looked to where you were sitting. You could see it in both of their eyes. Sadness, but something else. Something that looked a little close to pity.

A laugh draws your attention, and you smile sadly as you watch your mother’s coworkers laugh at some memory. But then you notice, just behind them, a shadow close to the ground and suddenly, you’re distracted all over again. Because there, half-hidden by a bush, sits a black cat. Cedar and honey eyes watch you intently, its dark fur swirling and shining like a thousand galaxies. Your hand tightens around your parents’ bond gem, the chain pressing sharply into the flesh of your hand.

He doesn’t move, just sits there patiently. Watching. He’s there as people approach you, offering condolences and hugs that you don’t particularly want; he’s there when people start trickling out. And he’s there when you’re the last one left, all alone under the large oak tree in the center of the park.

It’s quiet as you stand there, staring down at the bond gem in your hands. This is the part you’ve been dreading. Because you don’t want to keep the damn thing–you could if you wanted to, but there’s also tradition to think about. But it’s also weird to give up the one thing that is so emblematic of your parents. You wonder if they’d felt like this when your grandparents had died.

At least they’d had each other during it.

You can sense him approach, even though his steps are completely silent. And though he comes closer, he keeps his distance. On one hand, you appreciate it. On the other…

“If you’re going to be here, the least you could do is be here,” you say quietly, looking down at the gem in your hand. It sparkles a little in the light.

Thankfully, he doesn’t ask you to explain. He takes a few slow steps forward until he’s standing beside you. It’s weird, having him this close again. You’d been too overwhelmed last night to actually observe, but now, you’re exhausted, yet alert.

His hair is longer–as a teen, he’d kept it short, but the ends curl and sit just above his shoulders now. He’s filled out and put on some muscle, and though he’s still a little on the lankier side, his shoulders have broadened. He wears cologne now, the scent light, like lavender, citrus, and sage. So much has changed, and yet it’s the same eyes that watch you with a soft curiosity.

You look up to the tree, watch its branches wave in the wind. You used to think that the centenarian boughs touched the sky, and even still, it towers above everything else in the park. The leaves sparkle, their iridescence catching the light to make the tree look like something out of a fairy tale. You sigh and tighten your fist around your parents’ bond gem one more time before opening your hand.

At first, nothing happens, but then the gem glistens and rises out of your grasp. It joins the other leaves close to the top of the tree, becoming just another sparkle in the prism.

For a while, not even the birds make a noise. You just stand there, looking up at the tree that has stood sentinel over most of your life. The wind rustles the leaves, and they shimmer as they move. You have no idea how many leaves are up there, how many bond gems have been placed over time. Thousands–maybe hundreds of thousands–of witches and their familiars, most forgotten to the annals of time.

It’s strange, knowing that you would never be memorialized by the tree.

“Let me buy you a coffee,” Yoongi whispers from beside you, husky baritone cutting through the silence.

Yoongi isn’t sure why you say yes, but soon enough, you’re walking into the Green Bean just behind him. He’s uncomfortable, people have been watching you since the park, and their stares are starting to burn holes in his back. He says nothing about it until you’re in line at the cafe.

“What are they staring at?” he whispers, leaning close so that only you can hear in the semi-busy cafe. He chooses to ignore how you tense up ever so slightly.

“You’ve been gone for 12 years, what did you expect?”

Right. He supposes he should have expected their animosity. But it’s not just him they’re watching. He doesn’t miss the way people stare at you, watch you warily as you simply exist. His mind races. Was that his fault? Did his absence cause so many unintended consequences?

You order a coffee and choose a table in the far corner of the cafe, away from everyone but still near the window. He sits in the chair across from you, the hard metal shockingly comfortable despite its harsh lines. An awkward silence settles over you both, but Yoongi’s not sure what to say, so he lets it linger. He watches you stare out the window. Which is a little weird, right? But he can’t bring himself to drag his gaze away. It’s like after 12 years of being away, he just wants to look at you.

The barista calls out your orders and Yoongi stands to grab both of them from the counter. He places one oversized ceramic mug down in front of you, and the other, he wraps his hands around. It’s warm, almost hot, and he dares not take a drink yet. You stare down at the foam on top of your drink, one finger hooked around the handle of the cup.

“What happened to them?” he asks softly. When you look up, surprised, he clarifies. “Your parents, I mean. I… didn’t hear how they…”

You sigh, tap your mug. He can sense the deep sadness you struggle with and is just about to tell you to forget he asked when you speak. “I always kind of thought it would be dad who’d go first.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. “He was always so frail when we were kids. But mom got sick last year and…” You shrug. “One of the neighbors found them.”

“I’m so sorry.” You wave him off. “No. Honestly. They were nice.”

“Thanks.”

He nods, and silence settles again. But then something you said pops into his mind, striking him as strange. “You aren’t living here anymore?” Mentally, he slaps himself. Why did it come out like he’s surprised? He supposes that he’s always just kind of pictured you still… here, in town.

“I’m over in Ashland,” you say, generally gesturing west, toward the city. “I work at the library at the university.”

“Yeah?” He raises his eyebrows. “How’s that?”

You shrug. “Mostly good. It’s a job. The library’s usually pretty quiet, so…”

“That’s really cool.”

Ashland is big, much bigger than here in square feet and at least 10 times the people. It’s a real city, with skyscrapers and functioning public transportation and one of the country’s top medical universities. He’s proud of you, he realizes. You’d always planned to leave for the city, too constrained by life in such a small town. For the longest time, he’d planned on going with you. And then, of course, he’d ruined it. It stings a little to know that you’d gone without him like that, that your life had continued as planned, that maybe he hadn’t meant that much in the grand scheme of things.

But then your eyes meet, and he’s confronted by the anxiety and sadness you’re feeling, and he knows he’s just being stupid. Again.

“So, uh…” He feels a wave of nerves wash over him–they aren’t his own. You tap your half-empty mug. “What have you been up to?”

If he’s honest, Yoongi wasn’t expecting you to ask about him. He’s shocked enough that you’d even agreed to be here, let alone that you were interested in his life. “I was traveling,” he starts cautiously, gauging your reaction. You blink slowly, watching his every move. If you can sense his apprehension, you don’t react. “But now I’m up north in Ulmae. I’ve got a pretty good thing going at this restaurant on the North Shore.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, uh…” He chuckles, a little nervous. “They’ve got me bartending on the weekends and let me do music during the week.”

Your eyes widen a little, and you lean forward. “They let you play?”

“It’s only like an hour a night-”

“No, shut up. That’s amazing!” You grin, big and genuine, but Yoongi can sense a tinge of sadness in it.

He’s disappointed when you both finish your coffees and you stand up to put your cup in the little tub by the counter. It’s starting to get late, the sun is starting to set and the streetlights have turned on. It was nice, catching up with you, short though it may have been. It’s not lost on him how strange it is, having to catch up with someone that was once practically a part of him.

Together, you stand outside in the chilly early evening air, looking down the street toward the park. Over the roofs of the shops and houses, Yoongi can just barely see the centinel tree with its sparkling leaves. People walk past–people he recognizes but couldn’t possibly name–some are more subtle about it, but others practically break their necks to stare at the two of you. Suddenly, Yoongi feels exposed outside the cafe, like there are eyes everywhere. He hates this, hates feeling like he’s doing something wrong just for wanting to talk to you more.

You sigh, scuff your shoe against the concrete of the sidewalk, shove your hands deep into the pockets of your dark jeans. “I… probably shouldn’t even ask,” you start warily. “But do you want to come back for a drink?”

The house is the same, yet somehow also different, like one of those spot the difference puzzles come to life. The layout of the living room is the same, but the couch is a different style and color. There’s a blanket folded the same way under the coffee table, but it’s clearly a different pattern than he remembers. Most of the photos are the same, but there are 12 years’ worth of more of them.

Apparently, the stash of alcohol your father kept in the built in cabinet beside the television hasn’t changed.

You pull out a bottle of whisky and two glasses, setting them on the coffee table with a gentle ‘clink.” The shoebox he’d given you sits on the floor. The lid is off, the letters contained within are a mess. Have you read them, or did they spill out? There’s no way for him to really know.

Silently, you hand him a glass and sit on the other side of the couch, grabbing one of the throw pillows to hug in your lap. You sip at the double in your glass stoically, and for a moment, you stare at him. He has to resist the urge to squirm under your gaze. There’s something different about how you’re sitting, something in your aura that he didn’t notice in the cafe. Maybe you’d been saving it for private, but he can sense that you’re reining your emotions in.

But then finally, after what feels like an eternity, you turn over your hand. Two pieces of paper sit in your palm. “I’m going to need you to explain these.” The two letters float over to him and open themselves in front of him.

The first is dated only a few years after he’d left.

I’ve been struck by a thought. I had tacos earlier, and I just know you would have loved them. Which made me realize that there’s still part of me that thinks about you at every turn. Your friendship was such an integral part of my life, and not having it anymore feels like there’s a piece missing. Last week it was a song on the radio. Before that, a stray cat I saw that I know for certain you would have loved. Everything reminds me of you, everything leads back to you. You’re everywhere and nowhere, and…

I would like to see you again. Someday.

How have you been doing? Where has your life taken you? I can only hope it’s treated you kindly. It’s what you deserve.

The other is from the day he turned 25.

A quarter of a century, and for some reason I feel incredibly old. With it comes some realizations, things I didn’t understand before. Maybe I was too young, too blinded by my own need to feel free… but it never was about being free from you. I can’t even begin to imagine how hurtful it must have been for you…

I never wanted to make you feel like I was giving up on you, like I didn’t want you. I never wanted to make you feel rejected, because it wasn’t you I was trying to be free from.

I was so scared of having my whole life laid out in front of me. I never took the time to think what my life could be with the bond–I only ever thought about what the bond meant for my life. All of the expectations, what comes with being a familiar, our roles in society and the universe…

I realize now that I could have–should have–communicated it all better. If only so that I wouldn’t have lost you. So that it wouldn’t have led to me making you feel like I was rejecting you. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered; at the end of the day I was still walking away from you. But at least maybe I could have made it more clear that it was never you that I wanted to be free from.

I’m sorry. I feel like it’s useless to say, but I am so sorry for not realizing any of this before.

Wherever you are, I hope you’ll understand. Take care until I see you again.

I hope I see you again.

Yoongi sighs. The letters–all of them, not just these two–tended to be rambling diatribes, a snapshot of his thoughts as he worked through his feelings about his own life and everything and you. He’d been an idiot when he left–he was 17 and full of himself and terrified of the world but too proud to admit it–and it had taken him far too long to realize a lot of important things.

For a moment, it’s quiet as he thinks of what to say. How should he even begin? But apparently, he’s quiet for too long, because you wave your hand and the letters fold themselves back up and float back down to the shoebox. When you speak, you sound exhausted. “Why are you here, Yoongi?”

“I-”

“Because if the roles were reversed, I don’t know that I’d have the balls to come back. On one hand, I’m impressed. On the other…” You trail off and shrug.

He’s quiet, not sure how to respond. He’s got lots of thoughts, lots of feelings–of course he does–but right now, you’re a wall, and he’s not sure how to read the situation. He’s not sure what you need to hear right now. So he says nothing.

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it, and you look down at the glass in your hand, stare into the dregs of the amber whisky you’ve nearly finished. “I’m running on like two hours’ sleep,” you admit. “But fuck, Yoongi, I… I was so convinced that I’d never see you again. I wasn’t sure I wanted to.” Then, softer. “I’m still not sure.”

“Why?” It’s out of his mouth before he can even think and god, he just wants the Earth to open up and swallow him whole.

It takes a second for you to process his absolute trash heap of an asinine question. But when you do, your face contorts into somewhere between anger, disappointment, and heartbreak. “What do you mean, ‘why’?” You practically spit the question at him. “You… you… Do you know what it’s like to have the most important person in your life tell you that he wants rid of you?”

“I never said-”

“You wanted to be free. From all of it. From me.” You pick at the corner of the pillow in your lap. “And then you just come back out of the blue like nothing happened and drop this damn shoebox at my feet-” from where it sits on the floor, the shoebox explodes, letters flying everywhere, “-and you just… What did you expect, Yoongi? What do you want?”

“I don’t know!” He sounds a little desperate when he says it, and he hates that, hates how pathetic it makes him sound. So he shrugs, takes a deep breath, leans back a little. “I don’t know,” he repeats. “I just… I missed you. And then mom told me about your parents, and…” He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead and out of his eyes. “And then I was on a train.”

You stare at him for a moment, a little gobsmacked. You have no idea how to respond. What do you say to that? Where do you even start? There are a hundred things you could say. You’ve played this scenario out a thousand times in your head over the years–what would you do if he came back?–but somehow, it never played out like this. In your mind, he’d never told you that he missed you.

You’d never considered that he would miss you.

But you should say something, right? It’s weird that you’re sitting there, just staring at him in complete silence. Has your jaw been clenched the whole time? Does he think you’re angry with him? Quickly, you school your face into something a little more neutral and say the first thing that comes to mind.

“How long are you here for?”

Truthfully, you probably should have asked sooner. You’ve been wondering since he showed up on your doorstep last night, but it never seemed like a great time to ask.

He sighs. “‘Till tomorrow.”

You nod, probably longer than it makes sense to, but it takes you a bit to process. Tomorrow. He’s back in your life for two days, and then he’s gone again. That’s not even enough time to catch up, let alone actually talk with him. And that’s… you aren’t sure how to feel.

Yoongi watches you quietly and takes a sip of his drink. He’s barely touched it. “Maybe…” he says after a moment, leaning forward to put his glass on the coffee table. “Maybe I should go?”

Part of you wants to tell him no, to ask him to stay, to tell you more about his gig working at the bar. Anything to keep him here and talking to you. But there’s a more logical part of you that’s overwhelmed, that needs some time to think. He’s offering to go, which means that he’s either uncomfortable or his train leaves early in the morning. Or both. He stands, thanks you for the drink, and you follow him to the door. He hesitates just outside, opens his mouth as if to say something and closes it almost as quickly.

You say nothing. And for the second time in as many days, you watch him leave without another word.

The playground was almost empty. Mama said it was supposed to rain, but she’d also said that you would go anyway, for a little bit. You were trying to learn how to swing on your own, and plus Yoongi and his mom were going to be there, and he’d said he’d bring his trucks to play in the sand.

But he wasn’t there yet, so you were on the swing. Mama pushed you, her hand firm on your back, and you closed your eyes. You were flying, wind in your face as you launched forward into the air. And then, just as suddenly, you were falling, swinging backward.

“Remember what I said,” mama said softly. “Kick your legs.”

You weren’t quite sure what she meant by that. Your legs were little, and when you kicked out, you felt more like you were going to slide out of the swing seat than anything. You heard her laugh a little, but her hand was on your back once again, propelling you forward.

A few minutes passed in a blur of forwards and backwards. You still didn’t quite understand the whole swinging on your own thing, but mama’s rhythmic pushes kept you going. But then, a small voice at the edge of the playground yelled your name, and you heard excited footsteps in the wood chips. Mama helped you slow to a stop, and you jumped off the swing.

A little boy, his dark hair cut short by his own mom, ran toward you. He was carrying an armful of small cars and larger trucks. He skidded to a stop in front of you, a wide, gummy grin engulfing his face and crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“I brought all my trucks!” he announced, looking down at the toys in his arms. “You can be the green one. Here.” He tried to hand it to you, and another fell in the process.

You picked it up and took the green truck from him. It was bright green–the same shade as the lime popsicles Yoongi’s mom usually bought–and it had big wheels. You followed him to the sandbox and you both plopped down. It didn’t take long to have a whole city constructed. Granted, it was all made from rocks and wood chips and other small things you found around the sandbox. But it was a city and it was beautiful.

Yoongi drove his truck over a bump, making engine noises as he pushed it toward you. As he drove the truck down another sand hill, bumping and bouncing it over sticks and rocks, something fell out of the sleeve of his jacket. It was perfectly round, and it rolled to a stop in front of you. You picked it up and inspected it. It was some kind of rock, hard and shiny, but it was also colorful, and you were pretty sure rocks couldn’t be blue.

One look at the rock and he frowned, calling for his mom. She came over immediately and crouched down to see what he was so concerned about. Your mama followed her, and she was the one that saw the rock in your hand first.

“Oh,” she said, her hand gently smoothing down your hair. “You two have found your gem.”

“Wha’s that mean?” Yoongi asked, looking up at his mom.

She smiled and sat in the sand beside him, pulling him into her lap. She held out her arm, twisted her bracelet around so that he could see it. “You know how I have this from your dad? It’s like that.”

“But-”

“Your friendship is special,” she continued, pinching his cheek. Yoongi laughed. “It means you’ve gotta look out for each other now.”

For a moment, he was quiet. But then he nodded, just once. “Okay!” He held out his hand to you, tiny palm face up. “Can I have it?”

“It’s not yours anymore,” his mom said softly, brushing his short hair back. “It’s a gift.”

You looked to your mama and she nodded. “Take care of it,” she told you. “You only get one.”

Middle school was the worst. Everything was difficult. Social situations, interactions with your parents, school. At the time, it all seemed like it was unfairly hard. Making it worse, of course, was getting sick. As a kid, you were never sick that often. Yoongi was a different story. For whatever reason, familiars were just more susceptible to illness, and when he got sick, he got sick.

It was the middle of the semester, and Yoongi hadn’t been to school in days. Your teachers hadn’t even asked, they’d just started giving you packets–homework and printouts of their lessons and extra materials–so he wouldn’t fall behind. So you stopped by his house after school. His mom let you in, offering you some of the snacks she was making for Yoongi before you headed up the stairs to his room.

You knocked gently before entering. The knock was a politeness–you were close enough with him and familiar enough with his room at this point in your life that you could just barge in without warning and you knew he wouldn’t mind. He looked like hell, stuck in his bed buried in blankets. It was clear he’d had a fever at some point, because his hair looked damp and sweaty.

But he sat up when you walked in, coughing deeply before speaking. “You’re going to get sick, too,” he protested weakly.

You waved him off. “Everyone’s sick.” You pulled over his desk chair to the side of his bed and started to go through your bag. “Ms. Miller gave me your math homework, but if you understand it, you’ll have to explain it to me because I have no idea what she’s talking about.” He giggled at that, gummy smile soon hidden by his hand as he coughed. “Here’s the novel for Brown’s class. She said she’d talk to you about making up the paper when you’re back.”

It took a surprisingly long time to go through eight classes’ worth of homework and assignments, but you’d put sticky notes at the front of each packet explaining things, too, so the fact that he was half-asleep for most of your explanation didn’t really matter.

“Will you stay?” he asked when you were done. “Help me with some of this?”

“What happened to not wanting me to get sick?” you teased.

“I mean, you don’t have to. If you want to go home, that’s fine, too. I just-” He coughed, burying his face in his blankets.

“You staying for dinner, hon?” Yoongi’s mom called from the bottom of the stairs.

“Yes please!” you responded, shuffling through the stack of packets you’d brought for Yoongi. “Wanna take a stab at math?”

Halfway through the fall of your senior year, Yoongi started to get… weird. Cagey. Like he was trying to hide something and figure out particle physics at the same time. You’d tried asking him about it a few times, only for him to wave you off with a quiet “just thinking about some things.” After that, he’d be back to normal for a few days. But every time, like clockwork, he would fall back into it.

Finally, on the third day of the new year, he pulled you aside. Tucked back into the dormant foliage of the park, away from prying eyes, he stood, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He was nervous, you could feel it deep inside you, but to be honest, you didn’t really need your bond to tell you what was plain to see.

“I…” He trailed off, unsure of how to continue. His brows furrowed in thought, and after a moment, he motioned for you to sit. “I need to tell you something.”

“Okay?” You sat on the edge of a big rock, confused.

“I…” he started again, sitting beside you. You could feel a spike of nerves, and he took a breath to steady himself. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I think… fuck, this is harder than I thought it would be.”

“You can just say it,” you told him. “It’s just me.”

He nodded and mumbled something that sounded a lot like ‘that’s the problem,’ but after a moment, he continued. “I need to be free of all of this.”

“What?”

“Haven’t you ever thought that maybe the universe doesn’t know what it’s talking about? That maybe you’d be happier if you chose things for yourself?” He frowned. “There’s rules for gifts. We’re only good at certain types of magic because of how we were born. We have to celebrate holidays certain ways, we have to do specific things on our birthdays-”

“-and we get told who we’re to bond to.”

He recoiled at your words. “That’s not-”

“But it’s true, right?” Your gaze fell from him to your hands. “It’s just one more thing you don’t get to control.”

Yoongi sighed. “I just… want to be able to choose for myself.”

Suddenly, you were sick to your stomach. This was the last thing you’d expected. You didn’t particularly like all of the traditions, either, but you were 17. What the hell were you going to do about it? But this felt like he was saying he didn’t want you. You hadn’t yet talked about the kiss at the night market a few weeks prior, but you’d never guessed that he’d do such a sudden about-face.

“Right,” you said softly.

“Just… think about it?” he asked, dark eyes pleading.

You didn’t like where this was going, didn’t like how it made you feel. But you nodded anyway. Maybe he would change his mind.

Days gave way to weeks and months, and before you knew it, spring had come. Yoongi hadn’t changed his mind. If anything, he’d gotten more insistent.

“I want to find myself,” he’d told you once. “I need to make sure this is how I want to live my life.”

“I just need to get away,” he’d said one day while you were doing homework together. “Start fresh somewhere new.”

And then, on the way home from school one day, he’d said, “I need to be free of it all.”

And you’d snapped. Three months of hearing him talk about it, three months of him basically saying that your entire way of life was wrong and that he was chafing to get away. You couldn’t help it.

“Fuck off,” you’d told him, taking the trail behind the houses at a faster pace. Despite being so attuned with nature thanks to his familiar genes, he’d had trouble keeping up with you.

He’d pushed. And eventually, you’d given in. Because despite everything, you’d loved him, and if he was unhappy, you wanted to fix that. And now…

Now you’re sitting alone at the train station at ass o’clock in the morning. The train station has just barely opened, and already you’re inside, clutching a cup of coffee. There are a few other people here, milling around, waiting for their early trains to god knows where. You can feel them watching you, can feel them trying to make it subtle that they’re staring. At this point, you’re used to it. Word travels fast in small towns, especially when that word is as earth-shattering as a broken bond gem and a falling out between a witch and their familiar.

You try to ignore them, focus on your coffee and the posters across the waiting area from you.

Report any unattended or suspicious luggage to National Rail personnel.

Bags larger than this poster must be checked into the train’s luggage car.

Please remain seated until your train is announced and National Rail personnel give authorization to enter the platform.

You scroll through the news on your phone. Read the posters again. Stare out the window at the coffee shop across the street. And wait. A train arrives, and the couple that had been staring at you leaves. You sigh and stand to throw out your now empty cup.

Just as you do, the door to the train station opens. You turn to look, and there stands Yoongi. He’s wearing a black shirt, a bag slung across his body. His hair is pushed back off his face and he’s wearing his glasses. He’s clutching an absolutely massive travel mug and his phone in one hand, the other rolls a small suitcase behind him. He looks sleepy, but the second his dark eyes land on you, he jolts a little, as if electrocuted into being awake and alert.

“Hey,” he says cautiously, approaching you.

“Hey.” You wave slightly–awkwardly.

“What are you doing here?” His voice is soft, still a little gruff from sleep. You get the sense that maybe he hasn’t said much of anything to anyone this morning.

You sigh and gesture for him to follow you to a bench. The next train–his, you presume–isn’t due for another 20 minutes. You have time, but not much.

“I didn’t like how we left things,” you admit. “I… I wasn't sure if you were serious.”

“Serious?” His head falls to the side slightly, confused. But then, it seems, he understands, and he nods. “I did miss you–I do. I spent the entire ride here thinking about how seeing you again was going to go.”

“Were you right?”

He chuckles. “Not exactly.”

You hum and nod, and for the briefest of moments, silence settles over you. The stationmaster types away at his computer, the clacking of the keyboard the only sound in the entire station. But then you force yourself to say something that’s been on your mind since he showed up on your doorstep two days ago.

“It’s been good seeing you again,” you say, and even though you mean it, you can’t bring yourself to look at him. “I… think in a way, after so long, I made you the villain in my head. It’s good to see that you’re… not that.”

“I am sorry,” he whispers. “That was the worst thing I have ever done, and I just…”

“I get it.”

“What?”

“I think I kind of always did, but… it just hurt too much to think that you were including me in everything that you wanted to get away from, and I just-”

“You were the last thing I wanted to get away from.” Maybe it’s the waver in his voice, maybe it’s the way he ducks his head to make sure he makes eye contact, but you believe him. He sits his mug down on the bench beside him and gathers your hands in his. “I was so fucking dumb. I would have taken you with me in a heartbeat, but god I was too stupid and selfish to take ten minutes to think.”

“I thought maybe I’d done something,” you admit quietly. “I thought that maybe after the night market-”

“No! Oh my god, no,” he exclaims, his hands tightening around your own. “You’re my best friend! I lo-”

“Train 49–the Northern Limited–will be arriving on the platform in five minutes,” the stationmaster announces, not even bothering to use the building’s intercom. “I’ll take you over to the platform when you’re ready.”

Yoongi groans.

“Here.” You pull your hands away from him and immediately miss the warmth of him. But you reach into your pocket, unlocking your phone and shoving it into his hands in one motion. “Put your number in.”

For a moment, he stares at you, dumbfounded. But then the stationmaster opens the door to his office, and the noise jolts Yoongi into action. He types quickly and hands you your phone. You don’t even look at it, just lock it and shove it into your pocket. He hands you his phone and you enter your own contact information before giving it back.

You stand at the same time, and for one brief, quiet moment, you worry that maybe he’s just going to leave it at that. But then he rubs the back of his neck and glances toward the stationmaster.

“I’ll text you,” he promises.

You nod, almost mechanically. You weren’t expecting it to hurt this much to see him leave again. As he turns to gather his things, something comes over you.

“I- Can we-” You sigh, take a deep breath. “Can I have a hug?”

He makes a noise somewhere between a hum and a squeak, and it takes almost no time for the pink to start blossoming on his cheeks. He sputters for a second, and you can feel his shock. But then he opens his arms, and you find yourself taking a small step forward.

It’s shockingly easy to fall back into him, to step into his arms. He’s warm, and solid, but still also somehow soft. His cologne lingers on his clothes, all lavender-y and citrus-y and sage-y. Your arms fit around his waist, and for a moment, you let yourself pretend that this is normal, that nothing ever happened and that he isn’t leaving. But you hear the train horn in the distance and you pull away. You kiss his cheek as you part, and his eyes go wide in shock.

“Text me,” you tell him firmly, reaching down to grab his coffee mug and hand it to him.

“I will. I promise.”

And with one last, fleeting look, he steps onto the elevator with the stationmaster to go over to the platform.

You stand outside the station long after the train departs, feeling very much like you did when he’d left the first time. You should be feeling optimistic–for the first time in a long time, you feel like maybe there’s hope. For you, for your friendship, for… whatever comes next. But it’s hard to feel any sort of positive when he’s on a train back to a city seven hours away, and you have to go home in the exact opposite direction in a few short days.

As you’re walking back to your car in the lot down the street, your phone dings. When you unlock it, you get the sudden feeling that you’re flying, like a horde of butterflies have erupted within you. It’s nerves and it’s excitement and maybe, it’s also a little bit of hope.

Yoongi 💙: thanks again for not turning me into a bug

“I’ve been thinking,” Yoongi says one late night, his deep, sleep-deprived voice distorted ever so slightly by the distance and the speakers of your phone. You can barely see him–there’s a dim light that just slightly illuminates his face, but the rest of the room is dark.

“Dangerous,” you joke.

“Rude.” He nuzzles down further into his pillow. “I’d like to come visit,” he admits softly.

For a moment, your mind goes blank. There’s a fluttering in your stomach, hundreds of butterflies trying to escape at once. He’d kept his word after the train station, texting and calling you frequently over the past couple weeks. You’d text throughout the week–little messages about bad days and delicious lunches and cute dogs–and then on the weekends, one of you would inevitably end up calling each other. You’d spend hours on the phone, sometimes talking, sometimes just existing in the silence between you.��

The video calls were a recent development. Since they began, you’d watched him cook dinner, he’d played piano while you worked on a spreadsheet for work, and one early morning, he’d called you on his way home after bartending so he wouldn’t fall asleep on the train.

“What do you mean?” You laugh a little. Maybe it was a little obvious what he meant, but you wanted to hear him say it.

He groans a little, stretches one arm up before covering his eyes with it. He peeks out at you through the cook in his elbow, one singular, dark eye sparkling, even in the poor quality of the video. “I miss you,” he mumbles, and you almost don’t catch it, it’s so muffled by his arm and your phone’s speaker.

You hum. The butterflies in your stomach make themselves known again. “I guess you could come.”

“I don’t have to if you don’t want me to.”

“Hey now. It’s against the rules to take something like that back.”

He laughs. “What rules?”

“You know. The rules.” You gesture vaguely before pulling your blanket up a little further on your body. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the rules?” He grunts. “Being away for so long has rotted your brain, I’m afraid.”

“So rude.” His arm is still obscuring his face slightly, but you can see his big, gummy smile as he laughs. “No, but seriously. Are you busy next weekend?”

You frown. You’d been trying to forget about next weekend. “Normally I’d go home for the new year,” you say softly.

“Why don’t,” he begins, stifling a yawn. You’re a little surprised he’s made it this long without seeming tired. It’s almost 3am. “Why don’t I come hang out? We can do new year’s stuff together.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course.”

“What about work?”

He shifts, the arm that was over his face now supporting his head under his pillow. “I make the schedule. They’ll deal with it.”

“Yoongi.”

He continues on, ignoring you. “I can work the day shift and get a train right after work on Friday, but I wouldn’t get there until late, is that okay?”

You sigh. It would be nice to not spend the holiday alone. And it would be nice to see him again. Sure, you’ve been talking to him in one way or another, but it’s different than having him in person. You finally agree, and he shoots you a smug, sleepy smile.

The week passes at a glacial pace. Work is slow because of the break in classes for the upcoming holiday, and spending time in an empty library is infinitely less entertaining than you’d expect it to be. Most of your coworkers have taken off, so you’re mostly alone with your thoughts. You fill the time with paperwork, completing literature loan requests for the University’s faculty and doing intake for the newly released journals the library has subscriptions for.

In the small handful of weeks since you’d seen him last, you’d replayed things in your mind. But mostly, you’ve been stuck on how nice it is to have him in your life again. You aren’t fooling yourself. You haven’t forgotten. But there’s a part of you–a large part, if you’re honest with yourself–that hopes that this is a step forward, that you can be close again. Maybe not how you were, but something that resembles a friendship.

After an eternity, it’s Friday. You sit outside of the train station in your car, parked in one of the pick up spots just outside of the main door. The trickle of people into and out of the station has slowed significantly now that it’s dark out–you’ve never seen it this dead. It’s late, the station is getting ready to close, but there’s one last train that has yet to come in. There’s another car parked a few spaces to your left, and you wonder briefly about who they’re waiting to pick up, but it’s fleeting.

The door to the station opens automatically, and out steps Yoongi. He rolls a suitcase beside him, a messenger bag slung across his body, his other hand shoved deep into his hoodie pocket. He looks around, confused, his gaze going back and forth between your car and the one to your left. You turn on the dome light and wave and he nods.

He gives you a quick greeting as he opens the back door, shoving his bags in the back seat. When he finally climbs into the passenger seat, he sighs deeply, resting his head against the headrest for a moment before turning to you.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey. How was the train?”

He groans. “Long.”

You hum. He’d worked a short, early shift so he could catch the last train from Ulmae to Ashland. He looks and sounds exhausted. But he’s here. He’s not a face on a screen, he’s in your car. You resist the urge to reach out and touch him. It’s strange. You’d been without him for nearly 13 years. It’s only been a few short weeks since you’d seen him last, but you’re giddy, practically bursting with excitement at the fact that, for the next two and a half days, he’s here. With you.

You drive in relative silence, willing the lights to be green more for Yoongi’s sake than your own. The radio plays a soft hip-hop song, and you vaguely recognize it as one of the bands he’d been obsessed with in high school, but you don’t turn it up. You’re fairly certain that he’s fallen asleep, his head lolled slightly to the side so that he’s facing the window.

It’s a damn miracle that there’s an open spot in front of your building, but you gladly take it. There are people in your building who don’t know how to parallel park—who refuse to do it—but you’d taught yourself just for instances like this. For a moment, you think you’re going to have to wake Yoongi up, but just as you cut the engine, he unbuckles his seat belt and stretches.

Your apartment isn’t large, but it’s bigger than most for what you pay for it. You’re on the seventh floor, the top floor of the building, and your bedroom has a lovely view of the building beside you. But if you lean a little to one side and press your face up against the glass, you can see out into the city beyond, and the university campus in the far distance.

He sits his bags down in your living room and plops down on the couch. You’ve already set out some blankets and a couple pillows for him. The clock on your microwave says 11:05.

“You’re probably exhausted,” you say. “I’ll let you get settled.”

Immediately, he picks his head up from the back cushion of the couch. “’m not tired.” Ever defiant. But you can tell he’s lying. You can see it in his eyes how groggy he is. Normally, he’s up much later than this–you know, because sometimes, he calls you–but between working an early shift and the six-hour train ride, you don’t blame him for being a little sleepy.

“I put some towels out in the bathroom,” you tell him, gesturing down the hall. “It’s the door on the left. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thanks.”

And with that, you leave him there in your living room. You can hear him unzipping his bag as you retreat into your room.

An hour later, you find that you can’t sleep. Not that you’ve even tried. You aren’t even sure why you’re so wired. But you’re sitting in your bed, legs covered by a sheet, in the dim light of your bedside lamp. You’ve had friends stay over before. But this… you feel like you did as a kid, having your first sleepover. Except back then you were wired on soda and sugary snacks and it was a treat to stay up late. Now, you’re just…

You hear the bathroom door open and shut, and after a moment, Yoongi stands in the doorway to your room.

“You have the softest towels in the world,” he says, hair hanging in damp strands in front of his eyes. He pats and scrunches it dry with one of the fluffy grey towels you’d set out for him.

“Would you believe I got them on clearance?”

“I’ll just have to stuff one in my bag, then.”

“I charge a 5% fee for any towels that leave the premises.”

At that, he laughs, a groggy, squeaky sound that shakes his shoulders and crinkles his eyes and leaves a wide, gummy smile in its wake.

“So… what’s the plan for tomorrow?”

“I haven’t really thought about it.” He shoots you a look that says he doesn’t believe you, and you relent. “Well,” you pat the bed beside you, inviting him to sit, “There’s this thing every year in the park to watch the meteors,” you say as Yoongi eases himself onto the mattress. “But it doesn’t start until late.” He hums. “Was there something you wanted to do?”

“No, just-” He stifles a yawn. “Curious.” He leans back against the headboard, settling in.

Just like that, you fall easily into conversation. It’s comfortable, calm. Just two old friends chatting. He likes your apartment, thinks the tile in your bathroom is really nice. He asks about your job, nods along as you tell him about working in the library and your coworkers.

And slowly, his reactions become slower, delayed, until he finally doesn’t respond at all. You look over, and his chin is tucked against his chest, his breathing gentle. Asleep.

For a moment, you consider going out to the couch. It would be weird, right, to stay here with him? But as you’re about to kick the blanket off, you pause.

We’re adults. Adults can share a bed. It doesn’t have to mean anything. You’re mature enough to let this just be two people sleeping in the same space.

At least, you think you are.

But as you settle in yourself, snuggling down into your blankets and turning off the light, you’re suddenly faced with the quiet peacefulness of his face. He’d always been handsome, and now that you’re both older, you can appreciate just how beautiful he really is. He sighs and slides down a little, his hand brushing against your arm as he gets more comfortable.

Oh no.

You sit on the floor of your living room, a box of pizza on the coffee table that you’ve shoved out of the way. Yoongi’s beside you, your backs against the couch as you watch some anime he’d been trying to convince you to watch back in high school. You’re three episodes in, and you don’t have the heart to tell him that you don’t really care for the basketball-themed show. Part of you is still afraid that if you say something wrong, he’ll be gone again.

His arm rests casually behind you on the cushions, far enough away that it’s more a comfortable way to sit than any sort of advance, but that doesn’t stop the smallest of butterflies from making itself known in your stomach. This Yoongi is so different from the Yoongi you knew—the one who, as a kid, got excited by construction equipment and the concept of ice cream, and as a teen spent his free time hiding from his parents, playing the piano and hanging out with you (though neither were mutually exclusive). He’s quiet, comfortable in the silence, comfortable with letting things linger.

You’re a little jealous of it, to be honest.

Yoongi leans forward slightly, and a piece of pizza meets him halfway, floating gently into his grasp. “Do you remember,” he begins, settling back in against the couch, “when we were 16 and we went camping?” You hum an affirmative. “We spent most of the week playing old board games with my parents.”

You smile at the memory. If anyone had asked back then, you would have told them it was lame that you’d had to spend the whole time with Yoongi’s parents. But now? That was one of the more fun summers you’d ever had. “What made you think of that?”

He shrugs, mouth full of pizza. “I dunno. But I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently. Things were so much simpler then…”

You nod and hum softly, but ultimately, you say nothing. Much simpler indeed.

“You know,” Yoongi begins, zipping his coat up to his chin, “when you said ‘park’, I was kind of expecting it to be in the city.”

“I think technically it is.” You lock your car and meet him at the front of it.

“We drove for an hour!”

You shrug. “Big city.”

He laughs and shakes his head, incredulous. He can’t tell if you’re being serious or not, but there was a sign on the way in with the university logo on it, so he supposes that whether it’s part of the city or not, it doesn’t really matter. There’s a well-lit trail that runs from the shale parking lot up a hill slightly to a clearing that overlooks the city and the rest of the park. It’s busy–people mill about around the parking lot, and he can see a steady stream of visitors on the trail up to the clearing.

He adjusts his coat–it’s cold, and both his shoulder and his senses ache with the impending snow–and when he’s ready, the two of you start walking toward the trail. It’s astonishingly busy, and as you weave your way through the crowd, leading him up the hill, he grabs your hand.

So we don’t get separated, he tells himself. For a moment, he expects you to pull away. Not maliciously, he’s not expecting you to scoff and throw his hand away. But what he isn’t expecting is for you to tighten your grip on him and tug him this way and that as you get closer to the clearing. His hand is warm where your skin touches his, like he’s holding a candle a little too close to the flame.

The clearing is massive, mostly flat but not entirely, with gentle rolling slopes that provide some extra elevation here and there. On one of the little hills, a few food trucks are set up, though how they got there, Yoongi isn’t really sure. Someone must have magicked them through the path or up the hill or something. There are picnic tables scattered around, mostly near the food trucks, but throughout the clearing, as well. Towards the edge of the clearing, there’s a cliff with an overlook that has a spectacular view of the city vista below. People are everywhere. Of course, there are a lot of college-aged kids hanging out in big and small groups. But there’s also a shocking amount of people that are Yoongi’s age and older–professors, he assumes, and university staff here to enjoy the evening. Almost all of them are holding drinks, and just about every one of them seems to be paired with someone.

It’s subtle sometimes, seeing bonded witches and familiars. Of course, the ones who are romantically involved tend to be more obvious, but the ones that are just friends are just as easy to spot once you know what to look for. It’s the people who stand so close together they’re almost touching, the ones who lean in a little extra close to whisper something. And the clearing is full of pairs standing in each other’s personal spaces.

You tug on his hand to direct him off to the left and he blindly follows, squeezing your fingers ever so gently as a response.

There’s a pair of people at one of the tables by the food trucks. They spot you almost immediately, and one of them stands to greet you. He’s a little taller than you are, made even more obvious when he gives you an awkward, one-armed hug over the picnic table’s bench. The other one–a woman–remains seated, eyeing Yoongi.

For a hot minute, it’s weird, as he stands there in silence while you chat with the man and woman. It’s not even the side-eye that the woman’s shooting him. The man is handsome–Yoongi’s not blind–and you are friendly with him. But there’s a moment, the briefest of moments, where you gesture somewhere off to your left. And when your body moves, Yoongi’s arm moves, too, and a little part of him, a silly, childish, hopeful part, soars.

You’re still holding his hand.

Eventually, you introduce him to the two. Alice works the reference desk in your library while she’s doing a doctorate program in linguistics. Her partner is gone in the winter, fighting fires in the far south. Despite her harsh side-eye, she greets Yoongi with a smile and a polite handshake. Jihwan, on the other hand, is the head baseball coach at the university. How the two of you met, Yoongi can only guess, but you make no mention of Jihwan’s partner, and Yoongi doesn’t see a gem anywhere. He almost–almost–starts to feel bad for the guy, but then he opens his mouth.

You ask a simple question, gesturing with your head to the food trucks. “What do they have good?”

“The pierogi guy from last year is back-”

Jihwan interrupts Alice. “Too much butter.”

It’s not even what he says. It’s how he says it. Like you and Alice are toddlers, like you can’t be trusted not to drown yourselves in carbs. But you roll your eyes and Alice scoffs playfully, and Yoongi realizes that this is not the first time Jihwan has done something like this. And suddenly, Yoongi hates this guy.

“Apparently, he’s got a new flavor this year,” Alice says, continuing like Jihwan never interrupted. “But the taco guy is also back-”

“Is the popcorn guy back?” you ask. laughing. “Because I kind of want a front-row seat to that.” Yoongi must look confused, because you explain. “Pierogi guy’s daughter was engaged to taco guy’s daughter. But last year, pierogi guy and taco guy just started yelling at each other-”

“-It was amazing,” Alice adds.

“It was ridiculous,” Jihwan mumbles.

You push him. “It was a little like having our own little telenovela here.”

Cautiously, Yoongi asks, “Why were they fighting?”

“No one knows.” You shrug. “But it launched a campus-wide food war. Everyone was choosing sides. It was like the year the Moondance tried to change its logo.”

Jihwan and Alice look at you, a little confused. But Yoongi knows exactly what you’re talking about. Somewhere around when you were preteens, the owners of the Moondance diner decided that its logo was outdated and wanted to update it. The whole town had been in an uproar, whole neighborhoods entering into a Cold War-esque stand-off over their preferences. People who had been friends for 50 years were suddenly in an unsolvable, unending argument. All over a color palette swap and a slightly newer font. Yoongi hadn’t cared much one way or the other–all businesses change their logos at some point, right?–and he always suspected that you didn’t either, but you’d both gotten swept up in the chaos of it all. It was stupid, ridiculous fun, and he’s pretty sure that his parents still have the buttons you’d made somewhere in their house.

You finally let go of Yoongi’s hand when you’re standing in line at the taco truck, and he’s painfully aware of how empty it feels now. You don’t go far, though, standing close enough that your elbow brushes against his every once in a while. You’re scrolling through your phone, reading some news article to pass the time. It’s gotten darker since you’ve been there, and looking up, he can just barely make out a couple pinpricks of stars in the sky. The clearing is fairly bright, with little flickering balls of light criss-crossing the space like bistro lighting, and the lights from the city below don’t help to make the night sky visible.

You pay for his tacos–”I get an employee discount,” you say, brandishing your university id like it’s a black card–and Yoongi doesn’t think that you were in line that long, but when you return to the table, Alice and Jihwan are gone.

“Where’d-” He’s not even asked the question, but you’re already shrugging.

“Alice’s probably off calling her fiance,” you say it like you’re back in high school, all singsong-y and mockingly, “and who knows where Jihwan got to. Probably trying to take someone home tonight.”

“He seems…”

You sigh. “Yeah.”

“How’d you meet him?”

A pang of… something hits him. Your expression falls, ever so slightly, and he regrets asking. But after a brief moment, you clear your throat. “He and I are the only two on campus without gems.”

Oh.

Well.

That makes sense.

“So they…”

You pick a piece of red cabbage off your taco and eat it. “Yeah, they know.”

Which explains Alice’s side-eye earlier. The weird emotion he’d gotten from you is gone now, and you seem to have just brushed right past the awkward feelings.

He hums, not really sure what to say. What’s there to say? So instead of saying anything dumb, he does the safe thing. He changes the subject.

“No wonder they didn’t kick the taco guy out of the festival this year.” He takes another bite of his taco. “This is the best al pastor I’ve ever had.”

“His chimichangas are amazing, but he only makes them on special days.”

“More special than…?” He gestures vaguely. Around you, the lights have started to dim. Yoongi isn’t really sure when that started, but things are definitely less bright.

You laugh, and something inside of him warms.

He hasn’t even finished his tacos yet, but the vibe in the clearing starts to dramatically change. The crowd gathers tighter, a palpable buzz in the air. Alice has returned and stands alone near the head of the table. She’s looking up at the sky, and when Yoongi looks up, he sees why. There’s an aurora in the sky, gentle waves of effervescent greens and blues swirling through the heavens, just like the night market all those years ago. It has to be magic of some sort–the city isn’t far enough north for it to be natural–but he can’t tell who’s doing it.

A hand on his shoulder pulls his focus back to the ground. You’re there behind him, bathed in the dim glow of the floating lights around you. By now, it’s almost dark, but even in the low light and deep shadows, you’re beautiful.

“Come on,” you say softly. “Let’s get a good spot closer to the lookout.”

He follows you through the crowd, weaving around the bodies to get closer to the edge of the clearing. It’s tight, and you grab his hand so you don’t get separated. Normally, Yoongi isn’t a huge fan of crowds like this. You’re a small island in a sea of people, and he barely has room to turn in a circle without bumping into someone. You stand close–close enough that he can feel your warmth through the chill of the night.

The city spans the valley below, a forest of metal and windows and concrete. A bright spot in the middle of an otherwise dark night. But then, individually at first and then more, the buildings’ lights begin to flicker out.

“They’ve been doing this festival since before the city got public electricity,” you explain, answering his question before he could even ask. “It’s kind of a big deal.”

With the lights of the city mostly out, the stars above are much brighter. He can almost see them twinkling and winking as they burn, millions of billions of lightyears away. The night sky is beautiful, and his eyes drift around to locate the constellations he’d learned as a child. Almost immediately, he finds Perseus, right beside his wife Andromeda. You’d loved the myth of Perseus slaying Medusa when you were kids, and even though he hadn’t looked for the constellation in over a decade, finding it is still ingrained in him.

He nudges you slightly, pointing up to the constellation. But just as he does, a pinprick of light streaks across the sky. You squeeze his hand as more streaks start to appear and the gathered crowd buzzes with ‘ooh’s and ‘aah’s. The meteors are all sizes. Big and bright. Small and thin. They aren’t constant, only a few show up every minute, but it’s beautiful to watch.

There’s a strange sensation growing in his chest, something warm and fluttering and all-encompassing. You lean a little closer and the feeling grows. You must sense something–he’s never really been sure what his emotions feel like for you–because you look up at him. For a moment, you look confused.

Yoongi isn’t really sure how it happens, but what he does know is that suddenly, your face is centimeters from his own. He thinks that maybe someone bumped you and you took a step closer, but maybe that’s just his brain trying to fill in the gaps. He also knows that he’s the one that closes the space between you, leans in and brushes his lips against yours. It’s quick, a little impulsive, and truthfully, it feels a little forbidden.

He pulls away, not far enough to make it seem like he’s made a mistake, but enough that it gives you an out, if you want it. His brain starts making all these calculations–what he should do if you back away, what he should do if you slap him, what if you don’t react.

But then you whisper, “Why’d you stop?” and your hand slides up his chest to grip the lapel of his coat. You tug with a surprising amount of force, and when your lips connect, he feels himself soaring.

His entire world narrows to the points where your bodies connect. The firm touch of your knuckles against his shirt, the way your leg presses against his, but mostly the heat from your lips as he deepens the kiss. You fit against him perfectly, as if you were made for each other. He’d only kissed you that one time, but somehow, he’d missed it, missed you.

When you finally pull away, you stay close, pressed against his chest–though whether that’s fully your choice or because of the crowd tightening around you is anyone’s guess. He can feel your heart pounding, and when you shoot him a small smirk, he’s pretty sure that you can feel the pace of his own pulse. Your grip loosens on the collar of his coat and you smooth it down coolly before your arm wraps around his back. Without a word, you cozy in, pressed close as your gaze returns to the sky and to the stars.

For a moment, he stands there, unmoving, mind empty. But then it’s like he snaps out of a trance, and he snakes an arm around your waist, holding you tightly. His focus shifts to the shooting stars above, catching one just as it streaks across the sky. As he stands there, staring at the heavens and feeling your steady breathing, his mind begins to wander.

12 years, 7 months, and 3 days. He’d spent most of that time wondering what would have happened if he hadn’t left. If, after he’d kissed you at the night market, he’d been satisfied with whatever life had come after that. He’d been so scared back then, of losing control, of his life not being his own. But now, none of that matters.

Now, he’d give up almost anything to stay here, in this moment, in your arms.

okay so like... what do we think? how are we feeling? I was originally planning on having this be much longer, but I was so stressed out from grad school, I just wanted to get it out now. I'm so excited to hear your thoughts! and let me know if you want to see a part 2 (and if so, what you might want to see in it!!)

#yoongi x reader #min yoongi x reader #bts x reader #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fic #suga fic #suga fanfic #bts fanfic #bts fic #min yoongi fic #min yoongi fanfic #myg x reader #bts soulmate au #bts supernatural au #set me free

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theemporium · 7 months

Text

“Baby?”

Silence.

“Babe?”

Silence.

“Luke?”

Silence.

“Are you awake?”

“No.”

You let out a small huff as you shifted once again, like you had been doing for the last fifteen minutes. Luke had tried to ignore it, tried to pretend that he was already asleep and that he didn’t notice the way you kept wiggling around. But it was hard to ignore it when you were practically shaking the whole bed every twenty seconds.

“Stop being rude,” you muttered as you turned your body so you were facing him. You tucked one arm under your pillow, the other picking at the duvet in the space between you both. “I can’t fall asleep.”

His brows furrowed together slightly, even if his eyes were still closed. “You good?”

“I don’t know,” you whispered honestly.

You didn’t know why you felt so off. Everything seemed fine. In fact, everything seemed perfect. This was the first year you were invited to join your boyfriend at the lakehouse. You had met Luke just before last summer had started, near the end of the hockey season at a coffee shop. It felt like a scene written out of a book or a romcom, with him rushing out as you were rushing in—only to collide and have iced coffees split over both of you.

It had been an awkward but wholesome meeting. Luke was fumbling over his words, his cheeks burning pink and his brain seeming unable to properly work with a pretty girl right in front of him. You found it endearing, especially when Jack had opened his window to yell at his brother to hurry up before they were late to morning skate.

Luke had blurted out, asking for your number and it had been a dream ever since.

You spent all of last summer texting and calling and getting to know each other. When he came back to Jersey, you met up at the same coffee shop for your first date, which only led to many, many more. And when summer rolled around again, Luke had asked for you to come with him and his friends to the lakehouse, and you had accepted.

The lakehouse was a dream. It was the perfect summer destination, his friends were amazing and his family were even better. You got along with his mother, you bonded with his father, you laughed with his brothers, you joked with his friends. It was perfect, and yet you were still unable to wave off the tightness in your chest that hadn’t left.

And now, lying in the dark room after a long day out on the lake, you should have fallen asleep the second your head hit the pillow like Luke was fighting to do right now. Instead, you were squirming and rolling around and trying to shake off the weirdest urge to cry.

“C’mere,” Luke murmured as he opened his arms, giving you a total of three seconds to react before he was wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. “Talk to me.”

“M’sorry, you were about to sleep,” you muttered, your cheek pressed against his chest and it helped a little. “We can talk in the morning.”

“I don’t wanna sleep if you’re not okay,” Luke said with a frown on his face. He blinked his eyes open, the bleariness still there as he looked down at you. “What’s going on in that pretty head?”

You sighed, your arms winding around his torso as you settled on top of him. “Just feel…weird.”

“Weird?”

“Weird,” you repeated with a small shrug. “It’s probably nothing. I’m just getting in my own head.”

“Baby, don’t do that,” Luke grumbled, softly pinching your hip in retaliation as you squealed softly.

“This helps,” you reassured him. “Being with you helps.”

“It does?” He questioned, sounding adorably clueless and flattered, and it made your lips twitch.

“Yeah, it helps being close to you,” you said to him, settling happily as his arms tightened around you. “You make me feel safe.”

“Oh,” he murmured before he smiled a little. “You make me feel safe as well.”

“I’ll be fine, Luke,” you murmured, pressing a chaste kiss on his chest just where his heart was beating. “I’ll fall asleep now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

But you didn’t. Because despite feeling safer in Luke’s arms, it didn’t stop the thoughts whirling around in your brain. It eased the tightness in your chest, but not the chaos in your head. And despite thinking you weren’t being obvious, Luke could feel how tense and rigid you were in his arms. He knew you weren’t fine. He knew you were getting in your own head. And he wanted to help.

“Mmph,” you let out a surprised noise when Luke rolled over, the comforting weight of his body on top of you as he lifted his head up. “Luke—”

“Do you trust me?” He asked suddenly, cutting you off.

“Of course,” you breathed out before nodding. “Of course I do.”

“Just relax f’me then, okay?” He muttered out sleepily as his hands squeezed your hips before one hand started to slip beneath the waistband of your shorts.

“Luke–” You started again, but he swiftly quieted you with a kiss. It was embarrassing how quickly you melted into his embrace, feeling your stomach dip with excitement as his tongue worked its way into your mouth as his large palm cupped your cunt.

“Just need to get that brain of yours to calm down,” he murmured between slow, messy kisses as his thumb pressed against your clit in slow circles. “Need you to just lay there and look pretty, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathed out, your eyes fluttering shut as his kisses slowly trailed down to your neck.

“Good girl,” he praised in a low voice, pushing your downs until they were abandoned somewhere by the foot of the bed. His fingers softly glided through your folds, humming in delight when he felt you already dripping for him. “That’s my girl.”

“Luke,” you whispered, so aware that the house was silent and that people were asleep, but so uncaring when your boyfriend slowly worked you open. “Please.”

“I know, babe, I know,” he murmured in a hushed voice. “Just gotta trust me, okay?”

“Mhmm,” you whined, a little breathy and high-pitched, and it made his cock twitch.

You felt like you were already spiralling with his fingers curled inside you, slowly thrusting in and out as he hit spots that your own fingers never seemed to reach. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer—and then he pulled out.

“No,” you cried out with a whimper, glossy eyes finding his in the dark as he chuckled softly. “Why—”

“Shhh, gonna fill you up, babe,” he assured you, silencing you once again with a kiss as his free hand worked his cock out of his boxers. “No need to cry about it.”

Your mouth fell open with a silent scream as he slowly pushed inside you, so big and deep and overwhelming that it was hard to focus on anything except the pleasurable burn of him stretching you out. Your nails dug into his skin, legs wrapped around his waist to keep him from moving away and it was hard to think about anything else other than himhimhimhimhim—

“There we go,” he groaned, his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck as he laid on top of you. “Takin’ me so well, baby.��

“Luke,” you breathed out.

“Shhh, just gonna stay like this,” he told you in a whispered voice, his hands tracing up and down your sides. “Just gonna keep you full, okay? We’re gonna sleep like this tonight.”

Your eyes clenched shut as he thrusted a little deeper inside you. “But—”

“Nuh uh, just like this, pretty girl,” he murmured, kissing the pulse point on your neck. “Think you can do that f’me?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, clinging onto him.

“Atta girl,” he hummed. “Gonna keep you safe, okay?”

“You always do,” you retorted instantly.

“Exactly, baby. Go to sleep, I’ve got you.”

“Goodnight, Luke.”

“Goodnight, baby.”

#cece's smutober #luke hughes #nhl #new jersey devils #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x you #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes fic #luke hughes one shot #luke hughes smut #nhl x reader #nhl x you #nhl x y/n #nhl fic #nhl one shot #nhl smut

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 9 months

Note

omg congrats for 5k doll! i wanted to slide in and see if i could have a protective!bf Gaz written since my baby is so underappreciated??? i saw this tweet about the scene in mw where gaz's disabling a bomb and is unable to and price throws the guy off the balcony, but this time the bomb in strapped to his love and he's and he's struggling and sees price out of the corner of his eye and remembers what happens last time and panicks and goes all 'you won't do that to her'. just a thought, love all your work!

—Don't Look At Her

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [The bomb starts ticking down, rapidly firing to zero. Gaz won't let Price near you. Not after he'd remembered the Captain's actions when they'd first met.] ❞

"Gaz," your voice wavers, watching the rapidly working man and seeing his darting eyes—lit with panicked fervor. He doesn't answer, so you speak again. "Gaz!"

"No!" He barks, brown eyes instantly meeting yours. Lips pull in a right frown; there's a glint in his gaze that you'd never seen before—not in the many years you'd known him. Kyle's firm hands don't leave the wiring attached to your chest. The vest.

The bomb.

"No, Love," he grates out, immediately getting back to work as you try to keep your tears at bay, body jerking back and forth as your boyfriend pulls at the straps and bits. "Don't even say anything. You're going to fucking fine, you hear? It's going to be okay."

It was the product of bad intel, really. You'd been sent in without the proper know-how, leading to a scuffle where the butt of a gun had been slammed into your temple. When your eyes opened again, it was already too late.

Kneeling in the middle of a large office building, the glass of the windows shattered behind you, and the wind whips the back of your skull aggressively, you stare down at Gaz. Trying to form words on a tongue that won't cooperate.

"You need to run," you whisper out, resigning yourself as the rapid beeping increases. Your heart moves so fast you can't feel the skin of your chest anymore. "Kyle," pleading, you watch his jaw clench something fierce. "Listen to me—!"

"I'm not leaving you!" A sharp snap of a metal piece hits your ears, the piece of the vest clattering to the ground in a violent display of desperation. Gaz glances back up at you stubbornly; as if uncaring about the impending incineration only minutes away. "So you stop bloody talking like that, yeah? I'm not just giving up!"

The sides of your eyes dribble out rabid tears, lungs a mess of air and inhales that can't even be considered breathing anymore by how wheezy they sound.

How would it feel? Exploding into a patchwork of blood and fire—instantaneous, sure, but feeling Kyle's heat and his puffs of air; his fear, you can't imagine him dying like that. Not him.

"Look at me," Gaz pants, fingers pulling at cords in search of the one he needed to cut—unable to pinpoint it through the hack-job that had been done to your vest.

There was every color under the sun except fucking yellow. His teeth clench so tight they hurt his jaw, but he sends you quick glances as you shakily do as he says.

Brown eyes soften, and while the both of your hands shake, for a second there's a relief at the eye-contact. "Repeat it, Love."

You lick your lips and stammer, "y-you're not leaving."

Lips press firmly into yours, and you clench your eyes tight at the sensation, tiny sob breaking the contact.

"That's right." Gaz growls. "Not on my life."

Rapid footsteps race into the room, but before the Sergeant can reach for his weapon, the familiar call from the Captain echoes out.

"Friendly!" It's as if Gaz doesn't even register, still digging and fearfully looking at the timer.

50 seconds. 49. 48. 47...

"Sergeant," Price jogs over. You can barely find the inner strength to look up at him. "Sitrep."

Blue eyes dart from the vest to you and the Captain's serious face goes grim. His expression flashes with the inner workings of his mind, eyes narrowing and a grunt stuck under his lips.

"I have it," Gaz speaks quickly, and the words strike you as odd, though you don't comment. Price slid him a sharp look.

"Gaz—"

"Don't even look at her." Snarling like an animal, brown orbs are volatile enough to rend stone in two as they meet the older man's. You and John are rendered speechless, sharing a swift glance in shock like teenagers hearing their parents swear for the first time.

Kyle's eyes are wild, sweat slicking his brow. "Come fucking on!" He yells and your body is snapped forward as Gaz pries on the straps, having to steady yourself on the man's shoulders for support. Every muscle in his body is taunt; shaking with force.

Perhaps it was the memory that invaded his brain like a parasite that had made him snap at his superior like that—a stab to his fine tissue that digs all the way down his rail-straight spine.

Piccadilly Circus. Tanto building. Hostage with an explosive vest.

Kyle's fingers bleed as they peel back rough velcro, having ripped off his gloves to be nearer to you.

It all flashes past his mind in horrible increments, the past, but instead of a man—the hostage is you. And Price was burning his neck with a harsh stare once more.

He's going to throw her out the window, Kyle panics and you watch with the deadly realization of the situation. No. No, I won't let him. Not her.

"Garrick," Price says, voice deep. But he doesn't move. "You need to get your head back on."

"I've got it screwed on just right, Captain." Gaz grunts. "Trust me."

12 seconds. 11. 10. 9...

You stare at Gaz and memorize the make of his handsome face—the dates and the late nights speaking about the future sticking to your skin like leeches; sucking away every instance of love and happiness. His laugh. His brown eyes.

His smile.

Oh, you want to see your Love smile.

"Sergeant!" Price yells, moving forward to grapple onto Kyle's shoulder. "It's going off!"

Your boyfriend rips out of his hold, fists clenched and screaming.

"Get the fuck off of me! I can save her!" Your back hits the ground with a slap and a ragged gasp from your lips, the Brit straddling your hips in a desperate play to deactivate the bomb.

"Kyle," you look up at him, pleading. "You have to take cover, it's...it's okay. I love you, I need you to know that—"

"Bloody shut," eyes spark, locking on the bright color under the front of the vest. Gaz snaps a hand under the material and rips at it in a ruthless wrench of his arm. 2 seconds. There's a deafening snap of wire. "Up!"

The beeping stops and the world stills.

Your wide eyes can't stop crying as you stare up into brown eyes with astonishment; struggling to breathe. You can't tell if the building is vibrating or only you, but nothing seems to be able to focus as a wave crashes down on you; adrenaline still striking you.

Everything rings inside of your ears, pounding in your head.

Hands grasp the base of your jaw and lips descend to yours, tears slapping your skin from above in a wave of feral agony. Gaz stifles his sob on your mouth as you shake wildly, panting over your flesh.

Price gives off a large sigh from behind, standing straighter and turning his head.

Gaz's forehead connects with yours, but there are no words to be said—just the silent gazing and lingering fear of death. He won't let go of your cheeks, and, quivering, you go to grasp tightly at the sides of his arms.

With a shuddering breath, he closes his eyes and sags into you.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

#cod #cod x reader #cod x you #cod mw22 #call of duty #mw2 #mw2 2022 #x female reader #call of duty x you #cod gaz #kyle gaz garrick x you #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick #cod x female reader #drabble #5k celebration

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astraystayyh · 2 months

Text

minho x reader. hurt/comfort. for my @rachalixie i love you 💓

you’ve never been scared of storms, never truly minded the wind rattling your windows or the bitter cold seeping through the hidden cracks of your home. you figured that the earth was allowed a moment of anger for all the burden it bears.

until tonight.

the earth was a bit angrier, the wind was more frantic, reaching inside your home and rattling your bones instead. the cold was biting, making shivers ripple through your skin no matter how tightly you pulled the cover over your body.

and then it was pitch black.

the storm suddenly felt more harmful, as if its anger was solely directed to you. and you were all alone, minho out to make sure the stray cats near your apartment were sheltered from the rain.

you freeze for a second, before turning on your phone’s flashlight and dialing minho’s number. the light is faint, flickering in and out of sight as thunder booms in your walls. you need minho.

“i’m coming upstairs,” he says upon picking up, “the power went out, right? the elevator isn’t working.”

“mm,” you hum, clutching your phone tighter, having little faith in which strangled sound your voice might conjure.

“are you scared?” he giggles, his laugh sounding like an airy bubble. you remain silent and you can hear him pause in his tracks, feel the softening of his voice before he speaks. “are you okay?” he asks again, tone much tender, making your heart ache for an entirely different reason. he always knows.

“minho, can you hurry, please?”

“i’m here,” his steps are quicker, climbing two stores at a time. you almost feel guilty if not for how badly you needed to see him, to hold his hand and to feel him close.

“i’m here,” he repeats as soon as he opens the door, voice getting lost in the booming of thunder, but you pick it up easily, shining light on the front door so he’d know where you are.

“you’re here,” you echo quietly as he crouches before you, taking your hands between his own. his lips are warm as they brush against your palm, kindling a fire right where they touch. “i didn’t know you were afraid of storms,” he speaks softly, his eyes seemingly gleaming more in the darkness.

“i’m not. it’s just the dark and the storm combined… it’s silly, right?”

“it’s okay, baby,” he coos, using the same doting tone he speaks to his cats in. “i’ll go light up some candles, okay?” he stands up and your hand wraps around his wrist instinctively, stopping him in place.

you don’t say anything, suddenly feeling embarrassed about your clinginess. you drop his wrist and he smiles softly, before scooping you up in his arms, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist.

“better?” he inquires, placing a chaste kiss on your cheek before walking to the kitchen. you nod, burying your head into his neck, inhaling his scent– your laundry detergent and jasmine, coupled with intoxicating woodsy tones that never leave him.

“be honest, you just wanted an excuse to cuddle me, right?” he chuckles as he opens the drawer, retrieving four candles from there. you bite his shoulder in response before planting a kiss on that same spot.

“i was actually scared.”

“i know, baby. i was too.” his voice is too gentle in contrast to the rage taking place outside. it makes you feel lucky to have softness embodied in your home.

“were you?”

“im hugging you to stay safe,” he smiles lightly and you feel the warmth spread through your entire being. you know he’s lying, the dark never fazed minho, but he’s doing it so you’d feel less alone in your fear.

“there,” he grins as the candles come to life, lighting up your place with a warm golden glow. its light reflects on minho’s honeyed skin, as he leans back a bit to look at you. “better, right?”

“yes,” you finally smile, untangling your legs from his waist and coming down. he places a lingering kiss on your forehead, his warm hands cradling your cheeks gently. “my scared baby,” a peck to your nose. “do you want us to go to bed?” a peck to your eyelid.

you nod, “can we cuddle?”

“of course, honey.”

“and can you sing to me?” you add quietly, as his hand intwines with your own.

“anything you want.”

#stray kids x reader #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #skz x reader #skz imagines #skz scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #lee minho x reader #minho x reader #minho fluff

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allfearstofallto · 3 months

Text

Sweetheart <3

Yandere! Scaramouche x fem! Reader

Synopsis: You have a strange lover with no name, who you dub sweetheart

Word count: 2.7k

TW: Yandere, obsession, manipulation, stalking

Chimes. That's how you knew he was coming, a noise that could only be coming from him. What sounded like wind chimes in the air would make your ears perk up. The large, lavish hat that he wore to protect him from the sun and the rain, had little bells on them that jingled and sang when he walked.

“A song just for you,” he once said while placing the hat on your head and you giggled with shy, girlish delight. The weight of it was heavier than you'd expected, but it smelled of him. A scent you could bask in.

You called him sweetheart. A name that he rolled his eyes and scoffed at the first time you said it. You told him time and time again that you didn't know his name, nor did he give you something to call him, so you came up with a placeholder, until he decided to open up to you. Sweetheart. You referred to him as sweetheart.

Whether or not he hated the name was debatable. He told you many times that a pet name as soft as that didn't suit someone like him, but he never explained what that meant. He never told you what someone like him was, he never told you anything about himself, not his name, not where he was from, and not even what he did for work. What little he told you about himself, was barely enough to decipher him.

But what you could see was that he was beautiful. He insisted that he hated you incessant compliments, but you could see a meek smile form on his lips after all of your flattering words. Hair that looked like the night sky and skin paler than sand itself. You often compared him to finely crafted statues or even works of art and he would call that nonsense. But you could see the way your words made him glance at himself in the mirror.

He had a tendency of just showing up at your door. You would hear that familiar song of wind chimes and smell citrus in the air and he'd be there. You'd open the door and see him standing there with his arms crossed and his usual frown on his face, an expression that you didn't think suited his soft, delicate features.

“Sweetheart!” You called out to him. His cheeks already flushed from your brazen display of affection and all he did was turn his nose up at you, his way of hiding flustered you were making him.

You wrapped your arms around him, taking in his sweet scent, and begrudgingly, he did the same, “You said you'd write to me,” your voice was a bit sadder now with your face buried in his chest.

His travels took him far, yes, but never once did he send you a letter and he never told you where you could send one to. When he left, it was like he was vanishing into thin air, like a creation of your own mind and when he came back, it was without warning.

“I said I'd try,” he pulled away from the hug and walked into your home like he owned the place, eyeing the small space over as he did every time he visited. It was almost like he was looking for something, or someone, but he knew you lived alone.

You shut and locked the door, trying not to seem disappointed by the way he was acting. At times you questioned if he really liked you. The way he responded towards you was nothing short of disinterest. He turned away from you kisses and stood stiffly in your hugs. Affection from him was a rare gem, but one you cherished.

“I wasn't aware that you liked flowers,” he had stepped into your living room and was staring at a vase filled with a buslte of silk flowers that were sitting near the window. He was rubbing the petals between his fingertips, while waiting for your answer, a disgusted look on his face.

You tilted your head to the side in confusion, “Oh!” You smiled as the change in conversation piqued your interest, very seldom did he mention the decor of your home, “Those were given to me!”

“Given?” He repeated beneath his breath while still rubbing the flower petals, “by whom?”

His face was turned away from you, but you could hear it in his voice. He was angry. The way he was muttering his words, how his shoulders stayed tense, he shook his head a little, even clicked his tongue, all for sure signs that he wasn't happy with what you'd said.

“By…by no one, sweetheart,” you said with a forced, playful chuckle.

He picked the vase up and held it to the light, humming in distaste, “Is that so?”

You nodded quickly.

“If no one gave them to you, we can just get rid of them right?” He didn't wait for your response, just waltzed across the room with ease and dropped the entire vase in the trash, “If you want flowers, I'll bring you some when I come back again.”

When he comes back. You hated when he said those words. They make your heart sink to your stomach. When he came back? Who knew when that would be and it's not like he'd ever tell you where he was going.

“When…when will that be?” You asked hopefully. Every time you asked the questions, you got a response of soon, someday, and whenever I'm near, but never a true answer.

“Must you ask the same things over and over again,” the annoyance in his voice was palpable and he shot a harsh look at you. The thick red eyeliner around his eyes only making his sharp gaze even more menacing.

You liked him. You did. You liked his shy, bashful demeanor. You liked his beauty that could rival that of the finest paintings. And you thought you liked the mystery of him. You thought you did, until you realized how hard it was getting answers from him. Until you realized that with the way things were going, you would truly never know anything about him. Until you realized that even his name, was a luxury you'd probably never receive.

“I just want to know you,” you muttered softly.

“You know enough,” he stepped closer to you until the two of you were face to face. His eyes, those blue orbs that looked deeper than the ocean, were hard to read. A mixture of hesitation, confliction, anger, and a little sorrow.

You couldn't open your mouth to ask what he meant. He was already kissing you. His lips were soft and tasted sweet like fruit, and his kisses were always passionate. His cherry pink lips danced across yours as you slowly began to sink into the kiss.

When it ended, you were left longing. Your eyes stayed closed for a moment too long and only fluttered open after you began to feel his breath against your damp lips. You wanted to say more, but you couldn't. You didn't know what to say. You didn't even know how you could begin a conversation over this.

“Could I at least know your name?” You asked him and you watched his face fall again.

He sighed and pretended to ignore your question, not even bothering to give it the time of day. And that was an answer enough.

Your sweetheart stayed for different amounts of time. Sometimes it was days, sometimes it was weeks, sometimes, it was just a few hours. He let you know when he was leaving, but never told you when he was coming back, and today was the same.

He left you home by giving you another passionate kiss on the lips and a promise to come back before you knew it. You watched the tassels on his hat sway in the wind as he just walked, his form growing farther and farther away until he was just a spec in the distance and then you were all alone again, contemplating what had just happened.

Time waited for no one, and you were included in that statement. When your purple haired sweetheart came to visit, you'd neglect your work as an apothecary to spend time with him. You supposed that's what he was to you. An escape from your mundane life. A mystery you'd never solve, but a passionate one nonetheless.

You gathered all the medicines you made to sell and walked towards the direction of the city. Liyue harbor was bustling, as it always was. Day or night, it was a city that seemed to never sleep. You loved to watch the vibrant way the people moved from your little house on a hilltop, far away from civilization.

It was truly a blessing and a curse. You did grow lonesome out in the mountains, but you had easier access to herbs and flora that normal people wouldn't be able to get their hands on. Plus…being in the city has a way of making your skin crawl.

There was this prickly feeling on the back of your neck that followed you as you walked through the streets and alleyways. A feeling of being watched, of eyes on you somewhere, but you didn't know where. There were people in every direction you turned, all with their own stories and their own lives, going their own way, none of them seemed to focus on you. And yet the feeling never left.

Although you walked alone, you found yourself picking up and listening to the conversations of those around you. Talks of trade and contracts interested you when you had no one to talk to.

But you also heard other whispers. Whispers of things like crime, loan sharks, and most specifically, the Fatui. By the archons above you, you promised to never get yourself involved in any business with the Northland bank. Owned an operated by the Fatui themselves, they gave out deals that seemed too good to be true, and that's because they were.

The harbinger over the bank was one that made you tremble in fear over just the thought of him. You'd never met him in person yourself, but you'd seen him parading through the streets. He has a face that would make girls swoon, but only the ones that didn't know his true intentions.

“The balladeer came through the city again recently,” you heard one lady speak in a hushed whisper.

“The one that wears the fancy hat?”

That's what made you stop in your tracks and you concentrated on that name: The Balladeer? It was one you'd never heard before. You couldn't help, but to stop at the corner, holding your baskest of medicinal herbs close to your chest as you eavesdropped on their conservative out of curiosity of the familiar description.

“Yeah, that's him! He just left a couple days ago,” you felt your heart began to pound a bit quicker now, your mouth going dry. Your sweetheart had left just a mere three days ago.

“Too bad he's Fatui,” she said with with a disheartened sigh, “His face is heavenly, even with that frown he's always wearing.” you could feel yourself gasping for air. It couldn't be him, could it?

But the things lined up, just a little too well. The balladeer left when your sweetheart did, he was also seen wear a fancy hat. The pretty face with the rude expression. It would explain so much.

The secrecy. Why he constantly would leave and travel across Teyvat. His aggression towards you knowing more about him, his lack of a name. All of the pieces of the puzzle clicked together and hit you like a ton of bricks.

You weren't dating some mysterious stranger. You weren't dating “sweetheart”. Your current boyfriend was the balladeer, a Fatui harbinger, and a dangerous one at that from the way the ladies talked about him in hushed whispers.

You bit your lip as you tried to hold back tears. How could you be so stupid? After everything was said, it all made sense and you realized, truly realized the danger you'd put yourself in.

Rushing home, you didn't even sell your medicine for the day. You couldn't bring yourself to stay in the city any longer. Not when you knew that there were Fatui, his subordinates around.

The door to your home was locked and shut tight. The once comforting walls felt like they were closing in on you. The home that you welcomed him to, you let him visit whenever he pleased, you allowed him in with open arms. In this very home, he was lying to you.

A month went by before you saw him again. A month before you heard the chimes, the song that was just for you. A month before you smelt the citrus in the air. All tell tale signs that he was here. He was at your door.

Usually you'd swing that for open and jump into his arms. You kiss him and hug him, you'd drag him into your home and smother him with the affection he pretended to hate. But all you could do was stay as far away from the door as possible, hudded in a corner, you pretended not to know that he was there.

It was gentle at first. The knocking sound. He rarely knocked before, you always knew he was there before he even had the chance to.

“Hey! Open up!” You heard him call, his voice muffled by the wood of the door. Those hurried words of his were followed by more knocking, this time, louder and harder.

“(Y/N)! Open the door!” More loud knocking, enough to shake the house, “Why aren't you answering?!”

You bit your lip to muffle your cries. He was out there. The fatui harbinger. The balladeer. Your sweetheart. He was out there, begging to be let in. It was him, you told yourself, it was your lover. So, why were you so afraid?

The banging turned to the pounding and the pounding made the wood of the door start to splinter. You had slid further back into the corner of your home, covering your mouth to quiet yourself as your tears wet your hand.

Kick after kick after kick, until the door was barely hanging on by the hinges. He could finally see you, through a crack in the door. His face was red with rage, but his eyes were wide with worry and concern.

“I told you to open the door!” He yelled at you, finally kicking away the last piece of wood that kept you from him. His chest was heaving, but he didn't make a move towards you. In his hand, he was holding a bouquet of flowers, so tightly that the paper was crumpled, “Why... why are you hiding from me?”

You didn't answer his question. Looking at the man before you now, it wasn't your sweetheart. It wasn't your lover. It wasn't who you'd come to truly care for after these months. He really was the Balladeer.

You watch his face twist and contort with a mix of emotions. A scowl, a frown, a grimace. Fear and anger flicker across his face so quickly, it's like a blur. But then it settles. It all settles. A single tear down his cheek is the only sign left of sweetheart before his face turns to that neutral expression. That frown that didn't suit his heavenly features.

The flowers were dropped to the ground, wilted and forgotten, and he stepped closer to you, over what remnants of a door you had.

“You know?” He asked in pure disbelief, a pain in his eyes that you couldn't even describe, “You found out?”

Your trembling form wasn't enough to sway him. He was used to being looked at this way by others, but by you, it did hurt a bit more.

“Why didn't you tell me?” you whimpered between sobs. Your pathetic display obviously wasn't enough to melt his frozen heart. He merely kneeled in front of you, unaffected by the way you slinked away from him in fear of what he as a harbinger could do.

“Because I knew you would look at me like this,”

#yandere genshin #genshin #genshin x reader #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin x you #yandere scaramouche #yandere scaramouche x reader #yandere x you #scaramouche x reader

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scarletlizzard · 3 months

Text

Part 1: Get Help

Sessions Series

Pairing: psychiatrist Wanda x female reader

Tags Minors DNI: being stalked, paranoia, therapy, mentions of sex

Masterlist

Fall 2018

It was the same thing every day.

You wake up, make breakfast, and go for a run. You go to work, a normal 9-5 job downtown. After work, you would wind down by making dinner and sometimes taking a bath with a glass of wine. You go to bed around the same time every night, letting the sounds of I Love Lucy lull you to sleep.

Your routine was all but normal, though. You had a shadow.

Your daily jog was filled with turning your head, constantly aware of a presence behind you, one that you could never see. You thought it was over until one night when you were making dinner, you happened to look out the window and saw a person standing across the street. The glass of wine you were holding dropped from your hand onto the floor beneath your feet. You step back onto the glass and wince, tearing your eyes from the shapeless figure.

When you look up again, they've disappeared.

This happened for weeks until you finally gave in and told your friend one night over a bottle of wine.

"Look, this is them. They're back," you say, handing the phone to Natasha. She raises an eyebrow and looks at the blurry picture on the screen. Practically a black dot next to the bus stop a few houses down from yours.

"But why would they wait so long? It's been over a year, and.." she squints, staring at the picture. "That kind of just looks like a blob.." the woman says and sips her wine, a concerned look on her face at your frantic state.

"It's not. It's them! I-I swear I'm being followed, being watched... every where I go, it's like, I can feel them. The police won't do anything about it." You move your shaking hand away from her to gulp down the rest of your wine.

"Look, Y/N.." Natasha sighs and sets down her glass, turning her body to face yours. "I know you've been through a lot, everything that.. happened last summer. I think - maybe you should.. get some help." She tries to soften the blow of calling you crazy by resting a hand on your thigh. You only look to her with betrayed eyes.

"I'm not crazy," you speak calmly, your tone stern, but the crack in your voice only solidifies Natashas' point.

"I don't think you are, Y/N. Here.." She grabs her purse, pulling out a business card from it casually, as if she just happened to have it. You knew her better than that. "This is my friend. She's an amazing psychiatrist. Just talk to her, give it a chance."

You snatch the card away from her hands, not making eye contact with her. Natasha sighs again and stands, watching your leg bounce harder. She leans down to kiss your forehead.

"I'll call you tomorrow. I love you.." She trails off, unsure if you'd even reply.

"Love you." You mumble, pouring yourself another glass.

After she leaves, you stare at the business card in your hand, eyes settled on the name in bold lettering. You crumple the card, ball it up in your hand, and throw it across the room. It bounces off the wall with a small 'thunk'. Then you're left sitting, recalling the events of last summer.

***

Summer 2017

It was an exceptionally hot night. The air conditioner had been broke all day, leaving you sweating and fanning yourself with a magazine. Also leaving you with no choice but to leave the windows open, letting a cooler breeze flow through your quiet house.

You shot a quick text to Natasha- See you tomorrow, meet at the coffee shop near yours.

With a sigh, you rest your head on the back of the couch, listening to the voices on the TV. You get a strange feeling suddenly, your whole body covered in goosebumps, the small hairs on your arms standing straight up. You slowly open your eyes, staring straight ahead at the characters running around the screen.

"Get a grip, Y/N.." You mumble to yourself, patting your cheeks as if to wake yourself up. Maybe you just needed some sleep. Your anxiety seemed to be kicking up again. Your hands reach for the remote on the table in front of you, and you press the power button, turning the TV off.

It's then you see, in the black screen, reflecting an image not only of you but a person standing directly behind you.

***

Current Fall 2018

No, I'm NOT doing this right now.

You think to yourself, swallowing down your third glass of wine for the night. Instead, you get up to double -no, triple- check all of the locks in your house. The windows to the backyard, locked. The sliding glass backdoor, locked. The windows to the front of the house, locked. The front door, locked. The side door leading to the garage, locked. Windows in any bedrooms, locked. Your bedroom door and window, locked.

It was exhausting, but it was a routine you had been following for the past year. It kept you safe. You turn on I Love Lucy, drifting off into another nightmare with your mysterious shadow.

The morning after, you awake to your alarm and slap your hand on your loud phone to slide it off. You lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling. The morning sun shines brightly in the room, the light warm on your skin.

I am NOT crazy...

You repeat to yourself over and over, a mantra easily spoken and believed in your mind. Breakfast was made and eaten, running shoes tied to your feet, laces double knotted, ID and cash in case of emergencies, and headphones settle snug in your ears. The first mile was fine, humming along to your music, and enjoying the cold fall. It was when you were heading back towards your house that you began to have that unsettling feeling.

Your panicked eyes look around as you jog, your head constantly turning from side to side as you look for your shadow. You find yourself reaching into your pocket, letting your hand grab onto the pepper spray you had brought with you. Only a little ways to go. It's fine.

Your pace sped up, but your shadow was creeping up closer to you. Your heart was racing. Sweat was dripping down your forehead. With your thumb gripping the spray, you suddenly turn around, spraying the shadow behind you.

"Ahhh! What the fuck!" A man screams, falling to his knees in front of you. Your heart was beating out of your chest at the sight of him, rubbing his eyes and screaming in pain. But on the sidewalk in front of him you see your emergency clip that held your cash and ID.

"Jason! Oh my god, what did you do to him?" A woman comes running up to his side, sliding her arm around him. "Are you crazy? You dropped this. He was trying to give it back to you!" She screams at you, throwing the clip in your direction. Dollar bills fly to the ground, and you back up.

"I-I'm sorry! I didn't know, I thought he was - I didn't know.." Your voice trails off as you shake your head, hands shaking. "I didn't know.." You repeat it 4 times.

"Y/N, you're lucky he didn't press charges, I can't believe you actually pepper sprayed him.." Natashas voice sounded from the phone in your hand as you recall the events from the morning.

"I know, I can't believe I did either. I feel so fucking bad about it.." you hold your head in your hand, guilt filling your gut.

"It happened. There's nothing you can do about it now. He'll be fine.. people get pepper sprayed all the time," she tries to joke, attempting to lighten the mood.

You sit up and sigh into the phone, looking around the room. The TV playing, the dusty art supplies sitting on a desk in the corner. Your eyes find and focus on the crumpled business card on the floor by the wall. As you stand, your feet carry you over, picking it up.

"I'll talk to you later, Nat," you say, letting her say goodbye before you hang up. Your hands straighten out the card, and you once again read the name in bold lettering.

The clock on the wall read 5:28 as you sat, one day after work, on a chair in the hallway near the front door. You look around the hallway that leads to a massive house. It seemed the front was used for her practice, a room on either side of the hallway. One you assumed an office, the other a room to meet with patients. The clock ticked to 5:29, and your leg began to bounce.

The door on the wall across from you opens, revealing a brown headed woman with a warm smile on her face. She was taller, a creme colored blouse and brown pants settled on her legs. Her familiar green eyes find yours, and you both let out a small, awkward chuckle.

"Y/N.." Wanda says and holds out her hand to you, watching as you stand in front of her.

Your hand reaches for hers, "Wanda.." Her hand is warm and soft in yours. You know you linger too long in her grip. She leads you into room number two, a medium-sized room with one big, comfortable looking chair and an even more comfortable looking couch. Behind her comfy chair was an extravagant looking fireplace. Bookshelves lined the walls, and as you walked inside, your fingers trail the spines of the books that sat on them. It felt comfortable and safe. The sun was beginning to set, and an orange glow filled the room. Wanda sits in a chair, a notepad, and pen in her lap. You follow suit, sitting across from her on the couch.

"So, are you sure you want to do this? I'd be more than happy to recommend you to some other, highly recommended, co-workers of mine?" Wanda says with a smile, and you can't help but blush. She just had that effect on you.

"As long as you're okay with it, I am. I trust you, and right now, I really need that.." You mumble the last part, sitting back into the couch. Wanda nods, understanding of you.

One of the last times you saw Wanda she was in your bed, giving you what still stands today, the best orgasms of your life. Natasha had thrown a Christmas party where you met. You and Wanda came alone. You both had a lot to drink, and one thing led to another. You spent the night talking and laughing, getting to know each other as you came on her fingers. After that, you saw her from time to time, over a couple of months. She let you eat her out on your couch and fucked you against the counter in your kitchen. It was the best sex you'll probably ever have. You felt more alive with her than you had in years.

But then you had to leave town for work, and by the time you came back, the two of you had lost touch. Then, a few months after, during the summer, when your shadow appeared, you cut practically everyone out of your life.

"Well then, let's get started," Wanda interrupts your train of thoughts with a click of her pen, crossing her legs. "I reviewed the file you sent over from your stay at the Bay Point Medical Center. Do you want to talk about that?" She asks, her voice as smooth as honey.

You let out a shaky sigh, playing with the zipper of the bag you held in your lap. "I've always been.. anxious, since I was a kid. Always had these uh, routines. Tie my shoes until they felt right, flick the lights 4 times before bed."

"Were you ever diagnosed or tested as a kid?"

"No, my mom didn't believe in that sort of thing."

"So you were first diagnosed with OCD and Bipolar Disorder at Bay Point." Wanda makes a note. You tap your leg 4 times.

"Yes."

"So what led you to that moment, to that night?" Her voice is so inviting. You would tell her just about anything at this point.

"I'm sure it says in the file.." You clear your throat, suddenly being unable to look her in the eyes.

"There is a version, but I'd like to hear yours." Her eyebrows raise, pen hovering over the paper of the pad.

"It was a few days after I saw my shadow," you start, Wanda has a curious look on her face.

A pause.

"Your shadow?" She asks, you nod.

"The stalker, person watching me." You reply, she nods for you to continue. "I hadn't slept in days. The police didn't believe me. There was no evidence, they said, that anyone besides me had been in the house that night. So I went to the docks, and I-I bought a gun from some junkie. I'm not proud of what I did," you say, meeting her comforting gaze.

"I'm sure. You hadn't slept in days. You were delusional - sleep deprived. No medication, no diagnosis. Under extreme stress. Given the circumstances, I'm glad no one was hurt." Wanda concurs.

"Well, maybe not physically. But when you wave a gun around at 3 in the morning down the street, maybe a little psychological damage to the family that found me," you groan and put your head in your hands.

"The report said you had left a note at your house. What did it say?" Wanda asks, and you think back to when you scribbled on a piece of paper, what you thought would be, your last words. You're quiet for a moment. Wanda can tell you won't answer that question just yet.

"How about, who did you leave it for?" She asks.

"For my shadow."

The rest of the session you had spilled about your feelings that night and talked about you OCD and Bipolar disorder. You told her about your stay at the mental hospital, and told her about your routines. You spoke to her of almost everything.

"I think this session was really productive, Y/N. You've been very open with me, and I appreciate that." Wanda stood at the front door, smiling down to you. It was dark now, the sun at set completely. "I'll see you at the same time, Thursday?"

You nod and smile back at her. "I'll see you then." You walk to your car, feeling lighter. But you also can't ignore the hair on the back of your neck rising as you drive away.

***

Summer 2017

You scream loudly as you turn to see a figure behind you. A shadow, dressed in all black. A white faceless mask covered their true face. They stand still as you back away, slowly tilting their head to the side.

"Run." A menacing whisper, a familiar tone.

You run.

#marvel #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x reader #elizabeth olsen #lizzie olsen #dark fic

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autumnshighlady · 4 months

Text

Run For Your Life

Dark!Azriel x reader

summary: you have a stalker who has been following you for a while, and suddenly things escalate

warnings: DARK DARK DARK FIC! seriously, Az is a psycho stalker, dubious consent, oral sex (m and f receiving), voyeurism, masturbation, violent language, oh did i mention Az is insane in this fic

word count: 7.2k

see the playlist for this fic

this fic is the reason I'm never getting into heaven. y'all better enjoy it. let me know your thoughts! also it's heavily inspired by the book Haunting Adeline, which isn't a good thing haha. also none of this is proofread sorry lmao

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

seriously, this is a dark fic. consent is dubious at best, reader is definitely coerced. read at your own risk.

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Darkness began to creep in, the shadow of the mountains swallowing the edges of Velaris. For most people in the city, the evening brought a new sense of life to the community. They’d go out dancing at the various pubs, or browsing the night market in the town square. Shop owners would be headed home to their families, content after a long day’s work. Everyone in Velaris looked forward to the hours after dusk.

Everyone except you.

While the crowds rushed towards the city centre, you went the opposite way towards your house on the edge of town. You hurried down the winding path, the noise from the city growing faint. A cold breeze stung your cheeks, making you walk faster. You clutched your bag tightly to your chest, a faint yet distinct sound of footsteps echoing in your ears.

He knew how to be quiet, yet he was making noise anyway.

Your heart raced as the footsteps grew closer. You didn’t break into a sprint like your instincts screamed at you to. He had never hurt you, never even come close. It was a game he seemingly liked to play with you – make his presence known and set your teeth on edge, creeping closer only to disappear at the last minute. Every time you turned around at the sound of his footsteps, there wasn’t a trace of a person anywhere near you. At first, you thought you were going crazy. But after a few weeks, you realised it was him.

Teeth chattering in the wind, you pushed through the gate to your house. The footsteps behind you had vanished, but you knew he was somewhere nearby. Watching. You could always tell when he was there – the world around you seemed colder, more silent, like the quiet before the breaking of a storm that never came. You would get a chill up your spine, as if invisible shadows were gently licking at your skin. That’s how you knew he was there.

You closed the door behind you as you entered your house, fiddling with the seven locks you had bought and added to the door. You grabbed your bag and pulled out yet another lock, one that had cost you a pretty penny. The shop keeper had assured you that it had an ironclad spell on it, making it impossible to be picked or broken. But that didn’t matter, he would somehow find a way through it just like he had with the other seven.

After installing the heavy lock, you scanned your house’s main room. Nothing appeared out of order, everything was where you left it. There was no eerie chill in your house, indicating that your shadow had not been inside today. Content as one could be in this situation, you made quick work of getting ready for bed. Your stomach screamed at you to get something to eat, but you ignored it. Your pantry door creaked open, but you grabbed the handle and slammed it shut. You could tell that he disliked when you went to bed without dinner, but after the long day you had, you couldn’t be bothered to care.

Weary, you climbed under the covers, knowing that somehow he was still watching. Despite all your curtains being closed and windows being bolted shut, he would still find a way to watch. He never touched anything – you or anything in your house, which reassured you enough to drift into sleep.

Until the next day.

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

You woke up to the smell of an omelette filling your nostrils. Blinking away the last blissful sensations of sleep, you sat up in bed and sighed before pulling on your fuzzy robe and waddling out to the kitchen. The fogginess around your head instantly cleared as you approached the counter, noticing a fresh veggie and cheese omelette sitting on a plate by your usual stool. A tall glass of orange juice was carefully placed next to it, and a bouquet of midnight-blue roses were perched in your previously empty vase.

Your stomach did a backflip. This was new. Your shadow had never done anything like this before – he had been content just to observe you, to play with your fear like a cat toying at a mouse. Evidently, he didn’t like being ignored. The rational part of your brain wondered if the meal was poisoned somehow, a trap designed to render you unconscious or dead. But some sick part of you knew that it was safe, and urged you to eat it.

You weren’t stupid, you knew he was a stalker. You were pretty sure you knew who he was, too. There was only one male in the Night Court with the ability to be so discreet. As an advanced linguist, the High Lord had come to you several weeks ago for help on decoding an ancient language from a manuscript. Alongside him was his spymaster, whose intense hazel eyes sent a chill down your spine much like the one that haunted you now.

If it was indeed the spymaster who was your shadow, then you had no hope. He was the best there was when it came to spying – there was no chance of anyone being able to help you. Not that you’d told anyone about it. If you had, they would never believe you.

So you accepted your fate, doing your best to live your everyday life with a haunting presence always a few steps away. Begrudgingly, you took a seat on your stool and took a bite of the omelette. It was still warm, and you scoffed. Surprisingly, it was delicious, better than anything you could cook for yourself. A cool but soft sensation gently stroked at your cheek, as if to praise you for eating. You ignored it, glancing at the door you had bolted shut last night.

It was still closed, but every single lock was undone.

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

A few days later, your shadow had made a new routine. You had gone to bed again without eating, and the exact same thing happened every morning – you’d wake up to a freshly cooked breakfast. Soon enough, you found yourself going to bed without eating on purpose, knowing he’d make sure you ate in the morning.

It was insane, you knew. Letting him do this to you – watch you while you sleep, eat the food he prepared for you. Evidently, your self preservation instincts were lacking, but you were lying if you said it didn’t send a little thrill through your body knowing he was watching your every move. You felt sacred, yet protected at the same time. It excited that sick part of your brain that relished in the danger of it.

After another long day in your office studying manuscripts, you headed home. For the first time in weeks, there were no echoing footsteps accompanying you. It felt almost lonely, which made you want to slap yourself for your stupidity – who misses being followed? So you walked in silence, an uneasy feeling churning your stomach. Your shadow had stuck to a single routine for weeks, and now things were changing. Now, you were less sure that you were safe in his presence. Yet you didn’t fight it. One way or another, he would get whatever it was he wanted. He would decide when to leave you alone, not you.

Immediately upon entering your home, you knew he had been there. A fresh bouquet of blue roses adorned your table, and there was that eerie chill in the air despite the heat from the fireplace. Heart racing, you set your bag down on the table next to the roses, scanning the room. Everything seemed in order, but something tugged you towards your bedroom. You found yourself blindly following it, anxiety making your bones jitter.

You stepped into your bedroom and gasped. Your bed was perfectly made, despite you leaving it a complete mess this morning. But that wasn’t what grasped your attention. At the foot of the bed there was a rectangular box. It was black, a dark blue ribbon wrapped around it and tied in a perfect bow at the top. There was no card, but you knew who it was from.

Any rational female would have simply grabbed it and thrown it as far away as possible, but the rational side of your brain was losing lately. Your curtain was slightly open, and you knew he was watching through the gap. With shaking hands, you undid the bow, letting the midnight blue ribbon fall from the box. Carefully, you opened the lid, holding your breath as you did so. You expected maybe a decapitated head, or a bloody knife, something to prove just how insane your stalker was. But no, what was inside the box was somehow even more startling.

Within the box was a dark blue nightgown. The cups were lacy and sheer, leaving nothing to the imagination. A small bow adorned the centre of the plunging v-line, and sheer panels of cobalt blue fabric were draped from the lace cups. Folded right next to it was a thong in the same colour, so thin it barely counted as panties.

“What the fuck?” You wondered aloud, holding up the nightgown. It couldn’t even be classified as a nightgown, the way it covered nothing. You could have sworn a deep chuckle was carried in through the breeze from your window, so faint it was practically inaudible. But you knew he was watching, gauging your reaction.

For the first time, you spoke aloud to him. “No, I am NOT wearing this you sick fuck.” You shouted, tossing the lingerie onto the floor. “I’ll eat your stupid food because it tastes better than anything I can make, but I refuse to put this on. Creep!”

Fuming, you settled into a steaming hot bath. It was the one room your stalker’s presence never entered, the one place you got peace from him. At least he has a shred of decency not to spy on me in the bathroom, you thought bitterly to yourself. He was getting bolder, and his recent gift made you squirm. On the one hand, it was terrifying – a strange male wanting you to wear lingerie for him, breaking into your home day after day and watching you without you even catching a glimpse of him once. But on the other hand, it was exciting. Your life seemed so dull and mundane, having him in it brought excitement to your day.

Yup, you were definitely sick in the head.

You finished your bath and ignored the lingerie, opting for your usual t-shirt and shorts attire. You climbed under the covers, ignoring the eerie presence outside your window. “Go fuck yourself.” You muttered to him as you drifted off into sleep.

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

The second you woke up, you knew he had done something. Typically, the first thing you did upon sitting up in bed was brushing the hair out of your face, having gone to bed with it loose. Instead, you felt no tendrils of hair sticking to your cheeks. Heart racing, you slowly reached behind your head and felt your hair. To your horror, it was pulled back into a neat braid tied together with a fragment of the blue ribbon from the box. It was slightly damp, as if someone had put an oil in it. Your breaths shortened as you pulled the braid over your shoulder, hands shaking. You noticed the chair in the corner of your room. The lingerie that had been on the floor all night was nearly placed on it, ready to wear.

The message couldn’t be more clear. He was escalating things – not once before had he ever touched you, until last night after you refused to put on the nightgown. Wear it, he seemed to say.

Your throat was dry as you peeled back the covers and walked over to the chair. Today was your day off, and you hadn’t planned on going anywhere. Several chores needed doing around the house – reorganising, cleaning, the works. You’d be damned if you had to do it basically naked. So you scoffed, strolling over to your wardrobe and opening the doors. Every nerve in your body froze as you faced an empty closet.

He had taken all of your clothes to ensure you would put on the lingerie.

Pervert.

You angrily slammed the door. “Fuck you!” You yelled, not knowing which direction to aim your fury at. “If I put on your gift, will you give me my clothes back?”

Something invisible caressed your shoulder. Yes, it seemed to purr.

You rolled your eyes, but took a deep breath and turned back towards the chair. You figured it was better to make him happy, and with a sigh you peeled off your shirt and pants. No doubt he was watching, taking in your naked form – but with the revealing lingerie, he’d be seeing it all regardless.

Swallowing what little remained of your dignity, you slipped the thong and nightgown on. You tried not to think about how it fit you perfectly, clinging to the shape of your breasts like it was custom made for your frame.

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

By dusk, you had finally completed all your tasks. It was demeaning, washing dishes with your ass hanging out. No doubt your shadow enjoyed the view. But after a while you had begun to not care, trying to ignore the heat that pooled in your core at the thought of him watching you, exposed like this.

You groaned when you entered your bedroom, finding another gift at the foot of your bed. It was in a smaller, square box this time, but was wrapped the exact same way. “Mother above, what do you want now?” You muttered, sitting down on your bed and ripping the ribbon off your gift. You let out a gasp as you peeled off the lid and peered inside.

At the bottom of the box was a blue vibrator. It was shaped like an L with a white circle at the top and three buttons going down the side. Gingerly, you pressed the bottom button and the small ring at the top began to vibrate gently. So you clicked the top button and pressed the ring into the palm of your hand. The vibrating increased, and sucked at the skin on your hand.

“Fucking hell.” It was a suction vibrator. You knew without a shadow of a doubt what he wanted you to do with it. But you were stubborn, and chucked the device across the room. It hit your wall, and landed on the floor with a thump.

“Absolutely not.” You hissed. “I am drawing the line here.”

Deciding you had lost enough dignity for today, you crawled into bed grumpily and closed your eyes.

Hours passed, but sleep did not come. It felt hot in the room, so you kicked off the sheets, letting your warm skin breathe. You tried everything – counting down from 100, telling yourself a story, but nothing brought the peaceful bliss of sleep. He was watching you, without a doubt, laughing at your pathetic attempts to force your brain to shut down.

But you couldn’t stop thinking about how it might feel to get yourself off while he watched. Once, you had drunkenly confessed to your ex boyfriend that you wanted to explore the idea of being watched while he fucked you, or while you pleasured yourself. You had been shot down instantly, making your cheeks go red with embarrassment. But that hadn’t changed your feelings about it.

You flinched as an invisible shadow gently caressed your cheek. It felt like silk against your skin, cold but comforting. A few seconds later, it skimmed just above the curve of your breast, teasing the edge of the lingerie.

“What are you–” Your question was cut off by a moan as the shadow flicked over your nipple through the thin fabric. You couldn’t help but arch up into it, your body already tempting to beg for more.

Your breaths became pants as the shadow graced your other nipple, teasing the buds through the fabric. It trailed down your sides before taking up residence on your inner thighs. Without thinking, you spread your legs for the invisible force that was touching your body and making your core heat up. That deep laugh you thought you had heard days ago sounded again, causing your cheeks to turn red. The shadows caressed your inner thigh, crawling up towards your pussy before jumping over to the other leg and starting again.

It was embarrassing how wet you were. Your core was throbbing, begging to be touched. But the shadows denied you, content to ghost over your pussy and continue their dance along your inner thighs. You reached down to grab the bedsheets, but your hand knocked against something hard. It was the vibrator.

He was persistent tonight.

You tried to hold out, to leave the vibrator on the bed and ignore the soft sensations driving your body wild. It went on for so long, to the point where tears began forming in your eyes. If the shadows weren’t going to satisfy you, you’d have to do it yourself.

“This is sick.” You muttered to yourself, grabbing the vibrator. Taking a breath, you switched it on and cranked up the setting. Settling into the sheets and spreading your legs wider, you placed the suctioning ring to your clit. Almost instantly, your body jolted at the intense sensation and you gasped.

A deep, velvety voice sounded in your ear, so low it was almost inaudible above the sound of the vibrator. Good girl.

You gasped louder, chills going down your spine. Your stalker was watching you get off wearing the lingerie he bought for you, and it sent a thrill through your body. You moaned, letting your back arch off the bed as you grinded into the toy. Your core was pulsing, and you nearly screamed when you felt that teasing shadow slip into your hole. It curled inside of you, instantly finding your g-spot. You whimpered at the sensation, as your legs began to twitch, approaching your orgasm at lightning speed. You shamelessly moaned as your orgasm ripped through your body, writhing your hips against the high speed of the vibrator.

You tried to pull it away, but that invisible force stopped you. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't drag your hand away. “No, no, no…” You whimpered pathetically, core screaming from oversensitivity as both the vibrator and the shadow relentlessly attacked it.

Yes, sweetheart. Take it. Give me another one. You heard the voice echo next to your ear.

“I can’t.” You cried, fighting with all your might to move. Yet your hand and hips remained frozen.

Yes, you can.

You began sobbing, your body having no time to recover from your first orgasm as the second one rapidly approached. The shadow in your pussy pumped in and out even faster, hurling you over the edge just minutes later.

Your pillow was soaked with your tears, and everything began to go fuzzy. You lost track of the amount of orgasms he forced you through before you passed out.

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

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when you woke up. Your body was back under the covers, a fresh soft pillow behind your head. You groaned, the memories of last night flooding back like a burst dam. You had never orgasmed so hard in your life, nor so many times in one round. You remembered that voice in your ear, praising you and talking you through it.

You sat up in bed, rubbing your eyes. Instantly, you knew he was there. But it was different this time, closer. You slowly turned your head, and were met with a pair of hazel eyes and towering wings at the foot of your bed.

You inhaled sharply, finally meeting eyes with your stalker – Azriel, the spymaster of the Night Court. “Good morning, sweetheart.” His voice was as cold and smooth as the shadows that teased you last night.

Finally, after weeks, your survival instinct kicked in. You scrambled off the bed, making a run for the door as fast as you could. Your heart pounded in your throat as you reached for the handle. Before you could grab onto it, a scarred, cold hand clamped down on your wrist. It was like iron, no matter how much you fought, he did not ease up. You closed your eyes, too scared to look at him.

“Let me go!” You screamed, using your free hand to slap his chest as hard as you could. Azriel did not flinch, as if you were nothing more than a fly. He grabbed your other hand, pinning it to your side. He stepped forward, forcing you to walk back until you were pressed against the wall. You felt him lift your arms until they were above your head, hands digging into the cold wood. He held them effortlessly with one hand, his newly free one coming down to stroke your cheek.

“You have such pretty eyes,” He murmured. “Let me see them.”

You sobbed, tears wetting your cheeks. You were terrified – you had heard stories of what the shadowsinger was capable of, the torture he inflicted on his enemies. Was this one of his sick torture methods? And why you? Still, you kept them squeezed shut.

The male growled, his hand gripping your jaw firmly and forcing your chin up. “I said open your eyes. Don’t make me ask again.”

You obliged this time, prying your eyes open to look at him for the first time. He was much taller than you, his muscled frame towering over your own. His short dark hair was tousled, strands of it teasing his forehead and making those hazel eyes look even more menacing. His face was sharp and undeniably beautiful, and Mother above his wings flared menacingly behind him. They were enormous. Your eyes met his – hazel eyes that had watched you, unseen from the shadows for weeks on end.

“Please don’t hurt me.” You said shakily.

His brows furrowed, confusion that looked genuine crossing his features. “Hurt you? Why would I want to do that?”

“Because that’s what you do for a living.” Your voice was meek, and you tried to ignore how smooth his voice was.

“But not you.” He said, thumb stroking your jaw. “Never you. Unless you asked. Gods, I would do almost anything you asked.”

You gulped, jaw beginning to ache from the pressure of his grip. “Including leave me alone?”

Azriel chuckled darkly, leaning in closer. “That’s why I said ‘almost’, princess.” His hand released your jaw, snaking its way down your body and settling on your waist. He gave it a squeeze, letting out a chuckle as you gasped. Your traitorous body giving away the faint scent of arousal that grew at his actions. “Besides, we both know you don’t want that.”

“Leave me alone.” You begged. “I don’t want this.”

“Oh, but your body says otherwise.” Azriel moved his hand down past your hip, cupping your backside and squeezing sharply. More arousal pooled at your core, and you whimpered. “See?” His velvety voice was laced with satisfaction. “You crave my touch. After hearing your sweet moans last night I don’t think I can live another day without hearing them again. I hadn’t even touched you and you came so hard all on your own. You’re going to utterly fall apart when I get my cock inside you, sweetheart. I’m going to ruin you.”

He pressed his hips into you, letting you feel his massive bulge against your lower stomach. You gasped, the sheer size of it almost unsettling. You felt wetness pool between your legs, and you pressed your knees together. Azriel noticed, and chuckled again. “Do you have any idea how hard I tried to hold off touching myself last night as I watched you?” He purred, lips grazing your ear. “I couldn’t do it. After your second orgasm, I finally pulled out my cock and imagined it was your hand wrapped around it. It took everything in me not to take you right then and there.”

You growled, baring your teeth. “Let. Me. Go.” You hissed, ignoring your body’s desire to give into whatever he wanted.

Azriel sighed, letting go of your wrists and removing his hand from your backside. Your arms dropped down, shoulders aching from being pinned up. You let out a breath, unsure what was going on. “Disappointing,” He said lowly. “I was going to let you have me any way you wanted. I was going to be gentle, take my time, give you whatever you asked. I’d have tied myself up if that’s what you wanted. But have it your way.”

The spymaster took a step back, his eyes going dark. “I’m going to let you run. Run now, and don’t let me catch you.”

Your entire body went cold. What had you gotten yourself into? “And what happens if you catch me?” You asked nervously.

The smile that spread across his lips terrified you. “I fuck you. I claim you whatever way I want, and you take it like a good girl. You can fight it all you want, but you’ll learn your place by the end of the night. Now run.”

You didn’t hesitate before bolting out of the bedroom, throwing your door open and running towards the woods. You didn’t care that you had no shoes, or that you were still in the revealing lingerie. You ignored the freezing bite of the forest air as you ran into it.

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

You weren’t sure how long you had been running. Azriel had reverted back to his favourite game from when he first began following you – every time you heard footsteps, you ran. They caught up to you, and when you turned around to face him, nobody was there. It was torture, and you were ready to give up. You leaned against one of the trees, gasping for air.

“Giving up yet?” Your shadow’s voice sounded in your ear. You spun around, but he wasn’t there. “You’re making this too fun, sweetheart.” He called from a distance, suddenly further away.

Taking another heaving breath, you forced yourself to run. You zig zagged through the trees, trying to lose him. You knew it was hopeless, that he was just toying with you. But you’d be damned if you didn’t go down trying.

You turned around to see if he was following, and the wind suddenly got knocked out of your lungs as you crashed into a tall figure. You thought you were going to fall on your ass, but strong arms grabbed you and held you upright. You couldn’t help but scream at the surprise. Panting, you looked up and were met with Azriel’s sly grin. “Caught you.” He purred. “Looks like I win.”

You gave up. From the moment he had laid out the lingerie for you, you knew it would come to this. To him having his way with you. It all led to this, and while the thought terrified you, it also ignited something animalistic in you. There had been a certain thrill to running through the forest like a deer being hunted by a lion. Again, that sick and twisted part of your brain won over the sensible part. Deep down, you knew that you wanted this. You had only fought for the sake of your own pride. You craved the thrill.

As if sensing your submission, Azriel leaned down and buried his nose in your neck, inhaling your scent. “You smell so fucking perfect.” He groaned, lips brushing your skin. “I can’t wait to taste you. That's all I’ve been thinking about.”

Suddenly, the world spun around you, and you found yourself back in your bedroom moments later. The warmth was welcome against your ice cold skin, and you were secretly relieved he wasn’t about to fuck you like an animal in the dirty forest. You didn’t have time to question his actions before he bent down and captured your lips in his.

You moaned as his mouth claimed yours with a dominance that made your core wet. There was no romance behind it, just pure claiming desire. You melted into him as one of his scarred hands reached around your lower back and pulled you against his solid chest. His other hand reached up and grasped your hair, tilting your head back to get a better angle.

You gasped at the tug on your scalp, and Azriel snaked his tongue into your mouth, exploring every inch of it. You’d never been kissed like this before, and it was making your head spin. Hesitantly, you reached up and clasped your hands around his neck, tangling your fingers in the hair at the top of his neck. He growled into your mouth in response, kicking your legs apart with his feet and settling his thigh in between them.

Azriel’s lips made their way down the column of your neck, biting and sucking harshly as he went. You moaned as his thigh moved against your throbbing core, sending a warm sensation up your body. The delicate panties you were wearing did nothing to hide how wet you were, the juices from your cunt seeping onto his dark pants. He moved his mouth down to the tops of your breasts, biting down hard with his sharp canines and making you cry out. You’d for sure be covered in a million bruises tomorrow.

“Fuck, I can feel how wet you are on my thigh.” The shadowsinger groaned into your skin. “I’ve barely even touched you and you’re this soaked already? It’s pathetic, coming from someone who said they didn’t want this.”

You could only whimper, defenceless as scarred hands grabbed the sides of your nightgown and ripped it apart with one pull. It fell to pieces on the floor beside you. You felt yourself being lifted into the air, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. It was hard not to gasp as your sopping cunt was pressed into his rock hard bulge in his trousers. Azriel carried you over to the bed and roughly tossed you into the mattress, causing you to bounce over the sheets ungracefully. Quick as a viper, he snaked his way over top of your body, making you feel incredibly small.

He smirked as his lips met your nipple, sucking harshly and making you cry out. He did not treat your breast gently, covering the mound of flesh with bitemarks and bruises from his lips before moving to the other one. You went to push him by the shoulders, the intensity from his mouth bordering on too much, but his hands quickly found yours and pinned them to the mattress. You were utterly helpless beneath him, and it sent more wetness to your core.

Azriel lifted his head from your breasts, smirking at your flushed face before trailing his lips down your stomach. He let go of your hands, but tendrils of darkness snaked their way around your wrists, taking his place. They pinned your hands above your head, unable to move. You could have sworn they chuckled at you – the mischievous shadows at their masters command had been torturing you for weeks, finally getting to reveal themselves in their true form.

Azriel gripped the string of your panties in his teeth, hazel eyes making contact with your own. He pulled them down your legs with his mouth, the animalistic action making you even wetter. Instinctively, you closed your legs once he removed them. Once he tossed the panties aside, rough hands pried your legs open. “Now, now,” He tutted, his deep voice lulling you into obedience. “Am I going to have to restrain your legs, too?”

You shook your head, relaxing your muscles into his grip. Azriel smirked triumphantly, settling on his knees on the ground at the end of the bed and yanking you closer to him by his ankles. “Good girl.” He praised, wrapping his arms underneath your thighs and putting your hips in an ironclad grip. A fresh wave of arousal pooled from you, dampening the sheets – and his smirk grew wider.

“Do you like it when I tell you what a good girl you are?” He asked, cocking his head. “Or would you prefer if I told you that you’re a pathetic little slut, all spread out for me? An ungrateful brat who ran through the forest to defy me when she could have had things her way if she just asked nicely?”

You whimpered, screwing your eyes shut at the humiliation. It was embarrassing how much your body was responding to his words alone. If he didn’t touch you soon, you were sure you were going to explode. A harsh nip on your thigh brought your attention back to the spymaster.

“I asked you a question.” He growled dangerously. “Are you a good girl? Or are you my little slut, ready to give herself to me to do whatever I want?”

“I…” You tried to find the words, but found your ability to speak had gotten lost in the forest somewhere with your dignity. Before you could try again, your body was flipped over so that you were laying on your stomach, arm still bound in front of you. A loud cracking noise filled the room as Azriel smacked your left ass cheek with thunderous force. You couldn’t hold in the cry that slipped out.

“Every time you disobey me, you get ten spanks.” Azriel said firmly, his voice cold as stone with no mercy to be found. “You are to count them aloud. If you lose track, I start over. Understood?”

You nodded, but it wasn’t good enough. Your right cheek took the blow this time. “I expect a verbal response.” He hissed.

“Yes!” You cried out, skin stinging from the slap.

“Good. Now count.”

Azriel brought his hand down again, alternating sides. You counted out loud, tears dripping onto the pillow. The spymaster was a trained Illyrian warrior with three times your muscle, so it hurt like hell. But you couldn’t deny that it made you even wetter.

“Ten.” You sobbed as Azriel made his final hit before flipping you around so you were on your back again.

“You enjoyed that, didn’t you?” He hummed, leaning into your cunt and inhaling your scent.

“Yes.” You said eagerly, not wanting to endure another round of his fierce hits.

“See? You’re learning. Soon, you’ll be perfect at it, my own little toy who will do whatever I ask without talking back. Unless you enjoy your punishments, I wouldn’t be surprised if a slut like you acted out so she could get put in her place.”

You whimpered, unsuccessfully attempting to move your hips up in his firm grip. “Please.”

Azriel smirked again, lifting his head. “Please, what?”

“Touch me.” You couldn’t take it anymore. The feeling of his warm breath fanning right above your cunt was getting to be too much. You didn’t care about anything else right now other than him.

“Since you begged so nicely, sweetheart. I will listen to you just this once.”

Finally, those sinful lips met your core. You cried out as he delved in like a man starved, licking a bold strip up your pussy before attaching his lips to your clit and sucking hard. He was rough and relentless, putting the vibrator he got you to shame. His lips and tongue were everywhere, exploring every inch of your pussy. You couldn’t move your hips against his attack, forced to lay there and take what he gave you.

The male who stalked you for weeks, who happened to be the spymaster of the Night Court, was on his knees eating you out. He slipped a finger in your hole, the scars and ridges making your body sing. After a few more minutes, he easily slipped in a second.

It wasn’t long before you felt your orgasm rapidly approaching. It hit you like a landslide, and you saw white as the tension between your legs snapped. You almost sobbed as it wracked your body, unable to even buck your hips to ride it out. Azriel groaned into your core as you soaked his face, but he eased up as you came down from your high, unlike what he did with the vibrator. When he finally pulled away, your arms were released, and your entire body was trembling like a leaf. You opened your eyes to see Azriel pulling his shirt above his head, revealing whirling black tattoos and a muscled abdomen that snapped you out of your trance. Immediately, you sat up in the bed, fixing your eyes on his shirtless form. You didn’t have to glance up to know that his face was a look of pure male pride as he unbuckled his belt and pulled down his trousers and boxers all in one go, stepping out of them and leaving both of you completely naked.

Your jaw went agape at the size of him. He was long and thick, unlike any male you’d seen before. While you certainly enjoyed sex with males, your mouth had never watered with the urge to put their cock in your mouth.

Until now.

Azriel stroked himself, wings flaring behind him. He looked like a god above you, pure muscle and desire as he stared down at you. “On your knees. Now.” He ordered with an authority that sang to your desires. You didn’t hesitate to scramble onto the floor in front of him, kneeling. He guided his cock to your lips, which you gladly opened to allow him entrance. The moan he let out as you encased as much of his cock in your mouth as you could was otherworldly.

You looked up at him through your lashes. He had tilted his head back, the column of his throat bobbing with groans as you slid your lips up and down. There was no way you’d manage to fit it all in your mouth, so you reached up and grabbed the base with one hand, pumping gently to meet your mouth.

“Oh, fuck.” Azriel moaned, reaching down and gathering your hair in one hand. “Just like that, princess.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you gagged around him, but kept going. You had expected the shadowsinger to be quiet, given his reputation. But no, his groans and sighs echoed throughout your bedroom, spurring you on. As the minutes passed your knees began to ache, but you welcomed the pain.

Suddenly, Azriel pulled himself out of your mouth. You whined, wanting to please him further.

“Such a pathetic slut, whining that she didn’t get to suck my cock for longer.” He growled, hoisting you up by your arm and flinging you back onto the bed. “I thought about coming in your mouth, but no. I’m going to fill up that sweet cunt of yours instead. And you’re going to take it.”

You were laying on your stomach facing the mirror on your wall to the left of your bed. You watched your reflection as Azriel grabbed your hips and lifted them up in the air, forcing you to prop yourself up on your elbows. His hazel eyes were so dark, the colour barely showed. They met yours in the mirror as he learned down and grabbed your hair again, forcing your head up to face the mirror head on. “You’re going to watch as I fuck you.” He said, lining himself up with your entrance.

He kept one hand in your hair as he guided the tip into you, causing you to cry out. The stretch stung, despite being prepared. He was bigger than any cock you had taken, and your body struggled to accommodate. Azriel didn’t give you much time to adjust before he was pushing himself fully in, groaning. You tried to force your body to relax, knowing you were going to be sore the next day. He slowly slid himself almost all the way out, relieving your muscles before slamming back into you with a force that nearly knocked the wind out of you. You gasped, and instinctively went to turn your head into the pillow, but a harsh tug on your hair from Azriel made you stop.

“Keep watching.” He said firmly. “If you take your eyes off the mirror, I won’t let you cum. Got it?”

“Yes.” You whined. Azriel grunted, and began pounding into you at a relentless pace. The loud sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room as you were fucked mercilessly.

“This is what you fucking needed, isn’t that right?” Azriel hissed as he thrusted into you. “To be treated like a slut? All those other boys been too nice to you, letting you get away with talking back. They don’t know what you truly need. To be put in your place, properly fucked within an inch of your life. Nobody can make you feel as good as I can.”

His words poured over you like honey, the pain subsisting into drunken bliss. The bed was shaking beneath you, headboard banging against the wall loudly. As much as you hated to admit it, he was right. Nobody had ever fucked you like this, in a way you didn’t know you needed. It was so wrong, letting him do these things to you. But it felt too good to deny yourself it.

Azriel bent over, covering your back with his tall frame as he adjusted his angle and thrust even harder. One hand was pressed to the bed to steady himself while the other gripped your jaw firmly. You watched in the mirror, and it was perhaps the most erotic thing you had ever seen – Azriel’s wings flaring as he claimed you, muscular arm holding you in place, utterly helpless against him. He sunk his canines into your shoulder, hard enough to draw blood. You cried out as his teeth carved into your flesh, the mixture of pain from his bite and pleasure from his thrusts sending you towards another orgasm. He released your jaw and reached down to rub your clit harshly.

“Nobody’s allowed to touch you but me.” He growled in your ear, watching your face in the mirror. “You’re mine, and mine only, you got that? If I even scent another male has touched you, I’ll cut his hands off and leave them at your doorstep. You belong to me now. Cum for me.”

He accentuated those last three words with thrusts, and it was enough to send you over the edge. Your entire body shook as you came around Azriel’s cock, black fuzziness surrounded the edges of your vision. You watched through your lashes as Azriel bared his teeth, growling like an animal as his hips sputtered and he spilled himself inside you. He let out a moan that could have shaken the entire forest. You screamed weakly as he spurted inside you while you rode out your orgasm, the sensation nearly making you pass out.

You both panted as Azriel pulled himself out of you. He climbed off the bed and you immediately collapsed. The room was spinning, your body completely spent. The spymaster casually put on his clothes and crouched down so his face was level with yours.

“I’m going to have so much fun with you.” He purred before his shadows encompassed him and he vanished, leaving you alone wondering what just happened.

#azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel smut #azriel x reader #azriel x reader smut #dark!azriel #dark!azriel x reader #azriel acotar #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar smut #smut #dark fic

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undiscovered-horizon · 1 year

Text

"Apple tree" - Kaz Brekker x Reader

[nudity]

SUMMARY: No one recognizes the melody Kaz sometimes hums to himself while lost in thought. Neither does anyone know where he disappears for entire nights or why he seems happier when he returns.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.5k

>>Grishaverse-inspired playlist<<

In those rare moments when Kaz is too focused on something to pay attention to the material world, a soft hum would escape his lips as though the tune could finally wriggle out of his cluttered mind and dance along the cold winds of Ketterdam. Set free, at last!

Jesper once asked him about the melody but Kaz only gave him a puzzled look as though he wasn’t aware of his own habit. Knowing that they can’t possibly force anything from their hard-headed boss, the Crows began making bets among themselves:

‘Probably just a barkeep’s song he can’t get out of his head.’

‘Some kind of a meditation technique.’

‘Maybe it’s a song from his neighbourhood?’

‘Lullaby his mother sang to him!’

But all of their guesses were equally good. Although, a more accurate expression would be ‘equally incorrect’. As months turned into years, the mystery remained, while the nosy rogues still aren’t any closer to solving it. What’s worse, they are beginning to run out of ideas.

Arguing about the melody in hushed voices, they never see him leave - only notice his sudden absence. This part of the enigma, however, is well-known to them: Kaz will reappear in the late morning the next day, a lot more patient and relaxed than he was the night before. Where could he possibly vanish to, they wondered.

Kaz hears himself quietly sigh in relief when your quiet voice reaches his ears. The longed-for sound comes from the hall, growing louder as you walk into your bedroom. Sitting on your bed with his back against the wall, he has a perfect view of your silhouette rounding the corner and entering the room. An uncomfortable tightness presses down on Kaz’s chest, the very same sensation he felt that fateful day when your eyes met. Despite all this time, he hasn’t yet gotten used to the sight: you emerge from the hall as though you were just breathed into life, with the softness of something oblivious to the terror of the surrounding world. He likes that thought, no matter how naive it is - that he can both have you all to himself and protect you from what he is.

“Near my garden bloomed an apple tree,” you sing to yourself. “Bloomed in white, it had red apples.”

There’s something in your voice that he can’t quite put a finger on - a sense of longing, melancholy, as though the song becomes a coded message when it brushes past your lips; like there’s a heartache you haven’t yet shared with him. He sometimes wonders how many tears you’ve cried when he wasn’t looking but the thought makes him too angry to entertain it for more than a handful of seconds.

The lack of attention you give Kaz is quite deceptive. You’re standing right in the middle of the room, undressing a little too temptingly for it to be an accident. There’s no shame or shyness left in you - after all, he’s seen all of it before, many times. His eyes burn your skin in the same way a ray of sunshine feels against cold cheeks in the middle of winter. You bask in it, the desire that still burns after all those years, even if he doesn’t quite realize it.

“Who will pick them for me when my Johnny is cross?”

A horse’s neighing diverts Kaz’s attention from you to the cracked-open window. It’s like a robbery - the smallest gap can be an entrance. Or an exit, for that matter. Although your voice is hushed, audible only to him and yourself, Kaz begins to feel envious at the notion that the night breeze could possibly carry this sweet tune to undeserving ears. Perhaps it is childish of him to think that he could have exclusive ownership of you and this little song, to finally have something he can call his own.

“He’s angry but I don’t know why. Used to visit me but I don’t know why.”

His gaze returns to you, watching closely as you sit at the vanity. The oil lamp beside you lights up only half of your face, making you appear somewhat elusive, a bird of paradise that shall escape the moment you loosen your grip around its wings. You’re taking off your jewelery, putting it away to assorted boxes with utmost attention and care. Kaz can relate to this, in a way - years ago, when your romance was only buds about to bloom, he warned you that you should find another man, someone who can give you the lavish lifestyle you deserve and intimacy you certainly want. But you were more than unwilling to listen and that was, perhaps, your last mistake as the moment you gave yourself to him, Kaz was going to fight tooth and nail to keep the status quo. He is a crow, after all - a greedy collector of treasures.

“He visited me all spring, asking mother when I would grow.”

For the first time this evening, your gaze deliberately meets his. You’re still sitting at the vanity, sideways to Kaz, and you have to look over your shoulder to see his face. In that moment, there is something so divine about you, he begins to doubt his senses. His mind relates to various frescos and paintings of the Saints he has seen. Those same pieces of exquisite artistry bring thousands of people to their knees, bowing in front of faces as gentle as yours. Their hearts suddenly rejoicing in the presence of merciful, watchful eyes that only know love and care. No Saint has ever watched over him, so perhaps it is only natural that he should start praying to you. Epiphany, after all, is not an artifact of pews, old pages and litanies - it is the moment you see yourself through the eyes of your lover, only to realize that not an ounce of your soul could ever be unlovable.

That look in your eyes - he both hates it and yearns for it. It’s like you’re staring at something worth admiring. Kaz always thinks he sees there a note of mercy; a look of compassion and understanding given to a wounded animal that tries to remain threatening. Maybe you have fallen into a trap he didn’t even know he had set.

A few minutes pass by when you and Kaz simply watch each other. The silence is filled with nothing and everything at once - unspoken promises, words of poetry and grandeur that would only attract malice if said in Ketterdam.

“Something’s on your mind,” he breaks the comfortable quietness.

“You should get some rest, love.”

Kaz has a burning suspicion that you know very well what you’re doing to him with your small, albeit still groundbreaking, confessions of adoration. The closer he grew to you, to more of those affirmations he began to notice. Mostly, they aren’t straightforward but like snowdrops in February, they are apparent to those looking for them and by the Saints, does Kaz Brekker look for the confirmation of your love, never quite satiated. In words of care, ‘go to sleep’ or ‘eat something’, he’s learned to find intimacy beyond spoken language.

“I didn’t come here for rest,” Kaz informs. No one in their right mind would choose sleep over the presence of something too divine to be considered only human.

A wide smile creeps onto your face. How is he supposed to remain ‘the Bastard’ when you’re looking at him like that?

“Then what for?” you coax.

He cocks his head, staring at you with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Perhaps I just enjoy the view.”

“Oh my, did you just give me a compliment?” Jokingly, you put a hand on your chest. A giggle escapes your lips.

“Would that be so awful?”

You stand up from the vanity, making your way towards him. His watchful gaze never leaves you, painting Kaz something of a predator - waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce. Climbing into your bed, you lay beside him.

“So awful I’d stay up all night thinking about it,” you say in a hushed tone.

Ever since he’s gotten comfortable with that, the motion of laying his head against your chest feels so natural to Kaz that he can hardly believe he has lived most of his life without doing so. Your muffled heartbeat rings in his ears and he unknowingly takes a deep, slow breath - you’re right here with him. Most importantly, you’re okay and that’s enough for him to put his thoughts at rest. Your hand brushes through his hair. To Kaz, intimacy feels perfectly strange.

In a voice barely louder than the calm rhythm of your heart, you finish the song that has bewitched Kaz about as much as you have:

“He visited me all summer and I kissed him for that. He visited me all autumn and I put apples in his pockets.”

When his consciousness dances along the line of sleep and wake, he feels your warm lips softly kissing his forehead. Maybe he has been wrong all along and it was you who had trapped him. Not that he has any desire to break free, of course.

#kaz brekker fanfiction #kaz brekker #kaz brekker fanfic #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker x reader #six of crows fanfic #six of crows x reader #six of crows imagine #six of crows fanfiction #six of crows #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone fanfiction #kaz brekker x you #six of crows x you #shadow and bone x you #Spotify

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spiderfunkz · 3 months

Text

✦ CITY OF STARS.

summary : peter swings you to a perfect late-night date.

word count : 0,6k

warnings : tooth rotting fluff, implied fem!reader, pet names, kisses.

a/n : inspired by this deleted scene!! requests for peter are open if u want to send in ur ideas / prompts ^_^ also kind of inspired by that one scene in atsv where gwen & miles hangout by that tower yk

"let's get out of here." peter whispers, his voice tickles your skin again as he places another kiss on your nose.

you sigh, cupping his cheek, "i can't peter, i told you." you repeat — which not surprisingly causes peter to pout. "why not?"

"because. i have.. homework." you shrug. it's true though, the pile of papers near your desk is practically calling you to be read or marked.

he pouts, again. but he isn't giving up.

"don't look at me like that." you chuckle, your thumb caressing peter's cheek, running through his freckles.

"like what?"

"with your big brown doe eyes."

peter tries a bit more. the more you make eye contact with him, the harder it is to say no.

"fine. but you seriously have to get blue contacts, peter." you let go of his cheek.

"yes, ma'am." he nods. you couldn't tell if he's joking or not, but it's funny either way.

he gets up and grabs his backpack, it seems heavier than usual. "grab your jacket, bub. it's gonna be cold."

"where are you taking me?"

"secret."

"that doesn't sound creepy at all."

"come on. trust me." peter's waiting near the window. "are you gonna take me on a swing?"

peter puts his beanie on. "does the hat give it away?" he asks, the spiderman crochet beanie in bright red staring right at you.

you smile. "yeah it kinda does."

peter tucks the loose hair behind your ear before helping you out the window, and before you know it you're one with the wind. and also with new york's pollution.

peter's gentle, one hand holding your waist and the other thwip! -ing away at buildings. your hands are wrapped around his neck, face burried in the crook of it. you could smell his cologne, it's the one you like.

you relax at the scent of it. it almost makes you forget that you're meters up in the air.

but then your shoes touch ground.

it was a ledge of a clock tower. it's not steep, it's actually very spacey up here. if you think about it you could probably fit a picnic up here, a small hangout even with a few friends.

"you good?" peter lets go, "yeah. this is cozy." you say, fixing your sweater. "don't you think people will see us here?" you ask.

"no. but. if they do-" peter opens his bag, "i got back up." he reveals a beanie, like the one he's wearing, it's a spiderman one too but with different colours.

it's white with pink outlines.

"we're matching!" peter puts the beanie on you. it fits perfectly, "that's so cute peter. do i get to keep it?" — "of course. made it just for you. besides i don't think people can spot us here unless they really, really, really squint. and now when they do, they'll just see our hats."

you nod. peter gestures for you to sit.

"i got more stuff." he smiles, teeth showing, teasingly.

you roll your eyes at him before sitting next to the empty space beside him.

he pulls out two takeout boxes, followed by the plastic eating utensils, and some water, and some more.

"oh. wow." you say, impressed.

you weren't kidding. you could fit a picnic here.

"what're you waiting for? dig in!" peter passes your takeout. "i got your favorite too."

"aw. thank you, peter." you give him a kiss. "i'll get you ice cream after this. or whenever you feel like ice cream." you give him another kiss.

"thank you!" he gasps, dramatically. "that is everything i have ever wanted." peter replies.

you smile, "this is everything i have ever wanted."

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after-witch · 7 months

Text

Horrorfest: Damned Stairs [Yandere Feitan x Reader]

Title: Damned Stairs [Yandere Feitan x Reader]

Synopsis: Miracles weren't real and the stairs were shitty but at least you escaped Feitan, right?

For Horrorfest request:

Ooooh what about Feitan + old house with very creaky floorboards?

Word count: 864

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, mentions of violence

It was a miracle that you escaped the house Feitan had brought you two more than a year ago.

It was a miracle that cutting through the woods on weak, shaky legs led you to houses in no more than a few hours. They were large, old homes, spread out so the presumably wealthy owners didn’t have to deal with such mundane things like neighbors within sight or hearing distance.

It was a miracle that the first house you stumbled on had an unlocked door, meaning you didn’t have to wait for someone to answer your desperate knocks to get out of view.

But miracles weren’t real, were they?

Because as soon as you’d burst into that miraculous house, you realized that it was abandoned. Empty. Dusty and musty and no one there but your echoing, aching voice, crying out: “Hello? Hello! I need help! I need--”

You needed to rest, that’s what you needed. So you could regain some energy and keep running until you found actual civilization. So you’d headed into the dusty kitchen and began opening cupboards, looking for something edible, for water, anything that might get you through the night.

That’s when you heard the front door begin to open.

You didn’t need to be told that it was Feitan.

That’s when your body had moved almost of its own accord, throwing open the first door you could find near the kitchen and shutting it behind you, heart pounding. Only it wasn’t a room you’d found, but an enclosed staircase, kept out of view. It was dark with nothing but a thin crack of light underneath the door behind you and some dim light at the top from the room above, letting in the cloudy afternoon light from the windows.

It was a servant’s staircase, you realized, the kind that let servants get up and about without bothering the household.

There was nothing to do but go up it and oh, did the goddamn stairs creak.

But you went fast, and the kitchen was at the back of the house, and after a moment, several moments, a long stretch of time, the fear that Feitan had heard receded into the more general horror that he’d find you eventually.

That was… an hour ago? You don’t know, you don’t have a watch and there wasn’t exactly a clock on the wall in a dusty attic that must have been the servants’ bedchamber back when the house was bustling and not covered in a layer of dust.

You need to go back down the stairs. You have to. He’ll come up here eventually, and then you’ll be trapped. You have to get out.

Your hands grip the bannister for everything you’ve got and you start going down slowly, carefully. Not just because it’s dark and you can barely see in front of you, but because of the damn creaking.

Creak.

You hate these stairs.

Creak.

Would it be quieter to go down on your butt?

Creak.

You feel like you might have a heart attack at any moment.

But despite the traitorous noise of the stairs, you don’t hear the sound of Feitan’s footsteps approaching the door, and that’s a good thing, isn’t it? And… maybe you even heard the sound of the front door shutting. Or was it the wind? Or your imagination?

You wish the staircase had some light. All you could see was darkness, and that thin, wavering band at the bottom of the door leading back into the house. Where Feitan might be--or might not be; where freedom might be, or at least the first step towards it.

But was he gone?

If you went back up into the attic room, you might be able to look out the window and see if Feitan was leaving. You’d have to peer carefully (the image of him looking up at the attic window and seeing you made your chest twist) but it was an option.

Maybe you could--

Creak.

Oh. You hadn’t moved.

Creak.

A whimper bubbles past your lips and you fall backward on the staircase, a splinter sliding into your finger.

Creak.

Feitan.

Feitan had been at the bottom of the stairs the entire time.

“Very stupid, aren’t you?

The stairs creak until he’s close enough to see, until he leans down in the gloom and gets close enough that his nose almost touches your own.

“Well?”

You nod--can he even see you properly, in the dark?--and let the tears fall. They might as well, for all the good they’ll do you.

“Stupid,” he repeats. “But mine.”

The enclosed staircase feels oppressively hot and oppressively dark. Or maybe that was Feitan, and the moment he crossed the threshold, it would go back to being some musty space that didn’t feel like anything at all.

You feel his hand before you can really see it. He caresses your cheek in uncharacteristic softness, before his nails dig in and drag down enough to sting.

“Tell me,” he says, and there is a strange thoughtfulness in his tone, “Should I break your legs before or after we go down the stairs?

The damned stairs creak when your body instinctively leans away from him.

#yandere feitan #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere #yandere feitan porter #afterwitch writes #aw horrorfest #oops I did NOT get my masterlist ready... tomorrow tho

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i-heart-mgg · 3 months

Text

Puppy Love - Ch.1

Pairings: Spencer Reid x female reader

Summary: It’s your first day at the BAU and you meet the genius Dr. Spencer Reid who quickly becomes a blabbering, stuttering mess once you start to get to know him.

Warnings: light swearing, mentions of horror movies/books, general anxiety

Word count: 2182

Next chapter

————————————————————————

The hot sweat that radiated off your body contradicted the chilly morning condensation slowly dripping down the windows of the small but practical car you got for your eighteenth birthday. Nearing a whole six years ago.

You watched as the droplets raced against each other, a harsh battle for which one would reach the window sill first. In an attempt to distract yourself from the fact that you were parked outside the FBI Quantico headquarters, where you were about to start your first ever day as a real FBI agent.

You swung open the car door forcefully, heart pounding with an overwhelming sense of anxiety that comes with starting any new job. Let alone, one of the most highly sought-after and official in the country.

Standing outside in the soft breeze with the tranquil sound of lush trees whisking in the wind, you took a deep inhale. Soon exhaling as you briskly walked your way through the glass sliding doors, into the cold and desolate hallways. Choosing to ignore the emptiness, considering it was 7:30 am and you and your new unit chief, Aaron Hotcher, were presumably the only two people in the building.

Your fingernails dug into the sides of your upper thighs over the rough fabric of your plain black, possibly too-tight slacks. Accentuating in all the right places- just because you’re a huge nerd whose only hobby is reading the latest articles in just about anything, except for maybe how to become an alpha male with a PhD in hating women, does NOT mean you have poor taste in fashion.

Your hand hesitantly reached out towards Hotchs' office door to place three short knocks against it. "Come in." A deep, no-nonsense, kind of voice called out from inside the room. One last deep breath out before you prepared for the best act of faux confidence, dare I say ever performed.

That was until you could feel his eyes reading every tiny detail about you like a book, from the insecure look in your eyes down to the over-thought-out choice of your plain black slacks. All your prior preparation was completely thrown astray. You forgot that profilers also profile regular people, much different to deranged criminals. "H-hello, I'm (Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N)". You stuttered as you reached to shake the intimidating man's hand. "Welcome to the BAU (Y/L/N), it's a pleasure to meet you".

He went over all the formalities with you until it was time to introduce yourself to the rest of the team, all of which you knew a bit of information about from previous research. Not to be creepy but just to get more acquainted with everyone, lessen the overload of information you were inevitably absorbing on that day.

Your eyes scanned the bullpen as one by one, agents walked through the glass doors of the BAU. Having seen all your soon-to-be-colleagues in the various articles you'd read, none of them phased you, except one. He was tall, and handsome, with slick-back chocolate brown hair, and big, adorable hazel eyes shielded by a pair of glasses, only being 1 year your senior but having accomplished three times as much as you. It was the one and only Dr. Spencer Reid.

He locked eyes with you for a second, before you swiftly averted your gaze to who you presumed was SSA Emily Prentiss, cheeks slightly tinted rosy to have been caught staring. The sound of a door opening and closing alerted you to Hotch advancing towards you, it was time to get the most nerve-wracking part out of the way.

With clammy hands and an urge to jump off a building, Hotch cleared his throat, gaining the attention of his team. "Hi I-um-I'm (Y/N) (Y/L/N), but I guess you can call me SSA (Y/L/N), or (Y/N), whichever you'd like!" Well, you completely fucked that one up, may as well just quit right then and there. This was not going according to plan.

"I think I like baby girl better, or maybe pretty girl, you seem like the copy-and-paste female version of our pretty boy Spence here". That must have been the infamous Derek Morgan, judging by his suave attitude and demeanour. Unsure of what to say, you heard another voice speak instead.

"Morgan! You can't just say that, especially not to (Y/N), it's her first day, and I'm not even a pretty boy so that comparison is quite redundant in the first place!" Spencer whisper yelled at Derek. "Come on Reid, she's gonna have to get used to me at some point may as well start as early as possible." He said as he shrugged nonchalantly.

"Oh, 'em, gee!! You're so, so, cute! Hi, I'm Penelope Garcia, the world's best tech analyst who can just about hack into anyone's devices." You chuckled lightly before she enthusiastically took your hand. "Good to know, I'll keep that in mind for whenever my ex tries to contact me again". You two both began to break out into a small fit of giggles before another three people approached you.

Jennifer jaureu, David Rossi, Emily Prentiss and yourself exchanged greetings and humorous banter before Hotch ordered the team to meet in the briefing room for your first case. A mixture of excitement and consternation bubbled up in the pit of your stomach as you cautiously made your way down the steps.

The team found their usual spots at the round table, leaving a singular spot next to Spencer Reid. You crept up to the seat, eyes darting wildly over anything that wasn't his own, before facing your body towards him.

"Could I- perhaps, sit here, please?" Spencer nearly jumped at your voice, a little startled by your sudden appearance. "Ah-well, y-yes of course, uh- nice to meet you, sorry I didn't introduce myself earlier I'm Dr. Spencer Reid. I didn't mean anything by it, it just seemed like you were busy with other people and- and it just-" "Reid!" Hotch slightly raised his voice to get the attention of the Dr. after calling it out about 5, 10, maybe even 15 times. It's not exactly like you were paying any attention to Hotchner either.

Spencer let out a meek "sorry" before The briefing began. The case involved a string of murders involving families in their own homes, those of which were alarmingly brutal. Even though you had worked with stuff similar to this in the academy, the reality of the crimes never fully set in as it did when you were the one investigating murders and catching the killers.

The briefing wrapped up and not long after it was "wheels up in 30" as Hotch likes to say. You felt like you were already learning a lot about everyone, making it much easier to feel comfortable around them. Although Spencer was still unexplored territory to you.

—x—

"Oh um yeah I really like that book! I mean I think you could already figure by me reading it.." he trailed off before awkwardly tittering. "Have you watched the movie too?" You questioned him, trying to get him to open up more regardless of the fact you were also extremely terrified of most human interaction.

"I have, surprisingly, I mostly just read books". He simply stated. "Ah I see, are you into any horror movies though? Because damn do I love them!!" "I do, I do! They're practically the only ones I watch but I have a fascination with the horror genre, as well as Halloween. Arguably the best holiday ever."

You laughed at his exceedingly biased opinion, sitting yourself down across from him on the plush couch to continue your conversation. In due time, the rest of the team piled in, Spencer and I's delightful discussion was cut short as we had to talk about real-life horror, not nearly as fun.

—x—

As you worked tirelessly into the once radiant sunlight-filled skies, now shrouded by darkness, you could feel the looming presence of slumber sneaking its way into every inch of your body. That seemed to be the way everyone else was feeling too, the drooping eyelids and slouched posture a tell-tale sign that we all needed some well-earned rest.

"Alright let's wrap it up for tonight, we aren't going to make any progress in this state and we need some fresh eyes," Hotch announced. We began packing our go-bags up to head to the least sketchy motel, which was still extremely mediocre at best.

You lazily undressed and threw on your oversized cal tech T-shirt, just your underwear underneath before crawling under the worn-in duvet covers. The moment your head hit the pillow you were out like a light.

The same unfortunately couldn't be said for dear Spencer, a lot was plaguing his thoughts. Some were about the case, most were about you. How smart you were, how pretty you were, and especially how well you got along. It wasn't often Reid warmed up to people this quick, even less so with that of the opposite gender, but he found himself getting lost deep in conversation with you. It felt too good to be true, after all he didn’t have the best luck with women.

As he twisted and turned over between his left and right sides, Spencer knew he was getting nowhere. His lanky frame sat upright on the bed, reaching out for his glasses to have some clue where he was heading. He glanced over at the time; 3:42 am, before creaking the door open carefully so as to not wake his dreaming coworkers.

The Dr. made his way in the direction of the lobby, passing by the arguably atrocious-looking floral wall print and stain-ridden carpet. Soon stopping by a janky old vending machine accompanied by an even dodgier-looking water dispenser. He fumbled around in his sweatpants pockets before he inserted a coin to get the sweetest coffee available. He scrunched his nose in dismay, it wasn't sweet at all (It probably was but we know how much sugar this man likes in his coffee).

"Spencer..?" A voice chimed out to him, your voice. "Oh (Y/N), what are.. you um- doing here?" He fidgeted with his hands before looking down to make eye contact. "I could say the same thing," you snickered. "Couldn't sleep. Thought I might as well get some coffee before I attempted to do some more work on the case," He explained.

His eyes travelled even further down your figure, passing the ends of the messy (H/C) hair cascading down your chest. He noticed a familiar bold black text plastered on the front of your T-shirt. The realisation hit in the form of a deep red blush creeping its way up his neck onto his sculpted cheeks, as you were wearing the exact same thing. Excluding the bottom wear, were you even wearing anything underneath- fucking hell could this get any worse for him?

Quick answer, it could. You reached your arm up to snatch the coffee from his grasp, tutting your lip while your shirt had risen just about as far as it could go before you'd flash your lace panties for anyone to see. "Give me that, you need to sleep!" You scolded him, your palm pressed flat against his chest, trying to obtain the drink. He sharply inhaled at the movement, unsure of what to do next.

"It's ok seriously, I wouldn't be able to sleep either way." He assured you, but your stubborn ass couldn't take that as an answer. "You could always come to my room, I'm sure me cuddling you would make you sleep like a baby," you teased. "E-excuse me, what.. do you-" "I'm only kidding, jeez ever heard of sarcasm?" You heartily laughed.

Sweat beaded on his forehead as he struggled to articulate any kind of thought racing his temporarily stupefied mind into speech. As Emily said an IQ of 187 was slashed to 60. Luckily for him, you chose to pull away to grab a disposable cup. Lukewarm water trickled into it as you waited impatiently for it to fill.

"God, could this take any longer?" You let out an exaggerated huff before downing it in one go. "And room temperature too?! This place desperately needs some upgrades." Spencer chuckled at your hysterics before you snapped back at him, "What exactly do think you're laughing at, if I recall correctly you were the one left all cute and flustered by my little joke." You raised your eyebrow waiting for a response yet none came, that sure shut him up.

The thud of the coffee cup as it dropped to the bottom of the trash can rang through both of your ears before you promptly turned on your slippers to head back to your own... compact, motel room. Leaving him a star-struck mess who would certainly not need any caffeinated beverages to stay awake till dawn.

Hope this wasn’t dog shit and you enjoyed, l’ll be uploading more parts to this series soon. Thanks for reading and feel free to make any requests for Spencer 😜.

#spencer reid’s hands in every episode #Spencer #spencer reid #spencer x reader #Spencer Reid x Reader #matthew gray gubler #mgg #mgg x Reader #Spencer Reid x fem reader #criminal minds #cm #i need him #cutie #cutie pie #early seasons Spencer

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suguwu · 5 months

Note

Mer!jing yuan save me … mer!jing yuan … save me mer!jing yuan

listen i know this is a meme but—

gn!reader, shipwrecks, yandere. minors and ageless blogs dni.

he's been watching the ship.

it moves smoothly through the waters, parts the waves and leaves a quiet trail in its wake. the sails ripple with the wind, a disturbed pond, until they balloon out, full-bellied like the moon. it's well-made, the ship, and well-loved. jing yuan has seen enough ships to know.

and its captain is just as loved.

he's seen how your men respond to you, the way they laugh merrily but follow your orders without question. they cheer your name after you take the helm during a summer storm, the hungry sea breaking against the hull, lightning forking through the sky. after the storm passes, you stand on the deck, chest heaving. the sun peeks out from behind the distant clouds, and you turn your face up towards the watery light. it burnishes you, warms your wet figure into something more.

the ship sails on.

jing yuan follows.

it's easy to keep up despite the wind catching in the sails, his powerful tail coiling and bunching with muscle as he swims, the scales shining like moonlight beneath the water. he keeps his distance, for now.

the ocean favors you, he thinks, with the way sea spray kisses your lips like a lover, catches in your hair, crystalline droplets crowning you. the salt gleams on your skin when you're on deck, glittering in the sunlight as you weave your way through the deckhands.

he has heard the sirens before, the wailing echo of their enchanting song, and he hears them in your voice. it draws him near, closer than he should, peeking out of the water like the moon rising over the horizon to watch you as you get ready for bed, your windows open wide to the expanse of the sea. he watches, and watches, and watches.

the sound of your voice sinks into his bones, slips silken through his blood. he would know it anywhere, can unwind the thread of it from the patchwork quilt of the sea shanties you sing with your crew. he contemplates speaking to you, but he can wait. he knows the path you are taking, his fingertips weaving a current. he knows where it ends.

jing yuan knows patience well.

your laugh shimmers like moonlight on the water as you dance a jig with your first mate, bouncing merrily. the sea laps at the hull of your ship, peaceful and sweet, belaying the tempest it can whip into.

he can taste the storm coming.

it hits that night, the bruised clouds swallowing down the moon, the sea churning, white-capped waves like teeth. the ship is buffeted by the howling wind, sent skipping forward as you yell to your crew, voice firm. it is only because he knows you so well that he can recognize the waver to it.

the storm grows.

it catches the ship in its teeth, drags it to and fro like a dog with a bone. you yell until your voice goes hoarse, rasps like the waves against the pebbles of the shore. the ship keels under the press of a hungry wave. jing yuan hums to himself, the sound lost to the storm, and dives.

beneath the roiling surface, the ocean welcomes him, the currents tickling against his powerful body as he keeps pace with the ship. the current he'd spun swirls around him like a tapestry, warm and familiar.

it does not take long to see them.

his mother the sea has whittled the rocks into gravemakers to feed her unceasing hunger. beneath the surface lies the wreckage of several ships, rotting in the ocean's maw. they are barnacled, wicked-mouthed things, the gravemaker rocks, pointed like spears and dark enough to meld with the ocean's blackened surface. the current ripples around them.

they rend your ship asunder.

they tear through the wood like teeth to meat, ripping through the hull with a ravenous bite. the sea howls her delight as the hull splinters; the water rushes in, eager to devour. as he surfaces, watching, waiting, jing yuan can hear your voice pitched with fervor, lined with a well-hidden panic.

a wave rises and crashes into the ship, pinning it further onto the rocks. the hull gives. it folds into itself like a paper crane crushed in clumsy fingers; the water swallows it.

jing yuan knows the second you hit the water.

he calls the current to him, following its beckoning fingers with just a few pulses of his powerful tail. he surfaces to find you floating amid the wreckage, blood seeping from a few scrapes and scratches.

he hums and gathers you into his arms; lets the warmth of your skin sink into him. you stir for only a breath before sinking back into unconsciousness. but your heartbeat is strong and steady.

jing yuan wraps himself around you and dives again. he has been patient enough.

this is always where your path was leading.

#bee writes hsr #yandere tw #fellas is it saving someone if you cause the problem in the first place #jing yuan x reader

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sleepy-wyvern · 11 months

Text

His Hummingbird (Miguel O'Hara x female!reader smut)

{Angsty smut oneshot}

Available: here on Tumblr and AO3

WC: ~2.2k [oneshot]

Synopsis: You're a human female who has a boyfriend from another dimension; Spider-Man 2099. Miguel visits your apartment late at night as a surprise after not seeing him for a week.

I HAD TO GET THIS IDEA OUT OF MY HEAD BEFORE I COULD FOCUS ON OTHER FICS IM SORRY ;-;

Inspirations: the song Hummingbird by Metro Bloomin and James Blake and you know the fang scene… man definitely bites 👀

A/N: If y’all want/request more I may write more, otherwise this is a one shot ❤️ leave a comment or reblog if you liked.

Warnings/tags: Angst, Smut (18+ Minors DNI), hickies (lotsa biting), fingering, light begging from reader, p in v (condom), light male whimpering

Disclaimer: I borrowed my spanglish friend for some of the translations here. Feel free to send an ask or comment if something feels off.

Enjoy!

The moon shone bright through the heavy clouds as you wondered where your spider was.

Fighting crime, defeating evil, saving lives, all nothing you could complain about. Another universe, another day, another “business trip.” He used that phrase to try and make you feel better but it couldn’t take away from the fact that one day he may not return. Perhaps if things went bad enough you wouldn’t ever be able to know what happened to him, just spending the rest of your life waiting for someone who would never return. You tried your best to shove the thought away as you fiddled with the window latch.

You pushed open the window widely to get whatever cool night air you could in your little city apartment. As the hot summer days neared closer you took solace in the cold rainy night. The sound of the rain and the city traffic was oddly comforting.

You turned and walked toward the kitchen sink opposite of the room figuring you'd at least try to get some chores done. It was a small-ish apartment the size of a hotel room really. The biggest room was the merged kitchen and living room. Still, it was familiar enough space for you to sense the presence behind you.

The moment you turned your back you heard the window blinds gently tap against the window pane; anyone else would’ve thought that had been the wind. Anyone else without a spider person lover anyways.

“Do spiders ever use the door?” You spoke without turning around, instead you turned the faucet on to do the dishes.

“You should start locking that window at night,” his gruff voice was directly behind you.

“Miguel,” you sighed, twisting the tap off before turning around.

It had been a week since his last visit, the longest ever since you started “seeing” each other. You hadn’t put a label on anything yet, what could you call a lover from another dimension that could never stay with you?

Every time you saw him after a prolonged period you were intimidated by how he stood over you. He hadn’t meant to be intimidating as his mask was already removed, yet it was hard to ignore his height and size of his build especially when he had to look down at you.

“Nobody can enter a 4th story window,” you smiled. “Just you.”

Despite that you were angry he was gone for so long your heart melted at the sight of his brown locks falling gracefully over his forehead. He wore his blue and red spider suit as he always did when traveling.

He wrapped his large arms around your waist, pulling you close into his hot embrace. He planted a kiss on your forehead.

“Te extrañé…” He trailed off as he pulled back to look into your eyes.

He held his hands against your face when you eyed his bracelet; the thing that let him stay here with you without “glitching out.” It was a grim reminder of what could never be. Despite the comfort you got from his rough hands against your soft face, it made you sad.

“I missed you too,” you sighed, overlapping his hand with your smaller one.

The bracelet was cool to the touch as you frowned. “Where have you been?” You scolded, “You told me you’d be back by Monday. It’s Friday!”

“I’m sorry,” he sighed furrowing his brows. “It’s work.”

“It always is,” You turn around putting your hands on the smooth countertop.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he offered, sounding sad and hopeful.

You knew he didn’t mean to make you worry or make you sad. You both wished things were different. It would make it so much easier. You knew though that if he could change things he would and you didn’t want to hold what was out of his control against him. It wasn’t his fault you were born in different worlds, different universes. It didn’t help that you weren’t a spider person either.

You felt his hands gently against your waist as he moved closer to you.

“I'm sorry." He sighed. "Mi pequeña colibrí…” he whispered into your ear. His breath was hot and heavy against your neck sending shivers down your body.

“Oh stop, you can’t use the español to make me feel better! No fair!” You laughed.

He placed a kiss on your ear that tickled before you spun back around, wrapping your arms over his shoulders.

“My spiderman,” You giggled as his look of concern melted into happiness. "I'm not mad at you. Just try to let me know if you'll be late next time."

The corner of his lips turned upward ever so slightly in relief. "I promise."

Another thing that was likely yours only; Miguel’s smile. When Jessica met you she was surprised you were even real. She warned you to not mention much of Miguel’s personal life activities to the other spider people but it was hard to remember. Once you accidentally mentioned the flowers on your table were from Miguel to Gwen she nearly fainted. You adored the way he treated you special even if you weren’t sure why he chose you. You could never be mad at him for something he couldn't control.

He brushed his thumbs in a circular motion against your waist as he held you. His dark eyes were full of love as he looked down at you.

You ran your fingers back through his brown hair. He seemed to sigh beneath your touch, it was thrilling in a way to know he was comfortable enough around you to let his guard down. Nobody else could see Miguel the way you did.

“You need to stop being so stressed. Relax more.” You sighed bringing your fingers to his forehead. “Grumpy wrinkles.”

He chuckled low as he held you tightly. He brought his face down into your neck to inhale the sweet scent of your perfume that he loved so much.

“I know what helps with that,” his voice was deep and silky and fuck it made your body melt.

You giggled as his sweet kisses turned into loving nibbles. He was careful to not hurt you with his fangs but he knew how much you loved his gentle biting. You had a hunch he loved it as much as you did. On top of that it’s been a week without it and damn you missed him.

You let his touch overwhelm you as he held you, softly biting against your delicate skin. His body tensed against you the moment you let out a small pleasurable gasp.

“Hm,” He huffed deeply as he pulled back. “I forgot my strength. I’m sorry, mi colibrí.”

He brought his fingers up to your neck, wiping away the wetness before examining the hickie left behind.

“That’s what makeup is for,” you reassured. “Now, you have a week to make up for…”

“No better time to start than now,” he knocked off the stack of papers that were laying on the countertop.

Before you could react he grabbed your hips, lifting you into the air. You let out a faint gasp as you wrapped your legs around him.

“Miguel!” You scolded as he smirked at you, placing you on the empty countertop space. “Naughty, what has become of you?” You teased him.

“You have become of me,” he pressed his hot lips against yours hungrily.

He brought his hands around to the back of your head holding you close so he could kiss you deeply. It wasn’t long before you could feel his cool tongue against your lips. You opened your mouth letting him in, his cold mouth meeting your warm one.

You brought your hands to his shoulders feeling the fabric of his suit. Eagerly you moved your fingers to his back, grasping for the zipper. You rotated between feeling the muscles of his back and fumbling with the damn zipper making your kisses turn sloppy.

“Eager aren’t we?” He laughed low and deep in his throat, it wasn’t a mocking tone. In fact you knew he loved it.

He shimmied his shoulders out of the suit and it took all of your power not to basically drool over him. You wasted no time bringing your hands to feel his hot skin, tracing your fingers lovingly over the scars on his chest.

You buried your fingers in his hair as your lips met again. The man loves to kiss you, almost as much as he loves to bite you. He took the opportunity to switch to biting your neck whenever you pulled back to breathe.

He slowly brought his fingers underneath the hem of your shirt, running his calloused fingers along your silky smooth torso. You separated from him only long enough to remove the pesky fabric of your top before diving back into him again.

You could feel the bulge in his underwear against your leg as he leaned forward to undo the clasp of your bra. He brought his large hands to your breasts lovingly cupping and massaging them. Goosebumps rose against his skin at the sound of your soft, lustful moans.

“More baby,” you whispered.

He brought his lips to your nipple, his hair tickling your chest. You tilted your head down letting yourself get lost in the scent of his shampoo while he planted wet kisses against your stiff nipple. His grabs on your body slowly turned more rough as you felt his teeth against your skin.

“More,” you demand. It’s been a week and damn you wanted him more than anything.

He hooked his fingers underneath the soft fabric of your leggings and panties as you shimmied to help. Your body shivered as the fabric pooled to the floor. Miguel looked at your body with a mixture of awe and hunger- a deep lust filled hunger.

He brought his index and middle finger to your entrance, smiling when he felt how wet you were.

“You really did miss me huh, mi pequeña colibrí?”

You nodded “mmm’, yes I did. Need you, Miguel.” You whined feeling him circle your entrance.

He wasn’t cruel to make you wait as he plunged his fingers in. Your back arched as you gasped, spreading your legs desperate for him deeper. Feeling his fingers arch against your walls and watching the movements of his wrist as he pleased you was intoxicating.

Still you wanted more.

“Please, baby,” you whimpered.

Your body whined when he stopped and pulled his fingers out.

“What is it, cariño?” His voice purred. He brought his fingers to his lips, rolling his tongue over your sweetness.

“You,” your lip quivered as you shuddered from the cool apartment air. “Please.”

You knew this was a game he could normally play for a long time. Not today though, neither of you could handle it. Instead your heart raced as he nodded to the kitchen drawer where you kept the condoms since counter sex had become a more regular activity.

He brought his large, hard cock out of his boxers, stroking lightly. You swallowed at the sight wondering how you could ever take him.

He smirked at your expression “are you afraid?”

You shook your head, reaching your hands out to his broad shoulders trying to bring him closer. You fumbled with the condom, bringing your hands to his hot cock. He gasped lightly as your hands held him him, rolling the condom down over him.

He lined his tip against your entrance, soaking himself in your juices and teasing you just a little.

“Are you ready?” He whispered and for the first time tonight you heard his voice start to shake.

You bit your lip as you nodded “I am.”

He slowly slid himself in as you let out a moan of tight, firey pressure. The moment he was fully inside you both let out a gasp; you both waited so long for this moment. You wrapped your arms around him as he buried his face in the crook of your neck while you got used to the feeling of all of him inside.

He waited for you to nod and give him the okay to continue. He planted a kiss on your cheek as he pulled out slightly before thrusting in again. You spread your legs further apart, moaning at the next deeper thrust. You grasped at the muscles of his back for an anchor.

“Just like that, cariño,” He whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

He thrusted against, harder and faster as you felt your pleasure start to build. He kept a lovely, steady pace and you knew it wouldn’t be long until you reached your climax.

“Oh Miguel,” you moaned, making him shiver. “Baby, I’m close.”

You grasped at his back desperate to have more of him. His heavy breaths and grunts sent electricity through you while his cock pressed lovingly against that sweet spot.

“Don’t move,” his voice was a quiet whimper while you held him.

Fuck, hearing him whimper always sent you feral but you did your best to keep still while he pounded into your tight cunt. Your back arched as the waves of pleasure crashed down into a lovely orgasm.

“You feel so good,” he whispered in your ear.

You knew he was close and you wrapped your legs around him not letting him go.

“I’m, I’m-“ his voice broke off as you felt his cock twitch inside of you.

His arms held you tightly to him as you were wrapped around him lovingly. The heat of your bodies, the feeling of his heart beating and the rise and fall of his chest as he heavily breathed through the pleasure… Despite that soon he’d have to leave again these moments are what make it worth it.

"Te amo," his voice was a husky whisper as he held you.

For now, you got to enjoy the warm embrace of your spider.

===

💙💙💙💙

Thanks so much for reading, let me know if you enjoyed with any comments/reblogs, I appreciate them all!

-Wyv

#miguel spiderman #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #miguel x female!reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara x female!reader smut #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x female!reader #miguel ohara imagine #miguel o'hara imagine #fan fic #fan fics #fan fiction #fan fictions

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cowboydisaster · 4 months

Note

For the Christmas countdown!

Dutch sends reader and Arthur to find the perfect Christmas tree for camp. Reader says she knows a place near Colter. But they get lost, and what’s that? One bed? Needing to share body warmth? What ever could go wrong 😈😈 as smutty as you find comfortable to write behe

* ˚ ✦ Ceasefire * ˚ ✦

pairing: arthur morgan x f!reader word count: 2.8k a/n: One bed trope is elite. love this prompt. Arthur is a little toxic in this one ngl. probably med. honor. I aint gonna lie gang, this is fucking FILTH. warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, dubcon

cowboydisaster's christmas countdown: FOUR days 'till christmas!

christmas countdown┊main masterlist┊rdr2 masterlist

Arthur kicks the old door in, nearly crumbling the rotten thing before sticking his lantern into the worn down cabin. No words are exchanged as he ushers you though the threshold, slamming the door behind you both.

The storm outside is brutal, battering the sides of the cabin, sounding like bullets pelting the walls. Hail and snow beat down on the roof, carried by whipping, whistling winds. Even in your wool coat, your limbs feel like ice, your fingers and toes numb.

The cabin you’re entering is old and creaky. The wind seems to whisper through the walls eerily, letting cold air soak through the cracks and wrap around you. You shiver, walking through the main room, pushing open a squealing door to reveal one small bedroom with one tiny bed. You nod, figuring as much. It’s the only door in the house, so you avert your attention back towards Arthur, knelt before the fireplace. He's digging through the wood by the mantle, grunting and sighing angrily to himself. A tense silence continues between you and Arthur– it hangs in the air like static electricity, and you’re just waiting for it to strike.

“Arthur, I'm sorry.” You whisper, arms pulling your coat tighter around yourself.

“Kinda late for apologizin’, considerin’ our circumstances, dont’cha think?” Arthur growls, finding a few pieces of dry wood and tossing them into the wood keeper in the fireplace.

“I knew where I was goin.” You argue coldly, anger rising up the back of your neck, making the hair stand. Arthur shakes his head, avoiding your eye contact as he lights a kindle.

“Oh, you did, did you? Then you mind tellin’ me why in the hell we’re stranded in the middle of god-knows-where, then? N’ on Christmas Eve? Dutch sent us to get a goddamn tree and thanks to you, we ain't even got one.” Arthur growls, voice finally rising, even though he’s been trying to keep his composure since you admitted you were lost.

“I– Well you got me all turned around when you took us to the trapper!” You yell, pointing your finger at him angrily, “I had us on the way and then you just had to take us off on some wild fuckin’ goose chase. What even was so important that we had to take an hour-long detour anyway?! How are you gonna blame me when you had to drag me across the state just to what?! Sell a fuckin’ pelt? Make some more money for old Dutch?”

“No!” Arthur roars, standing up from his position on the floor. His anger flares up at your ignorance, “I was savin’ up money to buy your christmas gift—to buy you that goddamn saddle you wanted!!” Arthur’s voice reaches a shockingly loud timbre, and your ears ring. You step back, shocked and mortified by your assumption. Words fail you, and you stutter over them, tears already forming in your eyes at what you’ve done.

“Arthur…” You say, tears forming in your eyes as he brushes past you, towards the door, “Arthur, you can’t go out in that storm.” You protest, but he’s already putting his gloves back on, placing his hat on his head.

“Arthur, I'm sorry. Please don’t go out in the storm.” You plead as he pushes the door open.

“I need some damn air.” He hisses, slamming the door back shut in your face.

Your hand covers your mouth, silencing sobs as you watch him leave from the window. You hear Sugar’s cries as Arthur leads Jasper out of the small stable, and you watch as the gray horse carries Arthur out the main drag, his coat blending in with the downpour of snow and ice.

— — —

You roll onto your side, shivering on the single cot. There’s no blankets, so you do your best to keep warm by curling in on yourself and blowing warm air into your hands, down your coat sleeves. Cold tears slip down your face, your worry growing tenfold with every minute that Arthur doesn’t return. If he’s not back within the hour, you’ll go out into the storm to find him.

You glance at the pocket watch that is clutched between your numb fingers, signaling that he’s been gone for an hour and a half. Your heart seizes in your chest. The wind causes the windows to shake and clamber, and every once in a while, you perk up– hoping it’s Arthur coming back to you. But it never is.

A miserable whimper leaves your lips, and you sit up, cross legged on the bed to steal another glance at your watch. The fireplace gives off just enough light to see, and you push yourself up from the bed to start pulling your boots on. You’ll be damned before you let something happen to Arthur out there, not when it's your fault he’s out there in the first place.

Before you can get your boot on, the door swings open loudly. Arthur steps in, shoving the door shut behind him, stripping his big blue coat off and abandoning it on the floor. You let out a breath of relief, tossing your boots aside to run to him.

“Baby- I’m so sorry for hollerin’ at you. I shouldn’t have left ya here.” Arthur rambles, feeling like a fucking fool. You care none, too relieved to see him here. He holds his arm open, catching you just as you run into them, tears of relief flooding your face.

“Oh, I was so worried, Arthur.” You exhale, crumbling against him.. Lucky for you, he’s always been good at piecing you back together.

“Christ, darlin’, you’re freezin’.” Arthur points out, readjusting and scooping you up into his arms. You lie your head against his chest, arms wrapped around his neck, clinging to him, as he carries you back into the bedroom.

“I’m sorry, Arthur. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I shouldn’t have blamed you.” Your voice cracks.

“Don’t matter, now. Now, I just gotta take care of you.” Arthur whispers, and you sigh with relief. He carries you into the bedroom, tenderly placing you down on the bed.

“Lets get your clothes off. They’re wet, gonna get you sick.” Arthur says, worry deep in his eyes as he begins to undress you. He tenderly peels away each layer of clothing, hanging them over the fireplace mantle to dry. Once you’re bared before him, shivering, he wraps his jacket around your shoulders. It’s warm and dry, and it smells like oak and his favorite brand of expensive cigarettes. You inhale the scent deeply.

“Be warmer if I take mine off, too.” He whispers matter of factly, pulling off his own layers, sliding next to you in the bed.

Arthur winces as you cling to him on the bed. Your limbs are like ice against his skin, and he pulls your back to his chest. His arm wraps around your middle, keeping you anchored to him tightly. Your body fits against Arthur’s so perfectly. Like two puzzle pieces fitting together.

A few moments pass by, with Arthur running his fingers over your hip, rubbing his hand down your thigh, waiting for the skin to warm up.

“Any better?” He asks eventually, voice hoarse, waiting for the answer he knows won’t come. You nod your head, but your teeth chatter. You're shaking like a leaf against him.

“Ya trust me?” Arthur asks. Of course, you nod your head. You trust him with your life, “I’ll warm you up.” He whispers.

You shiver, this time not from the temperature as Arthur slides the jacket down over your shoulder blade. He runs his lips across your shoulder, pressing kisses in a line. His lips distract you from his wandering hand, fingertips trailing down your stomach.

You breathe shakily in anticipation as his fingers reach your throbbing cunt. His skin is hot where yours is cold, adding an extra layer of sensitivity. You flinch when his thick finger bumps your sensitive clit.

“Too much?” Arthur whispers between kisses, his hand drawing away from your skin. You nod.

“We got all the time in the world. Jus’ gotta warm you up proper.” Arthur explains. He repositions himself between your legs, pushing your knees up by your ears, spreading you wide for himself.

“Can’t wait to taste you.” Arthur grumbles, pushing your thighs back even more. You grip the sheets in anticipation as he licks the length of your cunt, coating his tongue in your juices, flicking your sensitive bud with his tongue.

Your stomach seizes, and you whimper.

“Yeah, how’s that? Talk to me, darlin’.” Arthur instructs, his nose rubbing against your clit, his tongue sinking into your heat. Arthur’s beard is tickling your thighs, and his fingertips are teasing along your entrance.

“S’good, Arthur.” You exhale loudly. Your body is already warming up. Your skin is flush with want as he teases you. Arthur’s tongue circles back up to your clitoris, flicking over the bud in languid swipes. You taste so fucking good, he could keep you spread like this forever and never get enough. You would have no qualms with that, happily holding his head between your thighs for the rest of eternity.

He wants nothing more than to keep you spread open like this. To taste you, kiss you. To hear you whimpering and calling his name. He wants to pull orgasm after orgasm out of you, until you’re sleepy and content and sore. He wants to press his cock into you over and over again, to roll his hips into you, stretch you out, fill you up. He wants to watch his cum leak out of you, just to fuck it back inside.

Arthur’s cock twitches, and he groans, slipping two of his fingers into your aching entrance. Feeling how slick they become when he pulls them out, when he pushes them back in, curling them to hit that spot that makes you sing.

“Arthur–” You moan, back arching off the bed. He wraps his free hand over your stomach, pushing you back down to the mattress, “So good. I– Oh, so fuckin’ good, Arthur.”

He smirks, tongue still flicking over your pink, swollen clit. Sucking it between his lips, grazing it with his teeth. It’s more than you can take.

His fingers curl up, squelching as they rock your own juices back into you, brushing up against your fleshy g-spot, teasing it.

“I-” You gasp, “I’m close, Arthur. I- I can’t it’s too much! Too-” You moan, tears of pleasure slipping down your cheek.

And like the pull of a silk ribbon, he's pulling you undone. You're cumming on his fingers, squeezing them within your tight walls. Your clit is seizing against his tongue as you cry out his name, hands digging into his hair, pushing him further against you. You rock your hips against his face, thighs squeezing his ears. Juices gush around his fingers as he works you through your orgasm. Euphoria wracks your brain, picking you up and carrying you to another plane of existence.

When you come down from it, you’re putty in his arms. Limp.

“Easy, baby. Y’okay?” Arthur asks, hand easing up your waist, purposefully avoiding the spots where you’ll be the most sensitive right now. You nod, hands reaching up to his jaw, gripping him and pulling him down towards you.

“Wanna kiss you.” You manage to murmur, soft as silk before his lips are meeting yours.

You can taste yourself dripping from his tongue. Can feel the sticky wetness on his beard as you pull him impossibly closer. His tongue slips into your mouth, infiltrating your senses with the sweet taste of your arousal.

Goosebumps break out across your stomach as Arthur’s knuckles trail up your waist, his thumb tickling a small circle around your stiff, sensitive nipple. It sends pleasure in shockwaves down through you, and you arch your back, pushing your stomach up against his chest. The hair on his chest teases your flushed skin, adding to the pleasure of it all.

“So goddamn beautiful.” Arthur mumbles, pulling away just to get the words out before he’s against your lips again, devouring you.

“Think you can take me now, darlin?” Arthur whispers, lips moving to your jaw, pressing loud kisses along the sharp line. You hesitate. He’s so big. It takes a lot of preparation.

He senses your worry, and then he’s there, reassuring you, praising you, making you feel so good.

“You can take me.” A kiss to your neck, “You do so good, so perfect. You can take it. My good girl.” Arthur mumbles against your skin, hand slipping between your legs, pushing your thighs apart. His fingers slip back into your cunt, first two, then three. You whimper, hands digging into Arthur’s shoulders.

“See? Takin’ my fingers as ya are. My good girl, aint’cha?”

You nod your head, teeth sunk into your bottom lip, “Yes, yes.” You whisper, breathing shakily.

Arthur positions himself over you, slipping his fingers away, and you gasp at the feeling of his thick tip sliding up and down your lower lips. He traces his swollen, rosy tip across your overstimulated clitoris, and your nails dig into his shoulders, a pulse of pleasure rippling up your spine, sending waves down through your bones.

You pay no mind to the weather, to the temperature. It bothers you none now.

His thick, pulsing cock nudges against your entrance, and instinctually you tense, taking in a sharp breath.

“Shh, shh, easy, sweetheart. Relax. You can take it.” Arthur coos against your ear, pressing a kiss to your forehead. It's like being swaddled in a heap of comfort, of safety. You know he’d never lie to you, never hurt you.

“Thata girl.” Arthur hums, grunting deeply as he thrusts just the tip into you. You squeeze him tightly, your walls gripping him, pulling him into you. He could do this all day, stretch you open, stuff his cock into your pretty little cunt, press kisses to your lips and your neck and your nose.

“Fuck, sweetheart. That’s it.” He grunts, pushing himself into you even more. Your back arches, stomach filled with pressure and legs spread open wide, “That’s perfect, so good fr’me.” He moans.

“God, Arthur–” You cry out, a whimpering mess when he starts to rock. He’s splitting you in two, filling you so full, you can barely take him all. His length knocks against your g-spot, surpassing it even and stretching to your cervix.

“Feel-” Arthur groans, “Good?”

You tuck your nose against his chest, nodding, “Fuck, so good, Arthur. You’re so big.”

The boost in his ego ramps up his stamina, and he rocks into you harder, sending the headboard crashing against the wall loudly with every thrust. The rhythm is barely noticeable compared to the sound of the hail beating against the roof.

You’re suddenly glad to be stuck out here, if this is the repercussion. You crave his hands on you, his lips against yours. You want him to bend you over the table, take you against the wall, on the floor. You’re content to have him on every surface of this cabin, just to stay wrapped up in this bliss for a little while longer.

“Easy does it, good girl.” Arthur grunts, face covered in a sheen of sweat, dripping down from a strand of his hair, falling onto your breasts. He fills you with every thrust, his cock carving out the shape of your walls, stretching them to wrap around him perfectly. The signature, wet sound of sex fills the room, drowning out even the storm, yet pale compared to the sound of your mixed moans and breathing.

“M’ close-” Arthur grunts, pace growing quick, cock twitching against your walls. You’re getting close, and he’s there too, grunting and squeezing, gripping your soft flesh. He curses, thrusting hard and deep, hips slapping loudly against yours.

It pushes you over the cliff edge with no abandon, and again, you’re free falling, only kept here by the physical tether that is Arthur holding you. Your walls clench and squeeze, constricting around Arthur’s length. He groans beautifully, the sound cathartic to your ears, sending more blood rushing to your gluttonous core.

“Oh– Arthur!” You scream, gasping for air just to release it all back out in a slew of curses and moans. Your back arches high enough off the bed that your breasts slot against Arthur’s chest. Your body shakes, like a star on the verge of explosion, receiving no mercy as Arthur continues to thrust into you. He’s losing his control, caught off guard by the pulsing and fluttering of your second orgasm. You’re squeezing him so tight, and god– the moans you’re letting out are driving him wild—

And then, his warm, thick cum is flooding you, filling you up as he stutters and shakes above you, “F-Fucck, sweetheart. Takin’ me– so damn well.” Arthur groans, hips pumping into you twice more, arms shaking from strain. He pumps the last of his spend into you, groan dying down into a deep rumble in his chest.

He stills, taking deep breaths along with you, eyes slipping shut. His forehead falls against yours, and he presses a sweet, long kiss to your lips. It sends butterflies to your stomach, even after all this. He pulls back from the kiss, resting his forehead on yours once again.

“That was–” You begin, catching your breath, “damn.”

Arthur chuckles, “We’ll sleep the rest of the night n’ check out the weather in the mornin’. I don't reckon either of us will be cold.”

You huff a laugh, wincing slightly as Arthur pulls out of you. You grimace as his cum leaks back out.

In a few short moments, Arthur has you clean of him. He lies beside you, head resting on your lower stomach as you brush your fingers through his hair.

“Next time we fight, just skip the runnin’ off, and take me to bed, alright?” You whisper, breaking the calm silence. Arthur exhales sharply.

“Yeah, we’ll do that.” He chuckles, gripping your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles.

“You think Dutch will be pissed about the tree?” You ask, referencing the Christmas tree that you’d failed to bring back to camp.

“He surely will be.” Arthur says, “But, I say-” He presses a kiss to your hip, hand wrapping around the inside of your thigh, “to hell with his christmas traditions,” another kiss, “I like this one better.”

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