#rahul kohli x reader
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OCTOBER PROMPTS 🦇 — 10. Napoleon “Leo” Usher
A/N: where is the work for my man who’s gonna do it for me every time?! This series wasn’t my fav (better than the midnight club ofc! Argue amongst yourselves) but everything was executed very well! EAT THE RICH! Anyways I’ll probably do a re-watch at some point to appreciate it better. Look at me being back on my writing kick, someone bring me a treat and by treat I mean truffle fries. Alright this is kinda late and I usually never risk writing for any of Mike’s work but here I am. Hope this doesn’t flop but with the dust in this tag makes this very likely!! Okay ✌🏽
PROMPTS ARE FROM HERE & HERE + I’m using: A is afraid to get the Halloween decorations out of the attic or garage, fearing there’s bugs, which leaves B to do it. + Going to questionable lengths to decorate their house/apartment.
Synopsis: People can say a lot of things about Napoleon Usher but some may not be aware that he’s actually a homebody. However there’s a few places he doesn’t mind spending his time and that so happens to be at his best friend’s place, who also doesn’t mind actually putting him to work.
WARNINGS: Platonic x reader! language + dark themes/humor + mentions of s*ic*de + gender neutral friendly!
<- read my previous anthology prompt here.
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[6 weeks before the fall…]
Second guessing.
That happened to be something that was always jammed into Rudelle Povea’s head ever since they were young. Their parents taught them to be curious when things didn’t feel right in their gut and many times that resulted in phone calls home for being, “too disruptive to others in class,” which really meant too annoying for teachers who just wanted to teach without mountains of inquires coming from this kid to being, “too smart-mouthed and a know it all for me,” from their maternal grandmother who eventually gained guardianship over Rudelle.
If something’s been instilled in you for the longest, it can become a habit—whether good or bad is always up for debate. Sure at times it made Rudelle feel as if they were being a bit indecisive but they always looked at life as one big question mark. They didn’t have to just simply take it for what was thrown at them. If they were prompted to question it all, then in a sense they were persuaded to see everything from all angles before going through with a final thought.
Rudelle wasn’t incapable of making a decision, never think that but they always needed all of the facts before going forth. For instance: take the death of Rudelle’s parents when they were only twelve years old back in the United Kingdom. Rudelle’s grandmother was not only controlling and cruel but she was also a really good liar that kept up with the tale of how Rudelle’s parents died. As if Rudelle would never get older and do a deep dive considering the career they went into as a pathologist assistant before Rudelle got laid off.
How convenient that they seemed to be laid off the further along they got into the reports of their parents’ apparent murder-suicide. Lots of sealed off information and blocked out text was enough for Rudelle to come to terms with their family constantly hiding but what exactly?There were always more questions than answers but there was no doubt in Rudelle’s mind that their grandmother had something to do with this.
A crack sounded at the window, bringing Rudelle out of their lengthy daze, spotting a black crow flying from their sight yet again. Rudelle didn’t waste any time, pulling out their phone to make note of the arrival of the same crow and exact date when it provided more damage to their window in the living room. Sighing they got to their feet, phone still in their hand as they got closer to the window, inspecting the cracks that seemed to get bigger each time.
After the sixth ring the line picked up.
“Leo, you coming ‘round?”
“…what’s in it for me?”
“Good company.”
“Is that a underlying proposition for us finally hooking up?” He sounds wide-awake now.
Rudelle snorts, “Keep on dreaming, mate.”
Rudelle doesn’t wait for a response as they end the call, knowing that when they called each other it was rarely for a chat since they could just text and send voice notes to each other. If they called each other it was usually within good reason—although it was a fact that Rudelle Povea and Napoleon Usher lived slightly different lifestyles.
It was about half an hour later when Napoleon shows up to Rudelle’s apartment, barely appearing, almost as if he was struggling to hold himself upright against the door.
Rudelle snickers at the dark attire and their friend’s appearance, “I’m surprised you didn’t use your key this time, why the long face? Did I ruin the post party?”
Napoleon rolls his eyes as he shoves his way inside the familiar apartment. He’s kicking off his shoes in the foyer and heads to the right to dive face first into the beige couch.
Rudelle closed the door behind the man and heads to where he is and squats beside him, “So…”
“No! I don’t want to take your fucking quiz, let me sleep.”
“I wasn’t going to ask any more about your night because I can just tell how it went,” Rudelle responds before adding, “I actually saw that crow again—
Napoleon lifts his chin to glance towards the window and sighs, “Where’s the maintenance manager when you need them? You do have that here in this unpleasant building, yeah?”
“I don’t care about the window.”
He blinks hard at Rudelle, “well you should, love. There’s what? Three cracks now and if you don’t know, they can spread and who knows what else will get into this building once the window finally decides to give way?”
“Your concern is sweet.” Rudelle’s reply is sarcastic.
“Oh, shut up.”
“Buuut! This is the crow’s third time doing that and it’s got me thinking.” Rudelle plops down on the floor, eyes wide with curiosity.
“Let me guess? About you fantasizing about being Brandon Lee’s eternal lover.” Napoleon mumbles—as if he hasn’t heard this before.
Rudelle’s been going on about this crow for a few weeks now and, “the Crow,” (1994) happened to be one of their favorite movies. The thing about Rudelle is that they always tried to find meaning and symbolism for everything. They honestly should have went into literature. Napoleon may have half-lidded eyes right now but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t ever listening. He’s known Rudelle for years, before Roderick came around and molded him into a Usher. They’ve always had a hunch for something and Rudelle wasn’t wrong about Napoleon’s father so who’s to say they would be wrong about this crow?
“No Leo…this time I’m thinking about decorating.”
Napoleon sighs as a smile appears on his face then, “I knew this day would come! There’s not much to work with but I’ve been saying this flat needs a makeover. It just doesn’t fit for you, you know? You’ve got personality and yet this still looks like a staged showing when we first toured this dreadful place. It’s boring and sort of stale—much like Tamerlane’s home now that I’ve come to think of it.”
“Whoa there, I don’t have nearly enough mirrors for us to match.”
“Funny,” Napoleon smirks a bit at the jab since that’s what it was. It’s not like he would ever blame his siblings for the way they all turned out and carried themselves, they had their father to thank for that but that also didn’t mean they were really loving towards each other either. They didn’t know what that felt like either and although Napoleon had his mother in his life, they drifted the moment she sent him here to meet Roderick at eighteen. The Usher siblings gave each other shit right to each others faces and behind each other’s backs.
Rudelle’s been around since before Napoleon gained the title of “being a usher,” so she’s seen it all and only threw in jabs to get a reaction from Napoleon. They knew to tread lightly, not out of fear but they still knew their lane and left that open for Leo to completely bash—if need be. However that still wasn’t in his nature to bash any of his half-siblings, he still saw something in them that they all shared…the torment conditions of being a usher maybe?
Believe it or not, he’s got some feelings about the mere thought of having siblings although they had their issues…there was still some level of respect beneath it all. This was just who they were, take it or leave it.
The world would most likely leave it.
Yes he was closer? If you want to use that term—to Camille and Perry but he was the one who wasn’t afraid to stand on how fucked this family is and always would be while the rest chose to shield that to the public eye.
“Which space are you thinking of first? This living room should be it since it’s the second focal point of this flat. And please don’t tell me you’re going for wallpaper? This is not the bloody 1920’s.” Napoleon spoke, resting his cheek against the back of his hand.
Rudelle shook their head, “I’m not really talking about renovations Leo. The crow’s got me thinking about Halloween decorations…which are down in the basement.”
Leo sits up instead and opens his mouth ready to respond until something catches his eyes on the coffee table. He leans over to snatch the files up, already sensing what they were before his eyes briefly scanned over them. “Ru! You’re investigating again?!”
“Well yes but this has nothing to do with my desire to be festive this time around.”
“I can’t say I believe that,” Leo shakes his head in disapproval, “this is the same shit that got you laid off from a decent pay—for your standards and now look! You’ve gone and decided to be some sort of archivist?”
“They actually haven’t called me back about that interview so…”
“And why do you think that is?”
“My nan’s got just enough pull as daddy Roderick and Auntie Madeline?”
Leo rubs at his beard in frustration, “for fucks sake I almost threw up in my mouth just then. I told you before not to refer to Roderick as that!” He glared at Rudelle who is definitely amused, knowing that irritates him then continued on, “…That could be almost true since your nan gives shady vibes too but you can’t keep doing this.”
“Why not? I’ve got nothing else better to do.” Rudelle shrugs confused before stating, “Just your unemployed friend on a Tuesday that’s keeping busy and trying to not ride on their savings.”
Leo raised his brow, “you think cracking the case on your parents’ death is somehow gonna give you income? That’s like wishing on a lucky star babe. There’s a reason you haven’t got anywhere with this and it’s been months, yeah?!”
“They were framed for a murder they probably didn’t commit which led to their deaths…if I can fix this then I can sue this shit system for if not all it’s worth then…I’ll take half.”
The determination was clear in Leo’s best friend’s eyes. They didn’t see that it was sounding a bit deranged but they had their own facts as well and if they strongly believed this then who was Leo to stomp on it? Leo didn’t know how it felt to not have two parents around but he did know how it felt to have a emotionally sad mother raising him. His mum was kind hearted to Rudelle back when they all lived in Redbridge and it certainly wasn’t out of pity, she was kind to anyone who shared the same decency to her son.
See, Napoleon’s mum is also very observant. She knew from the moment that Napoleon and Rudelle became friends (aged fourteen) that they would be able to keep each other afloat.
They were the pieces of good—more so Rudelle on the surface—that battled the bad the world laid upon them.
“Alright then…” Napoleon trailed off glancing upwards in thought, “in the mean time, you suppose decorating for Halloween will bring you clarity?”
Rudelle shrugs, “maybe. This could be a breakthrough.”
A breakthrough to just accept the job Napoleon’s been offering them since they settled into this city back when Rudelle was twenty-one. Leo’s been into gaming since he can remember, always wanted the latest games that his mother couldn’t afford at the time just to end up with it later on mercilessly. Not really—Roderick made it his job to buy his way in and taking care of Leo financially from a distance.
Yet when those eighteen years arrived and he actually met the mysterious man who tried to buy—definitely not his love—but rather his place as a Usher…Napoleon thought he was getting a chance to build a relationship with a man he didn’t know very well…but instead he was one of the shiny pieces in Roderick’s game.
Rudelle had dreams of being a geologist until she was in custody of their grandmother. They always had that woman in their ear growing up, dictating what they should be instead of what they wanted. All kids have dreams and aspirations but along the way there’s often detours. Those detours happen to be people who only saw greed and Rudelle chose what she thought would be the better option. To do it all on her own instead of being beneath her grandmother’s claws and Leo was still affiliated business wise or not no matter what choice he made.
They were both similar in that way.
Making their own choices, thinking it would work out in their favor.
“Fuck it, let’s do it.”
“Great,” Rudelle grinned ready to get to their feet, “I’ll grab the keys for the basement and you can head down. It’s seventy-four which is in the path of almost like a S shape.”
Leo frowns as Rudelle begins to move around the apartment in search of the keys, “wait…you’re not sending me down there alone are you?”
“Yes I am.” Rudelle went through the cabinets of their white kitchen, “there’s bugs down there. I can’t—I won’t. I can still feel those ant bites from last year just speaking on it.” They trail off in thought, scratching at their collarbone, “Which is why I kept most of my decorations shoved in closets up here.”
Leo frowns, “you sure you weren’t on shrooms?”
“Oh piss off! I still got the bills to prove it.”
“So you want me? This glorious piece of ass to be a early feast for some critters? Do you hate me? Do we suddenly have a problem that I’m unaware of?”
“You just said you’re going to participate in my breakthrough? Aren’t we mates?”
“Mates don’t set up mates!”
Rudelle pretends to think about it, which earns them a shove from Leo while Rudelle laughs in return latching onto some keys that were tossed into a drawer.
“Fine, if you wanna hold hands just say that.”
“Are you really going to hold my hand? A taken man?”
Rudelle was tempted to throw in a, ‘Glad you remember that you actually have a boyfriend this time around, considering how many times I’ve caught you in cheating acts.’
But they refrained…only because they had this idea to get their hands on the decorations and didn’t want to do it alone. Sure Rudelle maybe grasping at straws but that holiday changed the trajectory of everything losing their parents on that Halloween night. If you believe in the supernatural…maybe just maybe they could communicate with them in some way.
“Only if you’re afraid of the dark.”
“It’s not of the dark, rather what’s in it.”
“Don’t you worry buttercup, I’ve thought of it all.” Rudelle’s patting Leo’s cheek who furrows his brows as they disappear again around their home.
Leo exhales deeply, “if you did then why am I being dragged into this?!”
“Because you’re my best friend and you can’t help but to love me back.”
“I guess…”
“What?!” Rudelle calls from somewhere in the apartment.
“I said I must confess! You know like queen Britney once said.”
“Uh huh.” Rudelle appears back in front of Leo who started peeking through their fridge.
He clasps a tatted hand to his chest, “I forgot that you’re so light on your feet, should have been a astronaut.”
“Not a chance, I think you’d miss me too much,” Rudelle winks and begins to model out the accessories they gathered for the both of them on their sudden adventure.
Leo thinks about it, taking a bite out of the cold veggie pizza and shrugs, “eh you’re probably right.”
There was no denying that Leo classified Rudelle as his only and legitimate friend who didn’t care about his nepotism. Don’t think they didn’t argue over money when his ignorance got the best of him in the beginning but it didn’t become a thing until it became a thing from time to time.
The basement in Rudelle’s building always smelled of moth balls, fresh dirt, cigarette smoke, and wet air. It wasn’t the best thing to inhale but with the city that they lived in it wasn’t anything foreign. The deeper the pair traveled through the bottom of the building, the colder it felt; even with the friends standing side by side.
Leo whispers to his left, “you look like you’re not batting on a full wicket.” Referring to Rudelle’s attire of a full hooded wetsuit, sunglasses, and a KN95 mask.
“Sounds like you’re jealous and wouldn’t be able to pull off this fit.”
“Even if I wanted to,” Leo starts doing that irritated blinking he so commonly does, “which trust me I don’t—I’d like for my balls to breathe so that’ll be a negative on the jealously part. You however still are giving very much nutbag.”
Rudelle bows, “thank you, thank you. A true star is going to war.”
“Star? Let’s not go that far with that outfit you’re wearing.”
“You should really talk to your therapist about your haterism,” Rudelle bumps Leo’s shoulder, “ready?”
“Not really,” Leo comments, “what are the sunnies for?”
“The jumping spiders.”
“The what?!” Leo stops in his tracks, “you never said a thing about that. I thought we only had to worry about the ants. Spiders are much worse than ants!”
Rudelle shushes the man from beneath their mask, “can’t turn away now, we’re not far from the decor.”
Leo is muttering away as Rudelle begins to drag the brooding man along, “you have me smelling like a old man who has back spasms on a daily with this lavender and eucalyptus oil. You better be lucky that I like you.”
“Oh what ever would I do if a usher despised little ol’ me?” Rudelle pouts beneath their mask.
“More like, what would you do without me?” Leo mentioned as they traveled the s path to the storage room.
You know that eerie feeling you have when it feels like someone is watching you from the corner of a room or standing over you as you sleep? It’s one of the reasons why Rudelle sleeps with the covers completely over their face. It’s also one of the reasons why Leo was more of a side sleeper than any other position—unless he was up to something else that is. That same feeling was creeping up the nape of Leo’s neck although his hoodie was tightened to his head.
As the friends take what feels like slow steps closer to the storage, there’s a tapping feeling that falls upon Leo’s right shoulder. It’s instant that he whips his head to his left to where Rudelle once stood but they’re actually up ahead, unlocking the first gates to the storage room.
“Did you feel that?” Leo calls out, while looking behind him at the path in which they came.
The creaking of the gate is followed before Rudelle says anything, “depends what was felt.”
Leo isn’t sure if he likes that response, “what do you mean?”
“I’m not the only tenant that doesn’t like coming down here.” Rudelle says, “come on then, don’t be afraid.”
“I’d actually feel quite better if I had my Mjölnir.”
“You’ve got me, babe?” Rudelle grins over at Leo who snorts as he cautiously approaches them.
Leo stands at the entrance of the gate while Rudelle is already inside, “is that supposed to be comforting?”
“Sonny and Cher think so.” Rudelle winks over at Leo who shakes his head at that.
“Cute but not really my style of music.”
“Don’t I know it Mr. Hangs out at cracked out pubs for fun.”
“Definitely not my kinda party either.” Leo steps inside the gate while Rudelle searches for their storage, trying to recollect which side it was actually on.
Rudelle let’s out a cackle at that. They remembered a time when a tattoo-less glasses wearing Leo was afraid to try a spliff back in the day and now look at him, the main party man out of the duo.
Leo let’s put a whistle as he walks down the aisle of gated storages that seemed to be collecting dust on top of their piled up items. “This isn’t so bad although most of you may have a hoarding problem.”
With those words lingering in the air, the main gate behind them seems to slam shut behind them making both Rudelle and Leo’s heads turn back to the entrance.
“Don’t tell me—
Rudelle shakes their head in disapproval, “I told you to use the brick to keep it open!”
“When did you say that?!” Leo exasperates, hands thrown up in the air.
“Back when you said someone tapped on your shoulder.”
Leo rests his clasped hands on top of his hood as he gulped, “I—I never told you that.”
“Yes you did.”
“No! No I didn’t, Ru!” Leo felt unsettled, “I only asked if you felt it but never elaborated to what it was.”
Rudelle hums at this.
They could have sworn they heard Leo explaining that to them? There were reasons why the tenants on Sycapine hardly ever came this far down in the building. Things that couldn’t be explained, much like what the two best friends were experiencing. Leo would later brush this off not bothering to connect what he encountered with Ru as similar incidents his own family would face but way more extreme.
“Well…might as well stay awhile. We got nothing else better to do, since you just locked us in.” Rudelle unlocks their storage section, holding eye contact with a very annoyed Leo.
Leo points, “I didn’t do anything! You thought you could suddenly telepathically tell me shit for real this time?!”
It wouldn’t be Rudelle’s first time.
“You’re the one who said someone tapped on your shoulder, so clearly you’re the one who failed at telepathy.”
Leo felt his eye twitch, “I knew I should have stayed home.”
“Whatever,” Rudelle says kicking a box towards the dark haired man, “pop a squat buddy, you’re not going anywhere.”
Leo kicks back at the box and rushes over to the gate to rattle against it, thinking that would apparently get it to unlock. Slipping their hand against the padlock, he couldn’t angle his wrist just right to pad any numbers in and the extra stab was seeing a brick right across the gate, almost mocking Leo with bright green eyes while the hallway went black for a good two seconds, demanding that Leo witness the disturbing image.
The after effects of a party never had Leo like this before.
There’s another touch but it’s a pinch this time that sends him snatching his hand back through the gaps in the gate. Holding onto his skin he examines it to see that there’s no damage only tricks playing on his mind?
He glances back at Rudelle who comes back out shoving a heavy box out of their storage.
Leo finds a spot on the lighter box Rudelle previously kicked his way, keeping quiet until they come back with yet another box to sit across from Leo. He tilts his gaze sideways to read the text, “HALLOWEEN,” on the brown box.
“You owe me big time for this.”
Rudelle dips their head, “cross my heart—
“Don’t finish that sentence!” Leo shushes his friend while peering around, “never made any sense to me anyway. Who the fuck hopes to die?!”
“Relax babes, the yelling.” Rudelle curls a finger against their ear.
“Sorry are my frustrations bothering you?”
“No but you acting like a dickhead is.”
“How are you being so calm about this?”
“Normally I wouldn’t be but things are happening too much for this to be a coincidence so I’m looking at this as another perspective. This all could be my parents’ doing. Thus! The breakthrough.” Rudelle taps on their temple.
“If you say breakthrough one more time,” Leo warns, “you’re good at second guessing yourself and believing whatever your brain tells you to but has it occurred to you that this could all be the devil?”
Rudelle says, “and here I thought you weren’t religious.”
“I didn’t put a label on anything, it’s not really my thing but one thing I know is evil. And what I feel down here is not necessarily kind. Are you sure you wanna fuck with that more with these decorations?” Leo leaned his elbows into his knees.
Rudelle sighs, “can you definitely say that? And not just blame it on anxiety?”
“Would you say the same with the crows? I mean that is the whole reason why we’re down here.”
Rudelle is silent at this for awhile and Leo can see the wheels turning but he’s not the most patient.
“I’m convinced it’s something else.” Rudelle exhales, “I know this building better since I did the research before moving in.”
“Do I wanna know that history?”
Rudelle lightly shakes their head, “I’ll keep it to myself…otherwise you might burst a blood vessel and I feel better having you focused rather than pissed.”
“fucking hell! I don’t like it when you keep secrets.”
“I know!” Rudelle yells back, “but this is an itch that I can finally scratch and I just need the support.”
Leo rubbed at his face, digging the palms into his tired eyes. He understood, of course he understood, he just didn’t exactly enjoy things that go bump in the night.
Never did but being the kind of friend that he is, he would get his point across—even if you didn’t like it but still find a way to be what you needed.
“Fine,” Leo holds out his hand which Rudelle smiled at before quickly tapping the back of their hands together before moving into a smoking motion, pointer and thumb pressed together as they pressed a kiss there before pulling away to exhale the bad into the air, “one love.”
“Always.”
Leo’s smile quickly vanished, “Just know…”
“Ah, here we go.”
“I’ll fucking haunt you if I go first.”
“Way to ruin the moment, Leon.” Rudelle rolls their eyes, “there’s answers in here somewhere.”
Leo feels he’s holding his breath as Rudelle begins to reach for the flaps of the brown box. He’s not sure what could be so off-putting by Halloween decorations and if these would be the usual kind? He personally wasn’t the biggest fan of Halloween as he didn’t enjoy being spooked since that tended to make things difficult for him.
‘Yes there are…but are they the answers they want?’ A feminine voice belonging to the entity named Vera, who hasn’t fully introduced themselves yet speaks above the long time friend’s heads but she doesn’t show herself.
She lingers in the shadows for now but she’s never far. So she watches on as the box becomes open, four flaps folded back as Rudelle takes a large inhale, peeking at Leo who holds their stare.
Unbeknownst to them, the gate behind Leo quietly unlocks and leaves the door ajar.
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Continue along with my fall anthology prompts here.
#queued#tfothou#tfothou netflix#the fall of the house of usher#Netflix#rahul kohli#rahul kohli x reader#Napoleon usher#Napoleon usher x reader#leo usher#Leo usher x reader#fall prompts#Spotify
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free use with sheriff Hassan (midnight mass)
cw: implied consent, degradation, light spanking
a/n: i'm a flanaverse whore, so i had to <3
the house smelled like soup, a storm brewing outside, threatening all the inhabitants of the tiny island. you’d been ordered to stay inside, left in your small house near the beach, waiting for the sheriff to come home from securing the marina.
you’d barely seen hassan all week, the interruption to your active sex life making you agitated. you were a pent-up ball of sexual frustration, so much so that the night before you’d told your husband that you’d be happy if he fucked you over the table while he went about his routine. you didn’t care, you were simply desperate. with the storm, the new monsignor in town, and beverly terrorizing the island, hassan had been rather neglectful of your needs, coming home late at night and practically passing out as soon as he sat down.
you were stirring the pot of soup when the sound of the front door alerted you of your husband's arrival, his heavy footsteps in the foyer. you called out a greeting, but didn't move away from your task, assuming that like always, he would be right back out the door or straight into the shower before crashing for the night.
you never blamed him, he was a good sheriff, something important in the unsettling island where evil was often lurking.
"hassan!" you gasped, nearly dropping your spoon as his hands suddenly found your waist, muscular body towering over yours.
"make sure it doesn't burn, doll," he murmured, fingers wrestling open the button on your jeans.
hassan yanked down your waistband, baring you in the kitchen, in front of the window, where any of the local parish could walk by and see if they were being particularly nosy. he didn't care, hassan was drunk on the need to be inside of you, heavy and aching with arousal.
"what are you doing?"
"you said you were so desperate to be fucked I didn't need to ask. knock it off with the attitude and bend over for me," he answered firmly, holding your jaw in his hand, waiting for you to obey.
you leaned forward, resting your elbow on the counter as he kicked your feet apart, salivating as your wet sex came into view. a gasp escaped your lips as your hips were knocked forward against the edge of the counter, hassan never having any restraint on his force, nearly knocking your pot over.
you were so suddenly full and despite knowing that he had told you to keep cooking, you blindly shut off the stove as your vision tunneled, your husband making you cockdrunk in seconds.
"can't listen, can ya?" he slapped your ass, the loud crack rattling through the kitchen and the sting spreading through your skin.
"you... said not to burn it," you answered through clenched teeth, being dangerously snide with him.
he fucked into you hard, his fingers dropping off of your clit, taking away the extra pleasure he had awarded you. hassan tugged your hair back, connecting your lips in a fiery kiss as your back pressed to his chest.
"been missing your smart little attitude," his voice was deep, but his tone loving beneath.
"please, fuck me all night," you begged against his lips, desperately rocking back against him.
#grey's kinktober 2022#kinktober 2022#kinktober#sheriff hassan#sheriff hassan x reader#rahul kohli#midnight mass#Rahul kohli x reader#sheriff hassan smut#midnight mass smut
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Closing the Distance
Sheriff Hassan x Reader
Author's Note: I'm sorry its bad. I'm sorry this is the first I've written in this fandom. Just sorry all 'round.
Summary: Devastating news brings Sheriff Hassan and his neighbor closer together.
Warnings: Mentions of terminal illness, grief and death, brief mentions of SMUT
Crockett is small. Small enough for someone to walk from one end to the next in less than a day, small everyone to know each other by name, small enough for gossip to spread faster wildfire. It's part of why Hassan keeps his head down and his nose out of everyone’s business; small towns are close knit, they stick together, and he's already an outcast. So unless someone is explicitly breaking the law or being a public nuisance, Hassan keeps his distance.
Even if it's hard sometimes. Even if his cute neighbor brings over dinner for him and Ali when she cooks extra or waves at him when he's getting into his car in the morning while she's having coffee on the porch. Even if he does find himself wanting to prolong their conversation when he bumps into her while picking up groceries. Hassan keeps his distance, because even if Y/n has only lived on the island for a year longer than he has, she is not an outcast.
From the bits and pieces he's been able to pick up, Y/n’s mother grew up there and then their family spent most of her summers as a child on the island. In the same quaint house across the street from his, with weather beaten porch steps, a white French door guarded by thin yellow curtains and a kitchen window that faces the street. She moved there just after her grandmother passed and her grandfather fell ill. Everyone knows her, everyone likes her, not that he can blame them – even Bev likes her, though he doubts the feeling is mutual. And that's why Hassan keeps his distance; even Y/n isn't one of them, she's one of theirs.
So he keeps his distance.
Until he gets home from work one Friday evening just in time to see Y/n walking Sarah to her car. Before she gets in, they spend another couple minutes talking and while he doesn't want to sit in his car and stare, there's something about the dimness in her expression and the invisible weight pressing her shoulders into a solemn, downward curve that holds him there. Hassan can't recall ever seeing her like that – tired, sure, it would be impossible to be a caregiver and not feel the strain of it. But this evening is different, it's more than tired. He recognizes that look; that was how he looked when his wife reached her end.
Hassan waits until Sarah drives off before getting out of his own car. Y/n is still standing on the sidewalk, arms hugging herself and eyes cast in the direction of the receding car. She isn't dressed to be outside, denim shorts and a thin band tee are hardly enough to combat the October chill, especially when it's been raining on and off all day, and that's how he knows she's probably avoiding heading back in. And he simply can't stand to retreat to his own house when she's looking like she's about to fall apart.
So Hassan calls out to her.
“Hey neighbor,” it's just enough to beckon her attention, and his tone, he hopes, gives nothing away.
“Sheriff,” as Y/n turns to him, she tries to smile but her lips quiver and the effort doesn't reach her eyes. “Hey,” her voice cracks ever so slightly and he suddenly feels guilty about intruding on what might have been a private moment. “How are you?”
Of course she asks how he's doing when she's the one on the verge of tears.
“Doin’ alright,” he shrugs, stuffing his hands into his pockets, “you?”
Before anything leaves her lips, which she's pressed into a thin line, Y/n nods stiffly. “I'm….” She sniffles and Hassan steps closer until he's standing where Sarah's car had been parked. “I'm okay,” she manages softly, adverting her gaze to their feet.
He doesn't know what prompts him – his urge to comfort her or the fact that he'd wished someone had done that for him – but Hassan reaches out to lay a hand on her shoulder, and gives it an affectionate squeeze. “You sure?”
And he swears that's like slipping the pin out of the grenade. Or more accurately, throwing a pebble at a cracked window; the tiny thing that shatters something already so fragile.
A sob tumbles past her lips and without thinking, he pulls her against him. She's small enough for her head to settle against the center of his chest while he smooths his hand over her hair. Hassan knows all too well that now isn't the time for him to marvel at how well she fits in his arms, like they're two puzzle pieces just snapping into place. Despite his efforts though, the thought lingers in the back of his mind.
“He's dying,” she cries, words muffled as she keeps her face pressed to his chest, “He's dying and there's nothing else I can do for him.”
Her words make him hold her tighter, as if he's trying to keep her pieces from scattering. “I'm so sorry,” is the only thing he offers. All other words of sympathy and comfort feel wrong in the moment, so they stay like that and Hassan holds her until loud cries turn to slow tears. In fact, it isn't even him that pulls away – if it were up to him, he'd hold her until the next morning, longer if she needs it.
“God,” wiping her cheeks hastily, Y/n sniffles, continuing bashfully, “Sorry about that. I bet you're never gonna ask anyone how they're doing ever again.”
“Don't be so hard on yourself,” he counters dismissively, “is there anything I can do?”
Her smile, though genuine, is small and sad. “You've already done a lot,” Y/n assures him, “but maybe you could come in for coffee? If you have time,” she adds hastily.
He really had meant to come home and make dinner, hopefully get Ali to tell him about his day, but there's half a pizza in the fridge and he's pretty sure his son is gonna make up an excuse to not have dinner with him, the way he does every evening. Besides, he doesn't want to leave Y/n alone and another half hour can't hurt. “Coffee sounds good.”
Despite being embarrassed about her little meltdown, Y/n is enormously grateful that Hassan agrees to come in for coffee – and it's not even because of that silly little school girl crush she's been nursing since the day they met. It's because when it's just her and her grandfather in the house, she can hear his laboured breathing even in the rooms furthest from his bedroom and she's hoping that talking to the sheriff will distract her a little.
For just a few minutes, Y/n wants to pretend that the man who's wrapped up in some of her fondest memories isn't slipping away and Sarah hasn't just told her to start making arrangements.
His steps are soft as he follows her into the kitchen, and it takes getting there for her to remember that she's left a tray with food and medication on the table. “Shit,” she hisses softly, going to collect it off the small table.
“It's alright if you have to take that up,” Hassan says, halting in the doorway, “I can wait or….”
“No,” Y/n shakes her head as she empties a small bowl of rice cereal into the trash before grabbing a smaller bowl of applesauce to do the same with that, “This is from breakfast. He wouldn't eat it. Didn't eat dinner last night and….” When her voice starts shaking, Y/n stops herself and sets the dishes in the sink. Washing off her hands, she fixes her attention on the coffee maker. It's a nice one, the kind that comes with a milk frother. It's one of the few things that she'd brought from her apartment in the city to make life in Crockett a little more comfortable. “How do you take it?” She asks, slipping a mug into the designated place.
“Black, two sugars,” he returns, now standing near the table with his hands stuffed into his pockets. He makes the space look small, Y/n thinks, and on a regular day it's one of the things she fancies about him. He's so big, capable of being incredibly imposing and yet the only thing she ever feels in his presence is safe. And it's not because of his uniform or the fact that he's a man of the law, it's because there's a softness about Hassan that makes her yearn to be close to him.
It doesn't matter what everyone says about him, Y/n just doesn't see it. He doesn't say a lot, probably even less to her than everyone else on the island, but there's a kindness in his very rare smile and a sadness in his eyes that she wishes she could help with.
“We can talk about it, if you want,” Hassan offers as Y/n stirs two teaspoons of sugar into his coffee.
When Y/n turns to hand him the ceramic mug, she encourages him to sit before returning to the machine and it takes a couple minutes more to sort her thoughts out enough to address his suggestion. “I don't know if there is anything to talk about,” she admits, thumb nail flicking the edge of the tile countertop, “I knew he was terminal when I got here. It was never a matter of if, it was when. But now that its….when, I feel like it's too soon, you know?”
Hassan nods, and she knows that his agreement isn't just surface level empathy – she's heard about his wife from the gossipy folks in town. “I keep reading about all these people who grieve their parents, spouses…. grandparents before they die, because they know it's happening,” Y/n goes on, and at this point, she's rambling in hopes of making sense of her experience, “but it was never like that for me. Until now. I mean I knew he was gonna….” She can't even bring herself to say the words.
“But you didn't think it would be like this,” it's like he's taken the words right out of her mind when he says them. “You thought he'd just go to sleep one night, it would happen and then it would be over.”
“Yeah, exactly,” collecting her mug, Y/n assumes the chair closest to Hassan, “but this is so different. He's in pain, he won't eat, barely drinks water. I know that it's best for him, so he can be…..at peace again,” her eyes start welling up again, and much to her surprise, he reaches over and rests his free hand over. Y/n can count one hand the amount of times he's touched her. Four times.
He shook her hand when they first met and the three other times had happened that very evening.
Admittedly, it's a little confusing; she's spent so long convinced that he doesn't like her that it's hard to believe that him sitting in her kitchen isn't anything more than pity. But that hug didn't feel like pity and the sincerity in his eyes doesn't feel like that either. His thumb is caressing the side of her wrist, the roughness of his finger contrasting with the softness of his skin.
“I understand,” he determines quietly, “I know it doesn't help-”
“It does, you have no idea how much you've helped. Just by being here.” Y/n leans in a little, and Hassan cups her cheek.
“You shouldn't have to go through this alone,” he ghosts the apple of her cheek, “you're there for everyone, someone should be here for you.”
Her hand slides down the back of his forearm, stopping near his elbow. “I'm….” She goes to say glad, but its the wrong word, “grateful it's you. So thank you.”
“‘Course,” Hassan hums, before searching her eyes when she inches closer, “What?”
Y/n knows she's taking a pretty big risk, he's never shown any interest in her like that and she isn't quite sure that her next request has anything to do with her feelings for him. But she asks anyway. “What if I wanted to forget….just for a little while.” She leans in closer, and that time, he does too.
They're so close that Y/n can smell bits of Crockett's salty air mingling with a very subtle cologne. So close that it just takes a couple inches forward on her part for their lips to meet. He tastes like coffee, and his gray flecked beard scratches her face in the most enthralling way. Surprisingly, he reciprocates; his other hand reaches for the back of her neck as he deeps the kiss.
Clumsily, Y/n fumbles out of her chair and into his lap, his worn jeans rubbing against her exposed thighs. The chair scrapes along the hardwood floor when he tries to get it a couple inches away from the table, but neither of them pay any mind to the noise. His large palm inches down her back to eventually slips under the hem of her t-shirt while Y/n starts fiddling with the top button of his uniform.
“Y/n,” he mumbles her name as she pops the second button. Her reply is a hum and an attempt to press her lips to his a bit harder. The bulge in his jeans is firm against her thigh, encouraging her to suggestively grind against his crotch. “Y/n,” that time, Hassan tears his lips from hers and swiftly grabs both her wrists in on his hands, while the other stays firmly on her back – on the outside of her t-shirt.
“You don't want to?” Because of course, on top of overwhelming grief, she has to deal with the shame rejection after she tries to jump her neighbor's bones.
“Trust me,” he heaves, glancing down between them. She can still feel his hard on through his jeans and the thought of what it might feel like without restraint causes her to shift in anticipation. “I want to. But I don't think you want to,” and before she can get an argument in, he cuts her off, “At least, not like this.”
Hassan lets her wrists go in favor of cupping her face with both hands. Leaning in until their foreheads meet, he sighs heavily. “Whatever this could be shouldn't start because you're running away from feeling something difficult.”
“I'm not-” she tries to argue, but her voice breaks, “you’re right.”
“Just….give yourself some time. And when this is over, and you're really ready – and if you still want this – I'll be waiting.” That time, when their mouths meet, the kiss is more gentle. It isn't fueled by passion or haste, it's a promise.
When the break, Y/n slides out of his lap and goes to lean on the lip of the sink. Hiding her face in her hands, she groans loudly, “God,” she bemoans, “I feel so stupid.”
A weaker spot in the old floor creaks ever so slightly as Hassan stands and closes the short distance in a couple long strides. “Don't be,” he weans her hands off her face, holding them so he can caress her knuckles, “honestly, if you weren't crying thirty minutes ago no one would be able to pry me off you.”
His words rouse a quiet chuckle and Y/n spends another handful of seconds staring at their joined hands. “I'm gonna hold you to that,” she affirms quietly.
Hassan gives her hands a squeeze, “I'd hope so,” he glaces backwards at the window. It's starting to get dark out and there are a couple lights on over at his place, signaling that Ali is home. “I should…”
“Of course,” Y/n nods, “Yeah.”
His hands gently cup her neck and she curves her fingers over his wrists, thumbs absently stroking his skin. “If you need anything,” he lowers his head, so close the tips of their noses are almost touch, “you know where to find me.”
After a bit of hesitance, Hassan kisses her one last time before finally letting her hands go and turning to leave. In the doorway, he turns to offer her a short wave and sad, lopsided smile before continuing towards the front door. Meanwhile, Y/n lingers at the sink, toying with her nails even as the front door clicks shut. Through the window, she watches Hassan cross the street and stroll up the front before disappearing into his house.
And just like that, she can hear the wheezing again, and the sound of it causes her to elicit a shuddered breath. Despite her talk with the sheriff, Y/n is still unnerved by what may come within the next few days, but for the first time she isn't entirely unsure of what comes next. For a while, she'd been wondering what would come after; her grandfather is the only thing tying her to the island, but the thought of going back to the city is unnerving. Maybe now she won't have to though, at least, not for a little while longer.
#sheriff hassan#rahul kohli#sheriff hassan x reader#midnight mass#sheriff hassan imagine#rahul kohli imagine#fanfiction
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He’s an asshole but he loves his siblings. Spoilers
Imagine comforting Leo after camille’s death (after finding out he’s cheated on you)
Camille is was Leo’s sister. Not just by blood.
Leo found out that he was an Usher when he was 18. Just 18. Of course he was.. well, lost.
Lost in the ways of living, how it works, what’s wrong and what’s right. What he can show to the world and what he can’t because for fuck’s sake, he went from just a boy from London to Napoleon Usher, son of THE Roderick Usher.
So that’s when Camille helped him. “He was like an ugly lost puppy.” She once told you when she came over for dinner (she keeps saying that she hates spending time with her dunce of a brother but never fail to show up when you invite her)
She guided him, through everything. Telling him what material is good to wear. What brand is the best. Even hook him up with designer friends to get his style fixed (18 years old Leo was a roadman)
She was like a compass to him. When he can’t process his own emotions, after he’s done drugging it all down, he’ll go and find her.
Camille being Camille will roll her eyes and offer him a drink. Lecture him about how feelings are stupid and a waste of time. He’ll still be sad, pouting while playing around with the glass he has in his hand. Camille will sigh and punch his arm lovingly. That’s how he knows she cares.
So when you find out that she’s dead, mauled by Chimpanzees, you couldn’t, even refuse to believe your eyes. It’s Camille L'Espanaye for hell’s sake, she’s near untouchable, if she wanted information she wouldn’t dig around by herself.
Your second thought, after coming to terms with the fact that she is dead, is Leo.
You two had ended things the night before. Well unofficially ended things. You still have to sign paperworks to make it official.
You found out that he’s cheated on you. You’re not even sure if it’s worse, the fact that it’s not constant and he’s not looking to cheat, he cheats when he’s given the opportunity.
You hated him. For doing that to you both. Aside from the cheating, he’s a great boyfriend. Which makes you feel conflicted.
You didn’t know where you were going when you put on your shoes. It started with ‘a short walk after a long day’ to ‘grabbing coffee’ near to where his place is to taking the elevator and here you are.
In front of his house. Ringing the bell.
You were about to walk away. When the door opens, revealing a not-so-ok-looking Leo. Eyebags, red eyes, disheveled hair, wearing his outside clothes still. It’s obvious that he’s been crying for long.
“Hi.” An awkward one left from your lips. Leo didn’t even have the guts to look at you, his eyes pinned to the floor. He silently moved away from the door, giving you space to walk in.
Which you did, eventually settled yourself on his couch. He’s had a few wrapping papers on the table, a box full of his ‘goods goods’. Probably planning on getting high out of his mind.
Maybe you could lie to yourself. You’re here so that he doesn’t die from od.
“Look, y/n if this is about the paperworks, this is not a good time.” Leo finally says, his voice rough, almost making you flinch.
“It’s not that.” You pat the seat next to you
Leo sat down.
You two didn’t say anything until suddenly he burst into sobs.
Mumbling something about how you shouldn’t be there, you shouldn’t comfort him.
You wouldn’t reply because he’s right. You shouldn’t but you’re there anyway. Patting his back and eventually letting him put his whole weight on you.
His face planted to your neck. Not wanting to leave anytime soon. His arm around your waist.
He’s crying and it doesn’t sound like he’s stoping any time soon.
Pathetically repeated “i love you.” That made you feel bitter. You had to bite your own tongue to not slip a “you wouldn’t cheat if you did.” Camille just died. Not now
He promised to go to therapy. Find out why the fuck he’s like that. You ignore it. If he plans on changing then he’ll sort it out himself.
You knew what this is. He’s avoiding the topic of Camille. He didn’t want it to be real.
He’s Napoleon Usher, he’s the man you can read like a toddler’s book.
You’ve got your hand drawing tiny circles on his back.
You both stayed that way until he falls asleep on you.
#napoleon usher#the fall of the house of usher#rahul kohli#napoleon usher x reader#leo usher#reader insert
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*slides onto your table once again*
I’m an angst girly, can you PLEASE write a fanfic where the reader and Leo are arguing? Man’s rich and all his exes before were scared to leave him because he’s a powerful man with money. Imagine if the reader is as power and as rich. The type to mot take bs (hehe)
His Mother's Son (Leo Usher x gn!reader)
A/N: I want you all to know that I listened to Whispers by Halsey at least 12 times to write the angst. The ending is a banger though, I'm really proud of it.
It’s hard to remember how good things were on nights like these. Especially when nights like these go south so quickly. You didn’t even make it in the front doors of the event, when your partner had decided to run his mouth off about your past.
So what if you lied at the beginning of your career, you built your life by yourself, for yourself. Rage cuts through your skull, but you tamped it down, as always.
“Why did you do that?” You kept your lips firmly pressed together, using both hands to hold your sparkly purse.
“I just-” He tried.
“Don’t fucking . . . why did you say that on the red carpet, about my parents?” First he almost made you late to your own party, and now the two of you were here, doomed.
“It was just a joke.” He’d spoken with his father earlier that day, even at 6’4, Leo always seemed shorter after talking with that man.
“I’m not laughing.” Leo runs a large hand over his face, to hide him rolling his eyes. “See, when you say things like that, it feels like you’re punishing me.”
“And why would I do that?” Asked your beau, finally matching your stance and staying still. If this was any other night, jackets would be thrown off, clothing would be optional, but not now.
“I made it out. I left what I had and I made something new. Something mine.”
“No, cut deeper.” commands Verna, hiding in the wallpaper, staring out at the tragedy unfolding.
“You’re a grown man. You should have something of your own by now. That is not, and has never been my fault.”
“So what are you saying?” His voice came out as something of a wheeze.
“I think we’re done.”
“What’s this really about? Has the check from the film not come through yet? Do you need an allowance?” The whiney edge in his voice used to hide someone else entirely, someone with a big heart, who’d bend to your every whim, and now you’re wondering if he was even there at all.
You stared at him for a moment, as if he’d just slapped you in the face. When you first took up with him, you declared money a taboo topic, and he’d just …
You’re you. Leo thought for a moment about the day you asked him out. He should have said no. You didn’t need him like the others, you wanted him. And that was fucking terrifying.
He’d said yes, like a fool, and here he was, exactly where he deserved to be.
“We’re done.” You stated, firmly, calmly, as Leo watched the elevator door closed. In a way, it the door closed on what he thought was the rest of his life. “Apparently not,” he thinks.
In the elevator, you fall to your knees, staring at yourself in the golden reflection. It’s agony. It always is with him. But at the same time, there’s an unbearable lightness.
You’d ended it.
Anything he might have held over you…it didn’t matter now. You’re on your way down, and you’ll get an Uber home, and you’ll figure out what your life looks like without this…overgrown boy taking up all of your energy.
It’s agony, but it won’t be forever. You’ll live. He won’t.
With a shuddering breath, Leo’s heart drops. He knew how long it would take you to walk from the elevator, out onto the street. He should yell from the window, he should chase you and let you know that you were right, that he’ll fold, he’ll do whatever you want to keep you. He can’t be without you, he’s known that since he met you.
But he can’t.
Maybe it was too many upper, maybe it was too many downers, but he’s been paralyzed before, but he’s never been sober enough to remember it.
Maybe you were right about the drugs too.
And now you’re gone. You would be on the front sidewalk by now, he wonders if you’ve thrown a rock through the windshield of his Ferrari. He hoped you did, so he had something to remember you by.
Leo runs a hand over his face, knees buckling, before he lands on his hardwood floor with a loud ‘thud’. He’s fallen, like a glass of spilled milk.
“I'm the one who leaves. Ushers do the leaving.” As soon as the words fall out of his mouth he wishes against all odds his mother would appear out of the mist, and slap him upside the head.
For a minute, Leo commits to the floor, breathing as evenly as possible, and failing. Tears follow soon after, and he doesn’t shy away from them for once.
You’ve gone. You’ve left him. This is why he was the one who left.
Leo’s heart pounds in his ears, and he still can’t quite get his breath to even out. It’s almost getting worse.
Fuck.
Verna waits in the corner of Leo’s apartment, in the shadows of course.
Oh, how tragic.
In another life, Leo has the nerve to tell Rodrick “no”. In another life, he’s his mother’s son.
Within him, laid a great capacity for kindness that would have echoed for years after a premature passing.
As a PE teacher, the kids adore him, of course, and he loves them completely. He still wouldn’t have gotten to grow old with you, but he let you love him that time.
But it’s not to be.
At this moment, in this place, he’s an asshole, an addict, and an absurdly rich man who thought his being right mattered above all else. What a shame he’d let the door shut on the one person who’d told him otherwise.
This time, Verna makes a change. She should tell him about your life, she should tell him that she knows you’ll be alright. And she knows she doesn’t have to. He knows you’re better off without him.
A tap to the forehead, and he’s gone.
Mercy.
Maybe, this once, he deserves it.
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For the prompt game: Owen, somebody else’s kitchen, henley shirt?
Owen Sharma x reader
The Haunting of Bly Manor
Rated: G (no warnings)
Word Count: 620
Co-written with @steeevienicks
“Knock knock.” The words accompany the tapping of your knuckles against Bly’s open kitchen door, where you can see Owen inside - softly talking to himself as he cooks just like always. A pinch of this, a sprinkle of that, a whole heaping mess of the next. He cooks like an artist paints, mixing and adjusting and following the whims of a masterpiece that only he knows how to create. It’s beautiful to watch, which is why you’ve been hiding by the door for a few minutes before making yourself known. “Surprise, O.”
“Oh! Come in!” He smiles at you, glasses fogging up momentarily as he leans over a bubbling pot on the stove. “What’s the occasion?” He looks up quickly and then away, eyes going right back to you. You’re wearing the Henley - the one with the missing button that fits you just right, and Owen suddenly can’t take his eyes off you. He swallows his nerves and reaches for the next spice to be added to his masterpiece, but he can’t take his eyes off you, and three different spices get knocked onto the countertop. His mumbled curses make you laugh, and you know you’ve got him as you hand over the beautifully wrapped package with the pressed flowers.
“Did you forget your own birthday?” You laugh, shaking your head at him as he scrambles to clean up.
“No, no, not this year.” He chuckles before throwing a dish towel over his shoulder. “However I wasn’t expecting this.”
“Thirty years we’ve been friends, and I’ve never missed a chance to remind you that I’m glad of it.” Holding out the package again - the crisp white paper tied up in string with dried flowers instead of flashy, glittery wrapping - you hold your breath a little until he takes it. This year you went…slightly overboard. Or perhaps under, since technically the bound pages from your shop are blank. He’s been talking about writing his own cookbook for years, and you’re hoping to give him the kick in the pants he needs to get started.
He carefully unwraps the gift, looking at you with wide eyes as he holds the book delicately in his large hands. His cheeks flush at the thoughtfulness behind it - never taking you or anything you ever did for him for granted. He carefully opens the cover to see a neat inscription with your handwriting on the first page.
Owen,
Happy birthday! It has taken me a long time to gather the courage to tell you this, and what better way to do it than confessing how I feel on the first page of what’s sure to be the greatest cookbook in the world.
I love you, Owen Sharma, and I always have.
He covers his mouth as he rereads the words. “You…you love me?” He nearly whispers.
“Since before I knew what it meant.” Standing in the corner of Bly’s kitchen with your hip against the counter and your hands shoved nervously in your pockets, all you can really do is nod. “Couldn’t sit on it anymore,” you admit softly, grateful that no one else is around. “I figured…if you want to cut the page out and pretend I don’t exist anymore that’s your business. But the weight of not telling you is just too heavy.”
Owen nods his head. “I do want to tear it out, but not for that reason…” He reaches for you. “So I can frame it and see it everyday. “I…I love you too. So much it hurts sometimes. Had I known you loved me back I would have this sooner.” He cups your cheek and leans in, bumping your noses together before finally kissing you after what felt like a lifetime.
Jump Into the Inbox Rumble!
#The Haunting of Bly Manor#Owen Sharma#Owen Sharma x reader#Rahul Kohli#fluffy fluffy fluff#inbox game
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An Undead Secret (Ravi Chakrabarti X Zombie!Moore!Reader)
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Summary: To save your life, your sister Liv scratched you and turned you into a zombie. Feeling hungry, you go to the morgue to visit your sister and get her to share some of her food. One problem: only Liv knows about your condition and your boyfriend Ravi just came back from a coffee run.
A/N: i know i have a bunch of requests but i just finished all of iZombie in less than a week and Rahul Kohli/Ravi Chakrabarti is SO dreamy, so i felt the need to write something about him lol
***
You wished you were one of those people who meal-prepped for their week. Then this wouldn’t have happened. It was bad enough that Liv had to split her brain resources with you. But when you were enjoying your day off, you went to the fridge for some lunch just to find that you were out of the brain that Liv had brought home for the week.
“Crap.” You muttered, feeling around on the island for your phone while you stared at the fridge. Part of you hoped there was a bit of teen girl brain in some container at the back, but there was none. So you called your sister.
“Hello?” Liv answered.
“Hey, Liv. We’re out of that teenage girl’s brain, and I’m starving. Can I swing by the morgue real quick?”
“Oh! Yeah, come on down. Sorry, I forgot to tell you about that. I’m making spaghetti with Italian gangster meatballs right now.”
“That sounds perfect. See you soon.” You and your sister said quick goodbyes, and you got dressed to leave the apartment.
Luckily, you and Liv lived near the Seattle Police Department, so your drive was quick. This was especially good because you didn’t know how long you’d be able to go without eating another brain. Part of you wished you had the balls to be a murderer or something; at least then, you could get brains whenever you wanted instead of waiting for the latest murder victim to land in the morgue.
“Liv, I’m here!” You announced, walking into the morgue. Your sister stood in the kitchen, looking up at you from her cooking to smile at you.
“Hey, Y/n. Just about to make the meatballs.” That made you race to her side, eyeing the brain that she was cutting up.
“Mind if I have some right now? I can’t take the waiting anymore.” Liv nodded, cutting off a good chunk for you to eat. You picked off a piece to eat while Liv made the rest of her lunch. When everything was done, her phone buzzed on the counter.
“Damn, it’s Clive. Guess I have to have my food to go.” Liv grabbed a tupperware container to put her lunch in and was about to exit the morgue when she turned back to you, as if suddenly remembering you were there. “Feel free to stay, if you want. I’ll let you know if I have to leave the station.”
“Have fun solving murders.” You waved your sister off, and she left.
You had been to the morgue before, but never alone. You’d always have Liv or Ravi with you, mainly because they worked down here and you didn’t. Despite knowing there were dead bodies on the other side of the room, the place was otherwise pretty peaceful.
Brains, like most foods since you turned, were bland and pretty much unappealing. But you and Liv found that the saving grace for your taste buds was spicy things like hot sauce and ghost peppers. After a bit of digging, you saw what was probably Liv’s hot sauce in the fridge and practically doused your chunk of brain with it. You moaned with delight at the fact that you could actually taste something now.
“Y/n! What a pleasant surprise. What are you doing here?” Someone startled you from behind. You whipped around to see Ravi walking down the steps into the morgue, carrying two cups of coffee. “Have you seen Liv? I have her coff- Oh my god, what are you eating?” Clearly, he hadn’t registered what was in your hands at first.
You knew that Ravi knew about Liv being a zombie; it was actually something the two of you bonded over when she started working in the morgue because how crazy was it that you knew someone who was actually undead? But a few months ago, your apartment was robbed, and you got hurt pretty bad. Instead of calling the police, you called your sister, who you begged to turn you. With little convincing, seeing the condition you were in, Liv scratched you.
You wanted to hide your new condition more than Liv, so you became a frequent buyer of hair dye and spray tan or foundation. Liv agreed to keep the secret between you, so no one else knew. Not even Ravi. Sure, maybe you should’ve told your boyfriend that you were now a zombie, especially since if you ever had sex, you could probably turn him. But thinking about how he could react scared you. It was one thing to be friends with someone undead; it was another thing to date them.
“Oh! Hey, Ravi.” You hid the half-eaten piece of the brain behind your bag, smiling innocently yet nervously. “Um, you just missed Liv. She went upstairs to meet with Clive.”
“Y/n…” He said in that tone that a parent would use on a child that’s just done something wrong. He set down the coffees and walks into the kitchen, looking curiously at you. “What’s behind your back?”
“Nothing.” You responded, voice higher than it just was. Ravi reached his hands out to you.
“Sweetie, it’s okay. I just wanna see.” This is part of why you felt so guilty about not telling Ravi. He was so kind and understanding, just wanting to help. Of course, it helped that this wouldn’t be his first zombie encounter.
Realizing there was no way out of this, you sighed and brought the brain into his line of sight. His eyes widened as he realized what you were eating.
“Ravi, babe, I can explain-”
“You’re a zombie?”
“I guess I don’t have to explain; that’s spot on.” You laughed, trying to ease the tension, but Ravi wasn’t having it. He grabbed your arm to sit you down in one of the chairs in the kitchen, sitting in the one next to you.
“How long?” Seeing you nervously play with your fingers, Ravi grabbed your hands and threaded your fingers with his.
“A few months. Liv turned me.”
“Why did she turn you?”
“I asked her to.” You thought he’d ask something else, but instead, he gave you a look that urged you to tell the full story. You sighed. “My apartment got broken into, and the guy didn’t really appreciate that I was there. I called Liv and asked her to scratch me. That’s why I moved in with her and Peyton.”
“Oh god, Y/n.” Ravi let go of your hands to hug you, dragging you and the chair you were sitting on closer to him. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”
“It’s okay, Ravi.” You responded, face buried in his shoulder. “You didn’t know.” That seemed to bring up a new point with him. He gently pushed you off of him just enough so he could make eye contact with you.
“Wait, why didn’t you tell me?”
“I just wanted to be normal.” You shrugged. “I didn’t want anyone to know I changed. That’s why I dye my hair and use makeup and tanning spray and stuff. God, Mom would’ve had a field day if she saw Liv and me with white hair looking like we haven’t seen the sun in years.” You laughed lightly, thinking about how your mother would react. She already thought Liv had thrown her life away; you suspected she would feel the same about you. “And I didn’t want to scare you off or something.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, zombies aren’t exactly a new thing to me.”
“Yeah, I know. But it’s one thing to be friends or colleagues with a zombie. It’s an entirely different thing to date one. Just look at Liv and Major.” Ravi nodded, seeing your point. He sighed, grabbing your hands again.
“You still could’ve told me, love.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Immediately, Ravi clicked his tongue and shook his head.
“No, don’t be sorry. I get it. It can be scary.” He squeezed your hands. “But now I know. And if anything, now I have even more reason to try to find a cure.” Ravi kissed your knuckles. “It’ll be okay.”
“Wait a minute. You’re okay with me being a zombie?” He looked confused, so you elaborated. “Because if you wanna break up because of it, that’s fine. I’d honestly get it if-”
“Who said anything about breaking up?” Ravi could’ve laughed at the thought itself. “Y/n, honey, you being undead isn’t a dealbreaker for me. I care about you too much to let a little thing like that get in the way.”
“Little?” The way Ravi spoke warmed your dead heart, but being half dead wasn’t exactly a little thing. “Ravi, I need to eat brains in order to survive.”
“I work in a morgue; you can get them the same way your sister does.”
“I don’t even care about food if it’s not covered in hot sauce or ghost peppers.”
“I’m fine with making two different meals for dinner.”
“Unless we find a cure or you don’t care about turning into a zombie, we can’t have sex. Ever.” That seemed to get through to Ravi, taking a sharp breath. You wondered if that would actually be a dealbreaker for him, and if you were about to walk out of this morgue broken hearted.
“We can cross that bridge when we get to it.” He answered, letting go of your hands to gently hold your face. “But for now, I’m completely fine with dating a zombie. Especially because it’s you. Even if it means we have to get a bit creative when we-”
“Okay, okay. I get it.” You laughed, stopping him from finishing his sentence. “So, we’re good?”
“Always have been, honey.” You grinned, leaning forward to kiss him.
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I posted 884 times in 2022
That's 884 more posts than 2021!
60 posts created (7%)
824 posts reblogged (93%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
@thewayofthemandalorian
@dashavau
@insomniamamma
@incorrect-mandalorian
@mandosmistress
I tagged 236 of my posts in 2022
#i love this so much - 4 posts
#help - 3 posts
#i’m crying - 2 posts
#me and whoooo - 2 posts
#rahul kohli - 2 posts
#so cute - 2 posts
#i can’t - 2 posts
#size kink go brrrrr - 2 posts
#bruh - 2 posts
#lmaooooo - 2 posts
Longest Tag: 90 characters
#and these are the “civilized” people that brought “prosperity” to my “barbaric country”???
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
Heyyy
This is @farrikdanked’s main blog. I moved! Now I can be a slut in peace.
3 notes - Posted April 10, 2022
#4
I got this from One Topic at a Time on YouTube. I love this clip!
10 notes - Posted June 6, 2022
#3
I’m a whore for the man with the mask… which one you ask? You don’t fucking know.
14 notes - Posted November 16, 2022
#2
39 notes - Posted May 27, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
It is Cruelty She Wants
Rating: Explicit 18+
Pairing: Frankie Morales x afab wife!reader (third person)
Warnings: BDSM elements, orgasm denial, slightly mean Frankie, crying, one (1) pussy slap, unprotected sex, creampie, bad communication skills, a hint of eavesdropping. Not beta’d. We die like men here. Uhhhhhh idk what else. Proceed with caution.
Word Count: 2,600
Summary: Frankie overhears you talking to a friend on the phone about how much you love him and how sweet and soft he is in bed. He also hears about how you wish he would just let loose and fuck you until you cry.
A/N: I’ve literally never written a fic before in my life nor have I posted anything of significance here and the FIRST thing I write is self-indulgent smut???? My excuse is that I’m ovulating.
18+ Under the cut
She was tied spread-eagle to the bed with a blindfold over her eyes. She trusts Frankie implicitly. She took an excited, shuddering breath. Her naked chest heaved. Her pussy was already wet in anticipation. Frankie stood at the end of the bed. His eyes roamed over his wife's beautiful body. He couldn't wait to give her the endless, torturous pleasure that she wanted from him. She said she wanted him to be mean, oh, he'll be mean. He stepped forward.
He lightly ran his fingers over her open, wet pussy lips. She gasped loudly and her legs pulled at the restraints to close. His teasing touch was unbearable. She mewled as she felt his weight dip down on the bed between her spread legs. She knew she was in for it now. His fingers continued their teasing ticklish dance over her sensitive pussy. Just barely touching her.
"God, you're so wet," he whispered, "Look at that pretty pussy." She moaned breathily as the puffs of his words caressed her pussy just as lightly as he was. Then, she heard the click of the vibrator. Frankie chuckled darkly as she tensed in anticipation.
"You like this little toy, don't you?" He teased her. She flinched as she felt the air vibrating just above her exposed clit. He was hovering the vibrator right over the sensitive nub.
"Yes!" Her voice came out in a breathy moan.
"Ohhh... You love it when your husband plays with you like this, don't you?" He growled.
"Mmm hmmm," she mumbled.
"But I'm not going to let you cum." He said huskily.
She whimpered in disappointment.
"I want you to beg me for it first."
With that, he descended on her clit with the small bullet vibrator. He circled her little pearl repeatedly as she squealed and moaned. Her hands and feet pulled at fluffy handcuffs that kept her tethered to the bed. She couldn't escape the delicious torture provided by her husband.
Frankie grinned an evil grin as he led the vibrator down to her quivering opening. He circled it a few times. She whined incoherently. He then nudged the underside of her clit with the vibrator. She shrieked and jolted. He chased the sensitive spot as she tried to get away. He grabbed her hips with his left hand and held her pussy in place as he wiggled the vibrator mercilessly under her clit. She moaned and cried his name as her hips tried to squirm under his strong hold.
He chuckled again at the state of her. "Aw babygirl! You just can't get away, can you?" He spread her pussy lips and set to circling her clit with the vibrator again. She cried out loudly and her head thrashed from side to side on the pillow.
"This is what you wanted babygirl. You wanted me to ruin you. You told me to make you cry and I don't see tears yet." She could feel his molten gaze on her through the blindfold. All she could do was whine.
Frankie knew he had her completely in his power. And there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it. She whimpered and squirmed. Her fingers clawed at the fluffy handcuffs. Her climax was coming, and it was going to be devastating. Nothing she did would help her escape her fate.
Except for Frankie pulling away the vibrator.
The sound she made was between a whine and a cry. Whatever it was pitiful.
"Ooooh, babygirl!" He mocked cruelly. The smile in his voice was clear. "You were so close, weren't you?" He slapped her pussy lightly, but it was enough to make her squeal. The wet sound of his hand hitting her echoed in the bedroom.
"I have a new toy for us sweetheart." She felt him shift on the bed. Her labored breathing hitched.
She felt him nudge her entrance with something. She gasped at the sensitivity.
"You remember that toy I saw you lookin' at a couple of weeks ago?"
She hummed a high-pitched "mmmhmmm" as he rubbed the toy on her sex. It was smooth silicone. Long, medium thickness, curved, and if her foggy brain remembered correctly, pink. That fucking sleek vibrator that he had caught her looking at on her laptop. She had squeaked and immediately shut it in embarrassment.
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110 notes - Posted September 24, 2022
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Sheriff Hassan X Reader: So this is the end.
You weren't a religious person. Yet somehow you found yourself inside the church on Easter, strolling along with the vast crowd as they made their way inside.
You’d come because of Hassan. Ali had asked him to come, the promises of the town's young priest having stirred a newfound curiosity in the boy. His father hadn't been too keen on the idea but the way the boy had spoken about how there was something special in store for tonight's mass made the hairs stick up on the sheriff's arms. Hassan didn't know what to expect from the evening's events, but something felt off. Not wanting to venture into the unknown by himself, and deciding that if something did happen, you’d be safer with him, he’d asked you to accompany him. You agreed. Not because you wanted to but because you could feel the edge in Hassan's voice as he’d made his request. The twinge of uncertainty that laced his words made your own fear spike the slighted bit.
So here you were, sitting next to Hassan and Ali as the rest of the mass goers settled themselves inside the small church. As your eyes scanned the crowd, they’d found a peculiar scene. Mildred sat in one of the pews looking younger than ever and clinging to none other than Sarah. You knew that despite her mother’s beliefs Sarah wasn't one to attend church. Seeing her there worried you. It’s not like she wasn't allowed to attend if she wished to. Hell, you were here, and you didn't even pray. But something about her body language filled you with concern. And when you’d looked at Erin the feeling doubled. She looked frightened. Which was odd considering that out of the three she was the one that most attended the church.
Erin's eyes met yours, widening as she realized you were here too. Looking royally out of place and sitting next to the sheriff who she knew would not be here if it were his choice. She knew something. You could tell. But there was no way she’d be able to tell you from so far away.
It didn't matter in the end because it was about to be revealed to you.
You’d never gone to a mass before, but it didn't take a genius to see that whatever was happening here wasn't right.
Father Paul's speech was very odd. The things he said didn’t make much sense to you. He spoke of his own death but it didn't seem like a metaphor. If it felt to you like he spoke of his true death. However, that wouldn't be possible. One cannot die and come back to life. And the man who stood in front of you looked very much alive.
You were beginning to get freaked out, more than you had been once you’d entered. Unconsciously your hand found Hassan’s. You tugged at his sleeve silently asking him to unwind his hands from each other. He did as you asked, grabbing onto yours instead, his gaze never leaving Father Paul's form.
“I know it's hard to believe so I invite you as Jesus invited Thomas to witness it for yourself. Sturge.”
Your head snapped in Sturges direction as Father Paul beckoned him. You watched as he raised from his seat, going to the front, and kneeling by the altar. Your grip on Hassan's hand tightened.
All of this felt wrong.
So very wrong.
You listened to Paul as he read from the Bible. His voice booming through the small building. Once he finished Sturge stood up. The priest reached for the chalice in Bev’s hand. It was a normal scene to witness at church. You knew that. But something about the way the air clung to you, heavy with something you couldn't quite place, made it all seem strange.
“This will be frightening for all of us, but, Sturge, my brother in Christ, are you afraid?”
“No, Father. No, I'm not.”
Father Paul smiled at the man, raising the chalice he held into the air.
“God be with you.”
Sturge accepted the chalice that was handed to him, hesitating only for a second before drinking its contents. As he finished, he handed the chalice back to the priest who gave it to Bev before holding onto to Sturges frame, guiding him to face all of you.
“I'm with you.”
Hassan glanced at you momentarily before looking at his son beside you. Ali smiled at the two of you despite your confused expressions. A bit of pride showing in his own features. Hassan held your hand tighter, and you gave him a reassuring squeeze. A silent way of telling him that you were here. Whatever was to come you’d face it together. However, you hadn't expected the scene in front of you.
Sturge body convulsed as blood came from his mouth, causing many to rise from their seats in alarm. From the corner of your eye, you saw Dr. Gunning rise abruptly, having to be pulled down by Erin and Mildred. You had also risen, your hand still clasped in Hassan's as the two of you instinctively moved to Sturges rescue. Neither of you left the pews. Not daring to go near the man but still panicking at the scene. Fathers Paul's words cut through the gasps and screeches of the church goers. The hand that wasn't holding Hassan went to grab Ali’s. He was shaking slightly as you held onto him.
This isn't a scene for a child to see.
Scratch that, this isn't a scene for anyone to see. Much less in a place like this.
Hassan had had enough. He pulled you along with him. Getting out of the pew as he made his way to the door. Ali dragged behind you, being led by you as you followed his father.
“Sheriff, please I…”
You felt Hassan stop. Felt the way his body froze completely, your own frame stumbling into him lightly due to the abrupt pause in your movement. Your eyes found the cause for the sudden stillness, eyes widening as your brain realized what was right in front of you. You wondered for a moment if this was all a big nightmare. Perhaps you were in bed sleeping and not here because the creature in front of you could be real. It just couldn't be. And yet the moment it started moving, you knew it was.
Hassan walked back as the “angel” moved forward, guiding you and Ali out of the way. The creature passed you three, seeming unbothered by the frightened stares and gasps it caused as it went. As it found itself on top of the altar it revealed its large wings to the crowd, causing an uproar of gasps. Your eyes never left the creature as Father Paul spoke. His words going in and out of your ears. You heard a gasp, eyes moving to look at Sturge’s form as he breathed in.
He breathed in.
The man that had been dead at the altars edge was now standing. Alive as he had been moments ago. You were back inside the pew, standing in the middle of Hassan and Ali and watching as the others were handed plastic cups. You grabbed what you were handed, the chemical smell invading your nostrils as you looked down at its contents.
Whatever this was, it wasn't water.
You heard Hassan's cup fall to the ground followed by your own as he abruptly pulled you along him. Somehow Hassan had managed to grab onto Ali, tugging him with his other hand.
“Dad! Dad! Stop! Stop!”
You watched Ali struggle against his father’s hold, managing to detach himself from the sheriff before moving towards Father Paul.
“Sheriff, Sheriff. I implore you not to deprive yourself. Not to deprive your son of the opportunity of salvation.”
You looked into Ali’s eye, your head shaking slowly as you begged him not to do this. You didn't even notice Hassan let go of your hand until you saw him raise his weapon, aiming it at the altar. You saw people duk down as the noticed the weapon, Father Paul and Sturge moving to protect Ali’s small frame. You didn't move, standing by Hassan as he told his son to come to him. You put your hands out to Ali. There was nothing tying him to you except for your love for his dad but he’d always found himself drawn to your embrace.
Not this time. He stood his ground.
You heard the shot fire, flinching at the closeness of the sound. Suddenly you weren’t the only one near Hassan. People grabbed him, pushing him to the ground as he fired again. You tried to grab him, begging them to let got only to be knocked down as well. No one was holding you down like they were with Hassan, but you couldn't find it in you to get up. You looked at Hassan’s face as Bev spoke to his son, tears appearing on his face as he desperately tried to get out of people's grip. Ali looked at you with a startled expression, searching for support on your features and finding nothing but despair. Ali took the cup he was handed looking at the two of you once again as you begged him not to do it.
“I choose God.”
Hassan let out a scream as his son gulped down the poison in one go. You found the strength to rise to your knees, sobbing at the sound of the sheriff's screams for his son. Your eyes found Erin’s as you saw others follow suit, drinking down their cups of poison. You watched her Mildred and Sarah try their hardest to stop the people near them, motivating you to get up and do the same.
It was futile. The vast majority had already gulped down their poison. Coughs filled the room as the beverage took effect. You watched Ali fall into Father Paul's arms as he coughed, Hassan’s sobs getting louder before he pressed his head into the floor.
You looked at the ground, finding the glint of Hassan's gun. You thought of grabbing it, but Mildred was faster. You watched Father Paul fall to the ground, turning to look at Mildred just as the angel swooped at her, raising her into the air and flying out of the church. Sarah's screams echoed in the room before they quieted once more.
“Close the doors.”
Sturge rushed to do as Bev asked as she assured the others that Father Paul would be alright. She moved to where Hassan was still being held, looking at your now kneeling form before speaking to the sheriff.
“Remove the sheriff, take him out back. We’ll need...We'll need food soon.”
You let out a small gasp at the implication, one of your hands reaching out to clasp onto Hassan's jacket. Ali gasped, causing Hassan to lift his head, eyes softening as he found his son's frame.
Alive once again.
Everything got worse after that. The others started waking up, their thirst of blood making them attack anyone who stood in front of them. The men holding down Hassan got tackled, allowing him to get up. He grabbed you by the hand, pulling you up with his as he followed Erin and Sarah. You all fought your way into the back, having to drag Annie with you when Ed got caught. Your breathing was irregular. You try to calm yourself as you got your bearings. Hassan finished locking the door, his hands finding your face as he looked at you.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, are you?”
Hassan leaned his head on yours, his hands moving to grab onto your shoulders.
“Ali… my boy”
“Oh Hassan, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”
You pulled him into your embrace, holding him close as he mourned what was happening to his son. You heard a squeak, head snapping to find Bev on the other side of the room. You watched the others confront her, your eyes falling on the gun Erin held. She could shoot but it wouldn't do much. Bev couldn't die. Still, you weren’t surprised when Erin shot her, turning to look at the rest of you.
“We have five minutes.”
You group hunkered down in Erin’s house as you decided what to do. With every scream you heard your hold on Hassan tightened. You wouldn't stay here. They'd find you sooner or later. All you were doing here was delaying the inevitable. It was only when Erin mentioned the boats that it seemed to click in place. They’d disconnected you from the mainland, but they still needed to get off the island if they wanted to “spread the gospel” as Bev would have said. Your only shot in stopping all this was to make sure none of them got away.
So that's what you were going to do.
The plan was in motion. Despite everything outside it seemed like you had found a somewhat safe place to stay. That is until the window broke and fire invaded the house.
They were outside. You needed to move fast. Upon deciding to get out through the back you all moved quickly. You were helping the kids out the window when Annie told Erin she’d go in her place causing Flynn to try and get to her. You and Hassan had pushed him outside. You looked at Annie, nodding your head at her before leaping after her boy. You all moved quietly through the darkness, avoiding the blood thirsty people that walked the streets.
You'd managed to make it a little while without any problems but that changed quickly. You weren’t paying the right amount of attention, having been distracted by the screams for help. You only realized one of them was near you when it was too late. They’d latched onto you from behind, sinking their teeth in your neck as you screamed. Hassan turned abruptly at the noise, finding your body just as you collapsed to the ground, the person still latched onto you. He raised his firearm shooting your attacker in the middle of the forehead, causing them to move far away from your body.
Hassan rushed to you, his hands grabbing desperately at your twitching form. Blood was oozing from your neck in large amounts. Your eyes found him as he called out your name, his hand going to your wound. He was trying to stop the bleeding, clutching at your body as he raised you to his chest. You closed your eyes, savoring the feeling of him next to you. Your mind rushed to all the memories you had of him, a small smile appearing on your face. Your hand lifted to grab onto Hassan's cheeks, causing him to look at you through his tears. He looked into your eyes, watching you smile up at him.
“It’s okay. Stop them, okay. For me.”
“No, don't please. Stay with me.”
You gave him a sad smile, feeling your body's strength give out.
“I love you, Hassan.”
You didn't hear the scream that ripped itself from Hassan's chest as your eyes fell shut. The hand that had been on his face dropped as you stopped breathing.
So, this is what it felt like to die.
It wasn't what you’d expected. The darkness that surrounded you. You weren’t religious so you hadn’t expected to see any pearly gates or fiery pits, but this was also kind of disappointing. However, you noticed something far away. The small glow of light getting brighter by the second.
Was this heaven?
No, far too bright for heaven.
Kind of blinding really.
What the hell was this thing?
Instinctively your hand went to cover your eyes. It was then that you realized what you were looking at was a lamp. One of the many lamps that littered Crockett’s streets. It shocked you to find that you could sit up. Your hands moving to where your wound had been, fingers searching for the tender spot only to find that it was completely healed. You looked around, a small gasp leaving your lips as you saw the world through your new eyes.
It was beautiful.
Small things you hadn't noticed before, like the way the sound of metal moving as the lamps swung with the wind, were now a lot easier to notice. You got to your feet, stumbling down the road as you observed your surroundings. You felt hungry but had no urge to give in to it. It was strange, having witnessed the despair the others had for blood and not feeling anything but a light twinge in your stomach when you smelled it. You hadn’t taken communion ever in your life. Yet here you were. Transformed like the others. You didn't want to question it. It wouldn't change anything. Instead, you kept walking. Unknowingly going to the one place you should have gone. It was like something was leading you to it. Back to him. Even if you didn't know it yet.
You found yourself in front of the church surrounded by the others as you watched Father Paul come out of the building, clutching Sarah's body in his arms. You looked at Mildred, giving her a sad look as you watched the three of them walk away.
“Stop!”
You turned searching for who had screamed even though you’d recognize her voice anywhere. She had been behind you mere seconds ago but now she stood further away, a gun in her hands. She was pointing it at… Hassan.
Your eyes widened as you saw him fall forward, the bullet hitting him in the leg. You screamed out, your legs moving you to where he was kneeling. You crouched near him, hands going to his back as you tried to see the damage.
The moment he’d heard your voice he swore he was dead. You were dead, he'd watched you die. So, the only possible explanation was that he was dead as well.
He didn't expect death to hurt this much.
His hand was at his knee. He could feel the blood gushing from the wound. Hassan tore his eyes from the ground, looking at where you were. He saw the way your eyes glowed, your hand going to his face as you called out his name.
“You're alright. I'm right here.”
You were real.
He could feel the warmth that radiated off your skin as you held him. He understood what had occurred and although he didn't understand how it happened, he was grateful for more time with you.
“You disgusting viper! You would burn us in our homes? I knew the day you set foot on this island, of course you would, of course you would. Terrorist.”
You moved to get up at Bev’s words. Prepared to tackle to the ground and rip her throat out with your teeth just because you could. Hassan stopped you, placing a hand on your thigh before he spoke.
“I just can't have you have that building. That’s all. I’m pretty sure it’s the last one left.”
You watched Bev look at Hassan bloody hand. You could smell it too, but you wouldn’t give into it. Hassan seemed to notice as well. A taunting look flashing over his features.
“Hungry, huh?”
“Dirty Blood.”
Hassan scoffed. You wished he’d let you lunge at her. You’d kill her. Not that she’d actually die but it would still feel good.
“Surprised you didn't wait till we were all inside, so you could really have your fun. Surprised you made your move when it was empty, coward.”
“It’s not though, is it? Empty I mean.”
The moment he’d said it you heard the sound.
A heartbeat.
Only it wasn't Hassan's, it was coming from behind you. It was coming from the center.
Erin.
You smiled. Turning just in time to see her come out of the building, soaking it with the remainder of gasoline. You’d grinned at her, observing as she flicked open the lighter, her hand almost dropping it before the angel got her. She squealed as it lunged at her, grabbing her and pinning her to the ground.
“No!”
You could hear the angel drinking her blood through her screams. Your body leaned against Hassan’s, accepting your defeat as you heard another one of your friends be taken. You saw a flash of movement, making you look at where Ali now stood. In his hand was the lighter. He looked at you and his dad, fear clear on his face. Bev put her hand out, motioning for him to give the object to her. Ali looked at you and then at Bev. You released his dad's shoulders, moving to open your arms to him.
“Do it, Ali.”
“No, listen to me. Put that down.”
Ali glanced at you once more before lighting the match and throwing it in the building. It caught fire behind you as you smiled at Ali, hands still open wide towards him.
“There's this verse in the Bible that kind of stuck with me. ‘He makes the sun rise on the evil and the good’.”
You smiled at Hassan’s words, your eyes still on his son. The grin on your face dropped when you heard a shot fire followed by Hassan’s groan. Ali raced for the two of you as you turned around, grabbing onto his father’s frame as he fell forward.
“Come on Hassan get up.”
“Dad! Get up dad.”
“It’s alright Ali. Help me with him.”
The boy did as you asked, raising his father to his feet at your request. The three of you walked away, Hassan’s arms draped on yours and his son’s shoulders. You looked at Bev, grinning at her as you passed.
You’d won.
Despite the end you were about to meet you’d already won. Just from seeing the look on her face as she watched the world burn around her.
The sand was soft against your skin as you kneeled down. Ali was standing on the other side, his father between you two. Your hand was wrapped around Hassan’s midsection, helping to keep him up. You watched the sunrise as they prayed, enjoying the sound of their voices as they said the words.
You didn't need to understand the meaning, you were just glad to be with them in the end. You looked at them as they prayed, beaming at the sight. Your eyes caught on to a frame farther away, recognizing the blood-stained clothes of Beverly Keene. You looked at her. She meets your gaze with a look of sadness on her features. She broke away from your stare, turning back to look at the ocean instead.
Hassan leaned down, continuing to pray. Only this time instead of getting back up he fell to the side. You laid down next to him, pulling his shoulder so he was face to face with you. His eyes were closing, the blood loss finally having got to him. You placed a hand on his cheek, grinning at him for the last time.
“I love you.”
It was quiet and strained against his lips due to his exhaustion, but you still heard him. You snuggled into him, one of your arms going above his body to grab onto Ali’s. He looked down at you, grabbing your hand with one of his as he placed the other on his father’s body. You looked at him, giving his hand a small squeeze as you smiled. He returned your smile with his own sad one. You closed your eyes, placing your forehead on Hassan’s.
“I love you too.”
You felt the sun on your skin, embracing its warmth as it surrounded you.
And then you stopped feeling anything all together.
Silence invaded the little Island that you called home as the sickness that had found its way into the town disappeared along with all of you.
#sheriff hassan x reader#sheriff hassan#midnight mass fanfiction#midnight mass fic#midnight mass x reader#midnight mass#midnight mass angst#rahul kohli#rahul kohli x reader
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you're my achilles heel
rahul kohli x gn!reader
word count: 3.2k
warnings: none
a/n: this is shamelessly self indulgent. I wanted an rpf so I wrote one myself bc this man occupies my every thought. this is actually so ridiculously sappy, sue me. I hope you enjoy, minors DNI and please do not send this to Rahul or anyone who knows him, thanks! shout out to tswift for the title and a lyrical reference near the end of the fic.
It should have been a regular Tuesday Skype session with your friends. It was, at first, until Jon began his story about how he accidentally paid for the time of a “platonic escort” while he was visiting Korea. You’d been listening, mostly, but also stealing glances at Rahul, appreciating his laugh and his smile and the dumb little winks and faces he was making at you while your friends spoke.
Despite your best efforts, you fell hard. It could have been his face, an objectively, stupidly handsome one. It could have been the accent; the way his mouth formed around words made you shiver sometimes. It could have been your shared interests, your mutual love of video games, movies, Star Wars, football and a number of other things. It could have been his passion, his kindness, his deep capacity to love his friends and family. In reality, though, it was a mix of all of that.
After indulging, staring at him and contemplating this, you forced yourself to tune back in to the conversation. It seemed that Jon was telling your group of friends—Rahul, Jacob, Alanah and yourself—about his unfortunate trip to a whiskey bar in Korea where he'd thought he was paying for an expensive bottle of whiskey and eventually realized that he has paid for a bottle and time and conversation with a "platonic escort". You laugh along, but you were still a little lost in thought. When Rahul began to speak, your ears perked up.
"I've been this close..." he holds his thumb and forefinger a couple of inches apart. "Go on," Jon prompted.
"...to just wanting an escort to scratch my back".
Blood rushes to your ears. There were about 72 thoughts and feelings swirling through your brain. You didn't want to miss whatever he said next so when Rahul's voice continued, you quickly returned to Earth. "'Cause I love having my back scratched".
There's no excuse for what you blurt out next. But Jesus, all you could think about is some random, beautiful woman in Rahul's bed, nails running gently up and down his bare back while he sighed in contentment, eyes closed and a relieved smile on his face. It made you sick to your stomach. What you say is, brilliantly, somehow both a question and a statement. "I'll do it?" Four matching pairs of wide eyes stare at you as you manage to render the group speechless.
What followed was perhaps the longest bout of silence your group has ever experienced together.
Eventually, "we'll just...move on from that," Alanah offers brightly, bless her.
Jacob, Jon and Rahul were vehemently shaking their heads, however. You should've known none of the boys would let this go.
"No no no no no, we definitely need to unpack this," Jacob loudly protests, a delighted grin on his face.
Your face is violently red in the monitor and even if you couldn't see yourself, you'd be able to feel the heat. You're making eye contact with anyone but Rahul.
The thing is that this shouldn't be such a big deal. Your friend says he likes having his back scratched and you offered to do it. You know it is, though, because your crush is this big, ugly, looming thing in the friend group, something Jacob, Jon and Alanah have tried and tried to get you to act on or even acknowledge, but you've refused. This is the first time beyond friendly hugs and drunk group cuddles and stupid play wrestling that you've indicated that you're interested in physical contact with him. This is a development.
Lost in your own head again, it clears when you hear Rahul say, low, and gentle, "hey".
It's meant to call you to his attention and it works because it's him. You look up, and you don't know what you were expecting but it wasn't that soft, gentle expression he only pulls out when you're sad or upset or it's just the two of you. You lock eyes with him and, god, your stomach lurches because those warm brown eyes make you feel like you're home. Like you're safe and nothing in the world could bring you harm.
"Can we just forget I said this," you plead, fake nonchalance in your voice and you don't know why you're performing because these are your best friends and they know you inside and out.
"We'll talk later," Rahul replies, agreeing to drop it for now. You almost wish he'd just decided to hash it out right here in front of everyone, but as much as he likes to pretend he's this gruff, cocky guy, he's not that kind of person.
You nod in agreement and the rest of the group reluctantly returns to the conversation. You all talk for another 20 minutes or so, but it's mostly wrapping up and goodbyes because you've effectively ruined the momentum. After the call ends, you lean back in your chair, close your eyes and groan. What the fuck have you done?
__________
So you have the next hour to panic, stare at yourself in the mirror and contemplate what you've done, yell at yourself, take a nervous pee, think you may be sick from anxiety and embarrassment and pace.
What you expected after Rahul texted you "give me an hour" was that he'd call you back over Skype for your horrendously awkward conversation. What you didn't expect as you paced your living room, stressed and anxious and wearing a t-shirt and sweats and Yoshi slippers, was a knock at the door.
Your blood ran cold. This was a joke, right? The universe was delivering you a sick joke. It felt a little like a horror movie, walking to your door, knowing who was behind it. Okay, so that was a little dramatic. Still, you were so afraid that you'd ruined your friendship and just wished that you had kept your thoughts to yourself.
When you opened the door, he stood, all 6 feet and 4 inches of him, silver-streak mustache, objectively beautiful in a tight black DOOM t-shirt, gray adidas sweats and the most irritatingly lovely fucking smile on his face. Your chest actually ached with how much you loved him in that moment.
"Cute slippers," he remarks, one corner of his mouth turning up. You laugh, breaking a little of the tension and step aside so he can come in and remove his shoes. At the end of the day, he's your best friend, the person you trust most in the world, the person who playfully bullies you as much as he takes care of you when you're sad or lonely. Maybe nothing has to change. You can only hope.
You lead him to the couch and he flops down, socked feet up on the couch and your heart warms at how comfortable he is in your home, among your things. You sit at the opposite end and tuck your legs underneath you. There was never a time you wanted to have this conversation, but now that it was happening, you were going to face it head on. You steel yourself for outright rejection as he opened his mouth to speak.
"I'm just wondering how this would work. Would you stay at mine? Would you wanna...leave after? Can I take my shirt off while you're doing it? What-" he rubs his hand over his face before meeting your wide eyes once again, "what are the rules?"
You thought you'd reached your quota for shock for the day, but you should've known that if anyone was going to throw you through a loop, it'd be Rahul. Impulsive, shameless Rahul.
You realize you're gaping at him and snap your mouth closed before pursing your lips, lest you let something ridiculous slip out for the second time today.
"You...want me to scratch your back?" you finally ask. You figure that confirmation is the safest, most neutral option for the time being.
Rahul huffs and shrugs his shoulders even as he's saying, "well yeah. You offered, and it really has been in the back of my mind lately. It's hard to fall asleep without it, is the rub, and I just...really need to sleep. 'S this weird?"
Weird. He was asking you if this was weird after you'd offered to scratch his back, unprompted in front of all your mutual friends. You huff out a little laugh.
“No, not weird,” you assure him. “I guess…whatever you want? I can stay or go. I don’t mind uh-if you have your shirt off if it’s better for you like that?” What the fuck were you even saying.
“Be a bit weird if you left while I was asleep, I s’pose,” he grinned a little, nudging your slippered foot with his socked one. “I just…where does this leave us? I’m imagining it in the moment and it’s pretty fuckin’ intimate, innit”.
You nodded vehemently in agreement. “We don’t need to talk about feelings or whatever. Let’s just do what feels right, yeah?”
“Feelings,” Rahul makes a play-disgusted noise and sticks his tongue out and you giggle, relaxing into the couch. This is your best friend in the world and even if you can’t have him the way that you want him, at least you get to keep your best friend. That’s all that matters.
You gaze at each other for a moment and it feels important and heavy, like you’re talking about your feelings anyway, even though there are no words being said. You get the urge to crawl across the couch and lay on him, you know how warm and strong and safe he feels and you could really use that right now. He’s looking at you strangely, like he’d like to do the same thing.
“Empire Strikes Back?” he finally suggests, and you both shake off the heavy energy between you.
“Fuck yeah,” you reply, jumping up to go rummage for snacks in the kitchen while he grabs the remote. You can do this. You can.
——————
It’s a few weeks before it finally happens. Rahul has to leave L.A. unexpectedly to do Midnight Mass reshoots (you’ll miss the scruffy look when he finally gets his hair and beard trimmed after) and so he’s in Vancouver, too far away for your liking but so it goes being friends with an actor.
There’s a nasty little voice in the back of your mind sometimes that tells you he’ll move to Canada full time eventually and meet someone and fall and love and, well, you’re spiraling again. Get it together, you tell yourself.
You’re busy with work when you get the text that makes your heart flip with excitement and butterflies take flight in your tummy.
I’ll be home tonight. come round? You can stay over
There had been so many casual conversations s between the two of you since this had first been discussed that a part of you kind of thought it may never end up happening. Now that it was, you didn’t know how to feel. One emotion that was clear and ever present, however, was anxiety. Despite that, you had missed Rahul, quite a lot, so you jumped at the chance to see him.
Give me a time and I’ll be there, Kohli. It’s been too quiet without your big mouth around 😌
He replied moments later with a selfie with brows furrowed and his middle finger up and you cackled with delight. You couldn’t wait to see him.
------
You've already packed your overnight bag and are ready to leap into your car and make the crawling trek through L.A. traffic to get to Rahul's when you get his text that he made it home. There's always an overwhelming feeling of relief when you know he's safe and sound in his house and only a short drive away. You like knowing he's nearby.
When you show up at his house, he's freshly showered and looks like he can't even begin to try to contain the smile of excitement he has from seeing you and that's good, because you've got the same stupid grin on your face. He opens his arms and you drop your bag and half run, half jump into them. He smells delicious and familiar and you indulge for a second by burying your face in his neck. He chuckles as you nuzzle him and gives you a tight squeeze and a kiss on your hair before you put him down.
"I didn't miss you or nothin'," he states, faux bravado all over his face and you giggle.
"I didn't miss you either, obviously." He lets you in past him and grabs your overnight bag, following you inside.
There's too much to catch up on to even mention the back scratching even though it is technically the reason you're there. He's got set stories to tell, you've got silly gossip to fill him in on and you simply can't talk about video games enough. You've both devoured enough Chinese takeout to feed an army and listened patiently with as much interest as you can muster about Gundams (you think he's taking a bit of advantage of the situation actually, because usually when he tries to talk about Gundams, you shut him down and tell him that Jacob is his Gundam friend but now he's got you emotionally trapped in his home and all he wants to talk about is fucking Gundams) while he listened with the same polite interest about the teen dramas you watch when you realize it's getting late.
"Might go take a shower if you want to get settled in," you tell him, yawning.
"Yeah, go, you know where everything is. I'll clear this out," gesturing vaguely to the remnants of your dinner, "smoke, and then I'll be up".
As you grab your overnight bag and head up to his master bathroom, the nerves settle into the pit of your stomach like lead marbles. You've stayed over at Rahul's a million times, but you always slept in the guest room or on the couch if you were too drunk to climb the stairs. Knowing you were about to spend the night in his bed was something new. Exciting and mildly terrifying, but new.
You take your time in the shower under the hot spray, electing not to wash your hair, but you do wash your body with Rahul’s body wash. You always bring your own stuff but using his body wash and smelling him on yourself feels intimate and appropriate for the evening ahead. When you step out of the shower and your eyes adjust to the steam, you spot one of his T-shirts on the bathroom counter that definitely hadn’t been there when you got in. Rahul had picked out a t-shirt of his own that he wanted you to wear to sleep in. Jesus.
It was funny how things like wearing his clothes and sleeping over, things you’ve done a million times before, suddenly feel intimate and important this evening. You pull his tshirt on, reveling in how the soft, worn fabric feels against your skin and pull on a pair of cotton shorts to wear underneath. Normally you slept in underwear, but you weren’t going to make any assumptions about Rahul’s comfort level. The truth was that you were so desperate to make tonight good, or at least not a total disaster. You’d do anything to make sure everything went okay.
After doing your skin care routine and brushing your teeth, you take a deep breath before stepping out of the attached bath and into Rahul’s bedroom. He’s in bed, watching a video on his phone when he looks up and you swear you see his whole face soften at the sight of you. You’re not sure though, because he’s wearing pajama pants and no shirt, just roughly a mile of brown torso with the perfect amount of dark body hair and a hand resting on his belly. You’ve suddenly never been more ready for anything than you are right now to get your hands on him.
“C’mon then,” he encourages, finally breaking the silence and patting the bed next to him. You move toward him slowly and when you reach the bed, you climb in and unceremoniously flop down next to him on your belly.
“Christ,” he exclaims, laughing and turning his body toward you. You just look at each other for a moment, reveling in the quiet. You’re not usually this close to him, is the thing. Sure you spend a lot of time in fairly close proximity, but your face is currently inches from his and you’re realizing how big his body is. Your mouth dries up.
“Let’s turn the lights off," he says finally, getting up to hit the switch, “and we’ll just talk for a bit, yeah?”
“Cool,” you reply, though you’re feeling anything but and then the room goes dark. Not pitch black, there’s still light from the moon streaming in through the window and you watch him move back to the bed, climb in beside you.
The conversation begins to flow—you’re best friends after all—and you talk about work, your mutual friends, his flight home, the movie you watched last night. It’s almost absently that your hand reaches out to rest on the warm, bare skin of his back. His breath catches and he stumbles over his words before continuing to tell a story about some asshole he fought with on Twitter last night.
Your fingers begin to glide up and down his back, nails scratching lightly as you go. He’s laying on his stomach, head on the pillow, turned toward you and his eyes have gone half lidded and god, it’s just like you imagined. He’s got a sweet, relaxed, comfortable little smile on his face and he keeps making these little hums of contentment that you know he’d swear under oath never happened.
All the while, you keep scratching his back, slow and gentle, letting your heart warm and pretend, in this moment, that he’s yours. He gets a rather strange look on his face, opens his mouth to speak, pauses, then says, “you’re my best friend”.
Your eyes unexpectedly well up at the tender moment and it would be funny to see from an outside perspective because you and Rahul are not the sappy type. “You’re my best friend,” you reply in kind and stop your ministrations on his back just long enough to card your fingers through his thick, soft hair, making him close his eyes and push into your hand.
“Can you just,” you began, anxiety tightening your stomach,” can you just hold me,” you finish, barely above a whisper. It seems against the rules to ask something like this at full volume.
"Fuck, of course," he mumbles in response, sitting up to pull you into his embrace and, god, you never knew two people could fit so well together. You arms are around him too, so you can still scratch his back and your chin tucks perfectly over the warm skin of his bare shoulder. You turn your face into the crook of his neck, smelling the clean scent of his body wash—less concentrated than it is on you since his shower was hours ago—tobacco, a subtle but warm, comforting combination that is distinctly Rahul.
You've never felt this safe and content in your life, and if you never are again, you'll be okay with that too. Rahul is drifting off to sleep, clearly just as cozy as you, which gives you the feeling you get when you know he's home safe from a trip but multiplied by one million.
Minutes later after you've begun to drift off as well, after savoring the moment, you jump a little when you hear his voice. It's just one word, but that one word is enough to give you hope that this really is something more than what it seems on the surface. It's quiet, his voice drowsy and dreamy, but clear:
"Mine."
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Parent/Teacher Night
Sheriff Hassan x Fem!Reader (Midnight Mass)
Summary: The reader is a teacher at the school on Crockett Island, engaged in a “flirtationship of the ages” with the local Sheriff, that finally comes to a steamy culmination.
Word count: 2,243
Warnings: MATURE READERS ONLY 18+ - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Public sex, creampie, P in V sex, oral sex (f receiving), swearing, a small dose of Bev Keane.
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“Well, that's a welcome sight."
You take the banner down off the wall, smiling as you fold it into its original packaging; parent/teacher night was as expected, with the obvious meeting of parents and the explanation of your planned curriculum and first impressions of your students. You had seen Hassan briefly, a bright spot amongst the rather dull group of parents, but only briefly as you carried on your rehearsed speech and fielded questions that were, frankly, small-minded to a concerning degree. When they left to meet with the other handful of teachers the school has, your classroom was quiet, allowing you to decompress from the pressure.
The voice, deep and soothing, comes from behind you, and you turn to see Hassan, leaning against the door frame as his eyes rise to meet yours. His strong arms are folded over his sturdy chest and you can't help but let your mind wander, imagining once more what being held against that sturdy chest would feel like.
"Evening, Sheriff," you say before your tongue sweeps over your lips; Hassan's gaze falls once more for a brief second.
"I hope I'm not intruding," he says, pulling himself off the doorframe and stepping toward you, a relaxed swagger coming over him. "I know the night is over but..."
You study him from toe to tip, hoping against hope you'll get to feel some of that swagger as soon as possible.
"Parent/teacher night might be over, but I am more than happy to help with any questions you might have."
"I was hoping you'd make an exception," he says, his smile more of a smirk than anything you'd ever seen of him.
There's about three feet between you now, every cell in your body screaming for the gap to be closed. You and Hassan have been dancing around each other for months now, a flirtationship of the ages, but not once had either of you made a move to progress it. The tension was achingly palpable, pressing on you from every side and waiting for you to finally pop.
"Well, what else can I do for the man who keeps Crockett safe if not make an exception?"
"That's true," he says, his smirk growing cockier.
"Oh, please," you laugh. "Don't be so humble."
"I could try," he replies, "but what fun would that be?"
As if out of instinct, you step forward, gazing into Hassan's face for a moment before you say, "So what is it you need, Sheriff?"
"That's the question, isn't it?" he replies, matching your step forward; his voice is quiet, husky to say the least as a certain haze sets in. His brown eyes shift over every feature of your face, seemingly drinking you in as you feel his fingers lace with yours.
The slightest tremble excitedly quakes your body in response, and your fingers close around his. You tug him forward until your chests press together, feeling his warmth seep through your blouse to your skin.
"Hassan," you murmur with every intention to make another quip, but before you can, Hassan exhales, curling his hand around the base of your head and tilting it up.
His lips barely part as he lowers his face to yours, capturing the gasp that dances from your mouth. They're soft, warm, gentle in their first touch, and immediately intoxicating; it's like a dam has broken, the curl of anticipation from your belly exploding into exhilaration in your veins, coursing through to push you forward against Hassan, throwing your arms around his waist to pull him closer. You'd crawl into his skin if given the chance, but you'll settle for just being as close as possible, touching in as many places as possible.
Both of his hands now cradle your head as his lips part yours, his tongue slipping past, curious to explore your mouth. He hungers for you, craves you in ways he's never shown before. His body pushes forward, pressing your backside against your desk as the most obvious sign of his desire brushes against you.
You moan into his mouth, your core tingling with arousal. The very thought of his cock slipping into you is enough to soak your panties, made more potent by the feeling of his hands drifting down your neck and onto your chest. He paws at your breasts for a moment before they slide down your ribs and over your waist, not stopping until each hand is full of your rear. Hassan scoops you up, settling you on the edge of your desk without once breaking the kiss.
His fingers bunch up your long, modest skirt, hiking it up over your legs as you spread them to make room for him. The kiss grows more desperate and his fingertips press into your thighs, surely bruising them. They grope higher and higher up your legs until his thumbs rest near to your heat; you're certain if he just slips his thumb up half an inch, he will feel the tell-tale wetness he's causing.
In turn, your hands wander, feeling his soft and strong body through his uniform's button-up before you reach down and cup his bulge.
"Ah," he sighs against your lips, his forehead pressing against yours as you begin to stroke him outside his jeans. "Y/N, that feels so good."
"It'll feel even better once I take it out," you giggle.
This prompts Hassan to pull back, his expression messy with lust.
"Here?" he asks, his concern pushing through for just a moment.
"I'm up for it if you are," you reply, your hand already at work on his belt buckle.
"Fuck, I'm up for it," he says before he claims your mouth again.
Your fingers pull his belt open, then make quick work on his button and fly. Maneuvering the hole of his boxers, your hand dips inside, pulling his erection free of its cage. Hassan gasps as your fingers wrap around it, just barely able to close before gently stroking.
"Fuuuuuck," he groans, his grip on your thighs tightening.
With a twist of your wrist, he's eating out of the palm of your hand, needier than you ever imagined he could be. He ruts into your hand, seemingly unable to quench the instinct. The kiss is growing sloppy, his concentration falling into his cock as a bead of precum shines on the tip. You swipe the pad of your thumb over it, pulling back from Hassan's face and licking the digit clean.
"Fuck," he moans, but he doesn't let you continue.
Instead, he gently grabs your wrists, setting your hands on the edge of the desk before stealing another quick kiss. He then drops to his knees in front of you, eyes fixed on yours as he leans forward. His fingertip glides along the hem of your panties, tugging them aside to reveal your heat before he licks a stripe right between your lips. He teases your clit, flicking his tongue against it before he sucks it in between his lips.
"Oh, god," you murmur, glancing at the open door to your classroom and wondering if any other teachers might still be here.
Hell, if Bev Keane walked in on this... she'd shit her holier-than-thou pants.
Hassan, on the other hand, doesn't seem to even spare that a passing thought as he dives into you, his hands pressing your thighs apart the more involved his mouth becomes. He laps at you, tasting every drop of dew that drips from you with relish as your body begins to twitch. Your hips press forward, begging him to never stop, don't stop, don't ever, ever stop...
"God, Hassan," you gasp as he presses two fingers into you.
Thrusting his fingers in, he curls the tips up to catch your g-spot each time they pull back, sending a small dose of ecstasy every time. He carries on, his tongue dancing over your clit, his fingers pulling quick and heavy breaths from you.
Your fingers dig into the desk as you try to keep steady, your ass lifting from its seat the longer Hassan goes. It's only when you think you can't take it anymore that you explode, your orgasm bursting from your core.
"Fuck!" you gasp, gripping the desk. "Fuck, Hassan."
His tongue slows, licking its last few laps before he pulls away, pressing kiss after kiss along your thigh until he reaches your knee.
"You," he says, putting his fingers into his mouth and licking them clean, "taste so good. I could do that all day."
"I'm gonna hold you to that some day," you giggle, grasping the front of his shirt to pull him in for a kiss. Your other hand, though, reaches down to guide his cock into you.
"Fuck me," he moans when he's fully seated, entirely buried in your warmth.
He's thick, taking up a little too much room, but you don't mind. On the contrary, you positively ache as his cock stretches you out, putting pressure on every sensitive part of your cunt except...
Hassan presses his thumb to your clit, making you sigh when he circles the bundle of nerves softly, gently, as you acclimate to his size. His lips brush yours just as softly, coaxing your mouth open for a kiss before he pulls his hips back, thrusting forward. He starts slowly, a gentle to and fro. Soon, though, as your kisses become hungrier, so does he; he employs more power, each thrust pushing you back on the desk before you lean back, watching Hassan as he pumps inside you. His gaze drops down to the joining of your bodies, too, biting his lip as he ruts into you hard enough that the desk screeches back a couple inches.
"Fuck, you're gorgeous," he mutters, taking hold of your hips with his free hand. "I've wanted this... for so long... wanted you..."
His thumb presses just a little harder on your clit, drowning your reply in a low moan. The drag of his cock along your g-spot sends sparks from your core that dance with the tendrils of pleasure reaching from your clit, and you break once more, your walls pulsing around Hassan's cock. You grit your teeth to keep from shouting aloud as you come.
"Look at you," he murmurs, his hips grinding against yours. "So fucking pretty when you come."
You smile, sitting up to grasp his ass, to pull him as close to you as possible. He leans forward, too, his lips devouring yours in another kiss.
"Fuck, I'm gonna come," he growls against your mouth. "Where..."
"Come inside me, Hassan," you nearly beg, your fingers running through his hair as you pull him in.
He leans forward again, enough to where he plants his hands on the desktop to steady himself as he rails into you, your body absorbing every blow from every quick thrust he has. He grunts with the effort, slamming down until he comes; he groans, his pelvis pressed to yours as he empties himself inside you. With a few more gentle thrusts, he spends himself, ending with his face buried in your neck.
His beard tickles against your skin as he presses soft kisses on your neck. You relish the feeling, the post-coital glow that surrounds you as you hold him against your body.
However long after, he pulls away, his formerly hazy brown eyes now filled with a beautiful clarity.
"I know this is a little out of order," he says gently, "but will you let me take you out to dinner one night this week? There's this place on the mainland I'd really like to treat you to."
"On one condition," you say, pressing kisses to his neck.
"God, anything," he replies on a sigh.
"When we fuck after that," you say, looking into his eyes, "I at least get to see you naked."
"Only if I get to see you naked," he laughs, some of his cockiness making a return.
"Deal," you say, sealing it with a kiss. "We should really put ourselves back together before anyone catches us."
You feel Hassan pull out of you, his softening cock shining with your release; he pulls some tissues from a box on your desk, cleaning himself off before putting himself away.
"Can I walk you home, Miss Y/L/N?" he asks as you dismount off the desk.
You lick your lips, feeling his seed drip out of you as you situate your skirt.
"Let me tidy up first," you say, tugging him down by his shirt again, pressing your lips to his.
"Ahem."
The new voice comes from the doorway, and the two of you turn to see Bev Keane standing there, judgement all over her face.
"I'm sure necking like a couple of teenagers in an empty classroom is just fine to you, but there are some who are put off by public displays of affection like that."
You look at Hassan, having released his shirt already, and take a step back, holding your hands up.
"Apologies, Bev," you say. "It won't happen again."
"I should hope not," she replies. "We've got to close up for the night. Perhaps you and the sheriff would find yourselves more comfortable in the privacy of your own homes."
"Yes, ma'am," Hassan says, looking at you with a surreptitious wink.
Without further ado, he helps you tidy up, and the two of you follow Bev out of the school for the night, taking your dirty little secret home with you.
#sheriff hassan#sheriff hassan x reader#sheriff hassan smut#sheriff hassan x reader smut#midnight mass#midnight mass smut#rahul kohli#rahul kohli smut#sheriff hassan fanfiction#midnight mass fanfiction#reader insert
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An Indecent Affair: The First Encounter
Sheriff Hassan x reader
Summary: On a rainy night after a town meeting at the school, the island's sheriff and English teacher act on mutual feelings.
Author's note: Look at me, back with a terrible title.
Warning: SMUT/NSFW, unprotected sex, a smidge of dom/sub dynamics, itty bitty bit of breeding kink.
Hassan chose Crockett because it's quiet; a sleepy little island four hours off the coast of the mainland, where the most serious crime was disorderly conduct by the town drunk. After his lengthy stint at NYPD came to a messy end and his wife's passing, it seemed like the perfect place to start afresh. He could reconnect with Ali and hopefully not face the same discrimination that he had in New York.
Of course, it only took a few months for Hassan to determine that he was wrong about both of those things. Ali is still upset about his life being uprooted and the people of Crockett have been less than welcoming.
Well, most of them.
He's managed to make one friend – sort of. Hassan doesn't actually know if Y/n would call herself his friend, but she's the closest thing he has to one.
She's also his son's English teacher, which is probably why she tries to make small talk when they bump into each other around town or waves at him when she passes him while he's making his morning rounds and she's jogging.
Jogging in a pair of tiny shorts and a tank top that usually seems a little too tight on her breasts, from her arsenal of skimpy workout clothes. Those moments usually make him extra grateful for the lessons of undercover work; being able to hide her effect on him with stoicism has been more of a blessing than he'd ever imagined it could be.
Because he sees the most exciting part of that boring little island when he's doing foot patrol at seven am.
If only Y/n knew what goes on in his head when he gets to his office with the image of her like that fresh in his mind. The light sheen of exertion making her skin shine, those tiny shorts hugging her ass while the top of breasts remain visible. She'd probably slap him in the face and call him a pervert – sometimes, Hassan wants to do it to himself.
But most times, he wants to bend her over his desk and –
“God,” he hears her huff as she stops to stand beside him just as after they've stepped out of the school, “It looks like it's gonna rain.”
Turning to look at her, Hassan furrows his brows. He heard what she said, but it takes another handful of seconds for him to process her words. Because of course his mind had been run amuck with lewd thoughts when it was her turn to speak at the meeting. She'd been saying something about wanting to encourage the children to read more by starting a book club, but she was saying it while dressed in tight, light wash jeans and a green, knitted sweater that doesn't make any effort to hide her curves.
“Oh,” he glances up at the grayish, milky sky, “yeah.” He wants to say more, but nothing else comes out.
“Figures tonight's the night I decided to walk.” And then, as if on cue, a drizzle starts up, “Great, great,” Y/n hastily adds.
“I can give you a ride,” Hassan hastily offers, the words leaving his mouth before he can fully think them through.
Caught off guard by his offer, Y/n stutters, “Uh…you don't have you – I wouldn't want to put you out –”
“You wouldn't be,” he threads his fingers through his beard and adds, “just…..doin’ my duty.”
Y/n huffs a quiet chuckle, just as the drizzle grows a little heavier. Thankfully, they're both still standing on the school’s front steps, where the roof extends far enough for them to stay covered. “The sheriff doubles as a taxi service?”
Cocking his lips into a half smirk, “protect and serve.”
Licking her lips, Y/n shakes her head. “Protect me from a head cold?” She giggles and his heart leaps a little. Though it isn't really the sound that rouses that effect, even if she does have quite a melodic laugh, its more knowing that she's laughing because of him.
“Pretty serious crime in my book,” he determines softly. She turns just in time for their eyes to meet; Y/n's laughter settles with a gentle hum and her smile softens. There's a glimmer in them that he doesn't think he's ever noticed before and it takes the sudden sound of thunder, like a whip cracking before a microphone, to snap them out of their little moment.
Shaking his head a little, Hassan swallows thickly and lifts his denim jacket over his head, leaving some room for Y/n to duck under it as well. “Shall we?”
“Yeah.” He thinks that's what she says, but it doesn't matter anyway because her stepping under the cover of his coat is enough of a response. That's probably the closest they've ever been, and it takes that proximity for him to realize that she's at least a foot shorter than him – which does nothing but fuel his dirty thoughts.
It would be so easy for him to back her up against a wall. Box her in, lift her off the floor and –
“It's locked.”
“What?” Despite his jacket over their heads, they're drenched by the time they get to his car.
“The door,” she grins, pulling on the handle for emphasis, “still locked.”
“Oh, shit. Yeah,” Hassan scoffs, using his free hand to rummage through the pockets of his jeans until he finds his keys. It doesn't take long for him to help her in and then get into his car after that. “Kinda defeats the purpose of offering you a ride, huh?” He jokes, tugging the door shut after clambering into the driver's side.
Y/n doesn't offer anything above a breathy laugh as Hassan gets the car started, and when he looks her way that time, Y/n hastily shifts her gaze to the road straight ahead.
She doesn't trust herself to keep looking at him, god knows she almost let impulse overrule better sense when they were standing outside of the school and then again when they'd just reached his car.
He's the sheriff. She teaches his son Shakespeare. It's wildly inappropriate and they are decent, professional people.
Which, arguably, makes the thought of it that much hotter. The tall, hunky, jaded sheriff and the young English teacher – the raunchy story writes itself.
And that's why she turns away when Hassan fixes his dark eyes on her while starting the car. Because she'll give in that time, and they're still in the school parking lot. Because the last thing she needs is the mayor, principal, a slew of parents and some of the other teachers witnessing her lunging for the sheriff.
Besides, she won't be able to bear the embarrassment of rejection. And she'd like to not have to walk through a storm.
The drive to her house, which is just one block over from Hassan and his son's, is racked with silence and a tension that Y/n figures is concentrated to her side of the car; every time she looks over at him, Hassan seems as cool and unaffected as ever. Wet hair matted to his brow, flannel shirt clinging to his broad frame and one hand firmly gripping the wheel while his other arm is casually draped along the edge of his door.
How dare he make something as mundane as driving look like foreplay?
“All good?” Hassan quips when he catches her eyes lingering.
“What?” She swallows thickly, feeling her cheeks heat up, “yeah. Totally. Good.”
“Good,” Hassan hums, returning his gaze to the road ahead as he turns onto her street. It's coming down in buckets by then, and Y/n is actually a little taken aback by how quickly the weather has deteriorated. It's been a little overcast all day, but that's hardly unusual for October and they haven't had rain in almost a month.
Y/n keeps her eyes trained outside the passenger window for the rest of the drive, which doesn't even last for very long after his last turn. When he stops at the curb in front of her house, a simple affair with exposed brick, a Dutch gable roof arched windows, Y/n doesn't get out immediately.
“Thanks for the ride,” she finally turns to him again.
Hassan nods stiffly, fingers absently tapping the bottom of the steering wheel, “no problem.”
“I owe you….like a coffee, or something,” Y/n offers, impulsively adding, “unless you'd rather I returned the favor right now.”
Immediately, she wants to kick herself for saying it, or even better yet have the ground open up below her.
“What?” Hassan rasps, head snapping up as he shifts in his seat.
“I….” Unable to gauge his reaction under his stoicism, Y/n tries to do some damage control. “I don't know why I said that,” she shakes her head hastily, “sometimes I just say….”
“Things you don't mean?”
“Really stupid things,” she huffs.
Hassan emits a slow hum. “What exactly does that mean?” He knits his brows, as if he's thinking really hard on the matter, “return the favor.”
Dragging her lower lip through her teeth, Y/n shrugs. She's already opened the can, best just let the worms out – or whatever would be a proper reconstruction of that phrase. “Whatever you want it to mean.”
He reaches over the consoul, the warmth of his large palm permeating the wet fabric of her jeans. “I've got some ideas,” his hand glides upwards, only stopping when his fingers are close enough to brush the area right under the zipper of her jeans.
“This is very inappropriate, Sheriff,” Y/n looks down at his hand on her thigh before panning her gaze back up to meet his.
“Then you could just say no,” he suggests.
Y/n means it; it is incredibly inappropriate. She'd never slept with a parent, but then again, a parent has never looked as good as Hassan el Shabazz.
“Oh fuck it.” Hastily unbuckling her seatbelt, Y/n leans over and grabs his face. As she presses her lips to Hassan’s in a heady kiss, he grips her hips and practically drags her into his lap.
“Shit,” he mumbles when her back hits the horn, “We can't –”
“What?” She breathes, words tumbling into his mouth.
“Well,” his words are barely making it out as their lips work hungrily, and when Y/n grinds against his crotch, Hassan groans loudly and squeezes her waist. “Not in here. I can…. barely…..fucking move.”
Snorting a chuckle, Y/n finally pulls away. Her chest is racked with heavy breaths and she's still gripping a fistful of dark blue flannel on one hand. “Fair. Wanna come in?”
“Do you even have to ask?” He shoots back, kissing Y/n hard one more time before she clumsily stubbles out. She leaves the door open for him and jogs up the short, paved path to the front steps.
Under the protection of the porch, and with the aid of the light she'd left on before leaving home, Y/n rummages through her small purse, finding them right as Hassan starts taking long strides towards her. She gets the door open just as he reaches her. Not waiting for them to get inside, Hassan snatches her hips again and crushes his mouth to hers.
Y/n stumbles backwards into the house, blindly discarding her purse as Hassan kicks the door shut. When he shoves her against the closest wall, she elicits a quiet oof that he eagerly muffles.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” He probs, trapping her between his firm body and the cool wall.
Smiling through slower kisses, Y/n's lithe fingers travel down his front to grab his crotch, the size of the bulge there making moisture pool in her center. “I think I've got a pretty good idea.”
“Yeah?” The word is a hoarse whisper as Y/n undoes the button and zipper of his jeans, “that's not even half of it, babygirl.”
Dipping her hand into his boxers, she gasps as she closes her hand in around his impressive girth. “What else?” She croons, using her thumb to spread around a bead of precum.
Lowering his head to lay his lips on her neck, Hassan alternates between pressing feverish kisses to her soft skin and nibbling on the area around her pulse. Simultaneously, his rough hands dip under the hem of her sweater, first flattening to rove the dip of her waist before journeying upwards to knead her breasts through her bra.
“Better if I show you,” he declares after tugging his teeth away from her neck. Making short work of pulling the sweater over her head, Hassan reaches for the button on her jeans, handling it so roughly that it pops right off, the soft sound of it hitting the floor drowned out by their heavy breathing.
“You're wearing a skirt the next time we see each other,” he warns while peeling off her pants and underwear. When they reach her ankles, Y/n can't seem to kick them off fast enough, her shoes getting lost in the hurry.
Hassan's jeans and boxers don't make it past his knees before he's grabbing the back of her thighs and hoisting her up. Y/n’s legs immediately hook to his hips and he barely lets a second go to waste before sliding into her.
“God!”
“Fuck!”
Their unison exclamations are accompanied by his vice grip on her hip tightening enough to leave bruises and her nails sinking into his shoulder blades. He fills her so completely that it burns and Y/n swears she can feel him in the lower part of her stomach.
But she wants more.
“Move. Please,” she whines desperately.
Eager to comply, Hassan stirs a steady pace of rough, controlled thrusts. With each roll of his hips, he removes himself almost completely before driving back into her. Every time their hips connect, Y/n swears he's hit something no one else has ever touched and she can't help the pitched yelp that breaks her lips, combating the sound pouring rain and rolling thunder.
Gripping the back of his neck, she cups his cheek with her other hand, urging his face closer. His tongue swirls around hers and she completely relinquishes any remaining semblance of control.
Reaching between them, Hassan presses his thumb to the bundle of nerves between her thighs, rubbing it in vigorous circles and effectively adding to the growing pressure in her stomach.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Hassan encourages when her legs start stiffening. “That's it babygirl,” he praises when her hips buck enthusiastically, “I wanna feel…..just like that,” he grunts through clenched teeth when Y/n finally pulses around his length. “Fuck!”
Hassan's release is on the heel of her, generous ribbons of his hot product drenching her walls. There's a stutter in the drilling motion of his hips, but he still manages to ride out their highs with an almost assaulting pace.
And then, when they're done, he slumps forward, his weight pinning her to the wall.
Despite the coolness provided by the storm raging outside, their both sweaty and there's a stifling heat surrounding them. Her legs are as good as jelly, and when Hassan gingerly detaches himself from her, the only thing keeping Y/n upright is his steadying, one handed grip. With his free hand, he reaches between her sore thighs; collecting the bits of silky moisture in curled fingers before slipping them between her folds.
“Shit,” Y/n hisses, leaning her head to his chest, which is somehow still guarded by his wet shirt.
“What?” Hassan prompts.
“I'm not on…..anything,” she admits. In the moment, it was the furthest thing from her mind, and even now, she's more concerned about his reaction than what it might mean for herself.
In fact, there's an odd sense of satisfaction that accompanies the thought of risking it all for the sheriff – knowing that of all the women he could chose from the island, the mainland or wherever the fuck he wants to, she's the one that he fucked brainless, and there won't be any denying it.
But that's something that she doesn't want to think about right now.
“Really?” She can practically hear his smirk and it forces her to loll her head back so she can try to make out his expression in the dimess, only illuminated by the occasional flash of lightning. “Then maybe we should see what happens if we do that again.”
#sheriff Hassan#rahul kohli#sheriff Hassan x reader#midnight mass#sheriff Hassan imagine#Rahul Kohli imagine#fanfiction#fanfic
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Napoleon “Leo” Usher meets a poly partner. I bet his cheating ass will be “huh? Am allowed to? Huh?!” Takes the fun out of cheating. Probably won’t even find other partners.
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9:45pm (Hassan el-Shabbaz x f!reader, 18+)
Warnings: references to past violence, Social Media saves the day, thigh riding, loss of virginity?, reference to erotophobia, best friends to lovers, unprotected sex.
A year ago, Hassan el-Shabbaz had been shot in the line of duty. Those were his words, but you didn’t believe that cults fell under the jurisdiction of a small town Sheriff. You think of that night as little as possible, and each time you do, you shiver. An evening like this felt impossible back then, and you were here, living it.
The two of you needed this movie night. The movies were mostly awful, but sometimes you just wanted to sit next to him.
He was, and is, your responsibility.
Ever since you hitched a ride in Hassan's airlift back to the mainland, Ali had gotten the impression you were in love with his father.
You were, and you knew if a seventeen year old boy could see it, you hadn't been guarding your feelings as well as you thought.
But that couldn't matter right now. Hassan sets the bowl of popcorn down on the table, on your side of the couch. He'd been scowling for the past few days, his latest medical appointment had been that past Monday. He'd insisted on going alone, and you, his best friend, had said alright.
And of course, the one time you didn't ride the ferry with him, something happened. Technically, it wasn't your business, but he didn't keep secrets from you.
"Did you see Ali this week?" You ask, voice even. With effort, he turns to you.
"Yeah. He's doing good with school so far. Apparently going viral is good with the ladies." You raise an eyebrow, "his words, not mine."
"That's good, that's good. Now how are you?"
He grunts in response, not anticipating you swatting your hand on his arm.
"Somethings up, pal. Talk to me." You order and he gives you the side-eye.
"We can watch the movie at anytime...pal." He replies in a flat tone.
You say nothing
Hassan can't look at your face, because he knows your expression. Your making a pout, but your eyes are wide and soft. You started making this expression when you noticed how quickly he'd cave to you. But now you were worried. The two of you are supposed to be closer than this.
"I don't want to wreck the night."
"Hassan, tell me." You look like you're about to burst into tears, and he knows you well enough to know what your voice sounds like when that happens.
"I got released. This is as good as I'm going to get."
"but you're still doing physical therapy, right?" you question, silently begging him to look at you.
"I am. But I'm weak, and I'm old, and you'll be too polite to say your bored with me."
"That's the dumbest thing you've ever said Sheriff." Did he really think you could leave him after last Easter? You flash on that moment in the church where Hassan was pinned down, and you broke an Instagram live record streaming Father Paul and Beverly Keane poison the parish, and themselves.
"Hassan you got shot. Twice."
"Yeah, I was there. I've found peace with it, but I'm not what I was." What the fuck did that mean?
"You're not supposed to be, that's how guns work. And cults!"
"Okay, yes you're right. But I'm still fucking old. I don't want you to be my nurse!" His tone takes you by surprise. If you were about to cry earlier, you sure were now.
"Then how do you want me?"
Hassan takes your chin in his hand, angling your mouth to his. You gasp sharply, mind barely catching up with your mouth
Hm. Warm. Scratchy.
And as quick as he pulled you in, he pulls away.
"Please don't say anything," he asks, and all you can do is smile- a full, face cracking, sunbeam of a smile.
"Don't do that with your face," grumbles Hassan, trying to keep his so-called "cop-face", but masks were slipping, if not completely gone.
"Why?" You ask.
"I'll have to do this," he pulls you back in again, more fiercely this time, beard scratching your face. You feel winded, but it doesn't matter. You just want to be as close to him as possible.
Hassan feels the same, so when he moves you into his lap, you let him. You'd pictured yourself straddling him before, but the real thing is always better than a dream, you knew that too well.
When you smile, he has to follow suit, it's near impossible not to.
Your mouths slate together with ferocity as pressure in the room releases. Your thoughts, your plans, that had kept you so put together were floating out of your mind with a frightening speed.
It's not until you feel his teeth on your neck that you push him back.
"Hassan, I'm scared. I'm not- I don't do this." Your shaking in his grip, heart pounding in your ears. He moves his hands to your waist, bringing you down. You weren't scared of him, not really. This was just out of your realm of understanding. Only slightly, but still far.
"It doesn't have to be anything past this, we can stop."
"No. No I want more." You declare, Hassan's dark eyes going round looking at you.
"You want more?" He ask, looking you straight in the eye to see your response.
"Yeah." you shake your head for yes, and he grins for the first time in months.
"Let's try this. He says as his fingertips dig into you, helping your pelvis roll against his. Sparks make a home in your bones. The hardness beneath
"Did you like that?" You hold
"S'good." You whine. More, more more.
"Nothing to be afraid of, it's just me, right?"
If your mind had been clear, you would have had him explain every move he made.
"Maybe next time," you think, not questioning that there would be a next time. What you don't realize is that your words were out loud. Hassan was in something of a tailspin thinking about next time.
But he can't let himself go down that rabbit hole. He needs to kiss you until all the thoughts that made your brows furrow disappeared. You
"Hm?"
"Stand up a second," he orders, voice raspy. You obey. Hassan quickly and quietly pulls down your pajama pants, helping you step out of them.
"Use my leg." He says, and you don't quite know what he means, until he pulls you back down into his lap. He makes the same movement as before, only grinding your clit against a muscular thigh. You gasp at the contact, sending electric shocks through your body.
If you had been in a clear frame of mind, you would have worried about the growing wet patch, or that he was uncomfortable with your full weight on top of him, but he rolled you down on him again before you could verbalize your concerns.
"Hassan," It's too good, I don't know what to do. You want to say, years of feelings bubbling up.
"I know, I know." He couldn't know! How could he possibly know how angry and scared he'd had you. How dare he be the hero!
"Good girl, always so good." He praises softly, and your body takes over your mind again.
Rolling, you finish with a sad little whimper, leaning as far into him as you can. He's warm and steady and soft, and you hum in satisfaction,
"Feeling alright, sweetheart?" He asks, moving your hair out of your face.
"More." You set your face into an expression you hoped would come across as stern, but it wasn't. Pulling away from his warmth, your hands take a life of their own. You palm Hassan through his sweatpants, making his breath hitch, before wandering below the waistband and pulling him free.
Is this what people do? Is this how it's always supposed to feel?
It would almost be embarrassing how quickly you lined him up with your heat. If it was anyone else, but it wasn't. It's Hassan.
"Steady, just like that." He coaxes, grabbing your hips and making you slow down. Instinctively, you lean your forehead down against his.
Hassan had many dreams about what it might be like to have you stretched out on his cock like this. For a moment, just a moment, he wishes he'd kept up with drawing do he could capture your sweet little face, trying so hard to be brave, to take all of him that you could.
"Still scary?" He questions as you nuzzle into him.
"No." You hide your face in his shoulder as he rests his palms on your waist.
"Nice and slow." He coaches, but it doesn't last long. There was a shift in you that he didn't
He feels you lose a colorful nail digging into his shoulders, as you meet him halfway, instinct taking over. You're surreal. You're so calm and composed, and here you're grinding into him like an animal, chasing something you couldn't reach by yourself.
Hassan thinks, "Go on, take what you need. Take everything I have and I'll thank you for it."
You flutter around him, and Hassan gapes up at you. Your teeth catch his lower lip as your sheriff makes a strangled sound, trying with everything he had, to keep himself under control.
"Where?" He asks, and it takes you a full second to respond, lost to him and yourself.
"I'm on birth control." Hassan exhales, helping to bounce you a few final times before bringing you as close as he can, feeling you squirm and clench down around him.
The sound that leaves your mouth is a sound you have never made before, but it's not your fault.
The knot in your belly snaps, the levee breaks, the high wire you'd been walking has evaporated beneath your feet, and you were falling.
You take him with you, all the way down. The heat between your legs feels addictive, and correct. Fuck the consequences, the two of you deserved this.
You shiver and shake as he holds you steady. Your pussy still throbbing around him, despite his softening cock. The squelching and gasping the two of you make doesn't feel real.
None of this feels real, but then again, Easter had been a once-in-a-lifetime traumatic event, why couldn't he keep you here, like this.
Hassan had many dreams about what you would look like filled with him. Youre delicate, worn out, just as exhausted. Here you were, a more beautiful picture than he ever would have been able to dream up.
Hassan keeps you wrapped around him on the couch. He wanted to ask what you meant by "I'm scared." If it had something to do with last Easter, he'd have to introduce you to his therapist. If you'd overcome a phobia to have him like this, he'll have to make it up to you tenfold.
Though it's not like that would take any effort. The moment he set foot on this island, you had him. It was just a law of nature.
Your sheriff tells you that he loves you, quietly, pressing the words into your shoulder. The two of you stay still, listening to the bugs hum outside.
#rahul kohli#midnight mass#hassan el shabbaz#hassan x reader#sheriff hassan x reader#smut#deadass took me two months to write sorry bestie#bruh this isn't very capital-N Nasty but I hope it suffices
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Behind locked doors
Requester: @badasseddy
Request: Hello there! I saw you taking requests and I neeeeeeed some more Sheriff Hassan in my life.can you write something with a fem!reader, when she's being harassed regularly (house broken into, stolen items and stuff, weird messages left) and nobody believes her. Hassan doesn't even know about this before overhearing the reader confront someone suspicious. So he tries to help the reader, maybe the sheriff spends a night at the reader's place to look out or something. It can be a little bit smutty, kinda angsty, and I would die to have Hassan in action, cathing the bad guy, saving the day.Thank you very much, I hope this gives you an idea.
An: Hello love sorry this took so long but thank you for the request! I agree there's not enough love for this hunk of a man! Hassan is legit my favorite character and I am in love with Rahul.Anyways I hope you enjoy darlin!
Warning:18+,slightSmut, swearing,stalking, break-ins, death, blood,stabbing.
It was funny really.
How the very second you show signs that your life isn’t perfect...that you’re different...everyone turns their backs on you. Just when you need them most, they look at you like you’re the devil coming to corrupt their ‘pure’ souls.
How fucking hypocritical.
Letting out an irritated sigh I tossed the broken lock into the metal can by my front gate, putting the lid back on I tugged my sweater closer when I felt another chill from the wind. The night was cold and windy as the island prepared for a small storm that would be passing by later tonight.
Normally I enjoyed a night of listening to the rain, sitting on my covered porch with a good book and coffee and just listen to it fall. It was soothing to me…but now I dreaded the thought of being alone at night for longer than a minute or two.
“Well, Howdy neighbor!” I jumped at the sudden intrusion to my thoughts, whipping around to see a dreadfully familiar face.
“G-Good evening, Wilbur.” I greeted back to the towering figure who leaned against the fence that separated us. Something I was grateful for.
Wilbur Murphy was my next-door neighbor, having moved into the old Mulberry’s house a month ago after they moved back to mainland to be closer to their daughter who just gave birth to their first grandchild.
I had been close to the elderly couple, being the last two houses on the street, so it saddened me to see them go. I had hoped to have the same neighborly relationship with the person who moved into their home, expecting them to be just as lovely as the Mulberry’s.
Instead what I got was a man who gave me the chills just by thinking about him, I knew it was wrong of me to start accusing the man of things without hard evidence.
But the signs all pointed to him! Ever since Wilbur moved in next door, I had received creepy letters phrased like a husband writing love notes to his wife, not to mention the few times I had even caught him snooping around my garbage when he thought I wasn’t home.
So when I began to see signs that someone was breaking into my home at night and messing with things why wouldn’t I assume it was him, but the worst part of it all was that no matter who I told everyone looked at me the same way.
Like I was crazy..
“That’s the fifth lock this week and it isn’t even Thursday! Those kids still messing with you?” The ‘friendly’ man inquired with a sickeningly sweet smile, and it took everything in me to hold down the bile that rose in my throat.
A small uncomfortable smile graced my lips as I forced out a laugh, "Ah Yea, you know those kids love their little pranks.” He grinned wider and nodded, "You know I could come keep you company tonight, make sure they don’t mess with you again tonight. It really isn’t good for a young woman like you to be all by herself in a big house like that.”
My stomach twisted at his offer, but before I even got the chance to turn him down, I heard the familiar click of my gate moving. “Evening Mr. Murphy. (Y/n).” Relief flooded my heart as I looked over to see the sheriff leaning against the old metal. His eyes were suspicious as they eyed the Creepy man but when they fell onto me, they turned soft and tender.
It was hard to ignore how much it affected me, leaving a pleasantly tingly feeling throughout my body and I knew there was probably a blush rising on my face.
There were only three people on the entire Island who knew of my crush on the island sheriff, My best friends Sarah and Erin…. And the sheriff's own son, Ali.
How the teen figured it out still puzzled me to this day, He had told me that he knew during one of our weekly piano sessions. The kid was smart, I’d give him that.
“Sheriff, what can I do for you?” Wilbur asked with barely hidden spite in his voice, clearly annoyed by the interruption.
Hassan saw right through it though, keeping a calm and easy facade but I could see the small quirk of amusement on the corner of his lip that drove me wild.
“Just doing my nightly rounds before the storm hits, Miss (L/n) here asked me earlier to help her prep.” He shot me a wink when he saw the confusion on my face, understanding donned on me and I quickly schooled my expression before Wilbur looked back at me.
“Oh, there’s no need to both such a busy man. Don’t worry about it sheriff, I can help (Y/n).” He just wouldn’t take the hint would he.
Hassan was unphazed however, shaking his head and waving the man off. “It's fine Mr. Murphy, she’s my last stop anyways. Plus, what kind of man would I be if I went back on my promises.”
Wilbur was getting frustrated, that much was certain as he realized Hassan would not be deterred no matter how hard he tried.
“I see...I suppose you’re right. Well, if you find yourself needing more capable assistance (Y/n),you know where to find me.” He spit giving Hassan a dirty look before turning and storming off back into his house.
It suddenly was easier to breath as I placed a hand on my chest, Looking over gratefully to my handsome hero I saw him closing the gate and walking over to my side.
“Is he always that...pleasant?” Hassan asked with a quirk of his split brow. Oh, how I’d love to kiss it...
“Sadly…that isn’t even the worst of it. Usually he’s much more persistent.” Concern filled those entrancing dark eyes of his as his brows furrowed together.
“I want an explanation. Now!” I looked down in shame at his scolding gaze.
Taking a deep breath, I braced myself before telling him everything, the broken locks, the missing items, the notes…everything.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me this (Y/n)?! (Y/n) the badge isn’t just for show, and even without it I am still your friend.” His expression was one of hurt, it was hard to look into his eyes...
“You should be able to tell me shit like this! Do you know how much I care about you?! I don’t know what I’d do with myself if something happened to you and I could have prevented it!” My eyes were wide when he finished, his breathing heavy as his worry crashed into my heart in waves. I hadn’t expected him to care so much..
“Hassan...” he took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose, "I’m sorry..It’s just..You were the first one to welcome Ali and me onto Crockett with open arms and not a hint of prejudice, (Y/n) you have been there for me through every bad day. Hell, you even protected my son against Beverly when she was being her usual racist ass self! Yea he told me all about that, which thank you...”
A heavy blush was visible on my face at his praise, I had told Ali not to tell his father because I didn’t want him to possibly get in a fight with the devilish woman and risk getting in trouble.
“P-Please don’t thank me, Ali is a sweet kid and didn’t deserve the shit she spewed out of that unholy mouth of hers.” I gulped looking anywhere but him so I didn’t have to risk becoming more of a flustered mess.
“What I’m getting at is that Ali loves you (Y/n)…and he’s not the only one.” The last part was spoken as a whisper. His deep voice going so soft that I had almost missed it.
Almost.
My heart was soaring, I was on cloud 9, The very man who has plagued my every thought since he moved onto this horrible island just admitted that he loved me.
Say something (Y/n)! Anything!
Floundering like a fish trying to come up with some totally intelligent way to voice my own feelings I watched as misunderstanding flooded those dark eyes of his.
“You don’t have to return my feelings, I’m sorry for just tossing this on you.” He began to rethink everything and close in on himself but right as he went to back away, I collected myself. Quicker than he could react I grabbed the collar of his Jean jacket and pulled him closer.
Crashing our lips together he wasted no time in sliding his arm around my waist and tangling a strong hand in my hair, his mustache tickled my nose from how hard we were pressed together. I could care less, I have waited for this moment for too long to let anything stand in my way now that I knew he felt the same.
We pulled away for air, the taller man leaning his forehead against mine as an awed expression covered his face, his eyes shut in pure bliss. “Better than I thought it would be...” I giggled softly at his mumbled words.
“I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I met you.” His eyes opened and a dopey grin pulled at his lips, "Looks like I have a lot of lost time to make up for then, Huh?” Matching his excitement, I gasped as he lifted me up, my legs wrapping around his waist while holding onto his shoulders.
Our laughter filled the air as he carried me inside…stuck in our own little world we missed the curtains ripping shut next door.
—————
Hassan winced as he shoulder-checked the doorway, but he didn’t dare to drop me as he kicked the door closed and set me down on the kitchen counter.
Standing between my legs he focused solely on my lips that were meshed against his as his hands squeezed my hips making me gasp into his mouth, with my lips parting it gave him the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue in to taste me.
"Fuck, you're intoxicating..." He groaned when he pulled away and moved down to my bare neck, kissing and nibling at my sensitive skin.
"H-Hassan, please...touch me..." His breath hitched in his throat at my whine, feeling his pants tighten as I begged for him to relieve the pressure twisting away in my gut.
"Don't worry baby, When I'm done with you, you're gonna be screaming my name." He said with that devilish smirk that drove me crazy. His hands sunk down to push my skirt up until it pooled on my hips.His mustache tickled as he kissed the tender flesh of my neck,all while I watched his every move with eager anticipation. A shiver rolled up my spine when the cold air hit my clothed privates. "Look at you, already so wet for me...shit baby..."
He pulled away slightly and licked his lips as he lightly grazed his thumb over the growing wet patch on my silk panties, "Don't tease!" I whimpered shifting on the counter in an attempt to press harder on his hand.
Amused by my pitiful effort he pulled his hand away,smirking when I whined at the loss of contact. “As much as I want to fuck you into the counter right now,let me make sure everything is safe first.” The look on my face was simply comical as he stepped away. “You’re a jerk!” I huffed feeling unsatisfied as I fixed my skirt and slipped off the counter.
His chuckle filled my ears as I pushed past him,only to gasp when a strong grasp caught my waist and pulled me into a warm body. His breath tickled my ear as he leaned into me,his hands gripping the meat of my hips to the point where I knew I’d have bruises by morning…good.
“You love it,besides I plan on making sure you can’t walk tomorrow.” A whimper built in my throat by the promise in his words,”But I have a piano lesson with-“ my voice quit on me when I felt his hot tongue on the shell of my ear,making my knees grow weak. Luckily his grip on my was the only thing keeping me stable.
“I think his father will understand,though that just means you’ll have to make it up to me..and I’ve already got plenty of ideas.” His husky tone vibrated in my mind,leaving me with nothing but the thought of him and what he was going to do to me.
“Hassan..” turning my face towards his I stared at his lips as he did the same to mine. Sharing our breath..I didn’t know who made the first move but I was thankful as we hungrily devoured each other,he turned my body and hugged me close as his hands knotted in my hair.
I pulled away enough to kiss along his jaw as I fought with the buttons of his work shirt,”Hah..baby you’re so fucking-“ a sudden thump from the second floor caused us to both freeze.
His grip tightened as he stared at the ceiling,whispering lowly to me when he noticed my hands shaking. “I’m guessing you don’t have a cat?” He clenched his jaw when he saw me shake my head out of the corner of his eye.
“Grab a knife and hide,wait for me to come get you.” Before I could argue he pulled away and began making his way to the hall that led to my stairway.
Reluctant to leave him alone I pulled a knife from the block on the counter and quickly followed him.
He sighed when he saw me,shaking his head he knew it was a long shot to get me to stay behind. “Stay behind me and don’t leave my sight.” He whispered and I nodded in understanding.
He took my hand and kept me close as he quietly trekked up the steep staircase,when we made it to the second floor I tensed when I saw that at the end of the hall the window had been opened and the picture frame on the wall next to it had fallen to the floor.
“Stay here,they might still be in the house.” I nodded and held the knife in both hands in front of me as I watched him slowly approach the window,stopping only to grab an empty vase from a drawer.
He glanced through the window to check for any signs of possible intruders before he turned towards me to say something…only for a loud thump to stop him. His head snapped to the door next to him that I knew led to my guest room, he glanced at me for a second to motion for me to be quiet as he shifted the vase in his grasp before slowly grasping and turning the handle.
I inched closer as he pushed the door open, looking around the dark room before letting out a sigh,”Nothi-“ I screamed when a blur tackled him to the ground,The vase shattered beside his head from the sheer force of his fall.
“Hassan!” I screamed when I realized he had been knocked out before looking towards his attacker with fear.
I should have known…
“Hello neighbor.” Wilbur Murphy leered at me with a terrifying grin.
“This whole time..it was you..” He chuckled darkly,finding the tremble in my voice adorable. He easily lifted himself off of Hassan before slowly approaching me.
“I’m surprised you hadn’t realized sooner darling,all those gifts and love notes. But it’s alright,I’m just glad I don’t have to sneak around and hide my love for you anymore!” Tears filled my eyes as I began backing away,holding the knife higher with trembling hands.
“S-Stay away from me!” His smile fell a bit,”Now darling I know you’re scared,But think of it this way:I know everything about you. You’re deepest darkest secrets all the way to the most intimate parts of you,I know you better than you know yourself!” He laughed holding his arms out as if expecting me to run into them.
I’d rather die.
“You’re a monster…you made me think I was going crazy…everyone thought I was crazy..” he had the audacity to not even look ashamed,in fact he looked proud of himself.
“Amazing isn’t it,all I had to do was flash a smile at those whores and they were ready to believe whatever I told them.” He hummed dropping his hands and giving me a once-over as he grew closer.
“You always were different,never one to fall for my flirty quips and smiles..it’s what attracted me first.That..Independence that I wanted to ruin..to make you reliant on me and only me was my biggest wish.” I froze when I felt the edge of the steps on my heel,I was trapped.
And he knew it.
“Don’t fight me (Y/n)…come with me and I will worship you,as you deserve.” He stopped once the tip of the knife pressed against his chest,not pressing hard enough to slice the skin but enough to show he wasn’t afraid of it.
I flinched when his hand came up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear,”I’ll kill him if you say no.” It made me sick to my stomach,how he could say such a horrible thing with that charming smile.
“I won’t let you hurt him.” His smile turn to a stoic expression,his eyes showing just how deadly he was.
“You don’t have a cho-“ motion behind him caught my attention,tossing the knife behind me I quickly threw myself at the wall and out of the way.
Wilbur yelled out in shock as a strong force body slammed him from behind,causing him to fall face first down the steps.
“Hassan!” I yelled grabbing the back of his shirt and yanking him back before he could fall to,we both tumbled back just as Wilbur reached the bottom with a loud thud.
“Shit…Are you okay?” He shifted onto his side to look me over for any signs of injury.
Shaking my head I let out a haggard breath,”No…All this time and he was right next door..” he frowned and sat up,carefully lifting me into his arms and hugging me close. “It’s over..He can’t hurt you now.” Tears cascaded down my cheeks as I wrapped my arms around his neck and buried my face into his neck,He comfortingly rubbed my back,cooing loving words into my ear as he looked down the staircase.
Wilbur Murphy laid unmoving at the bottom,his limbs twisted in disgusting ways a the kitchen knife was buried deep in his back.
Hassan would make sure no one ever hurt the ones he loved ever again.
#hassan el shabbaz x reader#sheriff hassan x reader#midnight mass x reader#midnight mass#sheriff hassan#rahul kohli
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Text
Room For Two
Pairing: Sheriff Hassan el-Shabbaz x Reader
Summary: Ali gets into trouble and goes to you instead of his dad
Warning/notes: mini angst; some fluff; stressed out dad Hassan; drowning reference; inebriation; two very smart dumb people; yearning; I'm only on episode 4 so maybe this sucks and is OOC, and also no spoilers please
@artemiseamoon @heresathreebee @acrossthesestars
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 989
The boy stands on your porch, shivering and drenched to the skin, looking like a cat that fell in a bathtub. His whole right side is covered in mud, and he’s missing a shoe.
“I can’t go home,” he pleads with you. Ali had been coming back from the Uppards with Ooker and Warren when the sky broke open with rain, and the wind and waves tossed the boat around. And now he’s at your door, too scared to go home and face his dad. You let the boy in and find him a towel, a faded band tee, and a pair of gray sweatpants that used to belong to your husband. For some reason you can’t get rid of them. You get a glass of water and place it on the bedside table.
“I have to call your dad,” you say once Ali is settled in your spare bedroom. He starts to protest but you give him a look that shuts him up immediately. “I need to call him. He needs to know where you are, and that you’re safe.” Your tone tells him there’s no room for arguing, so he doesn’t. Instead he punches the pillow a couple times and hunkers down under the covers. You shut off the light and close the door.
You’re sitting on the porch when Hassan arrives. You’d called him after putting Ali’s clothes in the washer and checking in on the boy one more time.
“Sheriff,” you say, putting on a heavy Southern accent and tipping an imaginary hat. The action usually gets a smile out of him, but not tonight. Hassan is ruffled, mentally and physically. His hair is falling in front of his forehead, and he’s wearing a gray t-shirt, jeans and a jacket thrown on in a hurry. He bounds up your porch steps.
“Where is he?” Hassan asks.
“He’s inside,” you say. Hassan reaches for the door and you reach for Hassan, putting a hand on his arm. “Sleeping,” you add. “Sit down.” You gesture to the small cushioned sofa. He meets you halfway, deciding to lean unhappily against the railing, arms crossed over his chest. The two of you remain there in a heavy silence.
“Are you okay?” you try, not quite sure how else to break the silence.
“My son almost drowned and he thought he couldn’t tell me about it, so no, not really,” he says before smoothing a hand over the lower half of his face and searching the porch for answers. “Why didn’t he just come home?” You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t already been thinking about this question, or some version of it.
“At my parent’s house there was a tree outside my bedroom window. I would use it to sneak out. One night when I was sixteen, I came home completely wasted. But I climbed that tree so much that I didn’t even think about it. I fell and broke my arm. I was more scared of my dad than the pain, but I was also too drunk to really feel it, and I know it’s not the same. Anyway, if I had someone like me then, I would’ve gone to them too. All I could think was my dad was gonna be pissed--it didn’t cross my mind that he might be scared. Talk to him tomorrow, hug him. It’ll work out.” You see the tension slowly leaving Hassan’s shoulders and he rubs the back of his neck. You curl your fingers in your blanket, unable to stop yourself from imagining his face cradled in your hands, relaxing as you stretch up on tiptoe to kiss his forehead.
“What did your dad do?” Hassan asks eventually.
“He asked me if I was okay, took me to the hospital. When it was all over he laughed at me and grounded me for a month.” You smile at the memory, and the two of you are silent again. It’s late, and you’re tired. You know he is too, the adrenaline having seeped out, taking its effects with it.
“You can stay here if you want,” you offer. “There’s room.” Hassan shakes his head, pushing away from the railing.
“I need to walk,” he says and you watch as he lopes down the steps and stalks off into the night.
Hassan does come back. The cold hits hard halfway through his walk, and he’s huddled deep into his jacket, fists in his pockets pulling it tight around his chest. And he’s exhausted, so much more than he realized. Your porch is empty when he returns, but you have a bad habit of leaving the dutch door to your kitchen unlocked. He lets himself in, kicking off his boots, making sure to lock the door behind him. The house is quiet and he treads softly back to your bedroom. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do when he gets there, and his heart is beating insistently, a beat he hasn’t felt in what seems like a very long time. Your door is closed and it’s dark at the gap between the door and the carpet. Hassan lifts his hand. He wants to knock, but he doesn’t, just rests his hand on the door.
You’re not sleeping. A tree branch is knocking at your window and you’re staring at the ceiling, thinking things that you reserve for the dark privacy of your bedroom. Hands pulling warmth back into your body, a beard brushing against your skin, deep growls buried in the curve of your neck. You can’t turn your brain off and eventually you give up and leave the room. When you turn the lights on in the kitchen you see him. Hassan is stretched out on your couch, fast asleep, arm tucked under his head. You smile softly and pull a blanket off the back of a chair, covering him with it. You want to do more: place a kiss on his forehead or stroke his cheek, but you don’t. You shut the lights off and go back to your room.
#sheriff hassan x reader#hassan el shabbaz x reader#midnight mass#midnight mass fic#hassan el shabbaz#rahul kohli
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