#settled on a way to sort through all those emotions and sensations. i feel like usually a stim Would go there but right now. nothin | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

transmorphobots · 10 months

Text

RECOLLECTION

A piece about the enigmatic Coldfront featuring of course the lovely @classychassiss Venus (who also came up with the pin-locking knee joint that is utterly gruesome but I love) and a mention of @messengerofmechs Castor.

Depictions of PTSD and child harm ahead.

Waking facing the ceiling makes defense protocols activate. Instincts surging to the surface. Where was it? What was taken this time? Memory diagnostics ran fast, trying to get as far as they could get before someone took notice of the sound. System diagnostics found something first- it was plugged into a computer. Wires had been hooked into its sensor hubs. Before it could be stopped, revulsion surged through all of its processes and on its heels came fear. Overwhelming, unstoppable fear. Diagnostics quit the processes as defense protocols take priority. It can't maneuver its arms well enough to remove the wires itself, it'll have to use distance and its body weight.

Peeling off the back of the table-

[Error! Surroundings need to be confirmed]

-and jerking the legs out of the bindings-

[Error! Surroundings need to be confirmed]

-The machine starts to scream in protest. It pulls an arm forward. Wires snap, some fall away and some stay plugged in after their severance. The blade flattens against the guard as it jams the edged point somewhere into the center of its mass to silence it-

[Error! Surroundings need to be confirmed]

-Coldfront pulls with all its might to be unplugged while revulsion floods every emotional processor and input. It would rather be destroyed than to be here again, to be put through the erasure and the modifications again. Its bindings are pulled out or broken, the supportive tension being lost, almost sending it to the floor had its knees not defensively locked to keep it upright.

The pins bite into the joint. The sensation traveling through the twisted wires all the way to the support struts in its back which triggered a feeling like all of the heating coils in its body went off at once. It didn't scream. It couldn't because it already moved, that noise was enough, and Supercell would be back at the commotion and it needed some sort of element of surprise. It forces the joints to unlock so it can maneuver.

It turns its whole body to face the door -

It faces a wall instead.

[Error! Surroundings need to be confirmed]

- and it finally listens to that annoying message when it sees that the door is different, the lab is different... and Venus is sleeping at the computer. Defense protocols drop back immediately as it confirms where it actually is and runs its memory diagnostic again. Fragmentation in earlier files was to be expected but these last few weeks featured no break up or corruption. Supercell had not caught onto it yet... or... tentatively it could consider...

It couldn't consider anything yet, not until he was gone.

Fear was stubborn to let go of its hold on its systems and so comfortable there. A niche made for it, growing inside, thriving on a feast of its archived emotions. Supercell let Coldfront have fear. He was the only one who knew it could be afraid and he was the only one who could make it move despite it. Bravery and courage kept preserved and if that did not work then the lack of control of its movements would. One single directive above all - Keep moving forward. However, the conflicting and broken code, the memory core itself as mutilated as the rest of it, meant those fail safes eventually eroded. They broke down and the rest of the pieces fell out. A wave of disgust rolls through it like a roaming blackout before it settles back in the fog of its processes.

It would thank Supercell for the shielding around its spark to keep it hidden if only because that meant its emotional responses were harder to read. The people helping it didn't have to see that every time it woke up in the lab its anxiety would spike. That while it held itself so still and docile under every investigative touch and poke of their tools it was only that sheer will that kept it from trembling.

When was the last time a touch laid on its frame had been anything but pain? Countless touches, seemingly all of them had been with pain. Its memory lost track of what it was like without. Instead of keeping records of suffering it threw the data out because if it had kept a record, its processor would have no space for anything else.

But it was collecting new data. It may only have moments it can count on its hands that were of genuine mercy and relief but that was just the start and it had been so welcome. Sidesplit and Venus had been so kind to it without any reason to. Calling out was not even a plea for mercy but rather one desperate attempt in a thousand failed attempts to deny Supercell a victory.

It had just wanted to deny him what he wanted and a mission so far away from the usual territory was perfect for staging a crash. It had left a witness, left some perfect bait to see what it was taking. Nebulean coins, some philosophy and historical books, and a Matrix. Something so carefully crafted to pass knowledge from one to the other and he would have it placed on a shelf, far away from anyone using it. He would maybe even wipe its memory core with something more suiting to his tastes. A Matrix of Supercell. A tremor of disgust rolls through it again, stronger this time, for it knew that its handiwork would be imprinted on crystalline circuits to preserve it for eons. He would gloat about its construction, it knew this and depised it.

All of it would be on there. It, the heirs, and the.............

It couldn't let him..............

let him............... ?

The thoughts veer away from it before they can even be realized. With Sidesplit cutting some of the restrictions in its emotional processors out it could at least feel anger without fear of being forced into shut down. It surged forward and made its frame tense with a famailiar but corrupted combat protocol.

Supercell treasured knowledge above all else, hoarding it away from the people he destroyed. Whatever was always lingering at the edges of its understanding was denied. The artifacts he hade Coldfront fetch, things from his homeworld that he destroyed... Supercell loved the power of knowing things other people didn't. Nothing would infuriate him more than not having it.

Now it didn't have any of his trophies.

It had bared its wounds to the Dirge crew and they responded with mercy. Peace was a feeling it hardly felt and it wasn't sure if that was Supercell's design or the predicament it was in. With the situation steadily changing, perhaps, becoming more secure... it didn't know what to feel. The moment's ancient anger dropped away like a curtain, or a shield maybe? It could feel that hope was lingering in the recesses of its processor it had been sequestered to. It had bared its wounds and... it stabbed the considerate rig that Sidesplit had made for it. One of the display screens hangs loosely by some cables. Parts of it sparking from the wound it was given. Guilt activates in one of its emotional processors. Creeping through its memory looking for a target to amplify its potency. Lashing out at the speaker to trap her against the very wall it had been facing when it woke- taking her city in its unstoppable march- taking other cities. Other people. Other worlds.

It focused on Venus asleep at the table. With slow, painful steps it goes to her side and it does not wake her. She fell asleep with a pillow of notes. Notes that kept the score of what had been taken from it, notes on how to get it back. It sets a hand on Venus gently just to rest it there, mindful of the weight of its arm.

The speaker had... breached something when she had dug through all of the shielding and touched the reserve of anger. Within its own archives there was something desperately trying to understand and make a connection to the action with knowledge. It was a mangled collection of data but its systems kept trying to access it with no success. What did she remind itself of so much that it was driving itself mad?

[Error!]

The files won't get uncorrupted by constantly recalling them but it's loop continues.

[Error!]

One failure after the other but the desire to know was powerful. What had she touched? If she had come back to the lab perhaps it could have asked her. It had no intention of doing so, how could it? The first time it had seen her it had tried to to stop. Put as much dead weight in its legs as it could to give her time to get out of the way but she didn't. Her people fought and they paid like other worlds had.

[Error!]

Terror on her face because that is all it was now. There was a time people smiled [Error!] when they saw it. [Error!] There was a time it was different. Maybe. It felt like a dream to want something that wasn't tied to him. That place [Error!] Person? Home? Whatever it was. It didn't know what the Tower was. Something important but out of reach. The data scrubbed over and over again to leave nothing but still, persistently, it remembered that it was different.

Did she remind it of that time? Were they similar? Was the Tower its home in the same way as her?

Was she even still there?

[Error!]

Its own sequence of crashes mesh into a memory of Volt-tier's own cries of the word. Younger, smaller, still in a rudimentary form because- [Error!] He was not yet the Count and in this memory he was vulnerable and dear. His arm torn open from the heat of lightning. Leaving a trail of energon where he's stumbling as he goes from one drone to the next looking for someone to answer his cries for help. They have no programming to respond to that and neither does it. Still, compelled by something it doesn't understand, it gently cradles his face with its elongated hand and looks over his destroyed one with the other. Parts of its processor try to connect it to something, it's something familiar.

The stroking of Volt-tier's cheek with its fingers to calm him.....

was........

was.............. ?

[Error!]

Fragments of corrupted imagery keep being recalled. They were hard to parse, most of them were a mess of visual snow and black holes burned through the center of them. Only small hints of people in the images. A finger in the mess of color. Snippets of a location.

Its hand strokes Venus' back. An idle motion while it tried to sort through the chaos. Its hands were getting stronger but some movement was still hard just because the hands were not meant to function like hands. The joints would catch often and some would be too loose. Both of them, could it shakily call them friends at this point, tried to fix it so it could have a little autonomy and it was touched by that. There was so much more to be doing- Getting Pollux back for one but also its other systems. It didn't want to be turned against them after all they had done. Still, they chose sometimes work that was grueling and not for their own interests, but for the comfort of Coldfront.

Much more pleasant than the pins locking its knees but still the motion of realization is similar. Up from the source to something deeper. The repeated motion, the gratitude- its familiar. A touch on a body that no longer conforms to the original shape. A sensation of a great weight being lifted though leaving exhaustion in the new space. A type of relief. A satisfaction maybe? A tired, tired satisfaction. The motion repeated in the same way as it does now, wisps of relief not its own at the edges of what it is/was and something else.

Are you still there? Is a thought that cannot be shaken. Who? It doesn't know.

The images cannot get any clearer but as they retreat back into its disorganized archive, briefly, they make more sense. A touch to the cheek, a hand on its own when it had a shape more like a hand, a smile from a friend. Who are they? It doesn't know.

Venus stirs under its touch finally. It noted that the struggle should have woken her sooner but she was constantly working. Her systems were tired. Familiarly tired. Why? It keeps its hand there and as she wakes to the disaster she missed, it says words that aren't its own but they're familiar. Someone said them to it once.

"Thank you, for everything. I’m sorry for putting you through this. Help me, please."

#tablecont #woman module #coldfront #tfocs #tf oc #coldfront my beloved coldfront #storm nebula empire #i might add illustrations to this at some point but for now... one of the only coldfront things i can post #transmorphobots prose

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fraener · 1 year

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3/10/23

the days have been getting incrementally longer. im having some kind of allergic reaction to something in my house, i think. i texted ian today. i dont think hell respond, but i dont think i really mind too much. i can feel flashes of that spring still imprinted in the light and the movement of my heart and the sound of robins and goldfinches. i cut my hair a little strange, but ive been feeling stranger. im finding where my heart settles with h slowly. theres so much in me questioning and probing and posing different things- are there really so many different kinds of love? is it really ok to feel this way and stay in the relationship? i feel exhausted and lonely again. such is the way of winter. but it feels good to not be hurt by my companion, it feels good to be seen and loved tenderly and to be respected. ive been hurt by feeling overlooked and underestimated and misunderstood lately, too. the redcurrant is blooming, the smell like lemon balm and raspberries thick in the air. i wonder about my heart, though. its been a long time since i laughed for real. its been a long time since i felt much of anything other anger or sorrow. i feel myself trying to come back to the garden of my life, to tend and pull the weeds and sow new seeds. the sunlight is yellow and warm. the birds are singing in the mornings, the clouds are rolling through in rhythm thick and dark and charming with occasional thunderclaps and rain. i feel very lonely. el is back in town but ive only seen her once, briefly. she was blushing and i was too. it was sort of awkward and tense in the room. im pacing circles in my heart around ian, though. im really so in love with that snapshot of sensation i had that spring two years ago. the heat, the dark green and thick air of my apartment, the blinding sun the afternoon we met. the purr of his car in the dark, the way he carried me to bed, drinking cold infused lemon balm and rose and mint tea, the feeling of his hair in my fingers, the lilt and reed of his voice, nasally. part of my heart frozen in those moments. wish my heart would come back to me. my heart and i know he isnt it- isnt all, but he acts as the stepping stone back to there. in the same way simon is my sweet stepping stone and i his, we step on each other all the time. i spoke with him on the phone the other day and like always no time had passed. i love him and hate him. we pretend not to string each other on but i can hear it every time we talk, the way we fit together exists in a bigger pattern than just the physical or this place in time. i think the thing im missing is beauty. the city is so beautiful. everything ian gave me, even the emotional welts, was so beautiful. i think i want someone to make me crazy again because the states of dysregulation are states of release. it makes sense for me. i want to be violently disarmed by the mountains again, i want to be caught off guard and driven to tears by a stormy inlet, i want to my kissed over and over by the wind and rain. i want to feel the mud between my feet and eat the earth on the back of a nettle leaf. i know hes imaginary, my ian. like the dead he has become mythological and monolithic inside of me. wondrous how we can create someone over and over, their fiction becomes as real as anyone else, after departure or death. i think i need to do some digging about why i dont want to see h. i might just be tired and need some time to myself from him. i wonder my heart goes in and out of the romance with him, its strange. i felt terrible about it but ill admit when i was in the room with el he faded away. if he and i split i think i wont want a serious committed relationship for a long while again. i sort of dont want one now but im afraid of what his jealousy will do through him. everything would be easier if he had more people in his life. well get there. el is moving into a beautiful new house with a huge garden. i wonder if its the bottle house, since its in french loop. im very excited to get back in the dirt. and i get to see emma tonight so everything will get a lot better. i think everything with h would be resolved if i was just spending more time alone and time more with other people- i want to feel truly excited to see him. i also wish hed talk more, i like him best when i get him in flashes of conversation. different sort of hard to access from previous loves but not a dissimilar effect on me. im itching to turn the house over for spring.

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lavandermin · 3 years

Text

from sea of flowers, garden of eternity | xiao

pairing | xiao/reader

word count | 2k

genre | pwp, fluff, light angst, brief smut

note | glaze lily spirit reader, you are also in perpetual pain I’m sorry

“Xiao…” he hears your voice meekly call.

The adeptus is already on his feet before you can fully enter the room, his eyes quickly focused on you. He scans your body language diligently, looking for signs of pain or discomfort. It’s become a routine by now.

“Are you…?” His voice trails off when you shake your head apologetically. The slight strain in your smile doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

“I’m alright for now. The pains haven’t started yet. I think I’m set for another few hours, a day if I’m lucky,” you reassure him. “I just— wanted to check on you.”

Xiao gives you a blank look, one you recognize as confusion. “Check… on me…?”

“Just to see how you’re doing,” you clarify with a shy smile. As you make your way to sit on the bed, you gently pat the space next to you.

There’s a slight red upon his cheeks as he chooses to take up your invitation. The bed dips under his weight, and words do not need to be spoken to know both your minds drift briefly to past trysts that took place where you sit.

“I’m heading out to patrol the area in an hour. If you need anything at all, speak my name,” Xiao announces quietly. It’s a brief awkward silence as he rigidly sits next to you—tense almost. You answer him with a simple nod, hands absentmindedly rubbing little circles on your legs to ease the tingles of pain that slowly resurfaced.

Conversation was scarce the past few months you were placed into his watchful guard. The relationship you both harbored was a blurred line you tried not to think about too much for fear of over-complicating it.

And with your entire being, you could say you came to the unfortunate doom of falling in love with him. The emotional distance he kept oftentimes only confused you as much as your own emotions left him puzzled and a little flustered.

He kept you alive. That was the simplicity of the details Xiao was given. Perhaps it was a favor he was doing you, but he diligently carried it out with all the steadfastness of a contract bestowed onto him by the former Lord of Geo.

—

“I’m sure you are aware of the situation near Qingce Village,” Zhongli had brought up upon summoning Xiao several moons after the stirrings of a slumbering god.

Though the situation was previously dire, all was settled—Xiao knew this as a fact, for he was the one that swiftly took care of the aftermath of a dormant god’s power seeping through the earth. So, the battle hadn’t ended then…

“I was careless—“

Zhongli cut him off, carefully setting down his cup in its saucer. “On the contrary, this was in no way able to be foreseen by you. The world has a way of ending and raising new questions, just as easily as it provides answers to those who seek them.”

On the small garden table, Zhongli’s eyes trail to the glaze lily that sits in a small decorative vase. Unlike most, this lone flower is fully bloomed despite the time of day. It glows ever so slightly—weakly almost.

“You are aware that glaze lilies grow in the Qingce area, and there are a few wild outcroppings that shy away from prying eyes,” Zhongli starts.

His gloved finger reaches out to tenderly graze the petals, and at once the flower closes up. The petals take on a dullness, and visibly they start to wilt in small patches.

“The reasons are uncertain, but rumor spread around the village of a wandering ghost that followed the moon aimlessly. A spirit born of glaze lilies appeared after the battle that took place near there. It seems the power seeped deep into cracked earth among the flowerbeds.”

The young adeptus remained quiet, taking in the information. What exactly did this have to do with him, he wondered?

With a hint of apprehension, Xiao asks, “This spirit—has it taken on a malevolent nature?”

Instead of answering straight away, Zhongli wordlessly stands and makes his way back indoors. Xiao obediently follows, curious of the nature of this spirit.

“Nothing of the sort. However, these glaze lilies fell victim to the corruption of your karmic debt and at the same time were nurtured by immense adeptal power. There is a wavering balance that must be kept, for her body is as fragile as a flower’s and cannot withstand the depletion and shifts of adeptal energy.” With graceful steps, Zhongli stops before a door. “No other adeptus has successfully remained compatible with the energy she needs. So far it has only brought excruciating pain for her, and I fear she may die at this rate.”

With a silent nod, Xiao processes this information. His gloved hand is unmoving on the door handle.

“What are the terms of this contract,” Xiao silently asks, amber eyes trained on the door in front of him.

“My time has long passed to give you a new contract, Adeptus Xiao.” Zhongli chuckles fondly at the serious habits of the adeptus before him. “This is a choice I am giving you. It may take centuries for her body to adjust to the adeptal power she now harbors. If she is compatible with you, it is up to you to decide whether you supply her with your adeptal energy, otherwise she may not make it past next week.”

Xiao remains quiet for a brief moment before speaking softly, “Her body is tearing itself apart…”

“Correct.”

There’s something in that fact that stirs feelings Xiao isn’t used to in his chest. He accepts, and the first memory of you that adorns his mind is one that clenches his heart in a way he rarely experiences. The pain that twists and contorts your face as you desperately heave, body seemingly tearing itself apart in a way the naked eye cannot see.

You’re a beautiful tragedy born of moonlight and sweet soil. And in that moment when your eyes meet his, a single tear rolls down your cheek. He cannot fathom the thought of letting your life end as quickly as it began.

The door behind him clicks shut, and he takes your fragile life into his hands.

—

The lights of the house are dim—a subtle golden glow against a comforting darkness in the blanket of night. A meadow of glaze lilies surrounds the little cottage in a sea of fragrance. A prominent mark of your abode.

The little house defended by mountains is secluded, one which Zhongli sent to be made for you while your body stabilizes.

And though the exterior is tranquil, within its walls come soft pants and gasps. Xiao’s brows are knit together in concentration as he ruts against you.

“Please—Ah…nnh a–again,” you beg against your trembling body’s protests.

And he wordlessly complies, folding your legs until your knees are practically at the sides of your head. His hips pick up the pace and his thrusts become desperate, bodies covered in a sheen of sweat. The moans you let out are loud—obscene as he fills you up until you’re overflowing. The pains have long subsided, and you choose to let him overcompensate in giving you the energy that will get you by another few days.

In the serene calm of night, the tranquility is drowned out by the squelching sounds of your bodies meeting each other through desperate thrusts as both of you are sent over the edge. His name falls from your lips in a melody Xiao has grown addicted to. For the nth time that night you come undone beneath him, your essence stabilized.

There’s a swelling warmth in your chest that blooms like spring meadows as Xiao buries his face in the crook of your neck. The tips of his ears are a bright scarlet and though he tries to control it, he is still left a breathless mess as he rides out his orgasm.

“Is it…enough?” Xiao asks between pants, his cock still buried deep within you.

He’s still twitching within you and your entire body shudders with delight at the feeling.

“You… haah—can keep… going if you want,” you offer weakly. There’s a dazed look in your half-lidded eyes that makes Xiao’s chest squeeze. “‘M full but you’re still…”

Hard.

You glance down to where you two are still joined together, the view of his come leaking out of you shamelessly sending heat between your legs again. The tips of Xiao’s ears turn bright red though he tries to remain composed.

“I’ll be fine. You should get some rest to preserve the energy longer.”

He pulls out and ignores the way your eyes look away dejectedly. Before he can stand to go, your hand gently tugs him back down. Xiao allows himself to be pulled against you, his head resting in the valley of your naked chest.

“Stay with me for a bit?”

Xiao doesn’t answer right away, and your heart leaps when he lets out a little sigh and agrees.

“Alright.”

The minutes tick by in tranquil silence. Both tired bodies ignore the sticky feeling of sweat and sex. It’s a feeling you’re both quite used to by now.

“Xiao?” you start quietly after a while. He hums in response, your fingers running through his dark hair soothingly. “Can I kiss you?”

The question is soft, self-conscious almost with the fear of rejection. But you were beyond a breaking point. The feelings were welling up in your chest like a high tide as you felt him tense up at your question.

Sex was common—quite often as a means of easily transferring adeptal energy to you. And because it was a painful process to take in, you found that this method dulled the pain through the twisted pleasures and mixed sensations.

But that’s all it was— a means to keep you alive. You could never say there was a time Xiao kissed you and he always showed restraint in touching your body more than necessary. His bodily needs were never foremost on his mind and he would never tell you how his hands ached to roam your body, how this arrangement became an illusion of a different reality he couldn’t have. And so he locked away his emotions for his own sake.

Xiao lifted his face from your chest, his golden eyes wide with momentary confusion—perhaps even shock. And your face… those wonderful sparkling eyes that glistened with glossy tears on the brink of rolling down your face. He wished he wasn’t the reason you were crying.

In an instant he propped himself up on his forearms, feeling you lightly tremble beneath him from holding back the urge to cry. A quiet hiccup left you as you were overwhelmed by bottled up feelings all at once, his thumb gently brushing your tears away.

“Why?” was all he asked.

Though it was a genuine question, his actions remained tender and calmed the anxiety that gripped your naive heart.

“Because I love you—because I think I love you.”

Quietly you hiccuped beneath him and Xiao gently rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed.

“Then love me if it makes you happy,” he responds softly. The tears that twinkle down your face like falling stars are gently kissed away by his soft lips. “I’m with you until the day I die, and if loving me makes living less painful for you then use me as an anchor to reality.”

Your soft crying is hushed as Xiao presses a tender kiss to your lips. It’s short and just enough to bloom your heart with newfound emotions you had yet to experience. Perhaps you reminded the adeptus of himself in a simpler time—naive, innocent. For that, he took pity on you, and also fell deeply in love with you though he would not know it for a long time.

Simply put, he wouldn’t allow himself to know it.

The flowers that surround the small house glow and dance in the night breeze. They bloom with your newfound knowledge—heartache.

#adeptus xiao #xiao/reader #xiao x reader #zhongli #xiao just trying his best #genshin xiao #genshin fanfic #genshin impact #genshin #light smut #smut #pwp #fluff #drabble collection: coffee break for two #drabble #soft #the concept of this is hor knee I’m so sorry

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lxngbottom · 3 years

Note

Can we get a part 2 to pretty flower? my soul depends on it

Pretty Flower | N.L. (Part 2)

in which neville finds himself being absolutely attached to the reader after their time together.

warnings: nsfw, light clit play, mentions of sex, but nev being adorable

my soul depends on this too don’t worry

—

ever since that night with neville, everything seemed to be blurring together and changing for you. it had only been a couple of weeks, and you made no attempt to even speak to him. you were so embarrassed at what happened, and even more ashamed at the fact that you enjoyed it. after neville pleaded with you to stay, you just walked out on him, giving him no rhyme or reason.

after everything, neville felt so guilty. did he over step? oh god... what if you didn’t really want that to happen? what if he was too invasive? he wasn’t too sure, but it made him burn with sadness every time he saw you, hiding your face from him in the halls.

you definitely weren’t angry with him, you just were too shy. you felt like you had committed some sort of unforgivable act.

when you told ginny, she almost flipped the whole table over in the great hall. she wasn’t shocked at the fact that it had happened, as she assumed that neville had always fancied you, but all at the same time... you had actually agreed to it. you were no longer “innocent”. and that on its own was what got to ginny. maybe the ginger was just... baffled?

“down there?” hermione asked, skimming the row of seats in the quidditch pitch. you nodded you head as people filled in the rows.

you were at a quidditch game, more than ready to support ginny in her first real match of the year. hermione and luna had escorted you, as you were terrified to get in trouble for not sitting in your house placement. when you admitted that fact, hermione just giggled and said, “and they say i’m afraid to break the rules...”

as you three settled into the stands, you saw a familiar figure walking in your direction. your body tensed, and you quickly turned your head hoping that he wouldn’t notice you.

but of course, he did notice you. he always noticed you.

“you guys saving these seats for anyone else?” neville asked politely. hermione shook her head, and he adjusted his scarf as he glanced over at you, just simply waiting for you to look back. but unfortunately, you couldn’t.

you were too ashamed.

—

the quidditch match had gone great. gryffindor had taken a victory, and for some god awful reason, you had agreed to let hermione to sneak you into the gryffindor common room to celebrate.

unusual things had happened as people cheered ron on, including lavendar brown practically forcing her tongue down the ginger’s throat. this elicited a terrible reaction from hermione, and you watched as she exited the common room with teary eyes, harry following behind her. you wanted to go check on her, but honestly, you knew that harry could probably make her feel better than you could. after all, you weren’t great with handling people’s emotions.

for merlin’s sake, you couldn’t even figure out your own emotions.

here you were now, awkwardly standing in the front as students cheered lavendar and ron on for snogging. luckily, they exited soon, probably trying to find some privacy you assumed.

you knew how that went.

you gulped as the whole time you could feel neville’s lingering presence beside you, and you could hear the sound of his voice every time seamus spoke a word to him beside you.

“want me to make you feel good with my fingers?”

“wanna taste yourself, doll? you taste so good...”

“i can’t wait to ruin you, bunny...”

the statements came back in flashbacks every single time you heard his voice. it made your hands shake, and your thighs press together.

“y/n?”

the voice snapped you back to reality, and you looked over to see seamus with furrowed eyebrows looking over at you,

“are you alright?”

you nodded your head awkwardly, feeling neville’s chest slightly pressing up against your back from how packed it was in the common room at the moment.

“yes... um—sorry... what did you say?”

oh god. this was so embarrassing.

“i asked if you placed your bet on weasley, today... if you didn’t, you’re probably regretting that now, huh?” he teased, shooting a playful grin your way. you laughed awkwardly, as you could still feel neville right behind you.

then, you heard dean and ginny called seamus’s name, and he shot them a questioning look.

“oi! leave y/n alone, finnigan!” ginny demanded, walking over towards you, “dean needs a word with you, seamus...”

he rolled his eyes and walked over to his best friend, and patted your shoulder as she returned to the boys.

you were now alone again, and people started to spread out in the common room, chatter of triumph still occurring. but, that feeling behind you still hadn’t faded.

“meet me in my dorm...” you heard in your ear, and you jumped slightly from the voice. he sounded so... angelic. “bunny...”

your thighs clenched from the nickname, and the fact that you could feel neville’s breath against your neck. but you didn’t dare to look back, even when his finger grazed the back of your thigh slightly. and suddenly, he was gone.

for a moment, you panicked thinking about what you should do. you still felt utterly embarrassed due to what happened just a couple weeks prior, but, you couldn’t ignore that familiar fluttery sensation in your stomach as you thought about it.

fuck it.

you waited for a few minutes before walking away, and ginny shot you a wink as you went towards the boy’s dormitory.

“just stay calm... it’s fine—it’s just neville...” you kept telling yourself as you walked up the stairs, also hoping that no one was following you.

the trip to the dorm was unfortunately much shorter than you hoped it would be, and you trembled as you knocked on the door. neville opened it automatically, grabbing your arm and pulling you inside. you yelped at this, and he slammed the door behind you. he let go of you, and you awkwardly stood in the middle of the room.

he loomed over your figure as he approached slowly, looking you up and down.

“hi, petal...” he whispered, sending a shock through your spine,

“hi...” you replied shyly, gulping a bit. he couldn’t help but smile hearing your fragile voice again, as he had missed the simple sound of it these past two weeks.

he noticed your nervousness, and let his fingertip graze across your cheek in an attempt to soothe you, “i’ve missed you...” he cooed, “you left with no reason, darling. i’ve been worried. you haven’t spoken to me, either...”

you felt guilty at his words, but even more guilty for the reasoning.

“s-s-sorry...” you stuttered out, already knowing that he was about to ask you why, “e-embarrassed...”

embarrassed? why?

“why are you embarrassed, love?”

you didn’t know if you should exactly tell him, but you knew he deserved some sort of explanation. you could tell that he was pleading for one just by the look in his eyes.

“what—what we did...”

he frowned a bit at your reply,

“why is that embarrassing?”

you shrugged your shoulders, honestly not understanding the shame.

“it—it was bad...” you muttered, but noticed the shift in neville’s facial features, “not—not bad like that... just—i—well... i don’t know...”

he couldn’t help but to let out a small chuckle from you innocence, as it was somehow still in tact.

“well... is there anything i could do to make you feel less embarrassed? cause—there’s no reason to be, petal. you did—amazing.” he paused before he continued, letting his hand trail down your hip, rubbing small circles into it. “there’s nothing to be ashamed of, petal.”

you looked up at him finally, your sparkling, shy eyes burning into his. your cheeks were on fire from his touch, and you knew that he knew that he had an affect on him.

“i-i-i’m sorry... i’ve just been scared to—bring it up, i suppose. d-d-don’t want to—embarrass you in front of your friends...”

neville didn’t even respond, he simply placed a small kiss on your forehead, and he sent you a small smile.

“you could never do that, petal... you’re too sweet.”

his words made you somehow blush even more, and it was getting to the point where you broke out in a sweat from how heated you were.

“but... i couldn’t help but notice that you were clenching those pretty little thighs of yours together in the common room, earlier...” now, his eyes were dark once more, that sweet boy gone within an instant, “what were you thinking about, bunny?” that’s when those same fingers that rested on your hips came trailing down, and were going up your skirt, making your breath hitch.

“y-y-you...” you responded sheepishly, only wanting to be honest with him. he chuckled, and finally, he pressed his finger up against your clothed bundle of nerves.

you gasped as he did so, “bunny... you’re soaked... how long have you been like this?” he asked teasingly, but the tone in his voice came off as if he was just pitying you.

“i-i’ve been thinking about—you... a lot... ever since—you know...” he hummed in response, letting you know that he wanted you to keep speaking, “i—i tried to—t-t-touch myself the other day... but—i don’t know. it felt... weird...”

even after everything, you were still so innocent. it drove neville absolutely mad.

“petal... you should’ve just came to me. you know i’ll take care of you.” he stated with a smirk etched across his face. his fingers kept rubbing small circles into your panties, making your breath turn shaky and uneven. “do you know how much i’ve missed you?”

you whimpered as moved your panties aside, and ran his finger through your slit,

“please...”

“please what, bunny?”

you were tired of the teasing. you had missed him so fucking much, and you just wanted him to make you feel good again. plus, you simply missed just being around him.

“touch me again. please.”

he kissed your lips softly, but still only continued to tease your pussy with his fingers.

“be patient, petal. i want you to be mine before i make you feel good again...” he admitted, stroking your cheek with his free hand. “would you want that?”

you looked up at him, and could see the pure honestly and adoration in his green eyes. you had never had a boyfriend before, but you didn’t even have to give it a second thought before you nodded your head.

he sent you a genuine smile,

“good. now you’re mine and i can make you feel good whenever you want...”

#harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #neville longbottom #neville longbottom imagine #neville longbottom imagines #neville longbottom smut #neville x reader #neville x y/n #neville x you #neville longbottom fluff #neville longbottom x reader #neville longbottom x y/n #neville smut

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jaskierswolf · 2 years

Note

Hello dear! May I ask for some aro Valdo going to Jaskier for sex when he needs it? 💟

One of Those Days

Valskier!

Aro/Demisexual Valskier and very bi Jaskier

CW: Horny and fade to black smut.

Contrary to popular belief, not all bards were hardcore romantics with insatiable libidos. In fact, Valdo Marx was neither of these things. Whilst his best friend and most fearsome rival seemed to be all of them. Valdo had sat with Jaskier through the breakups, running his fingers through Jaskier’s messy brown locks whilst the idiot cried in his laps, drunk off his head and far too emotional. Or even worse, the days after the fight where Jaskier seemed to be just… empty. It was as if all life drained from his friend and he was but a shell, no personality, no spark, like a mage had cursed his soul to the deepest parts of hell.

To someone who had never truly fallen in love or committed himself to anyone in any way… it was incredibly hard to watch, and he simply didn’t understand.

What made slightly more sense was the sex. Jaskier chased after any beautiful person he could, charming anyone and everyone to his bed, with a frequency that seemed quite alarming to Valdo. Not that he would judge, if anything, Valdo appeared to be the odd one out in their peer group. It wasn’t that he hated sex, more like he didn’t particularly need it, finding more comfort in the erotic novels he wrote to help fund his studies.

He certainly could never fall into bed with a stranger. The very thought had his skin crawling, but after getting to know his idiot roommate, the idea wasn’t quite as repulsive. In fact, some days he really did feel the pull, the allure from his best friend. Aesthetically, Valdo knew that Jaskier was attractive, it was just that he wasn’t always attracted to him.

It was, however, one of those days. All morning Valdo had felt restless, easily flustered, arousal settling in the pit of his stomach and not even his morning wank had eased the sensation. When Jaskier sauntered into their shared room after class, all unkept and barely dressed… Valdo knew that night would be one spent together.

He could feel his eyes lingering on Jaskier’s collar bone, the urge to run his fingers through the mat of hair that covered Jaskier’s chest. Heat prickled over his skin and his cock started to harden in his breeches.

Fuck.

He was so engrossed in the way his friend looked, that he didn’t register a word he was saying, until Jaskier’s fingers snapped in front of his face.

“Marx! Are you even listening to me?”

Valdo’s mouth was dry and he didn’t quite trust himself to answer, too distracted by the way Jaskier’s tongue flicked out to lick along his lips.

Urgh. It was incredibly frustrating. Valdo just wasn’t sure how people coped with having to deal with these urges all the fucking time. How in gods hell did people get anything done when they just wanted to jump on the nearest cock until they were so fucked out they couldn’t remember their damned name?

For a brief, barely there moment, Valdo wondered if love was just as staggering, taking over all thoughts until there was nothing else left. But before he could properly consider it, Jaskier’s fingers were on his cheek and he could no longer form any sort of coherent thought that wasn’t just begging his fellow bard to ruin him.

“Are you okay, darling?” Jaskier’s voice was warm like honey, washing over him like a mage’s spell.

“Uh huh,” he replied as eloquently as he could.

And then Jaskier was in his space, the heat of his breath tingling against Valdo’s skin, their lips mere centimetres apart. Valdo shuddered as Jaskier’s fingers brushed down to his neck, leaving a trail of fire in their path.

“Stop me if you don’t want this.” The words were barely a whisper, breathed into his ear like a secret never to be told again.

Instead of replying, Valdo just groaned quietly, cupping Jaskier’s cheek and pulling him into a kiss. Dizzy and unreasonably turned on, they stumbled towards the bed, their lips never quite parting, even as Jaskier began to pull at Valdo’s emerald doublet, Valdo’s hands wandering to grope at his friend’s arse. There was no stopping now, he knew that, and he didn’t want to. The rare moments where he felt that spark of lust were spine-tingling, addictive, like fisstech coursing through his veins. Every touch was fire, every kiss, stealing the air from his lungs.

He hadn’t always been so lucky, but with Jaskier it was simple. They fucked once in a while, and then the next day they were back to their usual routine. He never had to worry about his friend falling in love with him, or the fall out that came with that. It was sex, pure and simple, no strings attached.

As Valdo pushed Jaskier back onto the bed, straddling his friend’s waist as he tore Jaskier’s shirt off over his head. The bastard just laughed, resting his hands on Valdo’s hips, his fingers dancing over the skin under his shirt.

“Impatient,” Jaskier teased, a smug smile on his stupid face.

“Shut up and fuck me already.”

“I need to prep you first, darling.”

Rolling his eyes, Valdo scoffed. “I’m no blushing virgin, Julian. Don’t let my libido fool you. Just hurry up about it, I don’t want to change my mind.”

“You’re mean when you’re horny,” Jaskier pouted, but managed to hook his leg up behind Valdo and flip them over. When he wanted to be, Jaskier was deceptively strong, and that was just even more frustrating when Valdo just wanted to be railed into the next week.

“I’m always mean to you, Julian. It’s why you like me,” he countered, but laid back with a sigh as Jaskier set to work on removing his breeches and smalls. Tossing a vial of oil to his friend, Valdo smirked. “Now get to work.”

Taglist: @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde, @comfyswitcherblanketfort, @fontegagrilledcheese, @dani-dandelino, @dapandapod @damnbert @officerjennie @feraljaskier @geralt-of-riviass @kueble @gilberik @llamasdumpsterfire @trickstermoose67 @alllthequeenshorses @skai6 @karolincki @eya-trying-to-function @stonedstargazer666 @aurelia-which-means-sunrise @slythnerd

#the witcher #valskier #valdskier #valdo/jaskier #valdo marx #jaskier pankratz #wolfie's witcher writing #aro week 2022

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forever-rogue · 3 years

Note

116 and 139 from the prompt list with Bucky please

Prompts used:

116. “I love you a lot, but please stop trying to cook me dinner, you suck.”

139. “I thought you were a dream come true.”

A/N: Hello friends! I’m so glad to be writing for Bucky again. I hope you all enjoy! 🥺

Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: none

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

Bucky paused as he started at the brass 314 just above the top of the door to your apartment. The delicate gold threading of his vibranium arm glinted in the bright, artificial lighting of the hallway, causing him to pause for a moment as he contemplated walking away and never coming back. But no; that wasn’t him anymore, he wasn’t going to continually run away and lock himself up and shut everyone out in the process. The time for that was over, despite how hopeless it seemed at times.

Besides all of the hesitations and reservations he experienced, you’d never once made him feel small or insignificant or like he was just that Bucky. You’d always managed to see him for who he was, and slowly, over time he worked to shed the layers of worry and fear and let you see him, the real him. The seemingly ever present gloves had come off, followed by his jacket, and every other little barrier he had put up over the years. When he’d first told you who he was, who he really was, he’d watched your face flicker through a series of emotions before a smile tugged on the corners of your mouth and you’d responded with a simple okay. Then you told him everything about yourself; trust wasn’t easy, you’d reminded him that day, and it was a two way street. If he allowed himself to be vulnerable enough to open up to you, you would do the same.

It was hard to believe that it had been almost four months. In some ways it felt like no time had passed at all, and in other ways he felt like he’d known you for eons. He’d abhorred the concept of online dating, but for once, he was glad he had listened to Sam and Dr. Raynor and hadn’t deleted his profile on the spot. He had been ready to give up until he received the simple notification that you had matched with him and messaged him. Everything after that felt surprisingly...easy. You had proven to be a beacon of bright, brilliant sunlight in the seemingly endless storm. Not that he had told you that...not in those specific words anyway, but he had a lot of other tells that you picked up on.

As soon as he slipped back into reality and he prepared himself to knock, the door opened and he found you beaming at him.

“Hi James,” his expression softened and any lingering doubt he had about staying was washed away as he held out a bouquet of your favorite flowers. Wide doe eyes met his and suddenly all he could think about was the fact that he really, really wanted to kiss you then and there, but he would save that for later if he felt bold enough to steal a kiss or two, “they’re beautiful! What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion,” he insisted, stuffing his hands into his pocket as was customary, offering a shrug of his shoulders, “I saw them when I was walking over and I thought you’d like them.”

“I love them,” you promised, a gentle hand on his forearm as you pulled him inside, “come on. And no hands in pockets! Not around me anyways.”

“Right,” he reminded himself with a light grimace as he stepped in and closed the door before shucking off his jacket and hanging it on your coat rack. Your apartment was small, not much bigger than his, but much more homey - he always enjoyed the warmth and comfort it provided. The whole place smelled delicious, and judging from the small mountain of dishes in the sink, he could see that you had been working away for some time. An odd, warm, sensation bubbled him in stomach as he trailed after you, noting the music you had on in the background. He made a mental note to ask you about the artist later as he was still getting a grip on what was popular...Sam wouldn’t let go of that one.

“Beer?” you nodded in the direction of the fridge as he sauntered over and made quick work of grabbing two bottles out. He set one down for you before studying you intently as you stirred the pot of pasta sauce. You’d noticed that about him, he was quiet, and aloof, always analyzing everything. But you relished into it too - when silence fell over the both of you it was never awkward or uncomfortable. You turned to him, a smile on your face as you raised an eyebrow at him, “what? Is there something on my face?”

“N-no,” he answered quickly as he took a swig of what he already deemed as liquid courage, “it’s just...how did you know I was at the door?”

You snorted at his question, barely able to contain a fit of giggles as it was his turn to raise his eyebrows at you. But god, did he love hearing that laugh; even if you thought it was a silly question, it was worth it just to hear your amusement, “really? That’s what you want to know?”

“Yeah,” he grinned back at you, “out with it.”

“Well,” you clinked the neck of your bottle against his before taking a long drink, “you’re always early, never more than ten minutes, but always at least five, from our planned time. You have a particular walk, not loud but not soft...just you. I dunno, but it’s distinct. It wasn’t hard to figure out. Plus I heard you and then you didn't knock, so I had to make sure you weren’t having some sort of ...panic out there. And maybe I was just really excited to see you.”

“Excited to see me?” he was incredulous. He wasn’t sure when someone had last told him that.

“I’m always excited to see you, James,” you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching over and gently putting your hand on his cheek. And he practically keened into your touch, eyes fluttering closed at the tenderness so you openly displayed, “oh! I almost forgot, will you grab a vase for the flowers so I can get them in water?”

“Of course,” he agreed. Of course he was ready to do almost anything for you, “one more question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why don’t you call me Bucky?” he kept his gaze trained on the vase as he pulled it from the cabinet and filled it with water. For some reason he was almost nervous to hear your answer.

“You told me that only your family or friends called you Bucky,” you reminded him as he answered with a simple nod, “so I figured it was something earned, something that I should only call you if you trusted me enough to know you in such an intimate manner. I-I didn’t want to overstep your boundaries either. W-would you like it? If I called you Bucky?”

His throat felt tight and his heart constricted as he listened to your words. For once it wasn't a cloying, negative feeling but one he...enjoyed. How very odd. A silence fell over the kitchen as he arranged the flowers in their new home and you finished dinner. For the briefest second did you think you’d said something wrong, but after he set the flowers on the dining table, he turned to and nodded, a slow, sure thing, “yes. Please - call me Bucky.”

“Bucky,” you repeated softly, grinning from ear to ear to as you pulled out the loaf of bread to prep to throw into the oven to turn into garlic bread, “my Bucky.”

The singular use of the possessive might have been lost on you, but it most definitely wasn’t lost on James Buchanan Barnes. He gripped the edge of the table so tightly, he was surprised it didn’t break. Collecting himself for a moment, he came back over to you and offered to take the garlic and press to assist you in your little venture.

You were quick to playfully swat his hand away before nudging your hip with his, “I’ve got it. You go ahead and start getting plates and stuff ready.”

“Come on, I can totally help,” he insisted as you brandished the press at him, “how hard is it? You’ve done everything!”

“Nuh huh,” you insisted, “remember the first we had dinner at yours? You almost burnt the kitchen down because you didn’t pay attention. Not happening - I love you a lot, but please stop trying to cook me dinner, you suck.”

“I-I do not suck,” his mouth ran dry as he gaped at you like a fish out of water. How easily the words had spilled from your mouth, without a second thought, without hesitation. He wondered if you’d even realized what you said, “I...umm-”

“Oh,” it was then that realization hit you and your face felt warmer than it ever had, “Bucky, I didn’t...I didn’t mean to say that...out loud. I’m sorry, please don’t...I’m sorry. I don’t want to seem too forward.”

‘Y-you love me?” a dark pink flush rose in his cheeks as you chose your next words carefully. You didn’t want to lie to him and backtrack on your declaration, but you didn’t want to drive him away either. Instead you settled on a small squeak and a slight nod, “I can’t even remember the last time someone told me that. Or the last time I felt that for someone else too. It’s been a long time.”

“Things haven’t exactly been easy or normal for you, Bucky,” you laughed lightly as he came closer and left only a minuscule amount of space between your bodies. You could practically feel the heat radiating off his body as it took every fiber of your being not to throw yourself at him then and there, “but you deserve kindness and love as much as anyone else, if not more so. You are a good man Bucky, despite what some people want to believe and despite what your mind tells you sometimes. The last few months with you have been...the most wonderful. You’ve made me so happy. I hope to be able to give you even a fraction of that in return.”

“You have made me happier than I thought I deserved to be,” he admitted as it became your turn to take a step closer. If you leaned in now, your lips would almost brush his. And god, you wanted to kiss him - until you were breathless, until it was the only thing you knew. The two of you had taken it slow, upon requests from both of you - Bucky for the obvious reasons and you after a very rough break up. It hadn’t been much more than sweet kisses and honeyed whispers, but he meant so much to you. You liked how things were progressing, but you couldn’t deny you would always take more, however much he was willing to give you, “when I first saw and met you, I thought you were a dream come true. Like you really couldn’t be real, or even like me, but here you are."

“I don’t really plan on going anywhere,” you promised, inching that much closer, your face almost touching his, “I hope you’re not either. Because I kind of...really like you.”

“M-may I kiss you?” he brought his hand to your face while his vibranium arm settled on your waist. It was an odd tango, one he was still trying to work out to see what felt right, normal. It had been a long, long, time since he’d held someone this way. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you carded a hand through his hair, playing with a particularly wild bit at the nape. You wanted nothing more than this, than him. It was such a simple act, and yet so saccharine and intimate when it was the two of you. It was an act of trust, an act of intimacy, and so much more.

“Please,” you beamed him before he closed the distance and kissed you. And this time, he really kissed you, like you were the only thing sustaining him, the only thing he wanted or needed - a fresh breath of life. Plush lips were delicate and soft again yours, but hungry and yearning as though nothing could ever be enough. When you chanced a breath of air, you nuzzled your nose against his and softly whispered his name, “Bucky.”

“I don’t know if I can say it yet,” he swallowed thickly as you knew immediately what he was indicating. You cupped his cheek before tracing over his features, “I…”

“I know,” you promised as you met his eyes. They were so soft and gentle; this was perhaps the most relaxed you’d seen him. At your words he seemed to melt into your touch as a soft sigh escaped him, “I’m not going anywhere, I promise. I’m all in.”

“Me too,” he promised, “me too.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

Permanent Taglist: @secretsweetscollectionblog @sheridans-dynamos @queenbbarnes @persephonesnebula @ah-callie @blushingwueen @thisis-theway @rosetophighlander @rae-gar-targaryen @hiscyarika @readsalot73 @huliabitch @ollyoxenfrees @coffeeandtodd @beepbeepsephy @scarlettwitcher @nerdyknightwritersblog @choicesarcade @arrowswithwifi @everythingaboutnothingstuff @suckerfor-fanfics @bestintheparsec @javihoney @aeryntheofficial @hail-doodles @engineeredfiction @aeryntheofficial @asgardianvamp21 @keithseabrook27 @karmezii @dearspacepirates @thatsuitlooksgoodonyou @paintballkid711 @mrpascals @lv7867 @artsymaddie @gooddaykate @rosiefridayrogersunday @heyitmelexie @criminalmind1927 @justanotherblonde23 @coni-martina @thewayofthemandalorian @phoenixhalliwell @lucifer @cosmoschick @kochamcie @linkpk88 @leaiorganas @nikkixostan @haley-the-comet @chibi-yuki @computeringturtle @4ng3lf43 @intu-witch-tion @wondergal2001 @gingerbreadandpaper @willowtheewisp @milkxxkookies @smollpinkgirl @zukoyonce @boomtownboy @velia27 @discowitchyy

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #tfatws #the falcon and the winter soldier

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house-of-no-regrets · 3 years

Text

No Regrets [in the wee hours]

Took a bit longer than expected, but I’ve finished the next little story! Hopefully I’ll be able to keep a decent pace on these. No overarching plot, just little stories in the same universe with the same characters. Warning for ~*murder*~ in this one!

-------------

I've been all-too-easy to wake up since I was a child; I'd often needed to go from dead asleep to functional, if groggy, as soon as I heard my father demanding action or attention. While I no longer need that reaction time, the old man long since locked up to rot, my brain is set in its ways and very convinced that I need to be able to bolt out of bed and fight God if a dust bunny moves too quickly in my vicinity.

Which is how I found myself waking up in the middle of the night, the sudden shift in the atmosphere bringing on consciousness with all the subtlety of a foghorn.

My room was silent, still, but I knew without opening my eyes that there was a spirit somewhere, and I didn't even give them a chance to speak before I pointed at the sign posted on my wall, barely shifting from my comfortable snuggle in my blanket and not even opening my eyes. Yes, this happens more often than I care to admit. No, I do not enjoy it. At all.

"Resurrection hours are noon to eight. I'm still alive and still need sleep to function."

There was silence, but the presence didn't leave, so I groaned and raised my head, finally opening my eyes to see the translucent, vaguely glowing, and unfortunately blurry spirit at the foot of my bed.

It did finally speak in a bewildered voice.

"Um, I'm being murdered."

Ah, fuck.

I grabbed my glasses from the bedside table and put them on. The spirit at the foot of my bed was tallish -- I've always been bad at estimating height, maybe half a foot shorter than Yvette? Five-nine... ish? -- and seemed to be in his twenties. There was a considerable dark stain on his chest and belly; likely blood, and the cause of his death. The newly-dead tend to show things like that, as they haven't had the time to get used to modifying their form.

I really hate it when brand new ones find me. I'm not sure how it started, but it seems like more and more often, now, the dead are drawn to No Regrets before they even realize they're dead, at least if they're the type to need my help. Wish I wasn't the one who had to break it to him. I'm not great with people.

"Sorry, bro, but I'm afraid they succeeded. Where was it? I'll get the police over there."

"Uhh... my house. I think. It's a little..."

I sighed. Right.

"You're probably a little out of it still... fresh dead usually are. C'mon, I'll take you around until things look familiar."

Climbing out of bed, I headed over to grab my hoodie from the back of the chair. I learned the hard way that sleeping is not a tits out sort of occasion when you're liable to get the dead dropping in at all hours of the night, so I sleep in pajama pants and a tank top. Little too chilly for tank tops outside, though. I shoved my phone in my hoodie and my feet into loafers, then started heading out of my room and down the hall.

"You remember your name?" I asked, trying to make conversation and learn what I could.

"Uh, Davis. Craig? Craig Davis."

"Well, Craig Davis, I'm sorry to hear about your passing. You're gonna need to possess me for this little adventure, by the way, but I'll walk you through it once we're outside."

"I- what?"

Considering how often I find myself lost in normal conversations, dealing with confused new spirits is especially difficult. Still shaking off my body's angry demands for More Sleep was not helping matters in the slightest, either.

"Possession. I'll explain it in just a minute." I rubbed an eye and yawned as I stopped in the foyer to pull a set of keys off one of the hooks on the wall.

Usually, I've got a driver. Not for vanity reasons, but after three or four near-misses caused by Sudden Spirits appearing in the car with me, I elected to hire someone to drive me into and around town as needed. But it was Fuck-This-Shit O'Clock in the morning, and Graves deserved their rest. The dead don't need to sleep, but they can if they so choose -- and it does, after all, conserve energy. The same goes for Yvette and Ashby; it was too early in the morning for most people to be out and searching for a necromancer to kill, so I wasn't gonna disturb them. I could handle a simple spirit chauffeur and 911 call on my own.

The keys were to the motor scooter; it was the better choice in this situation, allowing for more mobility and no passenger seat for any extra ghosts to drop into. That did, though, mean that Craig would need to ride shotgun in my body.

When I got out to the green scooter in the driveway, I paused and looked over at Craig.

"Hey, I know you're probably still a little out of it, so Possession 101." Script time. At least having this stuff memorized made it easier to do while dozy. "Our bodies need to take up the same space, so c'mere." I beckoned Craig over.

"So like… step into you?" He asked. Good, seemed like his head was clearing up some.

"Yeah, that's part 1."

He nodded and complied, crossing the space between us and settling in the same location, the two of us clipped into each other like bugged NPCs. It always felt so weird, those moments before a spirit actually possesses you. A sort of wobbly, in-and-out feeling like physics is trying to crush you and the spirit together, or, failing that, just kick your ass to the ground so you're not both in the same place at the same time.

"A'ight, now turn around and face the direction I’m facing, and overlay your hands onto mine as best you can." It was just a moment for him to obey, and I continued. "I'm not resisting, so you're gonna start feeling like you're being pulled in and pushed out at the same time. Space is trying to equalize. Let yourself be pulled in. It's gonna feel a bit like-"

The whirlpool effect kicked in before I could finish, the sudden snap and release of tension as Craig's spirit sank into my body. I wobbled a bit and grabbed the handlebar in front of me, then shivered at the sudden chill and dizziness. I'm pretty good at taking on passengers like this, but that didn't make it any more pleasant.

"You in there, buddy?" I asked out loud. Especially with new spirits, trying to think at each other was more trouble than it was worth. My lips moved to answer, though it wasn't my voice coming out.

"Uh- yeah. Yeah I'm here."

I grabbed the helmet hanging on the other handlebar and snapped it on, kicking the stand up and plopping heavily onto the seat.

"Great. Let's go."

"Wait, why am I not in control?" came Craig's confused voice. He felt almost frustrated, an undercurrent of emotion that wasn't mine despite being in my mind and body.

"Because this is my body, and I let you in willingly. Easier to keep control when you're letting someone in. Plus," I gave a little snort. "You just died, dude. I've been letting spirits possess me since middle school."

I felt his frustration turn to grumpiness, and then the pressure in my head, like a storm rolling in, that I knew from experience was him trying to take control. I froze and let out an irritated huff.

"You stop that. I'm not dealing with you doing some dumb shit with my body. Either chill out or get out."

"Oh- uh. Just wanted to see if I could…"

"Uh-huh. Anyhow, now that you're together enough to try joyriding, do you remember much about where you were before you were killed?"

I started up the scooter as emotions rolled through my mind, detached and distant, almost like the muffled dissociation I was used to mid-shutdown. Possessing spirits' emotions always felt weird like that, both mine and not mine, held at arm's length. Craig's was especially turbulent for a new death, but given that he had been murdered… I didn't fault him for being a little confused and angry. Even if it did put me a little on edge.

"Uh- South Pine Street, Dogwood Acres housing development."

"Baller. That's not far from here. Once we get close to your body, you should be able to feel where it is, so I'll have a house number for the police. Don't want to have them scream in all blue lights and loud sirens and have your killer go to ground before they know which house, y'know?"

The muffled flare of anger that I felt was definitely not my own. I took a deep breath, hoped that the killer had panicked and tried to clean up instead of get rid of the body first, and puttered off towards Dogwood.

The housing development was quiet, lines upon lines of identical suburban boxes lit by flickering street lights that cast the sidewalks and yards in harsh white light. The occasional house had the glow of yellow within, but most of them were dormant. Weaving my way through the maze of streets, each one absolutely indistinguishable from the one before and the one to come, I felt terribly exposed -- and alone despite the spirit currently hitching along in my body.

I turned onto South Pine and brought my scooter to a puttering stop, stabilizing it with both feet on the ground. I couldn't help but bounce my legs to replace the vibration of driving; the sudden lack of sensation would ratchet my anxiety up even if I wasn't currently letting a frustrated dead man hang out in my head to catch his murderer.

...I should be more than a little anxious, really, but half-asleep Tabby once again wrote a check that more-awake Tabby is having to cash, and more-awake Tabby is very used to having to deal with the consequences of her idiot decisions. It occurred to me that normal peoples' consequences didn't usually involve murder, but when you live with the dead, you're bound to meet a few killers.

Two houses down, I could feel- not a tug so much as a presence, an echo of Craig's spirit reacting to his body. It was the only one on the street with its lights on and its garage, while not lit, was open. There was a car in the garage, another in the driveway, and a pickup at the curb in front.

"258?" I asked Craig, though I knew the answer already. His anger flared and I felt the oncoming storm again. I snapped at him. "That's two strikes, Craig. I'm sorry for your death, but if you end up driving my body into a crime scene or, god forbid, getting me killed next, I will kick your ass to whatever afterlife you're headed for and stay there to keep kicking it for eternity."

Big words for a short fat lady, but this is, in fact, my body on the line right now. I probably wouldn't be able to follow through on any ass-kicking, but dammit, I would try.

Craig was silent, and I could feel him steaming, petulant like a child denied a toy but with the power of a grown man behind it. With my stomach tying itself in knots and my hands starting to tremble, I dialed 911, hoping it would help quell the rising panic.

"258 South Pine Street. I think there's been a murder. I don't know the state of the crime scene or if the perp is still there, but you might be able to catch them if you hurry. The victim is Craig Davis, white adult male, either shot or stabbed in the chest, likely multiple times-"

"Wait, is this Tabby? The necro girl?"

Oh god I hope that isn't what the operators call me regularly-- I know I'm a bit of a 911 cryptid, since the usual intruder calls are to the non-emergency line, but if I get known as the necro girl I might have to move to a different state.

"Yeah, uh, necromancer, yeah-" I couldn't help but stumble over my words, now, with my train of thought derailed by the interruption. "-uh, murder?"

"Right! I'll send someone."

I murmured a thanks and hung up before she could ask me to stay on the line. I already had to stay around for the cops so Craig could give a statement, and making small talk with the 911 operator was not in the spoons tonight.

I don't like cops much, but in my line of work, they're kind of a necessity. I need to stay on the police force's good side because I need them to remove attempted murderers from my property on the regular. ...and also because graverobbing is still technically illegal, even if I do have the body owner's permission to dig them up.

At least most of the locals who know of me and my employees are chill about it. It took a bit of effort to get to that point, but now at least people don't run screaming from the less-presentable of my employees…

The blue lights of the police showed up fairly quickly, followed almost immediately by the red flashing of EMS. I puttered up slowly and parked my scooter just out of range as the officers set to work surrounding the house, then hung my helmet on a handlebar and walked up the rest of the way to watch the impending train wreck. I could feel Craig's anger boiling higher and tried my best to ignore it; Craig himself seemed to have fallen silent and sullen after I called him out.

"Tabby!"

I was standing just off to the side of the ambulance when someone stepped up behind me and called my name, making me jump and cringe.

"Oh- oh dear, I'm sorry, Tabs. I thought I heard you were the one who called this in!"

I straightened up immediately, face burning. I recognized that voice, bright and smooth and kind and--

"J-Jenna!" My voice was barely a squeak as I turned to face her, looking up at the round, dark face of one of the EMTs. She was a good six feet tall, maybe more, towering above me even in her uniform flats, with a brilliant smile and full lips and gorgeous natural hair pulled through the back of her uniform cap, the streetlight illuminating her from behind like a halogen angel.

Jenna had shown up to one of my early calls for assistance at No Regrets, and then she kept turning up, not every time I was in a situation where I'd be around EMTs, but often.

Concern showed on her face as she leaned to look me over.

"Are you okay? Did you see it happen, or-"

I shook my head, buying time to sort out words by tapping my temple with a finger.

"N-no, I uh- the victim woke me up, he's in here, uh, in case the cops need somethin' from him."

"Oh… are you getting enough sleep, dear? You sound exhausted. Do you want to sit in the back of the truck?"

It took me a second or two to recover from the way she called me dear, my face burning bright red. I couldn't make eye contact even for the second or two I can usually manage so that people don't immediately think I'm being dishonest.

"I- uh- um- w-well, it's, uh, it is like 4am--" I stammered, trying desperately to find words. "I-I guess 'm sleepin' okay, uh, how're… you doing??"

I have never been a great orator and the list of why that is gets a bit longer with every um and stutter.

Jenna's face bloomed into a gorgeous, open grin.

"I'm on 12-hour overnights right now, so I'm basically at least 60 percent Red Bull at any given time. Everyone okay up there at the House? Last I heard y'all were digging up half the lawn.”

I nodded, unable to keep from grinning. At least this was a subject I could talk to her about without making an absolute ass of myself--

"Yeah! The new girl, Chris, she's gotten Daryl and Roy to help her get the vegetable garden going! It's plenty big enough to take care of all of us, and I worked out a deal with the soup kitchen so that they get any of our excess, once things are running smoothly, and I can use their account to buy from that bulk food program that's usually only open to chari- oop-!" I bit my tongue and cringed. Right. I'm pretty sure that's technically fraud and I just admitted to it in front of-

There was a commotion from the house that snapped me back to attention, and the cops were leading a man out in handcuffs. He looked pale and shaken, spattered in blood, and not quite… present, like he had just checked out of reality for his own good. That… was a familiar look. I furrowed my brow. He certainly didn't look like a maniacal killer-

"He caught me with his wife," I said. Well. Craig said. I jumped. Jenna jumped. I flushed and covered my mouth reflexively.

"N-no that was him! The victim!" I squeaked. Jenna laughed, a hearty belly laugh, and covered her own mouth, though she was doing a terrible job of hiding her grin.

"I figured! If he caught you with his wife, it would be an upgrade!"

At this point, you could probably fry an egg on my face. Hell, my glasses were starting to fog up-- I stammered for a few moments, trying desperately to find something to say, and it was Craig who saved me, if you could call it that. I was too caught up in my embarrassment and awkwardness to realize how much anger and frustration he was radiating.

"Motherfucker told me he'd have my job! Son of a bitch thinks he can get away with doing this to me, he's gonna fucking pay--"

The oncoming storm crashed over me before I could get a grip on it, and all of a sudden I was lumbering forward, snarling words that weren't my own, and dragging a gardening pickaxe out of my truck -- Craig's truck -- on my way to the man and the cops--

I let out a shriek, in my own voice, feeling the sound cutting my throat raw. I wrested control of my body back with a lurch, falling on my ass in the yard with the force of it while the silvery-blue form of Craig was ejected from my body, screaming obscenities.

I threw my hand forward, fighting for whatever thoughts and words I could find to fix this. I saw Craig right himself and move back towards me, and the first incantation -- if you could call it that -- that my brain grasped left my lips in a single desperate breath, with a dizzying rush of power--

"INTHENAMEOFTHEMOONIBANISHYOU--!!"

The force of the hurried exorcism rushed outward like a sonic boom, strong enough for even the mundanes around me to feel, and Craig's spirit let out a yowl of rage for a brief second before twisting around itself and collapsing in with a sickening crunch, crushing smaller and smaller until it was gone.

I winced -- not my best exorcism. At all.

As the flare of adrenaline dropped almost immediately and I came back to myself properly, I realized -- blurrily, as my glasses had gotten thrown off somewhere -- at least two officers had their weapons half-drawn at me, though they were looking over at where Craig's spirit had disappeared.

I collapsed the rest of the way onto the grass, shaking, and covered my face with my hands, trying with everything within me not to start crying. I should have realized he'd try something like that, why hadn't I been paying attention- I could have been attacked, I could have been arrested, I could have had to watch myself beat a man to death and I- fuck--

The sob that came out was squeaky and pained, and I pressed my hands harder against my face, like that would stop anything else from going wrong. I should have brought someone-- I shouldn't have let him possess me-- I should have been paying more attention--

Warm tears ran from the corners of my eyes, down my cheeks, to pool in my ears, making my already-trembling body shiver harder with the unpleasant sensation. I'd let myself get complacent, hadn't lost control of a possession like that in years, and- I'd almost- fuck--

"Honey, honey, sit up for me. Tabby? C'mon, let's get you up--"

Numbly, I let Jenna help me into a sitting position, where she wrapped a blanket around me and pressed an open bottle of water into my hands.

"Take slow sips. Are you okay? Just shaken?"

I nodded, some part of me grateful that I couldn't quite see her face properly without my glasses, because I didn't want to see what she thought about me after that. She sighed, though, and sounded relieved when she murmured "Good."

My whole body felt like jelly, trembling so hard I could feel the water in the bottle sloshing around, and I kept flashing from too hot to too cold to too hot again, and I couldn't even sort out my thoughts--

Jenna sat down beside me and rubbed my back. If I wasn't having a complete breakdown, I might have enjoyed it.

I don't know how long it took for me to calm down and clear my head, but the car with the other man had left, and the other EMTs had loaded Craig's body into the ambulance while Jenna sat next to me and made sure I was doing okay.

After a while, though, I blinked and shifted my torso, then opened the blanket more and cursed at the bloom of red on my hoodie.

I heard Jenna curse as well as she stood up, but I grabbed her pants leg.

"N-no, 'm okay," I mumbled, and instead of trying to speak more, I reached to pull my hoodie and tank up my stomach to show bruised, but completely unbroken skin, covered in blood, rivulets following my stretch marks and making it look even worse despite my being otherwise completely uninjured. "See, 'm okay." This was not the first time I've had a possession lead to the dead's cause of death showing on my own body. It wasn't even the bloodiest.

Jenna sat back down, and I could see her leaning in a bit.

"Well damn. Magic ghost stuff, huh?"

I nodded.

"Magic ghost stuff."

I could see the flash of white against dark skin as she grinned.

"So that exorcism… Artemis or Usagi?"

It took me a moment to parse her.question, but all of a sudden I was completely back to myself, just in time to absolutely die of embarrassment.

"L-listen, I- y-you can exorcise i-in anyone's name, i-it's the power and conviction that counts--!!"

"Usagi, then." I could hear the laughter in her voice, laughter that bubbled out moments later. I wanted to crawl in a hole in embarrassment, but- it didn't feel like condescending laughter. I knew what that felt like. She seemed just genuinely amused. "I grew up with Sailor Moon, too."

I couldn't stop the squeak that eaked out, and I covered my face again.

"G-god I hope word about this doesn't get out, people already think I-I'm weird enough, and to- to fall back on anime for magic i-in a pinch is just--"

"Cute," Jenna finished.

I squeaked.

Jenna moved away for a moment, and then she settled my glasses on my nose. I couldn't make eye contact, but I did glance over at her and sheepishly murmur my thanks.

"The officers still want a statement from you, since you made the call and tried to go after the perp, but I don't think they're looking at any charges, given…" Jenna trailed off and looked over at where Craig had disappeared. "...yeah."

I nodded, slowly, and then found myself yawning, the adrenaline drop setting in especially hard.

"...d'you think it can wait 'til tomorrow… 've kinda had a rough night."

"I think they'll be okay with that."

#house of no regrets #no regrets #tabby #jenna #writing #ethical necromancy #necromancer #paranormal #fantasy #magic #writeblr #story #useless lesbian tabby has A Night

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little-diable · 4 years

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Potter - Draco Malfoy (angst/smut)

Request by anon: Hello. I love your imagines! Can I request a Draco smut? The reader and him are in a secret romance due to her being Harry's sister. She is Harry's stolen object in the second task, but she doesn't know how to swim. Draco saves her and has soft smut in the Prefect bathroom with multiple "I love you"s.

Hope this is what you had in mind. Enjoy my loves. xxx

“Sh, don’t want anybody to hear us, do we?” His lips nibbled on her neck, hands massaging her skin, leaving a few hidden marks, something he’ll be able to admire later on. His scent filled her nostrils, the faint green apple aroma made a homey feeling overcome her, trying to pull her love even closer.

“My gorgeous love,“ Draco breathed out, smiling at her, those bright eyes twinkling in the darkness of the storage room, he loved to feel her close, pressed against his chest, shuttered breaths leaving her swollen lips, begging for more.

“We need to leave,“ (y/n) mumbled, she couldn’t miss her brothers first task, still shaken up from the way he had whispered “dragons” just last night. Her first instinct had been to tell him to quit, she couldn’t endure watching him struggle against something that deadly, but soon enough the (y/h/c) haired Potter girl realized, she couldn’t do anything, besides cheering for her brother, supporting him no matter what.

“Fucking Potter,“ Draco muttered under his breath, groaning as his girlfriend slapped her hand against his abdomen.

„Don‘t Draco, he’s my bother,“ (y/n) reminded him once again, as if he wasn’t struggling with the sober truth every single day.

Draco and (y/n) had crossed paths years ago, eyes gazing at each other as the hat sorted them into their houses. A Malfoy would naturally be placed into Slytherin, just like (y/n) followed her brother into Gryffindor. Draco could still feel the uneasy feeling rising in his stomach as the hat called “Gryffindor”, he had deeply wished for her to follow him into Slytherin.

It had taken (y/n) and Draco a few years to finally find each other, coming clean with their emotions, hiding their relationship from curious eyes, especially the ones of Dracos so called enemy, Harry Potter, (y/n)s brother.

“He’ll be fine, don’t worry.“Draco kissed her forehead, running a hand through his bright blonde hair, trying to lace his voice with any sympathy, struggling to do so. “I’ll find you later on,“ and off he went, blending in with the rest of the students, cheering for anybody who didn’t carry the name Potter.

His bright eyes would unintentionally find her (y/e/c) ones from time to time, checking to see, if she was alright, his heart was clenching at the sight, she was trembling, hands interlaced with Hermoines. Draco wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around her, his mind was coming up with all the supportive things he’d whisper into her ear.

He caught himself admiring her features more than once, proud that he was the one, that got to call her his girlfriend, he’d do anything to show her off to all those students, if his bloodline and her brother wouldn’t stand in their way.

Even Draco felt scared, just for a second though, but his emotions were pure, watching Harry disappear, chased by the dragon, praying that he’d make it. Harry couldn’t leave (y/n) behind, he was the only true family member she had left, not as if she’d ever call her uncle and her aunt her family.

“God, Harry,“ she fell into her brothers arms, a relieved sob left her lips, (y/n) inhaled his scent, the all too familiar calming sensation overcame her, made her sink into her brothers embrace even further. “I’m alright, don’t worry,“ he kissed her hairline, hands tightly squeezing her before he let go of her, ready to celebrate his victory.

Harry and Draco would cross paths once that evening, Harrys eyebrows would furrow together as he caught the blonde Slytherin staring at his sister, the almost lovingly seeming smile he shot her made Harry frown.

“(Y/n), love, look at me,“ Draco had her pressed against the cold wall, hands wrapped around her trembling frame. „He won’t leave you, Harry will survive this tournament.“

An exhausted expression grazed Dracos features, both, (y/n) and Draco hadn’t caught much sleep these past few days, she’d seek him out whenever another nightmare would haunt her, not able to keep on sleeping without him near.

“Sorry,“ (y/n) hiccuped, fingers grasping the fabric of his sweater, too scared to let go of him. She admired him, truly did, thankful for muttering those sweet words to her, obviously trying to swallow down his hatred for her brother. “Don’t be,“ he kissed her forehead, dipping his head down to pull her into him.

“I love you,“ she mumbled against his lips, kissing him one last time before she disappeared into the darkness, creeping down the hallways, finding her way back to her dorm, praying for at least a few hours of sleep.

But as (y/n) had been woken up from her sleep early in the morning, she cursed herself for ever leaving the comfortableness of her bed, desperate to find her love, not able to calm the raging storm inside her mind herself. Hermoine and Ron had dragged her to where they’d meet with Dumbledore, getting initiated into the next task.

An uneasy feeling settled inside her bones, (y/n) had never liked the water, never felt calm in the crashing waves of the ocean, so she refused to learn how to swim, she wouldn’t need to swim anyways, well, how wrong she had been.

Neither the teachers nor Ron and Hermoine spared her protests any mind, trying to bribe her into it, telling her how much she’d help her brother with it, since everybody knew, that (y/n) would give her all for Harry, even her last breath.

“No, absolutely not,“Draco muttered, arms crossed in front of his chest, staring down on his girlfriend. „I don’t have any other choice,“ she sounded just as unconvinced, her mind was racing, anxiety nestled in her, god, she prayed that Harry would be able to rescue her.

“I’ll only give him a few minutes, otherwise I’ll step in,“ Draco left without kissing her goodbye, too enraged to even think straight, not noticing her sad eyes on him, aching for his touch. “I love you,“ she whispered into the hallway, eyes set on the spot where Draco had just been standing on a few moments ago.

With trembling legs she stood in front of the old wizard, hopeful eyes were gazing at her. “It will be alright Miss Potter, don’t worry,“ he winked at her. She shot her friends one last glance before she got put into her trance, disappearing down the lake, darkness engulfed her, lulled her in.

Dracos hard eyes were focused on the lake, he kept on tapping his foot, counting the minutes, cold sweat was breaking out on his back, he felt scared, truly scared, for the first time in his life. “What’s going on with you Malfoy?” Goyle chuckled, teasing his distressed friend.

The prince of Slytherin pushed him out of the way as Harry broke through the lakes surface, (y/n) nowhere to be seen. “Where is she?” Draco spat, eyes finding Harrys shivering frame. „I don’t know,“ Harry stuttered, he hadn’t noticed the way she had struggled underwater, hadn’t noticed her letting go of his hand. Only now he seemed to realize, that his sister was actually not by his side.

Blood was rushing in Dracos ears, too many thoughts and emotions crashed upon him, his limbs began to tremble, scared of losing his one true love. Curious eyes watched him pull off his coat and shoes, drowning out the cheering for the other contestants.

“Fucking Potter,“ Draco spat, diving headfirst into the black waters, he’d rescue her, no matter what. His heart was pounding against his ribcage, Draco tried to calm himself down, knowing that it would take him a while to find his girlfriend. Glad for all those hours his parents made him take swimming lessons, diving for hours on end, looking for random objects underwater.

His bright eyes found her unresponsive figure on the lakes ground, tears were welling up in his eyes, blurring his already limited vision. Draco wrapped his arms around her frame, with his last breath he pulled themselves up the water, gasping as he broke through the lakes surface. “Don’t touch her,“ he growled at Harry, placing (y/n) down on the wooden stand, desperately trying catch her (y/e/c) eyes staring at him.

Draco shook her a few times, cradling her cold frame in his arms, a relived sigh made it past his lips as she began to cough up the water in her lungs. “Finally,” he breathed into her ear, wrapping his coat around her shivering limbs. He didn’t let Harry near him, silencing him with a simple “not now Potter” every time he tried to apologize to his sister.

“Come on, let’s take a bath my love,“ Draco was still carrying her, glad to finally be back at the castle, walking up to the perfect’s bathroom, knowing that they’d find some peace up there. “Let me help you,“ he slowly unbuttoned her blouse, eyes focused on hers, drops of water were dripping down from her tips, her lips were slightly blue, (y/n) wouldn’t let go of his hands.

Draco had to bite down the “I told you so”, that was about to spill from his lips, but her dilated pupils were enough to shut him up, enough to pull her against his chest, kissing her forehead over and over again.

She was placed on his lap, front pushed against his, hands tangled in his hair, the warm water engulfed them, calmed their shivering limbs. “I’m sorry for scaring you like that,“ (y/m) mumbled against his neck, her heart felt heavy, she didn’t care about almost drowning, didn’t care that Harry forgot about her, only cared about the way Draco felt, the anxious feelings, that ran through his veins.

“Don’t apologize, it’s not your fault my love,“ Draco grasped her neck, pulled her in for a kiss. „I’ve never been that scared. It made me realize, that I can’t be myself without you by my side, you’re my everything and I truly love you.” Draco confessed, chuckling at the smile, that tugged on her lips.

“I love you too,“ she whispered, pushing her lips against his, dipping her tongue into his mouth, deepening the sensual gesture. Both were in their own little bubble of calmness, relishing in being that close to one another, set on making them feel as loved and appreciated as possible.

Dracos hands found her wetness, he growled into her mouth, fingers dipping into her heat, spreading her open. “So pretty,“ (y/n) gasped at his praising, nails clawing into his shoulders. „Make love to me Draco,“ she moaned, desperate to wrap her walls around him.

She sunk down on his hard length, he filled her in every right way, deliciously stretching her. “Draco,“ (y/n) cried out his name, his hands placed on her behind, stabilizing her movement. (Y/n) kept on gridding her core against his length, slowly bouncing on his member, engulfed by the hot water.

Their pent up anxiety, frustration and love began to spill out of them, pushing them closer to the edge faster than ever. “I love you,“ both moaned at the same time, chuckling as their lips found one another.

Draco thrusted his hips upwards, meeting her wetness, burying himself even deeper, stretching her even further, making her fall right into the crashing wave of her orgasm. “Fuck so good,“ Draco moaned, releasing himself into her heat, forehead pressed against hers, hands not letting go of her skin.

“I love you,“ Draco repeated, (y/n) ran her hands through his hair. „I love you too Draco Malfoy.“

#draco malfoy #Draco Malfoy imagine #Draco Malfoy smut #Draco Malfoy x reader #Draco Malfoy one shot #hogwarts #harry potter #Harry Potter imagine #harry potter smut #tom felton #slytherin #triwizard tournament

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cozycryptidcorner · 3 years

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Howl

Werewolf/Reader, lemon, heat cycles, consensual aphrodisiacs

Every six months I release a short from my $5 patreon tier to the general public, and someone’s favorite word was coincidently the title of this piece. Please enjoy this little slice of madness beneath a full moon.

The moon hangs heavy overhead, a pale, watchful face gazing down at the ritual laid out at her feet. You kneel, washed in her gentle light, your eyes on the fire as a clan elder carefully places an ingredient within a kettle. Crickets scream and wail in the surrounding woods, but you barely pay them any mind as your lover places a pale hand on your knee, rubbing a circle with his thumb as he bites at his lip. You try not to acknowledge his worrying much, if he hadn’t paid any attention to your reassurances earlier, he won’t now.

The potion that the elder boils down smells sickly sweet, like a peppermint cough syrup, but with a stinging bite that sends bright little pricks through your nostrils as you breathe it in. Already without drinking it, you can feel a vibrant thrumming begin to pulse in your blood, a spark of warmth filling your veins. It doesn’t take much longer for her to finish the spell, a soft humming emanating from your lover’s fellow clansman resounding as the elder pours it into a carved wooden chalice.

Then, with one last kiss, your lover stands, moving to the opposite side of the fire where the elder is and spits into the cup. The elder gives you the benefit of mixing the concoction further, singing in a familiar but incomprehensible language. Shivers run down your spine as she and her apprentice approach, their full ceremonial clothing jingling with their steps as they come to stand before you. In a sort of perversion of Catholic communion, the elder holds the chalice in your direction, and you gingerly grasp it as though it were made from impossibly thin glass.

You carefully ignore any sort of inhibitions you might have about the potion itself, drinking it down fast enough to not taste anything that might cause you to vomit it back up. With little respect, you carefully swallow the last gulp, trying to seal up your throat, so you’re not even tempted to give in to any sort of acid reflux, then allow yourself to breathe. At first, you don’t seem any different, but there’s a hard, boiling heat that suddenly wisps out from your stomach and right to your heart, and you think- you feel-

Your lover takes a step back into the forest, the shadows working to obscure him from your vision. Where- where is he going? Why was he leaving? You need him. With a flailing step, chalice dropping from your fingers and completely forgotten, you try to follow, but something fucking drags you back down to the ground. Pissed, you puff out hot, angry breathes, trying to wriggle your way out from the many people working to keep you from your lover, your mate, but it’s many against one, and they don’t let up.

Warm and soft soil cushions your shoulder and face as you fall violently forward, suddenly released, but you can’t fucking see him anymore and it’s killing you. Your heels dig into the earth as you wrench yourself up, choking back panicking tears as you bolt in the direction you saw him leave. The night sharpens as the world breathes in a deep inhale, the sky itself holding still in order to witness the carnal desperation you scream with.

You can smell him, his scent so much like the forest itself, of woodsmoke, of evergreen, a musky kind of fragrance that stands out in the acidic night air. And so you run towards it, faster than you’ve ever moved before in your life, ignoring the way the branches of the brush and trees scratch at your bare arms and the awkward sharpness of the ground as you ignore what your bare feet might be running over. An owl screams in the distance, but you are so keen on your prey that you ignore the call.

Instinct demands that you stop, so you do, skidding on the fallen leaves so sharply that your feet fly out from under you, landing on your hip hard enough to bruise. You feel no pain, only rancid frustration at the inconvenience gravity hinders you with, and you scramble back to a stand, growling with every breath. Where is he? Desperately trying to cling to your last strand of lucid sanity, you try to think, smelling the air once more, trying to find that same taste of male hormones that he had emanated so thickly before he fucking abandoned you.

You hear the water before you even realize you started moving again, a rush of wind caressing your face like the earth herself is aiding your hunt, as though she approves of this union. There, you can just make out the fading scent of your lover, though it grows fainter with every second wasted on thought. A brook runs its course, water slowly wearing millions of oddly shaped rocks down, several making for good stepping stones as you hop across, the splash of cold water managing to draw a bit of the feverish heat down.

Abruptly, you slow down, closing your eyes to smell and to listen. You think you have his direction, but the idea to ambush him as punishment for abandonment fills your body with the simmering ghost of pleasure. You go low immediately, staying close to the trunks of the trees as you quietly circle around the edge of a clearing. And you see him.

Everything inside your body goes full alert, sirens screaming in your head, heat filling your core, muscles tense. You bolt forward, so fast he doesn’t even have a moment to react before you’re on him, the force of your body ramming against him not only sufficient enough to knock him off his feet, but also enough to tip him over the edge of the hill he must have been thinking about going down.

The entire universe spins as you roll against him, grass, leaves, and twigs catching in your beaded embroidered dress, hair, even managing to knick at your skin. You don’t care, gods below you don’t, because as you slow to a stop at the bottom of the clearing, you have him beneath you, gasping for air, his dewy blue eyes glimmering beneath the stars as he regards you with a kind of emotion you don’t bother to process.

You kiss him so hard that your mouth hurts, teeth clacking together, and you’re thriving. Enraged growls snarl from your throat, and you would have ripped his clothes away if he didn’t painstakingly strip then and there. Touching his skin just barely aides in your desperately heated core from exploding, but there is so, so much more you want from him. You need to melt into him, to seep into every pore of his body, to claw his chest open and crawl inside, and he seems to take your furious affection in stride.

His skin is salty as you bite down in the crook of his shoulder, and by the way he keens at the pain, he seems to enjoy it. You press your teeth down closer to his neck if only to show him that he’s yours, and he won’t be running from you again. His hand rises to pet your hair back from your face when you finally deem him worthy of release. Even though you still see red after he tried to fucking abandon you, you’re not so angry that you don’t give those bite marks peppering kisses to make them better.

“I know,” he rasps, stroking the nape of your neck as you whine, “I know it hurts, I’m sorry I ran.”

You forgive him instantly, pressing your mouth and tongue against his in a desperate, heated kiss. Your lover knows immediately what to do, fingers reaching for the strings holding your ceremonial dress in place. It’s an easy thing to strip away, its sole purpose of being beautiful and easy to remove from heated bodies, and you are suddenly delightfully bare underneath the moon and stars. As you bend back down to ravage his chest and collarbone in a myriad of bites and kisses, you find with no small amount of delight that an erection begins to rise up against your thigh.

His hands press up gently to your breast, feeling you out as he has many times before, but you both would agree that this is… different. Better, even, despite the misery you feel because he’s not inside you yet. You kiss him again, gasping for breath on his mouth, as a hot, pinching need flitters through your body like the touch of a red-hot brand. That desire, that instinct swirling in your chest demands he must feel pleasure before you ride him like a goddamn stallion, so you are quick to get to work.

You begin to make a trail of purple and red hickies all along his stomach, sometimes biting hard enough for him to bruise just for the sensation of his flesh between your teeth. After a few moments of teasing him, you barely had the mind to do much more, you finally fall back to the pulsing member you crave so terribly. It takes you a few seconds to take it in, the contours and highlights curving along in the moonlight, long, thick, yours. After briefly contemplating where to start, you begin at the very tip.

He breathes out a shuddering gasp when you roll your tongue over the top of his cock, his fingers tangling in your hair. You feel a shuddering sense of satisfaction at his body’s response, then move down to the base. Up and down, you try to lick and kiss and give tiny sucks all across it as rhythmically and as pleasurably as you can, going deep and low just for the sake of watching him squirm pathetically. It doesn’t take him too long to be drawn to the edge, or perhaps it’s been an eternity, you don’t know, but he rides out his first orgasm in your mouth.

You come back up, mouth still lingering with the taste of his pleasure, and press your mouth against his in a lazier kiss. There’s a kind of mingling desperation boiling in your stomach, but the beast within you is satiated for a few moments at the sight of him becoming undone by your tongue. Your hand snakes back down to check on his steadily stiffening cock, just to see if he’s ready to take you yet. He still needs some more gentle teasing, so you settle down and offer up as many leisurely kisses as he needs to warm back up, while you’re just barely getting started.

He slides into you so effortlessly, your pussy is so wet that it engulfs him like a sheath specially made for him. And oh, god, or fuck, he feels so goddamn good that you start crying. Tears spring into your eyes, and he sits up to cradle you, whispering in your ear that you’re doing such a good job, that he’s so proud you’ve made it this far without cracking. That seasoned warriors do so much less, and you’re so fucking beautiful, wild, and unstoppable.

You suck in your breath, trying not to feel like you’re disappointing your lover, your mate at the show of such soft and fragile emotion, and you begin to grind. The feral need to be fucked slowly begins to disintegrate your sanity, what’s left of your lucidness drip, drip, dripping down into your core and burning into ash by the heat. You roll your neck around, gasping, whimpering, begging, screaming praises to him because he’s perfect, you’re mate is so fucking perfect, you want him inside you forever so you can spend eternity knowing this bliss.

And when your orgasm finally reaches its peak?

It feels like the sky itself shatters into a thousand pieces, raining down the stars, moon, and planets, your body almost evaporating into light as you cry out. Waves and rolls of fiercely bright pleasure curl through your body; you have to wrap yourself around your mate, or else you’re afraid you might break apart. He holds you, he whispers such sweet, soft things in your ears, coaching you through the orgasm to end all others, like he knows how perfect and majestic this one is.

You don’t even feel it when he cums, because the aftershocks are still clenching through your body as you try desperately to recover. He still remains strong, though, anchoring you to the earth as you almost sob with relief, even though he must be feeling that same kind of high you’re on. When it’s all over, he lays beside you, on the dewy grass that glitters in the moonlight, stroking your face until your fever finally breaks.

The next round of kisses are far more gentle and lovely than before, the unbearable hotness inside your core slowly evaporating away now that the spell ran its course. He holds you in his arms so tightly that you don’t think any force the earth mother can throw in your direction will break his grip.

“I love you,” he whispers, “so much. Thank you for experiencing this.”

“Is- is that what it’s like for you? Such madness, every time?” You ask, almost scared of the answer.

“Yes,” he confesses, “with you being the only thing on my mind.”

“That’s terrifying,” you whisper, stroking some of the pale hair from his eyes, “how do you manage?”

He gives you another kiss. “I have you.”

#werewolf/reader #werewolf/human #exophilia #werewolf #monster/reader #monster/human

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ktheist · 3 years

Text

ghost of a kiss.

muses. duke’s son!yoongi x marquis’ daughter!reader x crown prince!namjoon / professor!yoongi x student!reader x detective!namjoon

genre. historical au. reincarnation au. modern au.

words. 5.3k

note. nobody come at me for the header pls. or as bretman used to say, like fuck i’m tryin i’ve only been doin this for 2 hours 😭

There weren’t that many things Yoongi wouldn’t do if his father so wills it. Perhaps it was the Min blood coursing through his veins that made him so apathetic to human emotions.

You want to laugh.

You also want to cry, scream and throw the closest thing you have which is your fan at Yoongi’s ever emotionless expression. Just like a blank canvas painted with invisible ink, Yoongi never shows his feelings. Never spoke his mind.

Well, not around you at least.

It was as if you were just a pretty little doll for him to play with –no, he doesn’t even pay you any mind. He just sat there, sipping on the cherry blossom tea that the maid poured into his cup and gave one worded answers to the questions you asked after your endless chatter came to, well, an end.

After that, he put up with you a little bit longer when you insisted you’d wanted to escort him out of the garden and to the front of the mansion where his carriage awaited.

“Until we meet again, my lady,” he would bow but you would hold out your hand for him to place a ghost of a kiss on like lovers would.

It was always you who were asking for too much.

Always you who were a slave for his affection.

But instead of doing all of those things you dreamed of doing when you meet him again –and meet him, you do– you end up running past the grandeur doors of the ballroom, down the red carpet splayed hallway and into the gardens where red roses glimmer with dew drops underneath the moon rays.

What a heartbreakingly beautiful set up for a damsel with a broken heart.

“My lady,” it hasn’t even been five minutes when you hear that stone cold voice of Yoongi.

“Why couldn’t you just pretend you didn’t see me running like a scared, defenseless mouse after we met. After all, you’ve always been good at that –pretending like I don’t exist.” You wanted to laugh and laugh, you did. It sounds withered, unlike the full blooms of floral that surrounds you two.

“As your fiance, I have a duty to–”

“Duty.” You spit out the word like it’s poison, “was visiting me every fortnight for tea a duty of yours too?”

The corners of your eyes are red from roughly rubbing the traces of tears that threatens to fall on your cheeks and ruin your makeup.

You take a deep breath before turning to him, pushing down a silent sniffle.

“As you may have heard from your father, Duke Min, you’re relieved from that cumbersome duty,” you hold your chin high.

As you should.

Yoongi Min stares at you a moment longer than he usually would. Is it the hair? Your hair’s grown since he last saw you.

Or perhaps the bodice that wraps around you and enhances your curves and bosoms.

‘Perhaps’, you somberly admits, ‘he simply forgot how I looked after four years.’

“As you should have heard from the Marquis,” Yoongi presses, “I refuse to break the engagement.”

“Wha–” the word slips past your lips before you even register it.

“It can’t be undone, his Majesty already approves of the annulment,” you know you’re repeating words your father and brother uttered. Like a hopeful little mouse in the face of a black panther.

“Only with the Majesty’s approval can you request to break the engagement but it’s up to the Min’s if we wish to grant your request –I reject it.” Yoongi stands only a few feet away from you, his eyes appearing darker than black, shadowed by the moonlight.

When he steps forward and out of the shadow, you find yourself forgetting how to breathe. Like a beast in the night, he ambles his way to you elegantly and swiftly.

Before you know it, Yoongi is standing in front of you. And you, a captor beneath those haunting, onyx, splendor. His gloved fingers twirl a strand of your hair around them before he brings the golden locks to his lips.

“I loved you blindly, Sir Min,” you send your gratitude to the gods and goddesses for the stillness in your voice, “I longed for you like a sailor long to sail the seven seas but do you know what’s so wretched about this sort of longing? Only a lucky few manage to love without drowning.”

Your slender fingers curl around his wrist. Even then, you couldn’t close your fist around it –your hand is too small and delicate compared to his. And at times like these, you’re reminded of how woman you are and how man, he is.

“Release me,” the air feels cold against your now damp cheek but your heart is icier, “once and for all. At the very least, I’ll be able to marry a humble Count who’ll receive part of my inheritance once my father dies.”

The scoff that leaves the man’s lips sends shivers down your spine.

“A humble count,” his eyes gleam with mockery, as if he finds your words ironic, “did the Crown Prince of the Isira Dynasty not propose to you? Did you not come back for the sole purpose to tell me you’re abandoning me?”

You suspected the rumors of your getting closer to the Crown Prince, Namjoon, would spread over the continent.

“If you know, then let me go.” You say steely.

It’s the rawness in your tear-stained eyes that steals Yoongi’s breath away. The night breeze that blows past him almost sends him tumbling down like waves crashing against the shore.

“[Name],” he speaks your name for the first time in a long time, the syllables rolling off his tongue like sweet honey, “I’m not a man of many words. I don’t know how to–”

“You didn’t know how to kill either but you got better at it with practice!” Your throat feels as if it’s being grazed by sandpaper.

Your heart, on fire.

It’s the first time you’ve shown a different emotion than that heartwarming smile that looks like you’re meant for spring and blooming flowers. In that blissful moment, you look like one of the crimson roses that bear witness to you and Yoongi’s altercations.

“That’s right, I know what you do,” you nod, gaze burning with acid tears, “all those months spent waiting for you to come back from those expeditions. Monsters weren’t the only thing you slayed, were they?”

“No,” Yoongi breathes out and for some reason, his chest feels like it’s going to cave in and crush his heart.

The sensation is alien to him. Hell, he didn’t know he had a heart to begin with. It was just an organ that kept his blood pumping –he’d gladly tore it out and gave it to his dearest fiancée if she so much asked for it.

But now – now – she’s saying she wants no part of it.

The realization comes to him like poisonous smoke. Spreading around the hollowed part of his chest and seeps into that beating organ of his. Before he knows it, you’re already slipping out of his grasp.

“I’ll break off the engagement,” he finally says, his brain not registering the words that left his mouth, “for a kiss.”

But his heart knows what he wants.

You look at him like he’s crazy, eyes going round and glossed lips parting in a silent gasp. But when he makes no attempt to correct his words, realization gradually settles in.

“Make it quick.”

Long lashes flutter shut, lips pressed in a straight, unwilling line. The hand that clasps around his wrist falls to your side. Your shoulders are tense. You look like you’d rather be with those chimeras Jeongguk’s breeding than here.

Yoongi takes another step toward you.

Your eyebrows knit together when his gloved knuckles caress your cheekbone. The sharp inhale of breath you take as you brace herself doesn’t go past him. A rose, even in the face of the hands that threatens to pluck it, remains fierce and grounded.

The wait feels endless. As if time passes agonizingly slow yet the only indication that time hasn’t halted altogether is the way your heart keeps palpitating inside your chest as though it’s about to explode any second.

Then you feel them –a pair of softest, ghostly, lips on your forehead. As opposed to the hand kisses he left you, this one lingers with a sort of yearning. And even then, it feels short-lived.

As though you will never have enough of Yoongi Min.

“My lady, you look disappointed, if you wanted me to kiss you elsewhere, you should’ve said so.” There’s a mirth in his tone. And for a moment, you feel warm, like the warmth of the sun hugging you.

“What if I did?”

You want to ask but you decide against it. Thrusting your chin up like the noblest of women would, you remind him of the deal, “I’ll send someone to retrieve the annulment papers in a week’s time. I assume it will bear your signature, sir.”

With that, you walk past him, your laced hand brushing against his gloved one but even on the verge of goodbyes, Yoongi Min doesn’t let you walk out of it that easily. His pinky finger hooks around yours like a rusted, weak chain. Unsure whether to keep holding on or letting go.

Yet your feet stop dead in their tracks. Your heart races. Deep down, you know you want him to hold onto you like you held onto him for ten, pitiful years.

“Have a good evening, my lady,” is all he says, his hand falling away and he begins strutting to the opposite direction you’re heading even though there’s nothing in that direction besides a maze made of rose beds.

But you don’t plan to ponder too much on it. Namjoon, the Crown Prince, is waiting for you back in Isira where you’ll build a new home. A new life. And with a loving husband.

Or so you thought.

That was a lifetime ago. To say you opened your eyes to a twenty-one year old body in a world plagued by motor engine propelled and electronic devices –would be a lie.

This body is yours.

This life is yours.

You remember your first step, first successful ride on the bike after your father took off the supporting wheels, your first fall and the rest of your firsts, seconds, thirds and so on. And as such, you remember your first time meeting Min Yoongi.

At the age of twenty-one and him, twenty-six, his emotions are hard to pinpoint.

He isn’t much different in this lifetime.

His hair is a shade of rich brown that could easily pass as black if he’s not walking underneath the sunlight. He’s taller than the twenty-two year old boy you last saw before your carriage crashed into the ditch –that was the last thing you remembered from your last life.

No, you didn’t die. But the rest of your life past that point was blurry.

And here he comes, all in his dark colored vest over a white undershirt and black trousers. Professor Min Yoongi is nothing short of perfection.

“[Name], do you have a minute?” He approaches you like a panther; soundless and undetectable.

Before you know it, he’s five feet away from you and if you were to make a quick u-turn, it would be too obvious.

“I’m afraid not professor, I’m sorry, should I email you at a later time so we can discuss matters of my assistantship?” You put on your best smile and he lifts a dubious brow that screams that he sees right through your lie.

Yet he doesn’t press on.

Instead, he offers another alternative –though completely disregarding the last bit about the email, “right, then meet me after class.”

“I-I’m afraid I can’t do that either professor, I have to rush to Cyber, right after–!” You almost choke on your words.

“I’ll talk to Professor Park about that,” he says simply and taps you on your shoulder like any good-natured professor would with his top-performing student.

It just so happens that you’re extremely good at the class he teaches, which, ironically, is Neurocriminology.

“Professor Min?” You knock on the intimidating wooden door and hear a curt ‘come in’ from the other side before pushing the door open.

Behind his desk, Yoongi looks up at you through his long lashes and straight into the windows of your soul.

Even in your second life, his piercing stare affects you.

But you tell yourself that it’s because he’s just devilishly handsome and you’re humbly a woman.

That, and he and Professor Park Jimin are the youngest professors in the department.

“Those assignments over there need sorting.” Yoongi points to the pile of papers in a box perched on the coffee table as though waiting for you to arrive.

“Yes, professor,” you breathe through your mouth and swallow back the words of accusation that threaten to fall past your lips.

You did volunteer to be a student assistant but you never thought, in a million years, that the man who resembled your fiancé in the past… Well, on paper at least. You never thought he would pick you as his supervisee.

The room is silent save for the rustling sound of papers fluttering as you shift through each assignment and place them alphabetical orders of the name. Every once in a while, you can’t help but steal glances at the man seated behind the desk. With his hair slicked back and the cuffs of his wrist rolled up to his elbow, he looks like every girl’s modern day prince charming.

“Why are you so keen on running away from me?” His husked tone cuts through the silence.

“Pardon, professor?” You blink, not catching the meaning of his words until a moment later.

Your cheeks heat up under his piercing gaze, the recollection of the occasions you fast-walked to lose him in the hallways burning in the back of your mind.

“I-it seems I always have places to be… classes to attend, I’ll make sure to meet you every morning to confirm my tasks, professor,” you can’t just confess that he has a face and name of the man you once loved in your past life.

If you so much spoke of your remembering you’d be sent to the asylum.

A ghost of a smile tugs on the corners of his lips but it was gone as soon as it came. You’re not sure if you’re just seeing things.

“Very well, send me the location of your apartment so I can pick you up tomorrow,” he doesn’t look up from the screen of his Mac when he says that.

“P-professor?” You blink, disbelief coloring your complexion.

“You said you’d meet me every morning, yes? I always have my breakfast at 7:30 AM at The Curve, we can discuss matters of your tasks over breakfast.” He goes on like it’s just another day of him assigning you a task to complete.

The next morning, you sit with your back straight, staring at the pancakes Yoongi ordered for you. The sweater he wears over his vest makes him seem more relaxed than his usual vest and tie look. His long lashes almost brush the top of his cheek as he casts his gaze down at the leaf shaped latte he’s drinking.

“Professor, I double checked with the administration office and they gave me a list of things I have to do to complete my assistantship. From the tasks you’d given me, I checked off at least three of the requirements,” you take out an azure blue notebook where you flip to a page that has a piece of paper and slides it across the table.

“You came prepared,” he muses, an amused smile playing on his lips and your little heart does its little flips.

“I take it you’re writing a paper on neuroscience and human behavior –if there’s anything, I can help you with, please let me know,” you return his smile with a schooled one –the kind that you use when you’re dealing with strangers.

“Sure,” the professor nods, “I could use some help researching neurodivergence.”

The conversation flows smoothly. The worries you harbored for the whole of your university life now dissipated. You were at your most comfortable when it comes to academia. Your passion lies in your interest in criminology and the one man who you could engage in an intellectual conversation is none other than the man whom you tried so hard to avoid.

At some point, you think your worries, silly. Just because they share the same face and name, doesn’t mean they share the same memory. For all you knew, you could be the one in a million who remembers your past life.

That is, until Yoongi asks, “were you happy?”

He uses the word ‘were’ to refer to the past. It takes you a moment to register that he didn’t mean your childhood nor adolescent years.

And when you finally put two and two together, you can almost hear your heart drop. You thought you’d be sweating bullets and heaving for air from the tangible pressure this conversation brings.

But before you could say anything, Yoongi speaks again, “I won’t push for an answer, I know where that led me before.”

He casts his gaze down, long, nimble fingers picking up the cup of latte and making the regular sized cup seem miniature in his hand.

It’s a few days later, as you accompany him to another university to meet with a fellow specialist, that you finally say, “you never pushed me.”

Stirring the cup of black coffee, sitting at one of the round, two-persons tables in the cafe of the Sociology Department, you go on, “in fact, you never asked for anything at all. I was always the one asking for too much, giving just as much.”

‘I loved you too intensely and I burned too bright.’ These are the words you never dare say.

Loved.

Because you don’t love Min Yoongi anymore.

Perhaps, that’s why you’re unusually calm.

“I can’t remember everything –only bits and pieces. That night,” you swallow –you don’t need to steal a glance at him to know he’s thinking of the same night; the night you said your goodbyes, “after the carriage crashed, I remembered seeing shadows clash against one another. Namjoon’s men went against the assassins who came for me because I was the rumored Crown Prince’s soon-to-be fiancée. I had to go into hiding after he was demoted to a mere prince because of his brothers’ schemes… at some point, I remember starving because we had nothing to eat.”

A new identity was all Namjoon could offer for his beloved. He spoke of claiming back the throne that was rightfully his yet his supporters scattered all over the continents after the siege. Their spirit waned overtime. He came for you after the shadows saved you but you both lived in poverty until one shriveled up like a dead flower and the other went mad for the crown that was once his.

The way his fists clench with remorseful anger doesn’t go past you, it’s almost as though you can hear him blaming himself for your choices.

You smile wistfully, “but yes, I remember being happy,” the smile tugs into a straight line as you face him with conviction, “would I give everything up for that sliver of happiness again? No,” you shake your head, “now I just want money.”

Yoongi laughs. Like truly laughs out loud with his shoulderline shaking and hand on his stomach. The sound lacks the menace that you remembered him to wear around him like a cloak.

All of a sudden, the air seems to change. The tension you once felt, now dissipated into thin air. A familiar warmth creeps up your neck but you mask it with indifference.

You can’t afford to fall for him all over again.

Not when you’ve had a lifetime to mull over and decide these feelings would die with you –get buried with you.

“What happened after your sister ruined the dukedom?” It’s when you both got to this point of the conversation that you felt your heart writhe inside your chest.

As if physically hurting for the fate that befell Yoongi –at this point, it was just an assumption, but you were sure that–

“Aera tracked us one by one until she killed every single Min,” he says simply, as if talking about a cherished sister who up and left home with the family’s savings a few hundred years ago, “she was the best of us. She knew people like us couldn’t be left alone to live a quiet life.”

In the lulled silence, you notice the festering remorse that dances in his eyes.

He clasps his palm over his mouth as he stares out of the window, “of course, things are different now. We’re not allowed to kill.”

At that, you almost spat out the coffee you’re downing. You couldn’t believe your ears.

“It was illegal to kill then, you and your family did it anyway because you were just so– so… messed up!” You explode partly, voice lowered as you lean over the table, cautious of anyone nearby who might hear you.

“Aren’t you glad neurocriminology gives justification to murderers, well, murdering nowadays?” He smirks, one corner of his lip tugging upwards.

You find yourself breathing in sharply as your heart skips a beat at the sight of Min Yoongi’s dark humor.

The Yoongi in your past life would never be able to even understand a joke –you were sure.

But now it’s you who doesn’t appreciate the humor.

“Is that why you became a professor?” It’s apparent in the way your brows knit together.

“Rather, paired with my previous… knowledge, it’s an easier way to get a PhD and a stable earning,” the shrug makes him appear boyish –younger than he is.

For some reason, he was several years older than you in this lifetime compared to the last.

“Apparently mine deems that I marry rich,” you remark playfully.

“Then, shall we get married? I missed my chance in my previous lifetime and I’m kind of well off in this lifetime,” it’s the easy suggestion of marriage that makes you almost choke on the pancake you just directed into your mouth.

“Professor, there’s just something you don’t joke about,” you say after gaining a semblance of your composure yet your heartbeat drums in your ears and your cheeks feel as though they’re on fire.

Why are you so happy to hear that Min Yoongi, your former fiancé and beloved, entertained the idea of marriage with you even in this lifetime?

“Your sisters... do they remember?” Yoongi asks one fine evening as you’re surfing the internet to research the needed materials he tasked you with.

“How did you know I have sisters?” You blink, surprised.

Yoongi had to mask the involuntary smile that tugs on the corners of his lips when he sees how lovely and adorable of a face you’re making.

“You mentioned them before,” he states, “even if you didn’t, I’d suspect as much since I was born with the same siblings from the previous lifetime –for now, it’s me, Aera and Hoseok, who knows where my dad hid the rest of his children and mistresses.”

“They don’t remember, I tried asking when I first started remembering –was it at the age of eight? They looked at me like a devil just possessed their little sister,” you sigh softly, “it’s better this way. Life isn’t all that easy for them either in the past.”

The cherry blossom tree standing tall and proud one the edge of the field is positioned so that anyone who stood in front of his window would get a full view of raining, pink petals.

“Why do you think we remember?” You ask, staring at the petal that fluttered into the room and found itself atop Yoongi’s deep brown lock.

“I’d say fate’s giving us a second chance but you’d laugh at me,” he plainly says, flipping a page of the journal he’s reading.

And laugh at him, you do, “professor, I didn’t take you for a hopeless romantic!”

“We both changed, you and I,” you told him over dinner at le Saumon de Bord du Lac.

The piano playing in the background and the dim lighting gives off an atmosphere of a romantic evening. The waiter even thought you were a couple and offered a couple’s discount.

Yoongi being Yoongi, accepted it right away and called you his ‘darling’. Your cheeks burn up for a good fifteen minutes until the wine comes and you finish the whole glass in a few gulps.

“No shit, Sherlock,” he agrees wholeheartedly without even looking up from the menu, “for one, I’m not some apathetic maniac who goes around wielding spears.”

“No, you’re my professor and I’m your student, we should never be caught dead having dinner together,” you shoot him a rebellious grin to which he nods.

“Touche,” he acknowledges.

A week later, you stopped dead in your tracks when you saw a blonde haired, hazel eyed man approaching you and Yoongi. You’d stepped behind Yoongi’s broad shoulders, the man almost didn’t notice you at all.

He’s supposed to give a talk on neurocriminology –a guest of Yoongi’s.

“Are you okay?” He asks after you’re back in his office, he pulls you away from the spotlight when he notices your forced mechanical smile and fingers tugging at your sleeves.

“I know, right? Why did I get so weird like that?” You laugh to yourself, as though engulfed in your own world.

It doesn’t take a genius to – or perhaps, Min Yoongi was that, so that’s why he successfully – put two and two together and figured out that his esteemed guest is the reincarnation of Namjoon.

The blond didn’t seem to recognize you though.

But that didn’t stop him from taking an interest in you.

“[Name]... that student of yours, is she single?” Namjoon asked when they were out for dinner with the other professors but before Yoongi could even respond, the blond was already laughing it off, “nevermind, forget what I said. You wouldn’t happen to know anyway.”

“Don’t go around flirting with my students, they need to focus on getting a degree first before anything else,” Yoongi jokingly warned.

Something in his stomach twists and turns, as if a snake was slithering around his intestines, spreading its venom all over him.

But that did nothing to stop you and Namjoon from exchanging numbers and going out to brunches and dinners like he did with you. You keep on tugging on her sleeve and pushing your hair to the back of her ear when you spoke to Namjoon at the next talk he was invited to.

Much to Yoongi’s surprise, despite your obvious discomfort, you’re the one who suggested inviting Namjoonfor the new semester and handled all the matters pertaining to the talk.

“I don’t want to push you because if I do, you’d drift farther away from me and if I pull, you’ll recoil and take ten steps back –there’s no right way,” Min Yoongi has you trapped between the door and his body one afternoon. Particularly, after he saw the name Joonie flash across your screen as your phone vibrates.

You excused yourself to answer the call but just as your hand touched the door handle, his hand rested on top of yours, stopping you from walking out of his office.

“Wh-what are you saying, professor?” You stammer, the now still phone held in front of your chest.

He thinks he sees the tip of your ear turn red but it could be because of the fading winter air.

It was always uncomfortable to watch you and Namjoon interact but Yoongi attributed it to the fact that one remembered the times they spent together in their past life and the other having absolutely no idea yet still falling for your charms either way.

He twirls a strand of your hair around his index finger before he kisses it, “he may have your heart but I’ve loved you first –I’ve always loved you first.”

“P-professor-!” You exclaim, heels turning and so does your body.

No doubt, your sole purpose of turning around to face him is to caution him of his bold declaration –you were like an open book that Yoongi could just pick up and flip the pages to. You’d always been readable, even back then. Perhaps, that was why it felt like a hand clawed through his chest and wraps its talons around his heart each time you put up walls and turn away his subtle advances.

Because he knows winter has long settled in the hollowed part of your chest.

But because of how he was leaning down to kiss your hair, you end up face to face with only inches apart. There’s no mistaking the blush that spreads across your face, washing away the initial surprise of finding yourself so close to him.

“Call me Yoongi,” he implores with that deep, husky voice of his.

It’s the way he looks at you. Like he’s frightened beyond belief that you’d do exactly what he thought you would; take ten steps back –that makes your heart thump unceremoniously in your chest.

“Y-yoongi… we shouldn’t…” you murmur weakly, eyes tracing his soft lips before snapping up to meet his gaze.

“May I kiss you?” He knows he should let you go to answer the call –what you do and who you see in this lifetime is none of his business.

And yet, he can’t bear the thought of you walking away from him in this lifetime. Not when there’s the second chance he made a pact with the devil for.

Fate and the devil, what difference are there if they meant to serve one purpose?

You nod.

And all of a sudden, he’s back where it all ended. In that garden where roses bore witness to their tragic love affair.

He leans in and presses his lips on your forehead ever so gently –it feels as though if he puts any more pressure, you’d break like you’re made of glass.

“Kiss me for real –if you kiss me on the forehead, it feels like you’re saying goodbye,” your eyes flutter open and your brows join together in protest, he feels you tug on his shirt impatiently.

The softest of smiles graces Yoongi’s lips and you think your heart is going to explode into millions of pieces. Is it not enough that he’s the reason you almost forgot to breathe?

“Wasn’t it you who was itching to run away from me?” He teases, pinching your cheek and just like his hand kisses –you still feel them ghost over the back of your hand every once in a while– his touches are feather light.

“Only because you were an emotionally constipated idiot.” You argue back, lips puckered in protest.

“Then, if I may… my lady…” he trails off, index finger curled under her chin, tilting you face up.

“You may,” you giggle against his lips, arms tracing up the planes of his abs to his chest and find home around his neck as you pull him closer, deepening the kiss.

(“I was only putting up with Namjoon because he’s the head of the criminology department in Incheon –I was thinking of applying for a job there after graduating.” You confess some time later once you’re at le Saumon de Bord du Lac.

“Huh,” Dion blinks, not expecting that.

“Did you think I was going to date him in this lifetime?” You giggle as if you already know the answer, “true, he’s still as handsome as ever, but we did go broke and… I never truly loved him.”

You cast her gaze down, cheeks burning with warmth, shyness overcoming you all of a sudden. If he could, Yoongi would gather her in his arms and embrace her like he’ll never let go.

But he settles with a reach of his hand on top of yours on the table, thumb caressing the spot just below the knuckle of your fourth finger.

“In this lifetime… definitely.”)

note. this was shared on a discord server and posted on wattpad under a different pseudonym!

#bts fic #bts fanfic #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfic #bts scenarios #yoongi scenarios #yoongi smut #bts smut #bts fanfiction #yoongi fanfiction #yoongi fluff

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spiltscribbles · 3 years

Note

Im so excited!!!! Here’s a little “It’s always been you. You and only you.” sprinkled in with Green-Eyed Epiphany

~Notes: OMFG bubby!!!! You are so beyond adorable! Thank you So SO much for the sweetness!! I really hope you like this XS and fingers crossed this fits the promptXS <3 <3 <3

Prompt Smash Game | Send Me A Prompt💜 | A Reblog Is Like A Huge, Warm Hug!!!

~R: my mom’s working the night shift at the clinic👀👀

~S: Kinky😏

~S: I can be there in 15

~R: make it 20 and get Chinese x

~S: sometimes I think ur j using me for the food

~R: and bring henny😈

It’s seventeen minutes since Remus sent the last text when the front door of his modest ranch house begins to thump with a familiar wrapping that’s three quick knocks followed by two slower ones, and he has to wrestle down the eager grin from his face when he swings it open to find one of his closest friends standing at the threshold in that customary weathered, leather jacket that he found two summers ago when Remus had taken him thrifting for the first time, and an impish sort of smirk that definitely would look ridiculous on anyone else, but only makes Sirius all the more maddeningly attractive.

“What took so long?” Remus asks mildly, pulling him indoors by the sleeve and gesturing for him to set the goods on the kitchen counter once they cross the small foyer.

“You wound me, Lupin.” Sirius retorts, quick-silver eyes flashing before he pins him against the island and puts his hands on either side of his waistline with more gentleness than Remus would’ve expected before they began this whole sorted affair— Okay, maybe that’s the wrong word for it?

It’s not an affair, or tryst, or carrying on or whatever the fuck else Lily says when she’s teetering on the wrong edge of tipsy and thinks it’s her right to call Remus out on his bullshit— on his stupid, beyond obvious crush he’s been fostering for one of his closest friends since junior high.

It’s none of those things— It’s not nearly as dramatic.

It’s just— Just that yes, Remus has been harboring a tiny infatuation for Sirius ever since that first day of the seventh grade when he had moved to this tiny, coastal town after his parents divorce. But how could he have not? Sirius is hilarious, and a genius, and so gorgeous that sometimes it feels like his insides are twisting up whenever he glances over at him. And on that first day, he had just caught Remus’s eyes from across the library shelves before classes begun, and smiled in that uniquely electric way of his, and asked if Remus could put slime in a very specific locker, (Snape’s), for a very specific reason, (Because he kept following Lily around like a creep), on account to no one suspecting the new kid. And yeah— Remus was lost on him an embarrassing amount from then on.

Sure, it can be regarded as kinda pathetic on Remus’s end— kindling this nest of emotions so close to the chest— but also it’s not as if he’s been lovestruck by his crush, like it’s some sort of waterlogged scarf he’s got dragging him down. His attraction towards Sirius is like a soft melody that’s swelling in the backdrop of all their interactions, nothing overwhelming— not a flood plane, not yet at least. It’s warm, and it’s familiar, and it’s persistent like a flutter of a humming bird’s wings. And Remus doesn’t mind pining over someone as fantastical as Sirius Fucking Black.

Graciously, in some strike of incredible luck, Sirius never caught on to Remus’s silly feelings, not until that night when they were watching an old movie in Remus’s basement while James and Lily were celebrating an entire year together— save for all their sudden stops and just as speedy starts— and Peter was visiting his grandmother in Tampa Bay. It was the first time they had been alone together since Remus broke up with Caradoc for the final time, and Sirius just looked so fucking good in that casual, white v-neck and his skinny jeans that make him look like some echo of James Dean on his best day. And Remus isn’t sure who exactly moved forwards first, or how the fuck Meg Ryan wandering the Seattle streets was some sort of aphrodisiac, or why Sirius— who could have any guy he would ever want— was actually humoring him, but one second they’re lying down on the sofa— Remus caged between Sirius’s expanse and the cushions behind them— and the next he’s tasting PBR on Sirius’s lips, and has got a fist full of his dark hair, and is thrilling at the feeling of Sirius’s thigh between his legs. And yeah— it just happened like those sort of things are want to do, and by the end of it they were sticky and breathless and diffident in ways they never been around one another, in ways Remus reckons Sirius has never been around anyone.

But the next weekend, when Sirius’s latest sorta— but not really— boyfriend had canceled on their dinner plans, Sirius wandered over to Remus’s bedroom window and it was another tumbling of frenzied hands and loosen buckles and thrusting hips. And then it just became an easy release— a sort of poetry, an understanding in all but name.

And that’s fine. They don’t have to talk about it. Remus knows that Sirius isn’t the type to settle down with a partner, to go bowling for a date, or texting countless messages that amount to nothing at all at the end of the conversation, or putting up with another dude’s parents taking photos of them before leaving to prom or homecoming or whatever the fuck else. And Remus is sorta sick of the idea of love, of trying so hard only to end up heartbroken and eating a gallon of Chubby Bunny in his favorite sweats and cursing John Hughes for pretending Hollywood romances can happen to ordinary high schoolers.

So yeah— This thing they’ve fallen into with each other is good. They’re friends— best friends— and they have fun and they’re apparently really fucking good in bed together, and Sirius never looks at Remus with pity when he spots him gazing at his profile absentmindedly, and he doesn’t mind when Remus traces invisible designs against his skin when they’re soaking in the after glow, and he never treats him any different. Sirius still slings his arm around Remus’s shoulders when they walk down the halls, and he still buys him his favorite chocolates when he feels poorly, and he still faces Dorcas's disapproving wrath when he drags Remus out of the library to have a little mischief— whether it’s smoking a blunt in the abandoned skatepark in town or playing some stupid prank on those assholes in their year.

For all intent and purposes, they still behave the same they’ve always acted around one another, but just with the miraculous addition of mind-blowing and dulcetly ductile sex.

This is good, this is fun, this is completely untethered from the bull shit of romance.

And if Remus mouths against the juncture of Sirius’s neck a little too intensely— trying to pry off the memory of the hickey Sirius had been sporting after spending the weekend with Gideon Prewett— Well no one has to be any the wiser, and by the sound of Sirius’s hitched breaths, he seems not to mind even slightly.

“Except my apology?” Remus asks, more coy than he ordinarily acts as he drops his arms around Sirius’s neck, and leans on the balls of his feet to whisper against his temple.

“Oh, you’re such a bastard,” Sirius retorts, labored as all get out, kneading his fingers into Remus’s ass that’s only covered by the thin layer of his plaid pajama bottoms. “You are going to have to do a lot more for me to forgive the lip.”

Remus laughs in a stammering sort of way as Sirius tugs him along, walking backwards to his room that he’s become incredibly intimate with since the first time they did this three months ago.

“Sirius, the spring rolls— they’re gross if we have to heat them up again.”

“I’ll postmate us knew ones,” Sirius insists, covering Remus’s mouth with his own with fervor. “C’mon babe, do not tease me like this.”

Sirius must’ve caught his mistake, because he suddenly goes as red as Remus feels— The pet name was to close for comfort considering their strictly friends with benefits nature, but Remus is already half hard, and he really does not want to end this, so with a sly wink, he returns to nipping at Sirius’s jawline, rutting against him in a very unambiguous way. “Fine, if you really don’t think you’ll need the nourishment for your stamina?”

The words have their intended effect, and Sirius makes a small growl deep in his throat before practically tearing off Remus’s shirt, and dipping beneath the waistline of his pants, scooping him up and racing to the bed.

And they get lost in one another beneath the pale glow of Remus’s lamplight and the moon spilling through the window, relearning each others every patch of skin for minutes on end that wax and wane like the delta of ocean waves, unspooling into something tangible and tantalizing with every kiss punctuated with teeth that Sirius trails across Remus’s collarbone, and the way Remus palms greedy hands up and down Sirius’s back until he gets the hint and undresses.

“Well come on, you’re not an invalid, Lupin.” Sirius jeers and Remus chuckles as he follows suit until they’re both finally, blessedly nude. And with an easy assurance of them having done this more than a dozen times now, Remus crawls into his lap and kisses him straight on the mouth, preening how Sirius moans against him— canting up wantonly and grabbing at his hips with a sort of intensity that will probably leave bruises in the shape of the pads of his fingers, and Remus absolutely adores the idea of that, feels something hot and needy and desperate unfurl in his gut as he presses their mouths more forcefully together, going buzzed when he gets to relish in the sensation of their tongues running against one another, and the taste of the ridges on the roof of Sirius’s mouth, and the slide of the soft skin of his inner cheek— gasping when Sirius pulls away abruptly, panting an almost reverent, “Mother of God, Remus,” and tackles him flat on his back before they commence, with the addition of both their hard, leaking cocks thrusting against one another and Sirius’s hand in Remus’s hair pulling that bit more forcefully while his other one roams the dips and planes of his side— skirting against the divots of his stomach muscle before he wraps it around the pair of them and begins to pull in earnest, to the rhythm that Remus swears was strung from the heavens above.

“Oh— Oh, yeah— Sirius,” Remus breathes out in a haggard sort of way, words that he refuses to ever call a mewl even if they’re stretched out and crackle with emotion.

“Yes—, just say that again,” Sirius practically demands, his mouth completely covering his ear in a wet, hot heat— his teeth scraping against the soft shell. “Remus, baby, just say my name, tell me you want it.”

And God, Remus is feeling so heady— like he’s floating and he couldn’t possibly come back down— that he probably would’ve listened to anything Sirius asked of him, especially if he does that thing again, when he squeezes the slick length of them with a tad more force than they usually play at. “Sirius, Sirius. Sirius, please, I’m close,” Remus shrills in an unsteady staccato— his normally smooth tenner going pitchy and pleading, and he can feel his toes curling, can feel the eminent release coming— What he does not expect is to feel something poking at his entrance, didn’t expect to be struck dumb by the sensation of the tip of Sirius’s large, dry finger poking right there, right against the fluttering hole, while he’s still pumping them in tandem, and the second it hooks inside Remus goes a startling sort of static , sees blasts of white blotching his vision and his head thrown back and his dick spirting out heavily against Sirius’s deliciously defined torso.

And he’s just breathing heavily now, during the come down, can barely make out anything through the heavy weight around him, the one cushioning his head— but he does graciously feel Sirius’s cock fucking into his own hand against Remus’s thigh and then idly the feeling of his come splattering him, but then after that he can just barely hear the distant padding of feed against floorboards, followed by a wet washcloth being dabbed against his skin. So when he finally forces himself to focus, he sees Sirius cleaning himself off, wrapping it into the pair of joggers Remus was wearing earlier and tosses it to the corner of the room.

“Rude,” he scolds with no heat, shuffling closer to him when Sirius lies down besides him once more and circles an arm around his torso.

“THat’s what you get when you’re acting like a lazy fuck,” Sirius counters, smug as all get out while he threads a hand in Remus’s hair.

“Hmm, didn’t see that in the papers recently. Is it a new law?”

“Yeah, actually just past on the senate floor.”

“Interesting… Well considering that only one of us has a senator for a father, I really have to ask to see the power-point you shared with him to get this bill through the stalemate,” Remus’s head bounces against Sirius’s chest from the force of his laughter at the barb.

“Oh, stuff it, Lupin.”

Hiding his smile into Sirius’s skin, Remus does as told, and they both just lie there, as if everything’s gone suspended just for the pair of them, just so Remus can count out the beats of Sirius’s heart pulsing against his sternum, and can feel the way their legs tie into one another, and can feel Sirius mouthing against his temple, blowing his curls with every exhale.

And Remus thinks that he’d do anything to remember this exact moment for every single day from here on out.

But then the quiet is abruptly and permanently punctured by the sound of his phone chirping, and he has to breathe in deeply before separating from the warmth of Sirius, and fishes down for the device that’s still crammed into the side of his bed from where he had hidden it after that initial text.

“Is Dearborn still on your ass to try again?” Sirius asks, a bit stilted.

Remus wonders if he’s just imagining the tension twisted in the question, but reasons that Sirius’s never been Caradoc’s biggest fan, so he just shrugs it off— really doesn’t want to get into some stupid argument about his asshole of an ex when he’s still feeling so content. “Nah, ’s James. Still trying to force me to go to the homecoming dance with you guys.”

“Oh,” Sirius retorts, lips pinched while watching Remus redress. “You should go, Marls is pregaming and you know she always gets the good shit.”

Remus shakes his head while puttering over to find a new pair of sweats and a sweater. “Nah, just not feeling it this year— Erm, you’re taking Gid I assume.” He’s not sure why he asks it, supposes he’s always a glutton for some pain and shitty feelings to inspire his playlists habit, but also maybe it’s him trying to sober himself. Trying to remember that despite this— despite everything they just did and how easy it’s always been for them to fall into step with one another— Remus isn’t good enough to be seen with Sirius in the light of day. He’s probably not handsome enough or cool enough or something else that makes Sirius absolutely revolted from the thought. Probably that he’s beyond bookish, and looks painfully virginal and isn’t nearly as sly or snarky as his other conquests.

Truly, Remus should just be thankful that Sirius wants this at all, he shouldn’t be so crazed over the why nots of the situation— it’ll only kill him trying to be something he never could actually affect with any credence.

Schooling his features to something passably indifferent, Remus pivots to face him again, is startled when he finds Sirius still naked and staring at him with a burning sort of intensity in his storm cloud eyes.

“He hasn’t said anything, but I guess he’s assuming as much,” he finally says, running a hand through his overgrown fringe, that familiar twitch of the corner of his mouth grabbing Remus’s attention. The one that tells him Sirius is actually irritated about something he’s not letting himself say out loud.

“Erm, good? Gid’s a decent guy.” Remus mutters, head ducked once it gets to a point that he can’t stand Sirius looking at him like that— Not after how blissed out and ferocious he had been groping every inch of Remus only moments ago. “You guys are nice together.”

And it’s like the breath before the worst of storms when his words collapse between them, making the pregnant silence go suddenly suffocating.

“Right,” Sirius intones once Remus levels their gazes, hurriedly standing and collecting his own clothes, fracturing the moment completely. “Right. Whatever, yeah. I’ll go to the fucking dance with fucking Gideon Prewett. That’s good.”

“Sir—“

“No, it’s fine. You can just stay home, and mourn over that douchebag Dearborn some more, even though you ending it with that dick was the best decision you could’ve made, Remus, and I’m not even saying it just because I’m petty. He is a prick, and you need to finally get a clue how much better you deserve, damn it!”

Remus’s head feels like it’s swimming. Why is Sirius so angry all of a sudden? Does he not like Gideon? Why can’t he just cut it off like so many times before? And why the hell is he petty over Caradoc? The entire situation feels like someone’s just handed him a wedge of Swiss cheese and told him to knit it back together.

“What is up your ass?” He decides is an appropriate enough question for his floundering, and shutters back only slightly at how fuming Sirius looks when he rounds on him— clothes disheveled and fearsome glower heavy on his face.

“Whatever Remus, if you can’t see that Dearborn is bad news—“

“I’m not pining for Dearborn,” Remus interjects, really doesn’t feel like listening to one of Sirius’s ridiculous diatribes about him, not now. Not when he’s still so bewildered by everything else. “Why would you think that?”

The fire in Sirius’s eyes vanishes as quickly as someone blowing on a candle, and it’s his turn to gawk, gaping at Remus, shoulders dragged down and eyes wide. “Wait— You’re not?”

“No…. I haven’t even thought about him for weeks.”

“Oh.” Sirius looks contemplative for a moment, before the righteous anger that only he could ever wear with such conviction, melts over him once more. “All right, then what the fuck is this?”

Remus stiffens, feels his veins lace with ice, an his breath catch somewhere in his throat, really does not think he’s ready for this conversation. “This?”

“Yes, Remus, this!” Sirius demands, sounding harsh in comparison to the barely croak Remus had spoken with. “Listen I don’t care if you want me to wait some more, if you need to lick your wounds or whatever. But why are you like pushing me on other people? Why do you want me not to be around? why do you want me to go out with other dudes?”

Remus lies back on the chest of drawers now, feels beyond dazed. “What the hell are you talking about, Sirius?”

Sirius clenches his teeth right then, the hinge of his jaw going taught

before he skulks closer, not letting Remus drop his gaze. “Is it me? Is it that you just can’t see me that way? Are you just stringing me along or something? Because I really didn’t think that was your style, but if it’s that, then Remus—“

“Stringing you along?” Remus asks in a voice barely above a whisper, just needs to feel his lips forming the absolutely risible words, even if it makes it so something dark passes across Sirius’s beauteous features.

“Remus, I swear to God! Stop repeating everything I’m fucking saying!”

“Then start making some damn sense!” Remus snaps, suddenly heated as he straightens and pins him with a proper scowl. “What in holy hell are you going on about?”

“God! Do I have to spell it out!” Sirius barks, cutting the final step dividing them and grabbing for Remus’s shoulders with a tight squeeze. “I know you just wanted to fuck around with someone after Dearborn showed his extreme dickitude, and listen, I was so fucking ecstatic that you wanted me for it. But I can’t do this in-between shit anymore! I’m sorry, but I can’t! And I get if this is annoying, but I’ve been crazy for you for so long. And I just can’t keep myself at an arms length anymore, not now that we’ve really had each other, not after you let me actually touch and taste and fuck you and— Damn it, this isn’t coming out the way I wanted, all right! Damn it, maybe Evans was right and I should’ve made queue cards like some dumb ass— But then James pointed out how unromantic that was, and Marlene said—“

Gently, Remus puts his shaking fingers against Sirius’s lips, effectively killing off anything else he’s about to say. And slowly, everything is beginning to slot into place, and he’s so spiteful over how they’ve been such idiots this entire time— swears to put salt into Lily’s coffee next time he sees her.

“I didn’t know you actually were into me Sirius.”

Stunned, Sirius’s dark brows hike up to his hairline. “How the hell didn’t you know?” He demands against Remus’s fingers, thunderous and insulted looking.

“Because you never fucking said as much!” Remus defends himself, feels a mangled sort of laughter squirming out. “God, we’re idiots.”

“We’re?” Sirius asks, hesitant and red faced before Remus moves his hand to peck softly against his mouth.

“I’ve been half in love with you for years you absolute ass-wipe, it’s always been you! You and always you.” Remus tells him breathily, still fighting down the last remnants of his actual, god forsaken giggle— like he’s thirteen again and getting buzzed off his mom’s peach wine coolers. “I only never said anything because I never thought I’d have a chance with someone like you— Someone so— so— Someone so amazing.”

The smile Sirius favors him with right then is something absolutely incandescent, and his eyes shimmer with a very distinct sort of joy that Remus wonders if anyone besides him has ever witnessed. “Then you’re definitely the biggest idiot between us, Lupin.” Sirius declares, knocking their foreheads together, and lacing his hand into Remus’s own before squeezing meaningfully.

“Fuck off,” Remus snorts, presses forwards for another languorous kiss, not feeling in danger of being swallowed whole any more— finally letting himself drown and knowing that Sirius will be there to pull him back up no matter what.

“Oh, I could get used to this,” Sirius smirks, snakes his arms around Remus’s waste that bit tighter.

“Hmm, there is the problem that I usually don’t put out until at least the third or fourth date,” Remus says mildly.

“Pff, ‘s fine, Lupin,” Sirius insists, grinning beatifically. “I like you being a hussy for me!— Oof, careful with the merchandize, you were speaking some real exaltations about that part of my anatomy not too long ago.”

Moving his knee from the point at hand, Remus sticks out his tongue at him. “See if you ever get any ever again, Sirius Black.”

When Sirius laughs, it sounds like the strike of lightening against unmarked land, and the honey cloaked side of a knife’s edge, and like everything splendid Remus has ever known. And he thinks that yes, he could get used to this right back.

#WOLFSTAR #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #REMUSXSIRIUS #SIRIUSXREMUS #WOLFSTAR FLUFF #Spilt Ink

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goldafterglow · 3 years

Text

dissolve me (repost)

(deleted this post on accident, reblog of original here)

Summary: We find out how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop. Except the Tootsie Pop is Horacio Carrillo.

Pairing: Horacio Carrillo x Reader

Word Count: 5k+ (look away)

Warnings: angst, fluff, gory metaphors (I use figurative language to mask the scent of flaming trash)

A/N: This is literally the first thing I’ve written in like 3 years so you have to be nice to me. Please give me feedback!! But it has to be exclusively positive or I will spontaneously combust!!!

Horacio is cold.

It’s a little past midnight and the Sun has been asleep for hours by now, but not Bogota. Instead, the city moves in slow motion, the weight of slumber heavy on its creatures as the few visible stars shush the agitated crickets. Somehow, even despite the Sun’s absence, it’s influence still blankets the trees. It accumulates, even. The hot radiation permeates the lungs of taxis and buildings, but the cool darkness brings life into the air as water begins to materialize on the sides of newspaper stands and underneath Horacio’s shirt. His clothes stick to him so tight (more than usual) that he thinks he may be drowning under the moon. He can taste the ocean on his tongue and the sensation is only relieved as he steps off the pavement and onto the tile of the rundown convenience store. The building, heavily air conditioned, makes each drop of sweat feel like icicles pricking into his fried red skin, but his body still burns from the residual heat.

Somehow, Horacio still maintains that icey core in his chest. So even as he makes a beeline for the refrigerated-goods, yes. Horacio is cold.

He exists as a green-sheet ghost walking through the aisles of the grocery store, barely conscious at 2 am as he searches for some goddamn milk. He knows he works too hard, knows his life is concrete and bricks screeching against his steel heart. Every morning he walks on glass to enter his office, and every morning he forces his feet to bleed. What else is there for him? His body has been adorned with splinters and cuts for so long now, so what’s a few more? Each night, he drags his body flat across the floor, just trying to make it out the door. Trying to escape an office that chews him up and spits him out, saliva covered and filthy.

But fuck if he just wants some milk.

So he makes this small trip before he heads home. Once he finds the dairy, his heavy eyes hoist themselves upwards, to the second-to-topmost shelf in the refrigerator. The last carton of fat free milk - dairy-flavored water - that he’ll chug the next morning. But just as his hardened fingertips reach for it, they meet something else; a third wheel to this toxic milk-Horacio romance that is ruining his plans for what might as well be the best morning he’s had in the past three milk-free days. His mind, once fuzzy from the sleepy grey clouds filling his lenses like cataracts, now feels a sharp jolt of electricity soar through it as his machine body is activated and his surroundings suddenly become clearer, laser vision kicking in. His senses are now sharper and his guard is completely up. His nerves begin racing as the data from his hands shoots straight to his brain to get integrated and that thing he’s feeling is...warm? Shit, no it’s hot. It fucking burns his skin and immediately he pulls back because his motherboard is screaming at him that he’s in danger.

His head shoots up and his eyes dart to the side as he turns to look, expecting a raging bonfire or boiling cast iron, but instead he sees a human. A sweet, candy person that looks almost surprised as he does, but with softer features and kinder eyes. He smells the caramel seeping out of your pores and it stings his olfactory nerves but perhaps he wants to smell it again so it can fill his lungs and then let it harden inside of his cold body. So that it can stay within him forever.

“Disculpame,” you say, remorse dripping out of your golden mouth and if his ears were in control, he’d beg you to say it again. Say anything. He recognizes your accent. Not a Columbian, but a gringo. His brain reminds his heart that hey, we don’t like selfish, egotistical gringos. His heart doesn’t listen.

“Go ahead,” he says, and shit he sounds horrible. He sounds fucked up, and it’s probably because he is fucked up. He talks like toothpicks and needles, but it’s okay because he got to speak to you and he’s never spoken to an angel before.

He notices how you relax a little at the sound of his English, and he feels that heat spread at the beautiful notion that he did that all by himself.

“No really, I don’t need it,” you insist, a small smile gracing your lips. “You’re very sweet for offering, though.” Huh?

Horacio Carrillo is not sweet. He doesn’t taste like sugar or chocolate or berries. Horacio is bitter gourd, burnt toast and that shitty part at the end of the banana that no one wants. Copper and hot tar oozing down taste buds and burning the frail pink dots along the way. Straight black coffee that’s tear-inducingly retched. Pepto Bismol and whatever the fuck is inside of those plastic pill capsules. Raw beef festering with E. coli and flies, a rotting corpse under a wake of vultures, the creepy old man that sits next to you on the train, mace burning your shivering eyes while you collapse to your shredded knees onto a floor of thumbtacks.

Horacio Carrillo is not sweet. But you said he was, and you are oh so persuasive. That’s when he felt the first one. Crack.

His mind goes into overdrive as panic sets in - what was that sound? What just broke? What crevice of his mind just ripped a little and how can he staple it back shut? He feels the slimey pus of his emotions begin to seep out of the opening a little, and he doesn’t like it. Not one bit. He wants to put his guard back up and regain control of this situation the way he’s been trained to do by offering you the carton and then leaving; defying your orders and following his own.

But who is he to refuse you?

“Thank you,” he says, and he’s just noticed that your hand is back at your side and your eyes shine a little brighter as your smile widens at his defeat. That was me, too. But then you’re turning around and leaving, messy bun flopping up and down as you walk towards the cash register and his heart is furious. It’s pounding in his ribcage like a ravenous shark caged in glass, telling him to not let you get away because it wants to burn in your soft flames and turn to ash in your fingers, but he stays planted. Watches you walk away and take that gentle radiating heat with you, leaving him just as hard and frozen as he was before he’d ever let you poke around into his soul. Suddenly he understands why you’d burned him so bad; doesn’t even the lightest match make that violent sizzling sound when it touches ice? But he can’t deny that you had melted him, just a little bit, and he can’t deny that he likes being a little watery.

He sees you again just a few days later. It’s a Sunday morning and Bogota is now wide awake. Pastel streaks fly down the streets as manifestations of yellow taxis, dusty red cars, and pale blue cyclers bring the canvas of the city to life. Horacio decides to be adventurous, introduce true exploration and child-like color into his monochrome world, and walk to the cafe near his street. A truly exhilarating touch, if he did say so himself.

Except he hadn’t prepared himself for the anarchy that would occur within him when he saw you again. The girl that was awake at 2 am and offered him white calcium water in a carton and called him sweet. You’re wearing one of those pink dresses that you just know is sleeveless, but a light denim jacket guards your shoulders and he can’t help but wonder what would happen if he just tugged on your collar a little bit, exposed some of your delicate skin and traced his fingers over it. Just closed his eyes and leaned down to brush his lips over - shit, fuck. What is he thinking? His eyes don’t know where to look, his heart doesn’t know how to beat, his lungs don’t know how to take in air. What do you do when you see a pretty thing in a pretty sundress? Certainly not function. Horacio wasn’t doing that at all. So he did the next best thing: sit at a table and watch you. That’s the next best thing, right?

He watches as you smile at the young man taking your order, talking to him like you know him, care about him. All you were doing was listing the ingredients you wanted in your drink, but your bright eyes twinkle with a sort of endearment that he isn’t used to. Like you were happy.

He is in awe of you. Horacio has worked so hard to stay numb, to feel nothing but that rusty scrape of motivation that made him do his job. But you made it look so easy to gush, to overflow and spill your delight with life onto everyone around you until that tired, overworked teenager behind the register was smiling too as he said “next!”

You turn your head to find a table once you pick up your order and panic settles into Horacio’s bones again as he reflexively turns his head away from you, but your keen eyes spot him. Oh, how you must pity him. The poor, miserable apparition from the grocery store. He feels that radiating heat begin to grow as you approach him at his table, so he pretends to not notice you. Pretends he’s numb as you thaw him into a dripping mess of thin ice and water.

“Is this seat taken?” you ask him, nodding to the other chair in front of him with a cup of coffee in your supple hands. Horacio’s tactful eyes scan the cafe once more; there’s other seats in the building, other men and women for you to pity. He’s been chosen. And he just can’t resist you, is too weak to deny himself that addicting sugary sweetness that you’re coated in because he’s not sure he’ll ever feel so soft again and he wants to savor it.

Horacio looks up at you, clearing his throat as he takes the kind of breath that you can feel as the air fills his lungs. He’s priming his voice to talk to you because this time, he wants to make it count.

“No,” he says. Fuck. In that moment, he couldn't remember having talked before. Has he ever spoken? Certainly not, or he’d know how to do it. But you don’t seem to mind his cold tone as you take the seat in front of you, and those damned eyes of yours are blinding to look at but god, who needs pupils anyway?

He can tell you’re curious about him. You want to pick him apart scab by scab and take him apart into individual fibers until you get to that soft mushy center that is Horacio Carrillo. You want to see him naked and open, but that’s not something Horacio can give you. How could he? He’s taken that weak, inferior soul within him and crushed it under concrete and plaster of paris, secured it with walls and steel and barbed wire until the protective layers become so extensive that even if someone could get through them all, why the fuck would they want to? It wouldn’t be worth the trouble.

“You know, I’ve never been here before,” you say, taking a sip of your drink, and he hums, knowing that’s how people interact but not quite knowing what is going on with him. You’re just saying things, just want him to talk back. You’re trying to have a real conversation with him, and he doesn’t understand why, but maybe for just once in his life he doesn’t need to fucking understand everything.

“Then what brings you here?” he asks, and slowly he begins to regain a little feeling inside him. Not enough that it unleashes his pain, but enough that he can feel that ice water slosh around inside him easily. A gentle flow of slush that mixes with your amber and makes him feel like a person.

“A student of mine recommended it to me,” you explain, and he’s starting to put together a little picture of who you are in his mind.

“You teach?” he asks, probing you for your life. He wants to study your mind, hear the music that leaves your mouth when you speak. You nod thoughtfully, and he can tell he’s mentioned something you enjoy. He learns that you teach at a local university and hears about just how passionate you are about what you teach. His dark eyes begin to fill with that precious light you possess as you tell him about your students and how though you’re new to Bogotá, you already love it. But that doesn’t surprise him so much; somehow he just knows that you’ve got plenty of love to go around.

“Well now you know what business I have in a grocery store at 2 am,” you conclude after you tell him about your late nights grading subpar papers, curiosity twinkling in your eyes like fairy lights in the dark. “What about you?” It isn’t until the focus is back on himself that he notes the smile that graces his features. A real smile. He smiles not out of diplomacy but because right now, he’s happy. He’s high on you and serotonin and he’d let you ruin him if you wanted to. But your question troubles him. He can’t really tell you why; he can’t bear to take his ugly, black, acrylic life and stain your lavender and daffodil backdrop. So he tells you the bare minimum: that he’s a colonel and leads a special ops unit called the Search Bloc. He leaves out the blood that paints his eyes everyday, forgets to mention the agony he’s felt and inflicted on others.

“Your drink isn’t ready yet?” you question, like a sudden realization has just hit you. Your kind features are furrowed into slight confusion, and Horacio wants to let a black sky swallow him into his own misery because he forgot to order something.

“I didn’t get anything,” he admits, face starting to glow light pink as his foolishness begins to manifest on his hardened features. You don’t look confused anymore; you’re curious again. Forever wondering about the enigma in front of you, except he’s no mystery; he’s a labyrinth. Full of questions and doubt without one single answer, and once you enter you can’t ever escape.

“Then what does a colonel do at a humble cafe?” you ask. And all of the sudden, for a man that makes a living out of repeatedly evading death, he wants to evaporate into the beige, worn tile beneath the teal cushion of his seat because the answer to that question will surely ruin the delicate, blushed bubble around the two of you. But you’ve incapacitated him with your stupid fucking pretty eyes so much so that you must be the enemy in this story. He can escape gunpoint, rouse himself from a concussion, but he hasn’t got a single clue how to regain his quick wit and pistol mind in the face of something much more sinister: a pretty girl.

“I-” he starts, but all of the sudden his throat won’t cooperate because his mind is helpless to lie to you but his body is resisting. His body rejects that frozen, dreadful state of nothing that it’s normally kept in. You’ve spread the warmth of fuzzy blankets and blissful vertigo throughout his stomach and his body wants to stay warm. “I was just…” he coughs, hard, willing his esophagus to heed his commands, “...I was watching you.” Horacio is flustered now, completely out of his element as he feels his blood seep to the topmost layers of his skin, exposing his embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” he adds almost immediately, his eyes wide as he tries to avert his flushed features from your careful gaze. “I know that’s weird. I didn’t mean to-”

“Horacio,” you interrupt. Say it again. Say my name again. “It’s okay. Actually, it’s kinda cute.” Crack. That steel fortress that he thought was so impenetrable was beginning to soften into something moldable, pliable only to your hands so you could transform him from a wall to a rose.

Horacio lets out a soft chuckle, biting his lip so hard he almost can’t feel his teeth digging into his own chapped flesh. His pink cheeks are full and for the first time in so long his eyes glimmer with life and adoration.

“I don’t want to be too forward and scare you away,” he says, a little nervous but so much more giddy, “but could I see you again?” You giggle, a beautiful melody that floods his ears and softens his brow.

“Yes, Horacio, I’d really like that,” you agree, and he can’t help but feel like he’s not in a cafe but somewhere in the cosmos as a compliant planet orbiting a bright, burning star. Somewhere far more heavenly and celestial than this godforsaken planet. He watches you glance up at the grandfather clock situated against the wall behind him and then back at him. “I need to get going, but take this.” You pull a pen out of your small bag and scribble a string of digits onto your coffee cup, holding the marked cardboard out to him. He’s slow to take it from your hands; he doesn’t want to keep you here, but at the same time he very much does. He allows himself to brush his fingers against yours again, like they had the night before, so that your potent you-flavored syrup can inject into his bloodstream and fill his capillaries.

As you stand to leave, he can tell you have one last lingering thought itching at your brow. “For the record, you couldn’t scare me away,” you assure with a smile that borders on teasing. “You’re just not scary.” And he watches you walk away, leaving him completely and utterly dumbfounded as to who you had just spoken to because it certainly wasn’t Horacio Carrillo, world class murderer and notoriously inhuman interrogator. Crack.

That next Friday, Horacio sees you again. He shakes as he knocks on your door, roses trembling in his fingers as you swing the door open. He knows the bouquet resting under his chin is pathetic, an overused display of affection, but it makes you gush as you take them from hands and bring them to your own wondrous features and let that stupid cheesy token fill your lungs with its scent.

He takes you to a restaurant like a proper gentleman, not that he gave a single shit where he was as long as it was with you. You put him far too out of his element for him to get creative with his date idea, so instead he pulls every last cliche out of the book and piles it on you. He holds the door open for you and pulls your chair out and orders wine for you because he doesn’t have a clue how to tell you that you turn him into sugar bubbles floating on warm cocoa but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try to show you.

So evening after evening he finds himself leaving work just a little earlier each day. He spends less time in poorly lit grocery stores and more time loitering at the open farmer’s market under the real sun, perusing lazily amongst the various produce and trinkets because why not? He starts wearing pink and stripes and maybe a polka-dot shirt because he starts to realize that the world has so much beauty in it and all things beautiful remind him of you. He waits a little longer to shave his face so he can hear that ethereal symphony of giggles play from your throat when he uses his scruff to scratch against your soft shoulder. You start showing up in his life in places that you don’t even exist and filling his odd corners with a pretty white glow.

He lets little things bring him joy; your tongue wetting your lips when you’re deciding where to eat for the night, your neck craning to look up at him from the couch when he walks through your door, the way the stacks of student papers that rest on your kitchen island are always different sizes. Your tongue tapping his skin when you lay a lingering kiss to his face. Your lipgloss sticking to his tricep when you don’t feel like getting up to kiss his lips, leaving a shimmer on his skin that he never wipes away. Your feather fingers sweeping his torso and turning his skin to cotton candy. The fumes of pencil lead and your perfume choking his lungs when he buries his face into your neck and breathes you in. And every fucking time you call him cute, adorable, pretty, beautiful, baby. All of those forbidden words that you dare to use in vain, courageously sacrilegious considering how he worships you, create more little cracks inside of him.

Horacio may not know how to communicate, but he knows you. He knows which compliments make you turn the reddest. He gets you your favorite artists’ CDs imported from America. He shows up at your door with your favorite pastry from your new favorite cafe. He hugs you from behind and peppers kisses down the column of your throat because it makes you giggle. He flutters his fingers where you’re ticklish until you’re so overstimulated that tears form. He cooks meals for you, insisting that all you can do to help is sit on the counter and look pretty for him. He kisses you deeply, so hard and intimate that the two of you are breathing the same air and taste the same. He does everything he can to make you smile for him because in return he gets called a “beautiful boy” and “my sweet soldier” and an “angel,” all words that send him beyond the stars and spin his head like a top until all he can think to do is giggle.

Passed weeks turn into a month, a month becomes two, and before he knows it he’s twice the man he used to be with you filling in half of him. Horacio is still, however, a man adorned with flaws. And with each moment that you occupy, he starts to really collect cracks. The powerful resolve that keeps him from ever admitting that he’s absolutely gone for you becomes compromised because you are powerful. Without even trying, your soft voice is like a wrecking ball to his defenses, breaking him down as you probe into what you call the “pretty parts” of him that he hides. But you don’t have the first clue what he’s hiding.

Horacio is not a man without emotions. He gets angry and frustrated, but those kinds of emotions sit at his surface, above his armed fortress. He can let them all out in his work through stony grimaces and raised voices and guns and fists. But he also feels sorrow, regret, shame. So much shame. These emotions are unsightly black and blue dents in the soft, fragile mush that sits at the very core of him. Under his walls are wounds still wide open and full of splinters, gushing blood and pus, septic and untreated. And they fucking hurt. So he gathers them all together along with his love, his adoration and sweetness, and ices them over, freezes them away and covers them in layer after layer of concrete until he can barely even remember that they’re there.

But he’s starting to feel again.

His fondness for you is explosive and wild, greedy for your affection. But he’s afraid. He knows you adore him, because you are brave. You can speak your feelings into existence and not feel like something inside you has fractured. But Horacio is a coward. He can’t say he loves you, he can’t love you. He knows that if he did, his filthy rotting core would be unleashed and he’d feel an agony worse than anything he’s ever subjected anyone to. But you’re leaving him full of cracks, making him weak and vulnerable in the security of your arms, and he doesn’t think you could hold all of him together if he was truly unleashed. He thinks you might realize how much of a lost cause he is and leave him on the side of the road to bleed out.

The last crack you leave in him is so small, you don’t even notice.

He sits next to you on your couch, your head tucked into his neck as a shitty telenovela radiates through the thick glass of your TV set. Neither of you say anything because you don’t need to be talking to feel comfortable with each other, so you don’t notice how he hasn’t glanced at the TV in 15 minutes. He can’t take his eyes off of you, hermosa, the puny glow of Rodrigo telling Lucia that “it’s not what it looks like” barely doing your face justice. He notices each pore on your face, the curve of your jaw and the bridge of your nose forming sweeping lines that sculpt your face, and he knows he is so utterly fucked. He knows he’s so dangerously in love with you.

He only blinks when you yawn softly, those lines contorting as you scrunch your face. He relaxes a little as you move to sit up, leaning forward to grab the remote from the coffee table and blindly turning the TV off as the preview for the next episode plays. He fills to the brim with amazement as you stretch your back, letting out a gentle squeal. Now it’s just that antique lamp on the edge of your couch illuminating the room, and it’s still not enough light. Nothing is ever bright enough when you’re there to rival it.

“It’s late, baby,” you whisper, a sleepy rasp scraping your voice a little as you look up at him with a rosy smile. You reach up to run a hand through his dark hair, taking care to let your fingers caress his scalp. “You can stay if you want,” you offer, as he’s stayed the night before. “I sleep better with you anyway.” Crack.

“Cariño,” he breathes, his features turning pained as his lip begins to quiver like never before. “Cariño I love you.”

Horacio crumbles in your hands.

Like a mound of brown sugar after it’s poured, the dome losing its form as it slowly collapses, grains dragging over each other as they sink to the bottom of the bowl and the dome is destroyed. No longer held together by tight, sticky molasses and instead a helpless, feeble puddle too broken down to be considered a shape anymore. Just a pathetic sea of lost particles, helpless in putting itself back together. He falls apart right in front of you.

He feels tears that are years old begin to flow down his cheeks, falling off his chin and onto the baby blue cloth of his too-tight shirt. He is completely unprotected, every last defense around that shapeless, dark flesh inside him falling to dust as you hold it in your kind hands. Your arms are quick to wrap around his head, bringing his face to your chest where he is safe. He’s never been more raw and vulnerable in his life, and yet he’s never felt more secure.

He bares his soul to you. He chokes on his words as he gushes his dried, brown blood onto your cotton skin and you soak up every ounce of him. He tells you he is ashamed, that he is remorseful, that he is afraid. And you listen, skin absorbing him in until you’ve got him enveloped in your big, beautiful heart. And whereas every touch used to break him down, your fingertips are now healing him, building him back up and reshaping him into something better than what he was. He can feel his scars begin to heal and the pain begin to dull as an intense awe for you overcomes him.

He knows you can’t just fix him with your fairy dust overnight. He knows he will need time to restore himself from beast to man. But fuck if he doesn’t want to do it with you, can’t do it without you.

You’ve led him towards your bed, undressing him slowly because you know that he just needs to breathe and feel the air cool his irritated skin. Once you’re both down to your underclothes, you’re careful in letting him onto the mattress. You sit down first, leaning back against the pillow, and then you sweetly tug on his arm to join you. He dives into your body head first, face nosing into your neck as his big arms wrap around your midsection. You reach for your softest blanket, enveloping the two of you in the added warm as his breaths begin to even out against your chest. He feels you wrap your arms around his head again, for the second time reminding him that he is safe.

He can feel his emotions getting the best of himself again as you whisper sweet nothings into his hair, telling him how strong and brave he is, how beautiful his soul is now that he’s really showing it to you. His muscles melt into you as you take those fragments of him and begin to piece them back together, filling the cracks you’d made with your marshmallow fluff and liquid gold.

He feels warm again as you call him your “baby,” and this time he doesn’t try to run away from it. He embraces it, leans into it. He was being protected by bones and bricks, but now it’s by honeycomb and delicate flesh. Horacio finally starts to feel like he’s beautiful because you’re letting him borrow yours. And as long as you’ll have him, he’s willing to share.

#horacio carillo x reader #narcos #maurice compte #iris writes #i didn't fuckfigfdsg put the goddamn mf italics in #i feel like i've outgrown my italics phase #god this post isn't even that old what the fuck am I talking about

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everdreamart · 3 years

Text

Read my Thoughts

The journey through Aeor only gets more confusing as eye powers are thrown into the mix.

An accidental telepathy fic where Caleb shares a bit too much to a certain drow.

Relationship: Caleb Widowgast/Essek Thelyss (Shadowgast)

Rating: Teen and Up

~~~~~

Things in Aeor are strange. Magic Especially. A teleport can send you miles away from target, and a spell gone wrong can make you bald! However, Aeor's atrocities were put on the backburner when Jester's weasel turned out to be her 'god' and the red eyes adorning the Empire Kid's bodies started to show power.

Darkvision was one thing that was quite startling to Caleb. He hadn't really noticed it with the constant flow of light emitting from Caduceus' staff and his own globules. It wasn't until Beauregard said something that it really occurred to him. Even more surprising was the telepathy. The ability to transcend one's thoughts into the mind of another. A mental link for shared knowledge. All sorts of possibilities flowed into Caleb's mind. How useful this could be in their upcoming battles with Lucien.

"Woahhhh Caleb I can literally HEAR your thoughts! Slow down a bit!" Jester marveled.

"OH Oh Beau! Can you read my thoughts??" Yasha exclaimed.

"Hey let's give it a try-" Beau smirked.

"Ok who do I love? Oh wait thats dumb.." Yasha mumbled. The rest of them started to laugh a bit.

Caleb shifted his gaze over to Essek. The drow's soft features focused on the commotion going on around him. A confused expression painting his face - no doubt from the sudden talking weasel - in a show of momentary openness. Throughout their travels in Aeor, Essek had slowly let the shadowhand persona slip away. Caleb liked this version much better. The way emotion displayed itself on Essek's face was new and nervous, but the man was truly trying to change. That alone caused something to swell in Caleb's heart.

Immediately, Essek's head snapped up and looked over at Caleb in surprise. Caleb looked away as soon as he turned his head. Did Essek hear him? He needs to get a better hold of this power. Fast. Swallowing hard, Caleb simply nodded, before turning his gaze back to their laughing friends.

-----

After a day of hard trekked travel, the Mighty Nein stumbled into the tower for a night of much needed rest. It was then that Caleb's mind started to wander. What exactly is transmitted through this telepathy? Feelings? Words? Images? The beginning pricks of worry started to crawl into his throat. Would he have to wrestle every one of his thoughts down so the others wouldn't be plagued by his memories? He glanced at the glaring red eye adorning his palm. Thick red lines seared into his skin flawlessly. Watching. Staring. Certainly these powers come with a price. And Caleb didn't know what that price was.

There's nothing he can do right now. Stay on task, Widowgast. Maybe something from the papers he picked up earlier will have more information about their enemy. With an idea for distraction in place, Caleb floats up to the library to begin opening the amber. He settles on a couch opposite from a crackling fireplace as he does so, the comforting warmth washing away the stress of the day.

Piles of books and papers fill the floor in front of him. Excitement and curiosity begin to tug at his mind. Caleb reaches out and grabs one of the dusty old tombs, tracing the foreign writing in awe. So much knowledge, packed in the papers around him. So much information to be learned and so little time.

"It's quite incredible, is it not?" A soft voice comes from behind him as Essek glides over to Caleb, staring at the collection of books.

"Ja. After our business is concluded, I would love to study more of Aeor's history and research."

"Well, we have a few moments now, do we not?" Essek smiled softly as he looked at Caleb.

And just like that, they were off. Reading through ancient texts, occasionally bouncing theories back and forth. The constant whirring of intellect trying to process the thoughts of mages from far beyond their time. It was invigorating.

However, from time to time, Caleb found it hard to keep his focus. His eyes constantly wandering back to the drow sat beside him, nose buried in a book. His thin white brows creased into a focused expression, eyes full of wonder and curiously, devouring the age old texts. The way his mouth would curl into a subtle smile when he found a particularly interesting section of text. Or how he would nibble at his lower lip when frustrated about something. He wondered if those lips would feel as good as he imagined. How soft and delicate.. Oh how glad Caleb is to have moments like these, just him and Essek.

At some point while Caleb was lost in his thoughts, Essek looked up. Violet eyes meeting blue ones.

"I uh.." Essek clears his throat. " I found a section that you might find to be interesting." He smiles and looks away.

Oh.

How much did he hear? How many of those thoughts slipped through in his tired state? Apparently enough for the subtle hints of purple creeping on the edges of Essek's ears to catch Caleb's attention.

"I think it's time for me to head to bed. I require more sleep than you do, after all," Caleb said as he stood up. It was awkward, for a moment. The silence was heavy, and he didn't dare steal a look at the drow beside him.

-----

Having your thoughts known to others feels like quite a violation of privacy. Caleb thought as he laid in his bed. I need to get a hang of this.

It took a while for him to get even close to falling asleep, for his mind was racing with thoughts.

He was on the edge of consciousness when he heard a small knock on his door. Surely all the nein are well into their sleep right now, so that means that the only person this could be is… a lump formed in Caleb's throat as he opened the door. Essek stood in front of him, a foreign expression adorned on his face.

"I hope I wasn't disrupting your rest. I would like to talk… if you don't mind?" He spoke softly as Caleb gestured him into the room.

It caught Caleb's attention immediately that the man wasn't floating, but walking instead. They sat on the couch as he responded, "Ah, I was having some trouble sleeping. You weren't interrupting anything. What is it you would like to discuss friend?"

"I ah.." He fidgeted with his fingers. The drow wasn't wearing his usual mantle, but instead the more comfortable robes that were provided to him from the tower. Caleb let his eyes momentarily linger on the way the clothing frames Essek's small figure. The way the deep blues and purples frame his gorgeous dark skin. Caleb promptly tries very hard to stuff these thoughts down.

"I took notice of the recent… developments of the eyes on beauregard's and your bodies. It… concerns me. The acquisition of such powers surely means that something was taken in exchange, and I am unsure of what that was." Essek says with worry laced in his voice. His eyes rise to meet Caleb's.

"..ja. I too am a bit uneasy about the current situation. Though it just makes our goal that much more important, does it not?" He replied, flashing a faint reassuring smile.

"I guess it does." The other wizard's gaze falls to his lap.

'That's not really what you came here to talk about. Is it?' Slips from Caleb's mind before he can even think to stop it.

The drow visibly flinches in surprise, then sighs slightly. "There was something else on my mind, yes."

Caleb slowly, ever so slowly, reaches his hand over to touch Essek's. "I'm here if something is wrong."

He is very aware of what Essek was referring to. However, he doesn't know what is going through the other man's brain, as thin smooth fingers meet his calloused ones halfway. A slight smile plays at the corners of Essek's mouth, and Caleb once again feels his focus begin to slip. He focuses on the feeling of Essek's hand in his. Soft skin, clearly not used to the harsher weather of the frozen wasteland as of late, his fingers only rough in the areas where one would hold a quill.

Strands of silver-white hair hover on his forehead, slightly covering vibrant violet eyes. Oh it is a sight to behold. Dark skin growing impersivibly darker. How he works at his bottom lip nervously. Caleb finds himself fighting back the desperate want to feel this man against him. To hold him close and study his features on a much more intimate level. Essek's ear twitches.

"I ah… I thank you for your.. Compliments..?" He stutters out as his face flushes an even darker shade of purple.

Something inside of Caleb breaks, and he finds it becoming increasingly harder to hold back the growing need to bring the wizard close.

"I apologize for not being able to return such… appraisal," the drow mumbles out, looking anywhere but Caleb's eyes. His other hand raises up Caleb's arm, settling on the crook of his neck. "I hope I can live up to your expectations, Widowgast." He smiles nervously.

Caleb's mind goes blank. Soft lips brush his own and his restraint vanishes. They crash together in feverish movements, a warm pressure on his lips that grounds him in the moment. It's so much better than he could've ever imagined. The sensation of Essek's mouth on his is something he wants to savor forever. He wants to memorize every movement and feeling of the man pushing against him, as if this was a rare slip-up and it would never happen again. Maybe he was dreaming after all, but the feeling of Essek starting to nibble at his lower lip quickly reassures him that this is very much real.

Something sharp catches Caleb's lip, and he recoils a bit in surprise. Essek immediately pulls back, a flash of worry crossing his face.

"Fangs." Caleb mutters out, breathless. "I was not aware you had fangs."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean-" he gets cut off by Caleb leaning in once more, capturing his mouth hungerly. His fingers lace through Essek's hair as he pushes onto him, desperate to be closer. More. He wants more.

Apparently Essek heard him, as the drow parts his mouth, allowing him to deepen the kiss. Caleb runs his tongue over the sharpened points of Essek's fangs, feeling a shiver as he does so. They merge together, desperate to taste each other. To explore every inch. It's perfect. Absolutely perfect. He wants this moment to last forever.

They pull away after what feels like hours, but still isn't long enough. Essek's breath dances on Caleb's lips, mere inches away. Caleb smiles and presses another quick kiss to Essek's mouth.

"I think you far surpassed my expectations, Thelyss."

#critical role #shadowgast #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #Not quite canon compliant but its pretty close I think #Teef #:)

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khaotic-kitsunes · 3 years

Text

Mischief Under Moonlight

Yes, yes and a thousand times yes! I love this, I wrote this and I hope that means you’ll love it too! Even if this is an old request, I’m sure there are gonna be people that enjoy the scenario!

So remember, come scream at me with your thoughts. I hoard the screenshots of the asks and they bring me great joy!

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Cheeky Kitsune 🦊💋

“…What do they feel like?”

Tamaki jolted at your sudden question, turning in the water to stare at you with wide eyes and his mouth hanging open; it was a simple enough question for your childhood friend. You couldn’t understand the reaction, it made no real sense to you.

“What? They look strange…I’m curious” You shrugged off his look with a simple explanation, wondering if he would indulge you and allow you to touch the slimy looking appendages, though you doubted it.

“They’re my legs, they aren’t strange…” He mumbled, sinking lower into the salty water of the sea so that only his eyes were visible, causing you to giggle at the sight of him. A mighty creature of the sea, practically hiding himself from your innocent question.

“Really? I thought you could use them like arms” You teased, swimming closer slowly until your nose was against his own, eyes staring deep into his, observing the string of emotions that seemed to flash through them in a mere instant. So many, you could barely register one, let alone them all. Your dear friend certainly could be a mystery when he wanted, sometimes even when he didn’t want to be one.

“You know what I meant” He grumbled out quietly, crossing his arms beneath the water as his tentacles began to move, wrapping around your scarcely covered body until you were squealing at the sensation. A mix of surprise and excitement.

Tamaki had never let you touch them before, always muttering about humans and their strange curiosities.

“See? Nothing strange”

You smiled up at him as he used his tentacles to push you away slowly, creating a comfortable space between the both of you, the sky above beginning to burn with a magnificent sunset, reflected beautifully in the surface of the ocean. A sight you never tired of.

“Different though…they’re strong. aren’t they?” You questioned softly, peeking down at the tentacle that had wrapped around your chest, moving your hands to rub at the appendage hesitantly, unsure of how you would find the feel of it beneath your fingertips.

“I suppose so” He admitted, his eyes never leaving you while you satisfied your curiosities with his tentacles, the mere sight of it flustering him more than you would ever know. Not that he would ever admit that to you, no, not you; he couldn’t risk the friendship that had bloomed between you both despite your differences.

“Awfully gentle for such strong limbs” You remarked, lifting your gaze to Tamaki when they tightened around you, almost as if saying he didn’t want to let you go. You couldn’t help but wonder what was on his mind, what had him so skittish around you.

“Tamaki, why are you so far away?” You questioned, smiling when you noticed his cheeks darkened from embarrassment, the reaction igniting a strong curiosity within you; it had been a long time since you found yourself so curious about him. Since you had met him, if you guessed correctly.

Before you could push him further, the tentacles retreated from your body, completely separating you from Tamaki as he moved to leave you for the day; causing a guilt-ridden panic to rise up inside of you. You hadn’t meant to scare him away, nor to make him uncomfortable.

“Hey, wait! I’m sorry…”

Tamaki let out a noise similar to a startled puppy as your arms wrapped around his chest from behind, his back feeling almost scolding against your practically bare chest. You hadn’t meant to jump on him like this, but it was certainly one way to keep him from leaving. As a human, you didn’t stand a chance should he want to dive beneath the waves.

You both knew it. After all, that was how you had met, all those years ago. Tamaki a young merman, somehow discovering a small girl beneath the surface of the raging waves above. Just like then, you didn’t remember how you had gotten in such a position, but it didn’t matter. He had saved you and then you had, in turn, kept his secret and helped him whenever he asked.

“…Let go…” He whimpered out, not looking back at you while you held onto him, trying desperately not to lose your thoughts to the way his body felt beneath your fingertips; the way his muscles quivered whenever you dragged your fingers over them.

“I’m sorry” You repeated quietly, relaxing only when you felt one of his many tentacles wrap around your calf, travelling up your leg until the end of it was nestled between your thighs. Squirming harmlessly, in ways you weren’t quite sure what to think of.

Should you be mad? Or maybe you should enjoy the new feeling? It was so hard to judge what to do, to choose between listening to your heart or your mind.

“(Name)…”

Tamaki trailed off, gulping as he chanced a look back at you, eyes dilating when he saw the flustered expression that had settled on your delicate features, tugging at several different emotions within him. As you always seemed to do.

“…Let go, come back tomorrow night” He paused, licking his lips nervously before turning to face you, chest to chest, nose to nose; your breath mingling with his from the proximity of one another.

He reached up slowly with one hand, brushing his fingers against your cheek before his lips brushed against your own, distracting you long enough to allow him to slip free. Disappearing into the depths of the ocean faster than ever before; leaving you a confused mess.

~ ~ ~

You moaned out quietly under the light of the full moon, spread out on your back over the smooth rocks hidden by jagged boulders belonging to the largest cliff in the area, Tamaki hovering above you while one of his smaller tentacles filled you slowly, stretching you for him.

“I can’t believe you came…” He whispered out, staring down at you with wonder while his hand brushed over your stomach, sending shivers throughout your body, the sight leaving him aching to be inside of you.

“I didn’t think you would” Tamaki admitted, leaning down to kiss you hesitantly, though he was quickly assured of your approval with the way you kissed him back so eagerly, fingers tangling into damp locks; holding him close while he pleasured you.

“I figured it out yesterday” You mumbled, pulling your head away from his own to let out a moan of pleasure, your back arching when a second tentacle, bigger than the first, began to push against your folds, filling you slowly. Despite the tight fit, it felt amazing.

You could only imagine what Tamaki would feel like, when he finally decided to join in on the pleasure.

“They’re sensitive, aren’t they? That’s why you wanted to leave…” You prompted, gasping out when Tamaki bit at your neck with a surprising amount of force, not that you disliked the sudden sensation. It was strangely appealing.

“Sort of” He muttered out against your skin, the tentacles inside of you beginning to move at a harsher pace while a third moved to brush against your cheek tenderly, wet and yet, strangely warm, comforting almost.

“It was the way you were doing it. It was different to using them for simple tasks, you were…” He trailed off into an animalistic groan, watching you as you turned your head, kissing the appendage before licking along it slowly.

You couldn’t help yourself; your hips were moving to match the pace of the tentacles inside of you and it had been eating away at you for awhile now. Just what he would do if you licked one of his tentacles. You wanted to know if it would make him uncomfortable, or if the sight would get to him in other ways.

The next thing you knew, the tentacles inside of you were gone, replaced with Tamaki’s throbbing cock while the tentacle in front of you thrust itself past your lips and into your mouth, the very end of it brushing against the back of your throat. It was almost like a blowjob, except Tamaki could enjoy the sight of you much closer, as well as fucking you at the same time.

It helped melt away his anxieties of being with you and instead of worrying over if you were enjoying it, if he was disappointing you; he found himself giving in to his desires, in ways you seemed to appreciate judging from the way you sucked at the tentacle in your mouth, your hands grasping at his shoulders desperately, trying to steady yourself.

You moaned around the appendage in your mouth, moving your hips against Tamaki’s harsh thrusts, your eyes watery but never leaving Tamaki. You could see the hunger in his eyes, the lust and the pleasure; he was enjoying every bit of this.

He was opening up to you in new ways, friendship be damned.

“…Do you have any idea how beautiful you look beneath me?”

He leaned down to whisper into your ear, his hips never stopping as you moaned around the tentacle, gagging slightly when you tried to take too much of it into your mouth, making Tamaki remove it for a moment to allow you to catch your breath.

“Covered in moonlight, taking everything so well” He smiled faintly when you leaned up for the tentacle that had been in your mouth, greedily sucking and licking at it the moment it was in your mouth again. To see you so eager for this, it left him with no regrets; for once, he was completely happy with his decisions.

“I never thought you would accept me like this” He groaned out, removing the tentacle for the final time, replacing it with his mouth almost immediately, swallowing up the cries of pleasure as he continued to thrust into you, his dick twitching inside of you each time you squeezed down around him; your orgasm as close as his own.

You tangled your fingers into his hair as your lips moved against his, you didn’t bother to reply to his words, instead allowing your body to do all the talking for you. Though you had to admit, it was hard not to scold him for not trusting you to accept every part of your dear friend. Even if he was more like your lover at this stage, you doubted that you would ever be able to return to being just friends after tonight.

Soon, you were throwing your head back in ecstasy while Tamaki moaned out your name quietly, just for you to hear as he filled you with his hot seed.

“So perfect…”

You slapped at his chest playfully at his words, shuddering as his tentacles began to wrap around your body slowly, Tamaki moving the both of you back into the water so that you would freeze to death. You would be much warmer up against him in the water and the angle would probably end up feeling better for the second round.

Tamaki was far from done with you. For once, he would be selfish. Greedy even. He wanted to claim you over and over again until you couldn’t bear to leave him.

He would never give you up again. He would find a way to keep you as his own.

#suneater #tamaki amajiki #suneater x reader #tamaki x reader #amajiki x reader #bnha x reader #reader x suneater #reader x tamaki #reader x amajiki #mermaid au #merman!tamaki #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #scenario #smut #requests #cheeky kitsune

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yougainedlove · 2 years

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You got me inspired for more requests, so could I get S/O taking care of Ralsei, Asgore and Asriel when they're sick, and being all caring and helping them with their responsibilities, giving them chicken soup, etc? 🥺

aaaa MY TIME HAS COME

sickfics are one of my favorite things to write so I had FUN with these lil headcanons!!

(... can you tell I got that Ralsei brainrot? XD)

ENJOY TAKING CARE OF UR GOATMENS <3

ASGORE

Keeps insisting he’s fine and can take care of himself, even when it’s pretty damn clear he actually would like to be taken care of? After spending quite a while trying to handle everything on his own, feeling alone, it’s… become a habit to not accept help, simply because he didn’t have any for the longest time. As long as you’re patient with him and don’t give up, he’ll settle soon.

To him, the worst thing is the fever. Being on fire and freezing at the same time is one of his least favorite sensations in the entire world. Not to mention fevers tend to make him more emotional, so he might openly cry in front of you for no reason other than he doesn’t feel good. It messes with the way he perceives the world and his own emotions. Forever appreciation if you’re right there next to him, wiping him down with a cool cloth and holding his hand. It’s incredible how much a soft, “It’s okay, I’m here, I’m here,” can make him feel a little better.

He sort of whines a bit or tries to push you away if you’re hellbent on kissing him; he doesn’t want to get you sick! Yessss, he knows if you argue, some people are worth the risk of getting sick if you kiss them, but… he just really doesn’t believe he’s worth that risk. Golly, look after your own health better, because he really cares about you.

A lot of old aches and pains flare up when he’s sick. Some soreness in his shoulder, the burn of an ancient scar, that kind of thing. He’s no young-blooded monster, you know! Many things that might not bother him too much on a normal day get amplified once he’s generally feeling unwell. If the painkiller/fever reducer you’ve already given him doesn’t help, he’ll be thanking you constantly should you try something else ― heating pads, a massage, just other things that might tamp down the pain.

Home-cooked meals, even if it may not be something entirely homemade… are something he hasn’t had in a long time. Although it’s a safe bet you’ve cooked for him before, it’s kind of different when he’s sick. It’s a meal that’s meant to comfort him and make him feel better. One more thing you’ve done in an effort to help him recover. No, no, don’t mind him as he cries into his soup or tea…!

ASRIEL

Is it any surprise he’s stubborn as all heck? When you look at his parents, is it really a surprise?? Yeah, no, this goat takes way too much upon his own shoulders, including trying to take care of himself when he probably should just be in bed. Especially when he gets into his early-mid 20s, he inherits the title of King from Asgore, and kicks himself into high gear trying to fill those shoes. Kings don’t get sick days, right? He might actually try to legit hide it from you, and as soon as you find out, he knows he can kiss his kingly obligations for the rest of the week goodbye.

Varies how sick he gets, but there’s no middle ground. It’s either just some sniffling and a small cough and he can easily work through it… or he’s huddled up in bed, sneezing himself stupid and coughing so hard he breaks a rib. He’s either vaguely achy and feverish and can do some work at home… or he can’t drag himself out of bed for any reason and he’s absolutely burning up. No in between, and it frustrates him; mainly because he realizes he’s sick, thinks it’s not bad, goes in to work… then pretty much passes out in his office because it turns out this isn’t one of the times he can push through. Good thing Frisk knows to call you whenever that happens! (They know 100% you’ll have soup and a lecture waiting once they get him home to you.)

Will definitely wheedle at you for an energy drink while he’s sick. Actually, especially while he’s sick, and especially if he’s stuck at home unable to work but not quite at the point that he can sleep. “Maybe it’ll make me feel better,” he says, and you know even if it does, there’s a caffeine and sugar crash waiting at the other end of the rainbow. He certainly doesn’t need that while he’s already feeling like crap. Although he’ll pout if he can’t convince you, it really is in his best interest to skip the energy drinks when he’s sick.

All things being equal, once you manage to get him to calm down and stop worrying about all the things he’s not doing, he’s surprisingly malleable under your touch. He melts whenever you run a hand through his hair or stroke his ears. He’ll drink whatever hot things you gently shove his way. He’ll relent and lie down to try to rest… only if you cuddle up with him, though.

Even if he’s not feeling sick enough to stay home, you could never mistake him for totally healthy, and there’s one reason why: his voice. Regardless of the fact that he might not feel that bad, if he’s sick at all, it’s always obvious in his voice. He’s always got that congested, husky tone when he’s sick, even if he might be feeling well enough to function almost normally. And while he’s recovering, it’s hilarious trying to watch him convince you and others that he’s fine, because as he starts to feel better and better, his voice sounds worse and worse, until he’s over it completely.

RALSEI

It’s always a little upsetting when he gets sick, both for you and for him, for the simple reason that before the Lightners showed up, he rarely got sick, and now he’s getting sick all the time. By the time he’s able to venture into the LIGHT World you live in, well, his immune system has had so few challenges, it has no chance against all the germs he’s coming into contact with now. If something’s going around, he will catch it, no matter how many precautions he takes. Although he wasn’t quite as sickly as Kris before, he actually gets sick more often than they do now. Gone are his days of blissful ignorance, replaced by the tired disappointment of catching another cold.

Most of the time he can join in activities while he’s sick, provided they aren’t particularly strenuous activities. This means, thankfully, he doesn’t miss out on much with his friends and you! It also means when the two of you are alone, especially after being out with friends, he’s exhausted. He lets himself fully sink into the misery of being ill, without any distractions. The good part about this is that where he’s typically very shy and easily flustered, he takes it like a champ when you fuss over him.

Bless his heart, his healing magic works wonders on wounds and is borderline useless against illness. Not only that, it doesn’t work as well on him as it does on others. With all that noted, he’s stuck with non-magical remedies that aren’t surefire. His magic is ineffective to the point that he could use it… if he wants to, say, take away his stuffy nose without touching any other symptom. Which is. Almost cruel to do to himself. It’s like false hope!! So he tries pretty much anything you offer him to get some relief from everything. Painkillers and fever reducers, cough drops and throat sprays, vapor rub on his chest (that will stick to his fur and frustrate him when he showers later), humidifiers, anything, he’ll take it, please! Poor thing.

Has the cutest sneeze, though? It’s both soft and forceful, snapping his head forward every time, with a very noticeable “chew!” noise at the end. He tends to sneeze in doubles or triples, and his muzzle twitches a lot afterwards, and he’s almost always got his handkerchief with him to muffle the sound. (If not, he’s not above using his scarf, but… he prefers not to if he can help it!) Because he’s sick so much, his nose is always kind of pink by this point. The best thing about it is that he blushes whenever you bless him; it’s not something he heard of people doing before he came to the LIGHT World, and he thinks it’s sweet of you.

He’s actually not too bad of a patient, even if he’s miserable the entire time. He secretly likes being sick, sometimes, because he… kind of likes you taking care of him. Being sick lets him not feel terrible about being a tiny bit selfish, asking for hugs a lot and quietly complaining that his head hurts and letting himself nuzzle into you with the reminder that you care about him. Plus, it’s not horrible for you, either… once he falls asleep in your embrace, you get to take off his glasses and look at his adorable, sick face, finally seeming relaxed now that he’s resting in your arms.

#Undertale #Deltarune #Asgore #Asriel #Ralsei #headcanons #romantic #fluff #domestic #hurt/comfort #whump #AAAAAAAA MY PRECIOUS BEANS MY SWEET BOYS #honestly it might be fun to do smth longer at some point #these are some of my favorite things to write so I mean if you'd like to send more pls do!!!#(whispering in the background: KFC GANG KFC GANG KFC GANG-)

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