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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 3 years

Note

Prompt idea: Geralt gets a contract for a monster that has been sighted nearby. When he tracks it down, he is surprised to find mothman!Jaskier who (much like actual mothman) has an ass that won’t quit.

I just want you to know that Mothskier now lives in my head rent free 24/7. I love him. I would die for him. This is my new favorite emotional support au.

2k-ish words - please feel free to shove comments through the bars of my enclosure, I would really like that

art by the ever-wonderful @mawbwehownets, whose drawing of Mothskier made me legit cry.

tw: mild injury, brief blood mention, strangers to lovers

---

“So what you’re saying,” Geralt raises an eyebrow slowly, curious, “Is that you need me to catch a monster that’s half man and half moth?”

“Yup.”

“Alright,” Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer finger. The frustrated Witcher takes a slow breath to calm and center himself, before he ends up botching the entire contract-writing process. Humans tend to grow attached to the strangest monsters sometimes, and apparently this mysterious local being was no different. “Let me get this totally straight, so there are no mistakes or misunderstandings. You want me to capture this man-moth and get it out of your woods, but you don’t want me to kill it?”

“He’s called the Mothman, and he’s pretty damn stubborn about sticking around,” the aging farmer corrects Geralt with a little frown. Then his expression shifts and he smiles in a way that seems almost apologetic. “We were hoping you could find a way to relocate him without hurting or killing him, Master Witcher.”

“That’s completely possible, if he isn’t attached to this specific patch trees by any magical or biological means. You said his natural habitat is just… the forest?”

“As long as there's an abundance of pine around he seems pretty happy. Before he came to live with us, Mothman lived in a heavily forested area up the coast; or at least that’s what the historical records and local mythology seem to indicate.”

“That’s actually pretty helpful information to have on hand, I’m impressed,” Geralt nods. “Alright, Mr. Stevens. I promise to relocate the poor thing without killing or maiming him, and I’ll be sure to take him somewhere far enough away that your crops won’t be in danger. Thanks for calling me first instead of just going straight to an extermination service.”

“Honestly, Master Witcher,” the farmer sighs and readjusts his dirty baseball hat, “If it weren’t for the mischief he’s been getting into lately, we would have let him stick around until spring. I hate to admit it to a man as strong and stern-faced as yourself, but the poor creature is almost… adorable at times.”

“Well that’s a first,” Geralt chuckles, honestly amused by the situation he’s found himself in. “A monster being referred to as ‘adorable’ rather than ‘terrifying’. I’ve never heard such a thing in my many years of life.”

“Then you’d better prepare yourself, Sir Geralt. He’s got a pair of big blue puppy-dog eyes that’ll knock you on your ass if you aren’t careful. And that’s coming from a man who raised three daughters with dimples.”

“Hmm. Fuck.”

---

Geralt knows enough about moths to come up with a plan he thinks will work.

Before he heads into the woods to find and capture the poor wandering creature, the Witcher takes a detour through the lighting section of the nearest Lowe’s.

---

Unfortunately for Geralt, the farmer was right about the power of Mothman’s puppy dog eyes, which are big and blue and begin to water as soon as the Witcher’s net knocks him to the ground. The creature lies in a whimpering tangle of limbs beneath the heavy, magically enhanced restraints. Geralt takes an opportunity to look at what the locals called "a cryptid".

Mothman has a long, lithe body that's covered in a light layer of grey-brown fur, but his hair resembles that of a human’s, falling over those enormous blue eyes in a lovely chestnut fringe. When Mothman sees the swords on Geralt’s back he cries out in panicked recognition and tries to pull his arms up far enough to shield his face. The lamp Geralt used to lure him into the clearing is still bathing him in a pool of yellow light; it’s almost pretty for a monster, Geralt notes.

As the Witcher takes a step forward, the cryptid squeaks and buries his face against his own shoulder. His entire frame is trembling.

“Hey there, shhhhh,” the Witcher murmurs quietly. He drops into a squat and holds both hands up to show Mothman that they’re weapon free. Tears are now falling freely down the creature’s surprisingly human face; whoever or whatever this is, they are likely some kind of Fae. “I’m not here to hurt you, I just want to get you back through the veil.”

“Liar,” Mothman huffs. His voice has a surprisingly musical quality to it and Geralt is now sure of his Fae parentage (or grand-parentage).

“I promise I’m not lying,” Geralt reassures him, slowly crawling forward. When he reaches for the nearest corner of the net, he feels all of Mothman’s muscles go tense. “I’m going to lift this up and I am going to restrain you, but I swear that I’m not going to kill you. I wish to cause as little distress as possible. Is that alright, Mothman?”

The creature hisses and yanks his foot back away from where Geralt’s hand had nearly touched it. “Jaskier.”

“Hmm?” Geralt glances up, raising an eyebrow.

“My name is Jaskier,” the Fae repeats, glaring up from between the sections of woven rope that make up the heavy net. “Not Mothman.”

“My apologies, Jaskier,” Geralt bows his head. He words his introduction carefully, in case this thing can manipulate his name like others of his kind: “You may refer to me as Geralt.”

“That’s your real name,” Jaskier states. The Witcher’s head snaps up.

“How did you know?”

“Hmm,” Jaskier sticks his tongue out as he mimics the sound Geralt made earlier. “Not telli-AH! Stop! Oh go- gods, stop! Please!”

Geralt drops the short section of rope he’s trying untangle from around Jaskier’s ankle and snaps his eyes upwards, already searching for damage. “What’s wrong!?”

“My wing!” Jaskier bawls. His scent spikes out through the clearing, sharp with panic and pain. The creature’s chest begins to shake more violently than before, his shoulders shuddering with the rising force of his sobs, “It’s t-t-torn! Oh gods, my wing! Sir Witcher, p-please!”

Geralt freezes, his gaze settling on the torn section of Jaskier’s large, furry wing. It’s a nasty wound near one of the joints, a faint trickle of barely-luminescent blood has already dried around the edges. Jaskier tries to flutter it a little and screams in agony when the muscles shift too suddenly, shrilly enough that Geralt needs to cover his hypersensitive ears. The Witcher's heart crashes down into his boots; based on the way the shivering Fae has gone pale and silent, the pain is too much for him to process. He’s gone into shock.

A torn wing is exactly the kind of thing Geralt had promised the farmer (and the collective of townspeople he represented) wouldn’t happen to the peaceful moth creature if they hired a Witcher instead of an exterminator. He sighs and gives the strange being another once-over. “Everything's alright, Jaskier. You’re going to be alright. I’m so, so sorry that you've been wounded. We’ll get you out of this net and get you something for the pain, but it’s going to hurt a little to untangle you. Stay still, don’t struggle, and it’ll be over soon.”

“J-Just kill me,” Jaskier pants. He’s continuing to hyperventilate and Geralt needs him to calm down before he passes out. The Fae reaches a hand for the dagger at Geralt's waist and the Witcher twists out of reach with a frown. Jaskier sobs again, fingers still seeking, “I might n-n-never fly a-again so just k-kill me!”

“Breathe with me, Jaskier,” the Witcher instructs, forgoing patience and cutting through the net with that same dagger. He scoops Jaskier up into his arms, ignoring the keening sound at the back of Jaskier’s throat when his wing is jostled, and rushes the Fae to his truck, tucking him into the passenger’s seat and wrapping him in a large, fluffy blanket. “I’m taking you to my friend. She’s an expert at healing magical creatures and I'm certain that she'll get your wing fixed in no time.”

Jaskier doesn’t give an answer. When Geralt looks up into the creature’s face again, the injured Fae has already passed out.

---

Jaskier moves with all the grace of a newborn foal as he explores the room Geralt has provided for him. His wing has been inspected, treated, and bandaged by a rather scary sorceress named Yennefer, who glared at the Witcher the entire time she was caring for him. She had also taken one of Geralt’s old t-shirts and cut an enormous hole in the back for Jaskier’s wings to fit through. The shirt’s bottom hem falls to the middle of his thighs and the thick black material is softer than anything he’d ever felt before.

He hears a knock on the door and calls out, “It’s open!”

Geralt enters slowly, bearing a pair of pajama bottoms and a mug of tea. “I brought you some last minute supplies and - uh… I brought you some tea. Yen always likes some before she goes to sleep and I figured since this was a new place and new places can be scary that I should-”

“Thank you,” Jaskier interrupts, smiling shyly. His antennae twitch happily as he takes the offerings from Geralt's hands and the Witcher watches them with wide eyes. Jaskier carefully sets the pajamas and the tea on the nightstand before turning back to look at Geralt. “I will… see you tomorrow?”

Geralt gives one sharp nod. “Hmm.”

“Goodnight,” Jaskier sing-songs, taking a seat on the edge of the bed as Geralt exits.

From the other side of the closed door, Jaskier’s superior hearing picks up the Witcher’s final whisper: “Goodnight, Jaskier. I will always be sorry for causing you pain.”

The next morning he meets Geralt at the breakfast table, refreshed and ready to learn about the human world. He’s summoned a glamour in order to hide his more Moth-like traits, the only things that remain of his true nature are his wings and antennae; his fur is gone and he’s dressed in a pair of sweatpants and that same old shirt. The Witcher offers him a bowl of fruit and mug of something sweet-smelling. Jaskier glares into the mug with a slight pout to his lips before finally asking, “What is this?”

“Hot chocolate.”

Jaskier takes a sip and his antennae flutter, twitching happily as he swallows the best drink he’s ever had in his long life. He eats a strawberry from the bowl and slowly works his way through the hot chocolate, eyeing Geralt warily as the Witcher moves through the familiar kitchen to make his own breakfast.

“Where is Yennefer?”

“She went home,” Geralt shrugs.

“She isn’t your mate?”

“N-No,” Geralt sputters, turning to stare at the nervous young Fae. “Why would you think that?”

“You smell like each other.”

“We spend a lot of time together,” Geralt shrugs again. “Good friends, that’s all.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier mimics his host for a second time. Rather effectively by the annoyed twitch at the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “Just wondering.”

“Anything else you’re curious about?”

“Why don’t you have more lights?”

“Huh?”

“Lights,” Jaskier gestures around the minimalistic layout of Geralt’s open-concept kitchen/living room and its distinctive lack of lamps. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans forward against the dark marble countertop. The pout has gone from 'slight' to 'full-bore' and Geralt is clinging desperately to his braincell with how cute it looks. “It’s no fun.”

“You really like lamps, don’t you?” the Witcher replies, mouth dry. Jaskier huffs and takes another sip of his hot chocolate, antennae flickering back and forth in irritation. Geralt bites his lip to hide a smile; it’s too fucking cute, which is an odd thought for a Witcher to have.

“So what if I do enjoy a nice lamp or five in my living space?” Jaskier argues. "I'm a Moth of taste."

“No matter,” Geralt laughs quietly. “Finish your drink before it gets cold.”

---

Jaskier stays with Geralt for a few weeks while his wing heals, and for a creature whose sole interest seems to be fancy light fixtures, the Fae becomes a source of light in Geralt's own world. They go to a nonhuman friendly second-hand store to find Jaskier some more clothes and Geralt discovers the cryptid's love for oddly patterned shirts in bright colors. Jaskier chooses several to fill out his closet, as well as a sweater two-sizes too large in deep black (Geralt tries his best not to attach any meaning to this choice), a few pairs of pants, and a jean jacket that he declares, "Can be altered."

They watch movies together and make food together - Jaskier is always incredibly impressed by the way the automatic coffee maker works, and how easily Geralt can control the flames of the stove. Jaskier also follows the Witcher along on less dangerous hunts and helps bandage him up after worse ones, always there with a smile and a little kiss over the cleaned-up wound.

“It really is magic,” Jaskier always insists, lips pink and shining from licking them as he concentrates. "It makes you heal faster."

Geralt realizes one night - two weeks into Jaskier’s stay, as he leans against the doorframe and watches the strange creature’s even breathing - that he has gone and done the stupidest thing a Witcher can do: fall in love with a pretty, temperamental young Fae. Head over fuckin’ heels, actually.

So he makes a decision.

---

The next evening, after the dinner dishes have been cleaned and put away, Geralt herds Jaskier down the hall to the guest room. Those entrancing blue eyes blink up at him in obvious confusion. “Bedtime already?”

“No, not quite. I just- I made you… uh…”

“Do you have a surprise for me?” Jaskier asks, used to the Witcher's issues with verbalizing.

Geralt nods, relieved and thankful for the Fae’s steadfast understanding. “Do you want to cover your eyes or should I just open the door and show you?”

“I’ll close my eyes,” Jaskier smiles, covering his eyes with both hands. Geralt finds it adorable, as Jaskier always is, and allows himself a matching grin as he swings the door open. The ceiling light is off but Geralt has built a blanket fort at the center of the room and surrounded it with fairy lights of all colors and sizes. Inside the blanket fort is a mass of blankets and pillows; Jaskier has the odd habit of building nests - Geralt jokingly calls them cocoons - and sleeping in those on the floor instead of on the very comfortable mattress the Witcher has provided.

“Open them,” Geralt urges.

Jaskier pulls his hands away and Geralt watches as his pupils go huge and wide. Jaskier's face breaks out in the sunniest, most blindingly happy smile Geralt has ever seen. He turns and throws his arms around the Witcher, his wings fluttering behind him and his antennae twitching and flicking above his head. He tries desperately to speak but only manages a half-snuffled little “I’m-” before bursting into tears of joy.

Geralt just holds him, letting his arms fold carefully around Jaskier’s waist, just beneath his wings.

"I just wanted you to know that, if you wanted to stay, there would be room for you. Your room, if you want it."

"I do," Jaskier smiles, burying his face in the Witcher's neck. "I'd love to stay. I'd love nothing more than to spend my days going on adventures with you."

"Well then," Geralt gathers all of his courage and presses a soft kiss to the crown of Jaskier's head. He's met with happy spasms from the antennae so he does it again. And again. Moving from the top of the Fae's head to his cheeks and then his mouth - pretty and pink and pouting and so worth the trouble. "I suppose we can get started on our next adventure tomorrow."

512 notes · View notes

sabababa · 3 years

Text

You give them a prostate orgasm headcanons

Hawks, Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugou, Mirio Togata, Shota Aizawa x GenderNeutral!Reader

Author’s note: Please use lube when playing with people’s butts and don’t touch any genitals with a hand that’s been up a butt, thanks for coming to my ted talk ALSO THANK YOU FOR 100 FOLLOWERS

Warnings: Cursing, smut, dom!reader, sub!characters, pegging (if you’re a uterus owner), a single spank (Hawks receiving), some smutty pics I drew

Hawks

Doggy style

“Fuck, Lovebird, you’re gonna ruin my insides!” Hawks panted out in ecstasy as his front dropped against the sheets

You pounded into him from behind as you got a beautiful view of his ass jiggling each time your hips snapped against him

You set a brutal pace being egged on at the sight before you, and at hearing the wonderful moans that would leave his sinful mouth

“Fuck! Don’t stop~” He mewled as his eyes rolled to the back of his head, his hands gripping the sheets tight as he felt you go deeper each time

His prostate received a lot of attention in this position and he started to feel something swell within him

“Fuck, Lovebird, I’m gonna cum!” He whined, giving you pleading eyes to help him reach his climax, to keep fucking him

It was hard to grip his hips from behind, so you had to settle for gripping his ass cheeks as leverage to pull him against you

He let out a low moan at feeling your fingers dig into his skin, a slap to the rear caused his ass to jump up in surprise to meet in time with a thrust that would send him over the edge

“Aaaahhhhhh! Fuck!” He moaned out as his head jerked up and his wings fanned out to their full length

You did one last thrust and kept yourself inside him to let him ride out his orgasm as he grinded against you

His body convulsed and shivered, his ass wiggled against you as he kept letting out deep, guttural moans

You felt his heels dig into your thighs as his toes curled, his legs pulling you impossibly closer to him as his body kept shaking

His wings twitched and shuddered along with him, occasionally flapping from the extraordinary feeling coursing through him

He pushed against you to the point you almost lost your balance since he caused the bed to shake as well

You pushed back and he let out a wail of pleasure

“Fuuuuuuuck, right there~” His tongue rolled out his mouth as he felt your length press into his swollen prostate to intensify the feeling

(Art belongs to me, please do not repost)

It was like he had an orgasm over and over again, all he could focus on was the high as his vision was blurry and unfocused from his eyes constantly rolling to the back of his head as he tried to come down from it, but it was too fucking good to ignore

He shook a few more times before his body finally went limp, his muscles relaxed and his wings fell to his sides

You slowly pulled out of him which caused him to let out a groan from the loss, his ass twitched and jolted up when your tip left, you thought he would cum again

But then you noticed he never came at all, there was no mess beneath him and he was still hard

“You alright, Hawks?” You asked as you sat beside him, worried that you didn’t actually please him

“nev’ bet’r,” he slurred and rolled onto his back. He let out a small gasp at feeling the pressure of his rear touch the bed and his hips jolted up slightly before calming down again

An arm came up to rest over his eyes as he tried to catch his breath

“Are you really okay?” You pressed again, you had never seen him look so winded before

“Baby,” he began and pulled his arm away from his eyes to look at you, “you rocked my world, best orgasm of my fucking life,” he moaned at the memory and his hips jerked up a bit when his body twitched from the leftover stimulation

“But you didn’t cum?” You asked confused

He chuckled at your naivety. “You gave me a prostate orgasm, Lovebird, first one in fact, didn’t think I’d ever experience it.” He rested a hand behind his head and lifted his other arm to offer his side to you

You gladly crawled over to him and rested your head against his chest, careful to avoid laying on his wing, and you could hear his heart still beating fast

A big smile was on your face as you felt a sense of pride for pleasing your man so well

He wrapped a hand around your shoulder and squeezed you as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “When I can feel my legs again, I’ll return the favor~”

(Art belongs to me, please do not repost)

Izuku Midoriya

Missionary

Izuku threw his head back when you picked up your pace

His head made contact with the pillow as he moaned out

Your hands grasped his hips as you pounded into him, hitting a very sweet spot inside him over and over

He couldn’t stop the moans and whimpers that escaped his mouth as he felt the tip rub against his already swollen prostate

You gave him permission to stroke his aching cock long ago, but his hands gripped the pillow behind him as he was lost in the pleasure

His eyes were half-lidded and they started to roll back into his head as he felt something coil in his stomach

His breathing picked up and he closed his eyes when he started to feel the familiar climax building up

But a different feeling passed through him as his eyes flew open and the most delicious moan left his lips

“Aaaaaaahhhhhh~” He dug his feet into the bed, toes curled, and caused both your hips to be raised from the bed

You stopped your thrusting and bottomed out inside him, your hands gripped him close as you saw his body shudder and convulse

His legs shivered as you tried to hold him steady against you, his hands flew from the pillow to grasp your arms as he kept shaking from the intensity

That was when you noticed his cock was still hard, but nothing was coming out as his hips would jolt forward, rocking against the member sheathed inside him

You were too entranced by the way his body rattled to even think about jerking him off and from the way he held onto you, he didn’t care about it either

Izuku kept letting out moans as he shook from the pleasure wracking his body

He had never felt anything like it before. It was an intense feeling, like he was having multiple orgasms coursing through his body all at once

He let out one last whimper as his body finally stopped convulsing

Both of your bodies fell against the bed again as you panted to catch your breaths

“You okay, Izu?” You asked as you pulled out, his hands still holding your arms

His body would twitch slightly at the tiniest of movements as he tried to control his breathing

“W-what was that?” His eyes were closed as he panted out. His hands fell to your wrists; his fingers were still wrapped around them, but his grip was loose now

You slipped your hands into his and intertwined your fingers. “I think I just gave you a prostate orgasm,” you said with a sly smile

You felt some pride that you were able to reduce your boyfriend to a shivering mess, that oragasm looked intense and pleasurable, you were jealous honestly

“Can you do it again?” He looked at you with half-lidded eyes. A pleased smile on his face as he was still coming down from the high

You chuckled and climbed over him to give him a sweet kiss. “How about I actually make you cum this time?”

(Art belongs to me, please do not repost)

Katsuki Bakugou

Cowboy

“Fuck, why does it have to be so big?” Katsuki groaned out and attempted to hide it as a complaint, he really was enjoying himself, but he wouldn’t let you have that satisfaction

He continued to ride you, letting out small moans and grunts

He mostly grinded himself down on your length, not wanting to look too eager. After all, he was the dominant one in this situation

No, he wasn’t, and you gladly showed him that

You jerked your hips up which caused Katsuki to let out a shocked moan. “Ah!”

You smirked as you placed your hands on his hips, making him grind deeper into his core

“F-fuuuuck...” He said under his breath as his eyes fluttered closed, he hoped you didn’t hear him, but you did

Your smirked widened as you grinded your hips upward to meet his

“Fuck!” He moaned out fully and leaned forward as his hands rested on the bed at your sides

“You’re such a good boy, Suki” You said sweetly as you slowly grinded up into him, not a hint of mockery in your tone

You saw his eyes roll back into his head before they closed, he let out a small grunt at the stimulation. You almost had him

“Always my sweet boy,” you confirmed and rolled your hips

His breath hitched, but he kept his eyes squeezed shut

“You’re so pretty for me, Suki, such a good, sweet, pretty, boy.” You mused as you used your fingers to pull his chin forward. He leaned into your touch, which caused him to slightly raise up from your length

You snapped your hips up into him and he finally let out a loud moan when his eyes flew open

“Fuck!” He gasped.

“Will you be my good boy now?” You asked innocently as you held his face in your hands

“I-I’ll be your good boy,” he moaned out as he grinded against you, preparing to fully ride you

Ladies and gentlemen, we got him

He leaned back and placed his hands on your thighs as he started fucking himself on your member, at a rather fast pace

He was always such a good boy~

His moans filled the room as he continued to spear himself on your length, feeling it pound against his already swelling prostate

It caused his pace to falter at the pleasant feeling, but you wouldn’t let him have a moment’s rest

You reached out to pull his arms forward, which stopped his ministrations

He panted as you gripped his wrists with both your hands and started to mercilessly thrust into him

“FuUuUuUuUuck!” His voice vibrated with your thrusts and he threw his head back in ecstasy, your hands holding his wrists helped balance you both as you fucked up into his tight hole

His eyes rolled back into his head and he let a wide, open smile make it’s way onto his face as you pounded his ass, drool dribbled down the side of his mouth as he was lost in the pleasure

He felt the familiar swelling building up inside him

“I-I’m gonna cum!” He moaned out happily

His body shook violently and it caused him to fall over onto your form

You did one last thrust and buried yourself inside him to let him ride out his orgasm

He shuddered aggressively against you, his thighs squeezed your sides as he kept humping you. His arms snaked underneath to your back and he dug his nails into your skin, leaving love scratches

He continued to convulse and he hid his face in your neck as he whimpered and groaned into your ear.

It felt like he was cumming repeatedly, but not actually cumming, just the sensation of it, it repeated itself over and over as he sobbed from euphoria. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

His hips kept jerking against your member as his body spasmed, it added and refueled the delight he was feeling

His body was wracked with pleasure and it sent goosebumps across his skin at the unfamiliar sensation, his toes curled as he rolled against your length one last time

He continued to twitch as he calmed down from his high, his hips kept jerking forward from the leftover stimulation, he wasn’t ready to give the feeling away just yet

As he continued to shiver against you, you pulled out of him and he let out a whine near your ear

You could still feel that his cock was hard as it twitched between your stomachs, but noticed he never actually came

He panted as he sat up slightly to look at you, his thighs and hips still twitching

“The fuck was that?” He grunted out in his normal tone, a scowl on his face, along with a blush from embarrassment as he never had an experience like that before

“I just gave you a prostate orgasm,” you said cheekily and rubbed your hands on his rear, pushing his cheeks together to give pressure to his pucker

He jerked his hips forward with a sharp inhale of breath before he growled down at you as a warning

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it!” You laughed and rubbed his back soothingly

“Tch,” he scoffed and wrapped his arms back around your form, nuzzling his face into your neck and you felt him pout. “Never said I didn’t, Dumbass.”

(Art belongs to me, please do not repost)

Mirio Togata

Flatiron

Mirio gripped the pillow tight against him and smothered his face it in as your pace became rougher

“Fuck, Sunshine,” he moaned out, “you really know what you’re doing.”

Your hands gripped his ass tighter as you continued to drive your length into his tight pucker

“You’re doing so good, Sunshine!” He praised with a euphoric smile on his face

One thing about Mirio is that he loved to praise, no matter what position he was in. It never failed to give you a confidence boost to try some bolder moves with him

His prostate swelled from the pleasure as you continued to ravish him

“That feels so good~” He purred as he closed his eyes and nuzzled the pillow while he panted

You took the chance to press your front to his back, lying against his sweaty form

His muscles twitched at the change and he let out a long moan at how much deeper you went

“You’re so deep, Sunshine!” He said breathlessly as he felt your member grind against his swollen prostate

You resumed your rough pace and he jerked his head up as he let out a series of moans

“Don’t stop, Sunshine! Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” His words were muffled as his face fell into the pillow again

He felt a tightening in his stomach as you continued your ruthless pace, you brought your hands to rest on top of his and intertwined your fingers, he squeezed yours tightly

“Make me cum, Sunshine!” He moaned with a smile at the pleasurable feeling. “Fucking make me cum!” He moaned out desperately that time

His breathing quickened as he felt his release come close

But then he held his breath as his body shook violently at this new feeling

You gave one last hard thrust seeing him quiver and let him ride it out as he shivered against you

He raised his rear off the bed as he kept shaking and then dropped it back down, causing your length to bounce against him and poke his prostate

He finally took a breath in at the sensation and his legs spasmed before bending and locking you against him

Mirio’s back arched as he pushed his ass up again, his toes curled at feeling how much deeper you went

He let out a series of high and breathy moans, as the climax surged through his body, making his limbs tremble and spasm as he didn’t know what to do with them

This new orgasm he felt was so amazing, he couldn’t get enough of it, he wanted more from his Sunshine, he wanted to feel like this all the time. Shivers up and down his spine, the vibrations of an orgasm wreaking his body, the sensation of multiple releases, it was mind-breaking

His body finally stopped convulsing and he rested flat against the bed again with a content sigh, his legs dropped and went limp, parts of him twitched every now and then

He laid his head on the pillow and panted, his eyes closed, a groan left his lips when you pulled out

His fingers still squeezed yours as the last of the orgasm was still pulsing through him, it kept him grounded as he rode out the high

“You okay, Miri?” You whispered and rested your chin on his shoulder

He cracked his eyes open and gave you a weak, but blissful, smile. “That was amazing, Sunshine,” he said breathlessly, “I just- I need a minute.”

His eyes closed again when his hips jerked forward once, a ghost feeling of the climax still there, he let out a high, but short moan. “Ah~”

“That was different,” you commented quietly, still resting against him

“Yeah,” he grunted at the memory, “you just gave me my first prostate orgasm!” He managed to get a chuckle out

“Is that what that was?” Your eyes widened a fraction

“Yep!” He popped the ‘p’ at the end. “And a damn good one!” He mused and gave you a lustful stare

“Give me another minute and I’ll get even with you!” He winked

(Art belongs to me, please do not repost)

Shota Aizawa

Prostate Massage

Aizawa let out a small grunt as you continued to push two fingers in and out of him

The pads would press against his prostate each time they entered and it caused his thighs to twitch every time

Your mouth was just above his tight pucker, lightly sucking and licking the sensitive skin underneath his sack, while your other hand used it’s thumb to press small circles into the spot where his thigh and groin met; sending a tingle up his spine

You were purposefully avoiding his cock, you even gave him orders to not touch it either, so his hands were stuck up top by his head

His cock was red and achingly hard, pre-cum dribbling out the tip

“Fuck,” he hissed as you sped up your pace, his prostate painfully swollen from the teasing. “Can I please touch myself?” His voice was strained, not wanting it to sound too much like begging

“Mm-mm,” you dismissed him and the vibrations of your voice against his skin sent a shiver up his spine

“Damn it,” he growled underneath his breath in annoyance

He decided that the next best thing he could do to get himself off was to grind against you

His hips came forward and it caused your fingers to slip deeper inside him

“Ngh!” He groaned at the feeling and halted his hips

You pulled your face away from his groin, a smirk on your lips. “You wanna fuck yourself on my fingers?” You teased

He set himself up on his elbows as he looked down at you

“Can I?” He mocked as his brow twitched in annoyance, he wasn’t used to being the submissive one

“Go ahead,” you leaned an arm on his leg as your head rested in your hand

He gave you a suspicious stare as he slowly rocked his hips forward, not fully trusting you to keep your fingers in place

But when your fingers pressed against his prostate, you did a light ‘come here’ motion with the tips of your digits

Aizawa groaned again and he fell back against the bed as he continued to pleasure himself against your fingers

You bit your lips as you kept watching him buck against your pointer and middle, it was a sight to behold

You then pulled the bottle of lube back out, quietly opening it and coating your fingers in it, especially the third one

Right as he went to rock forward again, you inserted the third finger

He gasped and let out a deep groan, almost like a growl, his hips stuttered from the stretch, but continued none the less

You decided to pick up the pace and fuck your fingers back into him, causing them to go deeper than before

His hands flew up above his head to grip the sheets as he grunted at the feeling, your fingers prodding his prostate each time they thrusted in

He felt the familiar sensations of his orgasm approaching, a swelling feeling within him

“I’m gonna cum!” He gasped out. “Can I cum?” He pleaded, hoping you wouldn’t leave him high and dry

“Go ahead, Tom cat,” You thrusted your fingers harder against his prostate

His body convulsed as the orgasmic sensations vibrated through him, his legs spasmed before he tightly wrapped them around you to pull you closer, your fingers pressing against his p-spot to help him ride out his high

He thrashed against the sheets as his rear would rise up and then fall back down, then his head leaned back against the bed to prop his body more as his back arched

Low groans kept getting caught him his throat as he choked on air each time he trembled

It felt like multiple orgasms happening all at once, but his cock wasn’t cumming, he was still hard as he felt another wave shudder through him

His toes curled as his thighs twitched and he bucked his hips against your fingers

Finally, with one last shiver, he eased down from his high and let out a deep breath, but still panted slightly

You pulled your fingers out and kept that hand away as you crawled on top of him

His hair clung to his forehead from the sweat, his cheeks rosy as you watched him pant to regain his breath

“Did you just...” He breathed out, not having enough energy to finish his question

“Give you a prostate orgasm? Yes, I did,” you grinned and moved some hair out of his face with your clean hand. “Did it feel good?” You asked genuinely

He nodded, his eyes closed as his breathing finally calmed. “Felt amazing...” he mumbled and then drifted off to sleep

You only chuckled at him and gave him a tender kiss on the cheek. “Sweet dreams, Sleeping beauty.”

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Masterlist

#hawks x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #mirio togata x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #izuku x reader #katsuki x reader #mirio x reader #shouta x reader #midoriya x reader #bakugou x reader #togata x reader #aizawa x reader #deku x reader #smut

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ubemango · 3 years

Note

*gregorian chant* breeding kink c*m inflation kink breeding kink c*m inflation kink breeding kink c*m inflation kink bree

In another universe pups is the ABO fic I never wrote HJDHJDSHJDSHJHJFHJFSD OK so anyway I won’t lie I had to google what cum inflation was and when I saw what I saw.... yes. Ok. It got my brain gears going *rusty noise of gears turning* U know what I mean??? So i was thinking..... ***NSFW WARNING

You see hentai on Namjoon’s laptop one day. You’ve mastered the art of nonchalance, though. So when he comes back from the bathroom and gives you a smile—as if you haven’t gotten a peek into Things That Turn Namjoon On That Don’t Include You—you breathe an internal sigh of relief. Safe.

Except you’ve stopped taking notes and now all you can think about is Namjoon watching porn so brazenly on his laptop. Where he does schoolwork of all places! He could at least just use his phone. Also you’re just a teensy bit wet because cartoon boobs and dick is still conducive to horny hours, even if you are doing something as unsexy as critical writing.

Your study date ends with a simple kiss on the lips because Hoseok’s home this time and you’d rather not taint the living room space while he’s occupying the apartment too. Namjoon slips in a little bit of tongue though, because he’s cheeky like that.

You text Namjoon right when you get home. You lie and say you’re going to sleep early, with the excuse that you have to wake up early for a meeting with your advisor. And when he sends you his good night text, you get to it. Getting ready for bed, turning your night light to the colour red once you’ve settled in.

You have sleuthing to do.

Because the hentai wasn’t just... well there’s no regular hentai, is there? It’s just. There. Being hentai. And what’s Namjoon without an inclination for messy pussies because of—because of—

You close your eyes tight because you can’t believe what you’re about to type into the search bar on your phone.

But first!

Incognito. Whew. The shame of clearing your history would be too much to bear. So when you press enter on cum inflation it isn’t so bad. Especially when all the X-rated websites pop up and your screen just becomes Anime Boobies Galore when you click the first link.

You can’t believe Namjoon had the gall to just leave that website up there on his screen. You’re scrolling down the page and already you’re feeling hot. And it isn’t even because of the fact that you’re skimming through videos of perfect girls getting so cummed up their stomachs literally become distended. Nor is it the thought of Namjoon watching it and enjoying it, either. Rather...

Was he thinking of you when he was watching these videos? Bending your knees up over your shoulders and promising you that he’s saved up all his cum for you? Getting you to drool down your chin, cross-eyed?

(Your hand is down your panties at the third video you come across. You come pretty hard when you see the girl’s pussy literally spew semen from how hard the guy comes inside her. And when you reach post-orgasm clarity you immediately exit the browser, chuck your phone onto the floor, and hope to god sleep overtakes you within twenty seconds.)

The next time you meet up for another study date with Namjoon is the weekend. That’s a good three nights of jacking it off to the same video of a huge dongle fucking a good five buckets of semen inside his girlfriend. And when you settle all your notebooks and laptop down, you immediately go for the kill.

“Do you like anime boobs?”

Namjoon chokes on the water he’s drinking from his bottle. “I—ahem. What, uh... what brought this on?”

“I’ve been watching a lot of hentai so I thought I’d ask,” you clarify.

“Uh-huh,” he says incredulously.

“And you know, it’s just—I liked it. A lot. You know. Just for your information.”

Namjoon blinks. “Are you trying to get at something here?”

“Because I don’t really mind, you know. Porn is porn. And you can like whatever you want. Like as long as it’s nice and consensual,” you ignore him.

“Babe.”

“Like I would never make fun of you because I’m—well I’ve watched Grinch porn before but that was against my own will—“

“Baby,” Namjoon laughs, squishing your cheeks to stop your rambling. “What’s going on?”

“I like h’ntai,” you try to articulate with his hands still keeping your lips pressed in like this.

“I get that. But why?”

Oh god. You don’t even know what you want from this conversation. Maybe the guilt of catching him has caught up to you. Or maybe you also just want to have a distended stomach from having Namjoon bust a fat load inside you.

You take his hands from your face, clutch at them for support. “I saw... Um. What you were watching. The other day.”

“Ah.” You watch Namjoon’s ears turn red. He squeezes your hands right back. “You—damn. I’m sorry.”

“No—!” You clear your throat when it warbles. “N-No... it’s... well I...”

You feel his thumb rub comfort into your skin. He looks like he’s getting ready for a scolding. So when you say, “I actually really liked it and I’ve been watching it every night,” in one breath, Namjoon blinks.

And blinks.

After a solid sixteen seconds of silence, he says: “That’s really hot.”

You both stare at each other. The notebook you laid out for notes sits quietly, waiting.

“You wanna go to your bed—?”

Namjoon nearly dislodges your shoulder when he pulls you up to stand. “Yes we’re going right now.”

Something you’re really thankful for when it comes to Namjoon is how compatible you two are. You can’t count how many times you’ve both just looked at each other, no words to say, but somehow still completely on the same page. It’s like you both have the instinct of the other person ingrained in the part of your brain that deals with intuition.

You’re pretty keen on foreplay most days, but even Namjoon sees you’d rather rip your hair out than not immediately go for the feeling of his dick ramming inside you right at this very second. He laughs when you strip in record time, laying supine on the bed while he undresses.

“What’s gotten into you?” As if he’s not hard himself. He crawls over you with kisses warm on your belly, your breasts. “I have to admit. I really just wanted to fuck today.”

“Oh thank god,” you sigh. You knew something was up the second you realized Hoseok wasn’t home. He probably sexiled himself. You remind yourself to buy him dinner one day for his noble deed. “Just—I’m wet. I think. I just want you inside me, please.”

Namjoon groans. “You’re dangerous.”

“I watched hentai for three nights straight, I’m horny,” you whine in correction.

“You wanna know something? Please don’t laugh.”

“What?” Oh you’re wet alright. Namjoon lines his cock at your hole, slides tight inside. “O-Oh—what?”

“I kind of. I haven’t jacked off since the last time we met,” he says, voice tight. “Thank god you watched that shit because I probably sound crazed right now.”

“Huh?”

He grinds up till his hips meet your ass, and you shiver when the tip of his cock hits just right. “I—I wanted to save my cum for you,” he admits, sweating at his neck, and something clicks inside you, because you were right.

“I thought—about that too—ngh!”

Namjoon fucks you steady now. No more shy thrusts like he always starts off with to gauge your mood. He knows you want it. “Shit. About what, baby?”

“You. A-And... making me full... of you.”

“Oh my god.” He grabs your thighs, opening you wide. Takes a thumb to your clit like he’s on a mission. “Will you come with me? Can you do that?”

Holy fuck you’d do anything for him. So you nod, moaning with every hard thrust he gives you. Your legs threaten to close when he rubs you raw, but he commands with a low voice:

“Open, pups.”

Embarrassingly, that does it. He’s never one to order you around. And knowing he’s purposefully saved you his cum like it’s Christmas come early, you know better than to hinder the process.

Your legs shake when you open wider, feeling the warmth of his cock tenfold. “I’m close,” you cry when he slams into you.

“Feel it here?” He slides a sweaty palm to your abdomen. “Gonna give it to you right there. Make you so full. So pretty. All—mine—!”

You don’t even know if that was your signal. But the thought of him swelling you up like that girl on your screen, her womb so full with cum and promise—

“Joonie!” You shriek, toppling right into red-hot pleasure, clutching at the sheets because it’s too much. You come in waves, and Namjoon rides it with you, bucks into you with one last groan. You feel it, feel his excess warmth coat your insides just like he’d told you, and you pretend you feel your stomach balloon for more space. He rubs a grateful hand on your stomach.

“My little cum dump,” he coos tiredly, and you slap his arm with a laugh.

“Don’t pull out yet.” You slide your arms around his shoulders, bringing his tired form onto you. “Keep me plugged in.”

He laves at your neck. “Oh so now I’m out of line when I say weird shit.”

“I never said it was weird,” you whisper. “I’ll happily house all your semen.”

“Oh my—pfft. Ok. You know what? Show me that video you were watching, I need to know what’s got you like this,” he snorts, and you promise to do it later. You’ll just keep him like this for a little while.

#bts smut #namjoon smut #bts scenarios #ubemango fic #f: pups series #d: pups series

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ikroah · 3 years

Photo

The strangest gal I ever had never happy ‘less she’s mad. Oh, I got a woman mean as she can be, sometimes I think she’s almost mean as me. —“Mean Woman Blues,” Elvis Presley (1957)

It Keeps Right On a-Hurtin’ #16 - Crimson Caravan

Collaborative Issue! Guest Artist: Esseress

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Notes / Original Pencils / Transcript:

Notes:

Girls’ night! Girls’ night!

I want this issue to speak for itself so I’m going to cut right to gratuitously thanking our latest guest artist, Esseress, who did a completely phenomenal on these five pages. We’ve been working on it for a long time and I’m over the moon to finally bring it to you now on this blog. I love writing this comic, and I loved doing the lettering and composition for it, but my goodness do I love Esse’s art. It was a real privilege to have that art as part of It Keeps Right On a-Hurtin’, especially since the artist was such an immaculately pleasant collaborator. If you’re reading this, thank you again for such a fun project (and talking about Naruto with me lol).

Original Pencils (click for full size):

This issue was one of my most fun composition challenges yet because something that you want to avoid in comics as much as possible, I think, is talking heads. You want to avoid shots that are static, overly repetitive, and uninteresting. Now the challenge is, how do you do that when your whole comic takes place in a small storeroom and is nothing but a conversation between two characters?

Playing with angles and expressions, and using repetition intentionally with the percussive referent of Agnes cutting into the floorboards, made for some really suspenseful page layouts that complemented the script in a major way. I’m especially proud of the third page, with its quick cutaway to the exterior of the office and the cutting continuing beneath Agnes’ dialogue. Also, did you notice that you only ever see Agnes’ left side this issue? You never get to look her in the eye this issue, and given how cagey she’s acting, that evasiveness was an intentional compositional choice. It was satisfying to pull off, but hear me, it took a lot of planning in the thumbnail stage to pull off well.

The other fun challenge of this issue was lighting. When you’re in a closet a night and don’t want to be seen, how do you see? The delightful answer was to have Agnes actually use that damn flashlight she wears on her shoulder; attentive readers will notice that this is the second time she’s used it in the comic, with the first time being back in Boulder City at the end of Volume 1. Hmm…guys, I wonder if it’s a bad omen that she only seems to turn it on when she’s about to commit or assist in a murder…

Speaking of lighting! One last fun hiccup about this issue was the final page. The script I wrote called for it to transition from night to morning between the first and second panels, but in a case of unforeseen and magnitudinous pedanticism, it was while coordinating the lighting on that page with Esse that I looked up the actual time of sunrise in the Mojave Desert for the time of year this issue takes place, which is November 5th if you’re curious. Turns out the sun shouldn’t be rising until after 7:00 AM, which hardly makes McLafferty the exceptionally early riser her planner says she is. That’s not to say it’s actually 7:00 AM in the comic…go ahead and play the CinemaSins ding for the wrong sunrise time, or whatever. And it’s not like any of you would have known or cared if I didn’t say anything! It was just too weird of a writing quirk to not bring up. The lesson, folks, is to always remember your temporality when writing. It’ll help you sleep a lot easier.

Transcript:

EXT. CRIMSON CARAVAN, night. The lights are out and everyone in the caravan compound have retired to their barracks for the night. From inside one of the compound buildings comes a soft sound.

SFX: SKRITCH SKRITCH…

INT. CRIMSON CARAVAN OFFICE. AGNES SANDS is bent over on the floor of a storeroom, carving into the wooden floor with her bootknife. ROSE OF SHARON CASSIDY leans against the door behind her.

SFX: SKRITCH SKRITCH…

AGNES: So…have you ever killed anyone before?

AGNES continues cutting into the floor without looking at CASS as she speaks.

SFX: SKRITCH SKRITCH, SKRITCH SKRITCH, SKRITCH SKRITCH…

AGNES: And I don’t mean a raider or fiend or something, nothing in self-defense. I mean in cold blood.

CASS: You mean like you killed those Khans?

(NOTE: *IKROAH #14—Lou.)

CASS: Hmmm…no, I guess I haven’t. When it comes to bloody vengeance just for myself…

CASS: …be gentle, it’s my first time.

AGNES doesn’t react to CASS’ joke. CASS becomes equally serious.

CASS: …I’d imagine this ain’t your first rodeo, the way you asked.

SFX: SKRITCH SKRITCH, SKRITCH SKRITCH, SKRITCH SKRITCH, SKRITCH SKRITCH…

CASS: I mean…this Benny guy, in Vegas. When we catch him, which notch on your blood-spattered bedpost is he?

AGNES stops cutting into the floor, raising her knife. CASS’s expression tightens with concern. The silence is uncomfortable.

AGNES: Second.

CASS: Oh, thank God.

AGNES: What?

CASS: No offense, but the way you got all serious, I worried for a second you might be some kind of serial killer nutjob.

AGNES: No, no, I’m sorry. I was just…thinking. I really know how to meet the wrong men, apparently.

CASS (smiling): Dead men, right?

AGNES frowns. Her knife plunges back into the wooden floor.

SFX: SKRITCH, SKRITCH, SKRITCH SKRITCH…

CASS: Wanna talk about it?

SFX: SKRITCH SKRITCH…

CASS: Not like we have anything else to do.

SFX: SKRITCH SKRITCH…

AGNES: I really don’t.

CASS: Fine. That said, though, I did imagine this whole revenge thing being a bit more…exciting. Can’t say I like being stuck in a closet.

AGNES (smirking): You get used to it.

CASS: Why, though? You picked the lock to her fucking office like a cheap office toy. Why not break into her barracks and we shoot the bitch now?

AGNES: First, because that’s a great way to get us both killed.

AGNES keeps cutting as she speaks, deeper and deeper into the floor.

AGNES: Second, you want her to know it was you, so we have to get her awake and alone.

SFX: SKRITCH SKRITCH, SKRITCH SKRITCH, SKRITCH SKRITCH…

AGNES: Third, her planner on her desk confirmed what I already suspected—that she’s an early riser—so we’ll see her sooner rather than later, while the rest of the company is still asleep.

SFX: SKRITCH SKRITCH, SKRITCH SKRITCH…

AGNES: Fourth, we want to send a message to everyone else. So it has to be at least a little spectacular.

SFX: SKRITCH SKRITCH, SKRITCH SKRITCH...

CASS: Oh…you’ve really thought this through.

SFX: SKRIT-

AGNES stops cutting. She slowly lifts her knife out of the floor.

AGNES: Yeah.

CASS: Where’d a medic get so good at murder?

AGNES rises from bending over the floor to a kneeling position, turning back towards CASS and frowning.

CASS: Sorry. You probably don’t want to talk about that, either.

AGNES: Maybe another time. For now…

AGNES leans back, kneeling over an intricate cross-hatch, about three feet in radius, of deep cuts and gouges into the floorboards in front of her.

AGNES: …just trust me.

EXT. CRIMSON CARAVAN. Night turns to early morning, and ALICE McLAFFERTY, the boss of the caravan, walks up the steps of her office and enters.

AGNES (from inside, whispering): Alright. Now. Quickly.

From inside her office, a door is kicked open.

SFX: DTHUMP

ALICE: What the hell, who are you—!?

CASS: Rose of Sharon goddamn Cassidy, of Cassidy fucking Caravans, you bitch!

ALICE: No, you’re—

SFX: KABLAM

The sound of a shotgun going off in the middle of the compound wakes up the whole caravan. Crows scatter from the courtyard while guards start rushing towards the office door.

AGNES: Alright, now let’s go! Shoot the floor here where I—

SFX: KABLAM

The guards close in on the office while wooden shrapnel falls from a new hole in the floorboards of the office, and AGNES and CASS drop through to the ground outside, and crawl away from the caravan guards under the hut just as they reach the McLAFFERTY’s front door.

#fallout #fallout new vegas #courier six #rose of sharon cassidy #alice mclafferty #crimson caravan #volume 02 #16 #ikroah archive

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writings-of-a-british-fangirl · 3 years

Text

A Lesson In Touch [Din Djarin x Reader]

Title: A Lesson In Touch Summary: You want nothing more to say your feelings for Din out loud, but words don't come to you or Din easy... Maybe you can express your love in another way. Warnings: A little bit of angst and description of injury, but that's about it Request: N/A

A/N: This is the third and final instalment of "a lesson in" series! ((unless i get inspired to write another part)) Let me know if you have any requests for Din in general!!

A/N 2: Here is a list of people that said they wanted to be tagged for this fic! Hope you like it

@elphabaforpresidentofgallifrey @the-fae-child @zoleea-exultant @captainwanderlust78 @ihavemyownissuess

PART 1: A Lesson In Mando’a PART 2: A Lesson In Tradition PART 3: A Lesson In Touch

Din Djarin~A Lesson In Touch

Din hadn't quite mastered the art of subtlety when it came to you. He was very thankful for his beskar, specifically his helmet, otherwise he was sure you would've noticed his outright staring. In no way was he trying to make you feel uncomfortable or offend you, but he just felt mesmerised by you in a way that no other being in the galaxy had. Well, apart from his little green son. But, this... This was something different.

You were something different.

Ever since you had bought that necklace, the way he felt about you had only intensified. It was scaring him in ways he didn't even want to confront. Thoughts of a relationship, of a family with you began to stir within him. It wasn't realistic- definitely just a day dream. Kriff, he hadn't even been in a romantic relationship before: how was he ever going to treat you right? Sure, he'd dabbled in a few flings here and there... Some he was less than proud of. Although he'd never broken his Creed, he had certainly bent the rules a handful of times; in his defence, he was young, and stupid... And, touch starved. In truth: he probably still was.

It had been a long while since anyone had touched him with any other intent than to kill him. He was used to the roughness of touch that came with combat: the way his fists hit another, and he was in turn hit, but your soft lingering touches were enough to distract him for the whole day.

He began to crave them: any excuse to be close to you.

If only the Mandalorian knew that he wasn't being as subtle as he thought. Even with the helmet disguising his eyes, you could feel his vision on you. At first, you felt self conscious under his gaze. You interpreted it as him glaring at you: maybe you had done something wrong with the kid? Or maybe you had offended him, and he just wasn't saying anything? But, slowly, you got better at reading his body language. It was tough at first, as Din revealed very little personal information about himself. Coupled this with the fact he was usually clad head to toe in beskar armour, you made slow progress. However, over time, you began to pick up on little cues. Soft, small hints that he wasn't glaring... He was looking at you: you'd caught him staring.

You were going to confront him about it, initially; maybe even make a light joke of it. You had quickly gone off of that idea. Soon, you decided you liked the Mandalorians eyes on you; you even let yourself believe that he might only have eyes for you.

And soon, just as he craved you, you wanted more than just his eyes on you.

~~~

The universe had a fucking funny way of answering your inner desires. When you said, you had wanted to feel him, feel his skin on your own, when you had said you wanted to feel his touch, this wasn't what you meant. Kriff. This was getting bad. Din was bleeding badly.

What had initially meant to be a pretty simple bounty had turned into a rather difficult one. The location Din was sent initially was inaccurate, and then when he arrived at the actual, correct location, it was a trap. His target had friends, and it soon became an ambush. The Mandalorian was still capable of taking them down, but they put up a pretty good fight, and before knocking out all of them, one had managed to stab Din in his side.

Which lead you to now.

Din was in your arms. He had stumbled into the Razor Crest, clutching his side with one arm and dragging the quarry with the other. You'd almost lost control in that moment, but you knew you had to stay calm for him. You rushed up to him, and quickly aided him in throwing the bounty into carbonite. Then, you made quick work of laying him down on your make shift medical bench, and asking him where the pain was coming from. Your eyes were wide with panic: he could probably tell. You were terrible at hiding emotions when it came to him, and you'd never exactly done this before. Sure, you'd patched yourself up more times than you can count: but someone else? Someone you cared about? Now that was something else entirely.

"Din," you cooed gently, trying not to make his pain worse, "I'm going to need to remove some of your armour. Is that okay? Is... Is that breaking your Creed?"

"I- No," Din huffed out, trying to be kind to you despite his situation.

"Okay, good... Good... I need you to lay as still as you can okay. I'm just going to..."

You don't know why you start narrating what you're doing. Maybe you thought it would put him at ease if he knew what was going on. Maybe it was making things worse.

Gently, you peeled away his armour from his torso, and observed the large cut down his side. You pressed your hand against him, and Din winced in pain. Your hand retracted quickly, and you ran to the first aid kit kept in the Crest. You opened the bag, and began searching around for the bacta patch and disinfectant that you needed. Your heart was beating really quickly, and you could feel Din's pulse getting weaker. His breathing shallowed. You steadied your shaking hands as you brought the disinfectant up to his wound.

"Din," you murmur, "Are you still with me? Din... I'm sorry this is going to hurt."

You saw his head nod slowly, and you began cleaning the wound as carefully as you can. He winced in pain and his hand shot up; he grabbed out to you, and his hand was wrapped around your upper arm before you knew what was happening. Despite the situation, his touch (even through his glove) surprised you. Your heart rate began to increase, and your face felt hot.

"I'm nearly done now," you promise him, "I'm just putting on the bacta patch and then you can rest."

"T-Thank you, cyar'ika," Din replied, his grip on your arm faltering before letting go.

You took his hand and squeezed it gently. Din was weak now but at least his wound has been tended to and he wasn't losing anymore blood. It was only now that the worst of it was over, that you took note of the blood across the ship. This would be one hell of a clean up. First, you washed your hands, and then you gently removed the remainders of Din's armour, save his helmet (of course). You unbuttoned his tunic and swapped it out for one that wasn't covered in blood- and one that didn't have a large hole in it. You like to think that he'd appreciate it.

With the ship finally cleaned, and Din safe, you crawled into your cot beside the child. Your eyes felt heavy as you held the child close to you: you took one last look at your Mandalorian, before finally falling asleep.

~~~

Din Djarin woke up startled. His hand went to his side, at first, and then across his chest, before ending up resting on his helmet. His eyes scanned the room before settling upon you. His eyes softened; in your arms lay his little womp rat. He was safe, and so were you. Din sighed, relieved that you were both still okay.

His eyes cast down to the pile of armour beside him: you must've removed it after he'd passed out. He recognised that he was now wearing a new black shirt, and that his old, bloodied one was nowhere to be found. His mind didn't have time to wonder where you'd put it, as the sound of him moving off of the make shift medical bench had caused you to begin to awaken. Your eye sight was blurry for a second, before focusing in on Din. He was up.

He was up!

"Din! You're awake!" you exclaim, shaking off any sleepy feeling that still remained.

"Are you alright?" Din asks, stepping towards you.

"Am I alright?" you repeat back to him, now also finding your feet, "You get stabbed, come home bloody to me -barely standing I might add- and you ask me if I'm okay?"

Din shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.

"Never mind me: how are you feeling?"

"I'm... I'm okay. Better now, thanks to you," Din reassured, reaching over to take the child from you now that he had woken up from his nap.

"Well, I have been told I have an excellent bed side manor," you tease.

"Oh yeah?" Din plays along.

"Really! If it wasn't for this whole bounty hunting gig, I definitely would've been a nurse," you assure confidently; although truthfully at this point in time, you have no interest in taking care of anyone else besides your small found family.

"You would've made an excellent nurse," Din chuckles.

It warms your heart: hearing him laugh.

"I thought you were going to pass out quicker than me at certain points, though," Din continues, "But I'm not dead so you must've done something right."

"Hey now, Mandalorian: in my defence, I was not expecting you to come back covered in blood and barely conscious. Forgive me if I was a little rusty."

You hadn't realised how close the two of you had become until now. His body was so close that you could almost feel the heat coming from his body. Or maybe it was yours. You weren't honestly sure at this point, but it was making your face heat up. You shyly looked away from his gaze. Seeing him like this almost felt unnatural. You were so use to him fully covered in armour, that seeing him without all the beskar felt like you were seeing him naked. Despite this, you enjoyed seeing him like this: he felt more human to you now. If he was feeling vulnerable at all, he didn't show it. If you didn't know any better, you'd almost say he enjoyed this new layer of vulnerability because it meant he could feel closer... Closer to you.

"You're forgiven," he murmurs, his voice low, "Am I forgiven, cyar'ika?"

"Hm..." you hesitate, teasing him for a second, "I will have to think about that-"

"-Mesh'la, please," he pretends to beg you, smiling under his helmet; Din's eyes remain on you, almost transfixed as you pretend to ponder the status of his forgiveness.

"Only if you tell me what m- me- mesh'la means," you whisper in a hushed tone, "Or agree to teach me Mando'a. I have to know what you are saying about me."

"Only good things," Din replies in the same quiet tone, "Beautiful."

"Beautiful," you repeat back to him, your heart swelling, "Din you are... Me- mesh'la too."

You expect him to reply: correct your pronunciation, or joke back with you but the Mandalorian has gone silent. Not an uncomfortable wooden silence. No, it was a warm silence. It felt right, and after a second, you adjusted to the new quietness. You imagine neither of you have had a moment like this in a long time. The silences you were use to only echoed with your hollowness, reflecting your loneliness. But this: this felt right.

Gently, Din leaned his head on your own. Due to the presence of his helmet, he was careful not to be too forceful, but you soon accepted the gesture, and kept your forehead on his.

A keldabe kiss.

That's what you would come to know that as. Although it originally started as slang for a headbutt, it soon became a sign of affection among Mandalorians. Affectionate moments with the Creed felt few and far between, so this was a way around that. And, it was one you quiet enjoyed. Even if you couldn't always touch your Mandalorian in the ways you wanted to, in these moments it didn't seem to matter. Despite the Creed, despite everything, there was no true barrier that could separate you and Din Djarin.

Your foreheads stay together for a moment longer, before separating. You look up at him, and you know -even without words, even without touch- he is yours, and your are his.

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dreaminpetals · 3 years

Note

can i request a fic where naib thinks his fem s/o is cheating on him when she isn't, and it leads to... smut perhaps 👉👈

🔪 mister loverman // naib subedar

art credit

it was a usual occurrence for everyone in the manor to become a bag of nerves weeks before the annual ball. hunters and survivors alike were expected to pick a date and a lavish outfit in a short period of time, all while balancing brutal ranked matches and competitive tournaments.

naib wanted to ask you ー he was going to ask you, his one and only love, but he wasn't sure how. if it was up to him he'd casually ask over dinner, but his friends had chided him for his bluntness. eli's advice repeatedly swam through his ears. 'give her the invitation she deserves, not what's easiest for you, naib.' he'd have to think of something romantic, something that would amaze you and leave all the girls jealous.

until then, naib fiddled with his elbow pads at the dining table, eager to get matched up already so he could release all his pent up anger on the battlefield. he was seated between his girlfriend and her new best friend, luca. the two were always up to something and naib would be lying if he said he didn't feel the thorns of jealousy every time he saw the prisoner by your side. luca was an alright guy on his own, but he had no sense of boundaries and got a little too close to you for naib's comfort. platonically holding hands with luca always leaves your boyfriend a disgruntled mess. that should be him with his fingers wrapped around yours.

"hey naib, pass this to y/n for me," luca sneered and a twitching hand passed him a folded up note. he did just that. you passed him a note back, so on and so forth. naib wondered just what they were talking about that couldn't be spoken aloud, were they discussing him?

were they flirting?

no, you wouldn't betray his trust like that. you promised you would stay with naib through thick and thin, there was no chance of you leaving him for luca. he pushed his darker thoughts to the back of his mind when the fourth survivor and hunter joined.

naib was the first survivor to be blasted back to the manor, all because luca kept distracting everyone. making funny faces, trying to convince the hunter to go friendly, all the things naib hated during matches. sure, it was only a quick match, but it wasn't often he got to be matched up with his girlfriend. the urge to protect you always took over his body and made him fight better, this was his chance to shine and luca snuffed it out.

before naib could storm out of the room, two notes crumpled on the floor by the dining table caught his attention. would it be so bad if he read them for himself? seeing an innocent conversation between you and luca would quell all the suspicions that plagued his heart, he thought. naib smoothed out the notes and what he saw shook him to his very core.

'y/n, would you like to be my date for the ball?'

'of course, luca!"

naib's hands began to shake uncontrollably and it took all of his self restraint to not rip the notes into shreds. he fucking loved you. and you did this.

the notes were stuffed into his pockets. he was going to confront you for this and it wasn't going to look pretty. it would hurt to lash out at his girlfriend, who he thought was the love of his life, but if you were so willing to throw everything away for a random newcomer in the manor ... so be it, he would make you regret hurting him. the closer he stomped to your shared dorm, the heavier the weight in his pockets felt. two slips of paper. that was all it took to shatter naib subedar's heart and douse the shards in gasoline.

he couldn't bear to look at the couple photos hung up on the walls. the dishes you made together during a pottery class. the presents you bought each other. your belongings still on the nightstand. he would have to throw all of it out. naib took a seat on the edge of the bed, releasing a ragged breath he didn't know he was holding. his whole face was red and he was shaking with a silent rage. if it wasn't for the damage in his elbows he would have punched a hole through the wall. his girlfriend, his future wife, the love of his life had cheated on him. it still hasn't sunk in yet.

when he heard two pairs of footsteps approach the door, your graceful steps and luca's hobbled footing, naib winced. his nails dug into his thighs as the doorknob turned, and a single tear trickled down his cheek when you bid luca goodbye.

"hi babe! sorry if this is sudden but have you seen my dice? i can't seem to find them anywhere..." your innocent, sweet tone normally made naib's heart swell, but now it was more comparable to his heart being torn in half with rusty pliers. he wanted to lash out at you, to scream and show you just how much pain he was in, but the moment he heard your voice and felt your presence in the room all of his rage subsided. he still loved you.

"why don't you ask luca." his voice had an unrecognizable emotion in it.

"luca? why's that?" he could hear you drop your bags to the floor and approach him. "hey, is everything alright?" you went to place a concerned hand on his shoulder but his quick reflexes allowed him to roughly grip your hand and twist it midair, holding you in place. "huh?! naib stop it, you're hurting me!" he let go when he heard those words fall from your mouth.

"i said. why don't you ask luca." he hissed, venom oozing from every word. it was strange, when the hooded mercenary turned to face you, fear and confusion were apparent in your eyes.. you didn't look like someone who was caught in the act, moreso like someone caught in a misunderstanding. "i found these in the dining room," he fished the notes out of his pockets and placed them in your palm, grabbing your other wrist so the notes would be cupped in your hands. he didn't want to look at them. "care to explain?"

"naib, let me go," your hollow voice flickered above a whisper. you tried to move your hands but they were trapped by his larger ones. the eyes staring daggers into you were so damp, like he was moments away from bursting into tears. he wouldn't budge. "naib... i can explain this if you let me go. i know what you're thinking and i didn't cheat on you,"

his gaze softened and he slowly freed you from his grip. in a heartbeat, you fetched two extra notes from your pockets. laying them out on the bed, they formed a conversation:

'can i ask you something?'

'of course, luca!'

'y/n, would you like to be my date for the ball?'

'i'm sorry, i'm waiting for naib to ask me'

naib reread the notes so many times he may as well have burned holes in them. the tears that fell from his troubled eyes stained the papers and made them even harder to read... he was so furious with his love and she hasn't done anything.

"naib sweetie, it's okay... i would have thought the same thing if i were you," a pang of guilt hit your heart to see the usually strong and fearless naib subedar look so crestfallen, so stripped down and vulnerable. you were all he had and for a moment he thought he lost everything. you crawled into his lap and draped your arms around his shoulders, craning your neck to give him a reassuring kiss. it took a few seconds for naib to react, pecking your lips then pulling away again. he hesitated for a moment before his arms rested on either sides of your waist, it was clear he was afraid to touch you. naib didn't want to hurt you again.

his adam's apple bobbed as he thought of what to say. the words trapped in his throat were begging to spill out but he couldn't think of an adequate way to apologize to you. "i shouldn't have assumed," was all he could sombrely squeeze out, gingerly tugging you close so your rosy face could press against his tearful one. when you kissed again, a thin string of saliva connected your aching lips as he pulled away to speak once more, "i don't want to lose you... m'sorry if i hurt you baby," before you could respond, the hand resting on your waist took hold of your wrist and he kissed it better, making eye contact with you the whole time. his soft kisses trailed all the way to your neck where his hot breath fanned under your jaw. "there's nothin' i could do to make it up for you, is there?"

his words went straight to between your legs. "there is one thing," your teeth met your bottom lip and naib suddenly flipped you onto your back, pinning you down and looming dangerously close to your lips again.

"mm? and what would that be?" he curled his lips to give you a sharklike grin. naib was hungry for you. he clapped his hands onto the sides of your knees and rode them up your thighs until he reached the hem of your skirt. in one swift movement, he hiked the fabric up to your belly to expose your panties. "somethin' like this?" all you could do was nod, your words were caught in your throat. naib hooked his fingers into your undergarments and pulled them straight down, lifting your legs to toss them across the room. your bottom half laid bare in front of him, the man you loved and nearly lost. naib outstretched an arm to place some soft pillows under your hips.

you were on the verge of breaking while he took his sweet time to spread your thighs apart. you squirmed and felt your pussy pulsate for every second that naib wasn't devouring you whole. "naib, please," you mewled, lust pumping through your veins.

your words fell to deaf ears, naib was only focused on the perfect dessert laid out just for him. he was a very primal man ー once something was in his sights, he wasn't letting it go. naib brought his tongue to swipe a stripe up your sopping wet pussy, delving straight in. your body convulsed at the sudden pressure, his hands coming to grip your hips and hold you still. you rutted against his face and he seemed to enjoy the friction from the low drawls of 'good girl' that escaped his lips between flicks of your clit. you weren't sure how long you could last with his head going berserk between your thighs. naib lapped up every drop of juice that spilled from you and licked every inch of your pussy clean, it was as if his life depended on it. to him, it did. he had to go through the agony of thinking you slipped from his grasp. he would never tell you this, but he was working extra hard to bring you to euphoria because he wanted to outdo anything luca could do.

naib knew you were close the moment your thighs squeezed around him and your hands smacked over your eyes to cover them, fingers twitching and wrists tremoring. one final tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves and you were seeing stars, your body giving out in his arms.

"did i do good y/n? please... tell me baby," a whine fell from his lips as he used your slick to lube himself up, the tip of his dick growing red from need.

you were still experiencing the aftershock of your orgasm, heaving and dragging your hands down your face while you quivered. it was hard to form a coherent thought, let alone speak. "yes... i'll never leave you naib, i love you so much," he growled in response, and that was when you knew he was entering a frenzy that nothing could pull him from.

he positioned the head of his cock in front of your entrance and deliciously rubbed himself over your folds for a few good seconds, seizing the opportunity to coil his arms under your back and lift you up so your forehead rubbed against his. he was flush on top of you, getting sweat and drool all over your shirt. "need you so fucking bad," was all he could muster before sheathing himself inside of you, sloppy thrusts following suit. there was no rhythm or rhyme to how he fucked you into oblivion, he was desperate. naib was beautiful above you, his glistening eyes searching yours for any sort of malice to which he found nothing. nothing but adoration. holding you steady with one hand, he reached down to thumb your clit. the sensations had you crying out underneath him and bringing a jagged smile to his lips. he grew more frantic with each thrust, eventually spilling his seed deep within you. the two of you moaned in unison and he laid you down on his chest, still rubbing circles on your clit. he wasn't finished with you just yet, he couldn't pry himself away from you until he stopped being ashamed about his incorrect assumptions of you. he still had no clue how he read his girl so poorly. while he relentlessly fingered you, a lightbulb appeared above his hooded head.

"by the way, how'd you like to go to the ball with me?"

#gonna use fanart when i cant find official art i like fjdnsk #naib subedar #idv x reader #naib subedar smut #naib subedar imagine #identity v

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cutelittlevamp · 3 years

Text

Hide and Seek

Hello everybody

So, this is probably my last post for a while because I’m not gonna be home for quite some time and won’t have access to a computer or alike. Well, damn my health.... Nevermind

You guys seemed to like the Among Us Story I wrote before so I decided to make this an Among Us post

This is a Yandere!Crewmate x Reader!Imposter Oneshot

Attention: explicit mentions of murder, blood, horror and angst! Don’t like, don’t read

______________________________________________________________

Everything had been fine. Completely normal. Your partner and you had everything under control and the crewmates trusted you. That’s exactly what you were supposed to do: earn their trust.

You may be an imposter but you didn’t kill anyone. Keeping to the plan you made it was your responsibility to sabotage the ship and your partners to kill off the crewmates.

It was all going smoothly, or so you thought. You were down to four now. Two crewmates. Two imposters. It should have been so simple. Should have.

Still, you had a bad feeling. Yellow was behaving just as everyone should who thought they’d die soon, nervous and jumpy, but Red … Red seemed very relaxed. You talked to your partner about it but he simply told you not to worry. “I’ll get rid of Red, so don’t worry too much, Cyan.” It had calmed you.

Going round the ship you faked some tasks while looking out for what everyone else was doing. The only one you saw was Yellow, though, holed up in the medbay. Bored you decided to look for your partner. Normally you’d find him in the communications room so obviously that’s where you went.

When you entered the room he was sitting on a chair facing away from you. It was strange that he’d just sit here and stare at the monitors. “Pink, you alright?” No reaction. You stepped closer and put a hand on his shoulder. “Pink?” Nothing. He couldn’t be that deep in thought now, could he? You let go of his shoulder. The motion caused Pink to limply fall off the chair, his body hitting the ground with a loud thud. Only then did you notice the knife protruding from his throat and the blood covering the front of his suit and the ground around the chair he had been sitting on. You hadn’t noticed the puddle on the dark floor in the dimly lit room.The reality of it all hit you hard. Pink was dead? This couldn’t be real. You were the imposters! You were the ones killing the others, not the ones getting killed!

Shaking your head vehemently you backed away from your dead friend. This wasn’t right. You had been so close to fulfilling your mission. How could this happen? To Pink of all people. What were you supposed to do now? You had never killed anyone before. Did that mean you failed your mission? Tears gathered in your eyes while you kept on staring at your dead friend with your back pressed against the wall.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Only slowly did you turn your head, a lump forming in your throat. Red was standing in the doorway, looking at Pink, helmet under one arm. “A real work of art, if you ask me.” They turned their gaze to you, a wide grin spreading all over their face. For a second all you could do was stare at them, then your fight-or-flight instinct kicked in.

Pushing the red crewmate out of the doorway with all your might you made a run for the medbay. “Yellow, you -” You could barely suppress your scream when you saw the crewmate. Draped in a sitting position on one of the beds holding his own head in his hands. All you wanted to do was puke. This was sick! Maybe you only were an imposter but you would never do something like that to anyone!

You snapped out of your trance when you could hear footsteps approaching the medbay. “Cyan” Red’s voice called out to you from the hallway. “You can’t hide from me, Cyan.” Panicked you looked around. Red seemed to be too close already to run back out in the hallway, so where …? Your gaze fell on the vent.

“Cyan? I know you are here, sweety. Come out and play~” They sounded so carefree and relaxed. Content even. You on the other hand could barely keep yourself from crying, sitting still in the vent trying to calm your rapid beating heart.

They were supposed to be scared of you, not the other way around.

“There you are, sweety.” You barely had time to react after you heard their voice, but you managed to get out of reach of their arm. “Come back here, Cyan!” They tried hard to reach you but didn’t fit into the vent like you did.

Finally your brain started functioning again and you hurried to get out of the vent on the other side, breaking into a run the second both of your feet were on the ground. Just away. Into another vent maybe. You could hide from Red.

Of course, they found the vent you had cowered into. Red seemed patient enough. They were sure you would come out eventually. You had to satisfy your basic needs after all. They could wait. It was devastating having to listen to them telling you why and how they killed Pink and Yellow. How they did it all to have you all to themselves and how good they’d take care of you now.

You wanted to sabotage something. Red couldn’t possibly fix the reactor by themselves but your control panel seemed to be broken. So you simply sat in the vent, weeping silently. Every time you tried to get out of the vent Red would already be at the exit you chose.

You definitely didn’t want to be anywhere near the crazed crewmate.

“Aren’t you hungry, sweety” you could hear him coo. It made you sick, but you couldn’t deny that it was true. They kept on talking and you sleepily looked into the direction their voice came from. There was an apple right next to the exit of the vent. Your stomach rumbled a little and you transfixed the apple with your gaze. Should you risk it?

Listening intently to Red’s rambling you silently crawled towards the fruit - just close enough to reach out for it. The voice sounded far away enough to try, but you still hesitated. Biting your lip you weighed your options. Your stomach rumbled again, making the decision for you.

So you reached out for the red fruit and just as your hand closed around it another hand closed around your wrist. Instantly you panicked and pulled your arm back but Red’s grip was firm like iron, steadily pulling your struggling form out of the vent and right into a tight embrace.

“No more hiding from me, Cyan” they cooed, wiping away your tears while you still struggled in their grip. “You’re all mine now, sweety.”

#among us #among us x reader #crewmate x imposter #yandere #yandere oneshot #angst #horror #bloody #death mention #Imposter

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missinghan · 3 years

Text

aria of an assassin ⤖ lee minho

❖ genre : assassin au; fluff; angst

❖ word count : 6,2k.

❖ warning : mentions of blood & violence, explicit language

❖ summary : minho hasn’t been fazed for decades throughout his bloodied career until the next target happens to be a black cat and he’s suddenly incapable of pulling the trigger.

❖ note : okay, so it’s been a year? this tiny, stupid blog is turning one year old today? yea I couldn’t believe it either. this is to all of my mutuals and readers out there, I don’t say it enough but I truly appreciate each and every one of you 🖤 I wish I could have written something longer but due to school, this random piece will have to do for now.

❖ the sequel : with felix is out!

one.

“Shit.”

Minho grits in a hushed tone although all that has been accompanying him is the pitiful moonlight and icy breeze dissolving into every fiber of his skin. Every minuscule movement suddenly becomes too irritating to his eardrums. The hustle and bustle life of the city at night. Terrible traffic. Even the sound of his own inhales and exhales.

What is that thing?

He thinks to himself, proceeding to expand his eyesight with the pair of scopes; confusion soon flares into curiosity, then faint anger and dead silence. He swears his heartbeat just paused awkwardly like a broken record for a split second there. Such strange, or odd targets are no stranger to him; nor do they stir something inside the coldness of his rib cage.

Not an easy kill, they say. And not easy it is.

Because whatever he’s watching with his very eyes is a cat. A goddamn cat with a coat as sleek pitch as the dark canvas upon his head and piercing golden eyes. The peculiar animal walks with its head held high like it’s lording over everyone else—such self-reassurance, such radiance some humans cease to possess.

It’s dangerous, they say. But it’s a fucking cat! Irritation bubbles up at the back of his throat, makes his skin crawl, and causes a bark of profanity to leave his lips once more. Has it not occurred to his client that he doesn’t kill children and animals? When it’s clearly been written on the contract? In bold, underlined, and everything?

They could have at least given him more details on what he’s getting himself to this time.

An exhale. He packs up his things, pulls his black cap down a little, and leaves the top of the building without looking back. If he did, he would have seen those starry eyes boring holes onto his back.

two.

The road Minho is walking through is more than familiar. For one, he takes the same path every day to grab a drink at his go-to place—a vending machine near an old, plain high school.

It’s fair to say he knows every corner of the neighborhood like the back of his hand—from the dark alley where bullies beat up their classmates to the small stall of lemonade of a middle school girl who waves at him every morning. He never reciprocates though; it doesn’t feel right. The amount of apathy in his heart isn’t enough for him to act normally when taking lives is what he does for a living.

For two, he used to have a part-time job at that particular high school for an old request. Due to his conscience, he did go out of his way to take the kill outside of the school—causing a catastrophe in such an environment makes him uncomfortable.

Just then, he stops. His brow raises. Isn’t that…

The black cat slinks through the crowd of nosy students in the direction of where he too is heading. It raises its nose and gives the air a rough sniff, making a face as though the general stagnant with exhaust fumes stench of the city disgusts the entirety of its existence.

Watching it take a slight dip to avoid being hit with someone’s bag, Minho holds back every urge to come running at the creature and wrap his arms around its small figure. He wonders how long it’d take for the cat to reach its final destination because it’s definitely taking some sweet ass time to stride through the front of the main gate like a supermodel. Meanwhile, he’s stressed to the core as if the harmless high school filled with teenagers is nothing less than a battlefield.

Is it testing him?

Something is oddly unsettling about an animal staring straight into his eyes. Paranoia fuels the forgotten irritation inside his chest, sets out to make him actually think those golden eyes are memorizing every inch of his feature. Then, they soften with what seems to be exhaustion, its tiny head turning and its tiny feet take it skipping gently away from the scene.

Minho finally acknowledges the knot inside his stomach and the breath he’s been holding. With a harsh gulp, he no longer takes notice of the fact if his cap is hung low enough or if he’s walking too quickly. For the first time in long, a rush of adrenaline hits him hard enough to make him speed walk through the herd of chatty teenagers.

Questions naturally pop up as his shoes kiss the ground, his shadow sprinting into a dark, though familiar alleyway. Was he hallucinating? But he’s been getting enough sleep and eating well. What makes him so certain that it was the same cat? Instincts or some sixth sense bullshit perhaps. If it was the cat that’s assigned to be killed off in a week, what’s so dangerous about it? And how long has he been running for? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? And to where?

“You.”

Half-way through trying to keep his thoughts off of his face, Minho stops himself when a rather feminine voice echoes through the narrow space. Unsure of whether the voice was reaching out to him, his legs stop moving while his eyes are peering through the dark. Much to his heart’s dismay, shivers run up his spine when something comes in contact with the warm flesh of his neck.

“What’s your name?”

Slowly, with his hands on the back of his head, he turns on his heels. “Excuse you?”

You retract your gun-shaped fingers into the pocket of your jacket, phlegmatic eyes gazing at him through the thickness of the night. “I want to know your name,” you try to make your point clear, utterly unfazed.

Minho stares you down for a good five seconds. Neatly dressed in the school uniform, an oversized jacket thrown over your body but no backpacks. There’s a name tag being embroidered onto the fabric in red “Shin Yuna - 1A”. Whoever you are, he’s certain that isn’t your name. That name doesn’t even suit you. That isn’t your uniform.

“What’s the point?” he questions, hands dropped to the sides in slight relief.

You tilt your head, expression neutral. “I have a habit of collecting names of people who tried or are trying to kill me. It’s quite relaxing to write it down on a list actually. You know, easier to keep track.”

He’s trying hard to not let any impulsive urges overthrow the rational side of his brain. Everything suddenly twitches in slow motion. His silence seems to bore you. Your eyes are more dead than angry, more done than irritated. Like you’ve been through this shit one too many times already to care.

“At least say why you’re sent to kill me.”

That, Minho can answer within a blink of an eye. “They sent me because I don’t exist.”

Your gaze glistens with a glaze of boredom. “Everyone said so.”

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock. Where’s your house, kid? I’ll walk you back. It’d be a pain in the ass if your parents found out how you’re wandering alone after school,” he brushes it off like you’re a slight nuisance (which you are). His heartbeat spikes up once at the mention of family, one that you’ve acknowledged with ease.

Your arms are folded over your chest now, to cover up the sudden stab of sympathy inside your chest. “There’s no need. I don’t have a place to go back to nor do I have parents who will nag me for staying out late.”

His mind automatically blackouts along with his senses, blurred with such peculiar feelings swirling at the pit of his stomach. You make it sound like it’s not that big of a deal like you’ve utterly been numb for so long. It’s tragic but understandable. This isn’t the first time he has witnessed a story like yours—your parents, dead or alive, he does not know; by the sound of it, you’re an orphan. Another unfortunate being to graze this planet like himself. This means you can’t afford school, so that uniform really doesn’t belong to you.

“You still haven’t told me your name.”

“It’s Lee Know. Call me Lee Know.”

“Don’t bother trying, Lee Know. No one has ever made it. They never did.”

You didn’t mean to expose anything about your life to a total stranger, or specifically an assassin. However, nothing matters when you most likely won’t meet him again nor will he succeed in taking your life. Even the fact that he chose not to give you his real name amplifies how much shit he does not give about you. You don’t expect anything more honestly.

“Alright, we’re done here,” you feign enthusiasm before clasping your hands together. “Go home. The sun is already going down.”

Strangely enough, Minho can only watch as your shadow shifts to the outline of a black cat before dipping into the depths of the starless night.

three.

To Minho it’s always just another day in the office. Except his office is a windy rooftop overlooking the mark’s exact location. His tools—rather than a computer—is a state-of-the-art rifle with a telescopic lens. A silencer isn’t very important since traffic and people are more than enough to drown out any suspicious noises. Most will mistake it for a back-firing van. He takes aim with no more qualms than one would gossip about a colleague, then pulls the trigger while thinking about what to order other than Chinese for lunch. When the work is done, he carefully packs everything up into an inconspicuous rucksack. And leaves the scene, like a phantom.

It’s always been the same boring, bloodied cycle.

Yet something’s changed since Minho met you.

He used to maintain a cool detachment to his targets. His conscience prefers not to think of them; whenever he does, it’s as if they’re already dead, mobile meat bags waiting to be laid on a cutting board. He doesn’t like to think merrily of his job, he doesn’t see it as helping them meet their destiny. None of that bullshit. To put it more nonchalantly, everyone will die one day. Minho considers it as a good way to go. Oblivious and in pain for one moment before completely gone the next.

Simple. Convenient. Much less agonizing than this brutal world.

Although that doesn’t mean he isn’t traumatized by the amount of blood that has stained his hands. On good days, he might get three to four hours of sleep. Bad days, few minutes to none at all. Terrifying nightmares gnaws at his soul every night, the ugly scar like a reminder of every single one of his sins. He can’t force himself to lose his sanity like any fools out there going down the same path.

“Shit…” Minho mutters, running a rough hand through his hair. He didn’t sleep well last night—like every other night; hence the bad temper and bitter taste at the back of his throat.

After a deep breath, he stares at his Hecate II with mischievous eyes—those of a hunter framed in the expressionless face of an executioner. His blunt hands are steady as they lift the shiny weapon over the concrete of a rooftop, drawing out a dry shot in his mind.

Through his scope, he watches as you’re crossing the road in your human form before stopping abruptly in front of a random tree. You then proceed to squint your eyes and look up in the opposite direction. Minho unknowingly holds his breath, waits for you to release your iron gaze, and move on with your life. But his expectations don’t prevail.

“What the fuck?”

Without much patience, he curses before shifting his scope to the same direction only to find another shadow creeping around on the balcony of a nearby building. No time to think of a rational solution—killing them is an ideal one—Minho feels his palms growing sweaty when a small, peculiar object comes flying toward his way. His head quickly moves away before the bullet pierces through his scope, shattering the glass completely.

“Son of a bitch,” he lets out a shaky breath. Crimson starts to drip down on the side of his cheekbone, but he can care less.

Because that’s the least of his problem right now.

Another subtle ‘bang’ can be heard in the distance, like a broken record scratching against his eardrums. Kid…! Minho’s heart collapses in realization.

four.

It’s not hard for Minho to do research on quite an amount of vital information about you. When he saw your body dropped to the ground lifelessly and an ambulance immediately drove by to pick up your body, he knew things weren’t going to end just like that.

“Don’t bother trying, Lee Know. No one has ever made it. They never did.”

He isn’t a believer, has never been one. Yet when he managed to take out your kidnappers in that ambulance, your weak breaths startled his heart and shook his mind into awareness of how serious the situation is. After that, he tracked down the hitman who delivered the hard blow, put a bullet through his brain, and found an USB full of detailed information about your existence. Which just makes things a whole lot more complicated to understand.

Apparently, you’ve been ‘killed’ one too many times before—there are photographs of your supposedly dead body in a bag, thrown into the deep, dark woods, other times into a nameless river. The thing about you is that you were once an experimental subject to your own biological parents who are sickeningly vile scientists. At the age of nine, you fell down the stairs and had a big gash on your head. They never knew because your wounds were quick to heal themselves. However, your whole life was flipped upside down when they saw you shapeshifting into a black cat while running around at the playground.

From then, your life became a living hell behind cold metal bars with needles stuck in your arms and strange pills being forced down your throat almost every day. Their sudden change only nourished resentment through time until you managed to cut down the laboratory’s power supply and fled from your own home.

You have no one to lean on. No place to go back to. No nothing. And you’re just a teenager.

Minho feels awful.

Usually, he isn’t the type to be empathetic nor does he have the energy to. It’s very out of character for him to let his emotions linger on a homeless kid with some supernatural abilities that will make his life that much more dangerous. Because to him, more often than not, people tend to give their condolences only to forget after brief moments of grieving. At the end of the day, it isn’t their own problem, it isn’t their own life. But now when it comes to you, Minho feels a strong sense of responsibility that if you end up dying, it’s on him.

It’s stupidly conflicted, it really is. His job—blowing people’s brains out—is the sole reason why he makes a six-digit amount of money for every job. Therefore, he isn’t sure what picking a random kid up from a fake ambulance and bringing her back to his shabby apartment is going to do him any good.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

You hate the fact that you can recognize that voice.

Just then, you wake as if it’s an emergency, as if sleeping has become a dangerous task. Your heart is pounding loudly inside your ears, the sound echoing listlessly to the pit of your rib cage. It’s always like this. It takes you some time to calm your nerves before gathering what exactly happened the moment you blacked out.

Right, you think to yourself, groaning slightly while pushing yourself up. You were shot right in the chest, and your body was probably discarded somewhere. After that, you’d grab a hitchhiker so they’ll drive you back into town. Like always. The only difference, this time though, is Minho placing your limp body on his bed with a blanket to warm you up.

His face appears within your eyesight when you’re done adjusting your vision to the bright room—you’re not used to this much light around. “You look calmer than I expected,” he mentions.

Minho grabs your face and scans it over. “Let me see. Did your wounds close up properly?”

The tender action, which has become weirdly natural to him although this is his first time, accidentally triggers something inside you. Your hand automatically slaps his away. It is an upfront refusal, but it doesn’t surprise him. He only offers you a comfortable moment of silence before placing a tray on the wooden nightstand.

“Eat up. I’m not going to feed you,” he cocks his head toward the bowl of porridge with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

You glare at him in suspicion. “Bringing me home. Giving me a bed to sleep on. And even food to eat. What are you trying to get at?”

“Nothing. I didn’t kill you only because you’re too young for my moral code,” he pretends to roll his eyes, voicing monotonously.

A frown adorns your tired features. “So you’re going to kill me when I get older then?”

“Probably,” Minho smirks faintly with a cock of his eyebrow. “That depends if you still remember my name, Y/N.”

One thing after another, this assassin only continues to baffle you. He was just going to shoot you the other day and now he’s giving you food? Preposterous! To put it simply, you’re unprepared for such kind actions, such gentleness from someone who takes lives for a living. You’re unprepared for dealing with people in general because they detest anyone who’s different from them—your kind, the kind with supernatural abilities and all. Hence, you’re left unwilling to befriend anyone and would rather be alone for the rest of your life.

Until such twisted moira pushes you to—what was his name again? Not his real name, the made-up one that he uses in the underworld.

You speak up softly after feeling safe enough to let your guards down, “Lee Know, was it?”

“It’s Lee Minho.”

“Pardon?”

He only smiles, “My real name. It’s Lee Minho.”

five.

“Y/N! A little help over here?”

“Coming.”

“Y/N, go check the fog machine!”

“Got you.”

“Y/N, can you put these boxes over there?”

“Alright.”

That’s all you’ve been doing for the entirety of your boring day. Getting yelled out at, having people ask for help nonstop, and responding with a two-word answer at max. You’re not complaining—they pay you well enough, the job is more on the down-low side because you’re nothing but a mere stage crew for an above-average theatre studio. So you simply hoist the three final plastic boxes into your arms with a jerk of your knees and place it where they asked you to. Thanks to your parents, their experiments along with skeptical-looking substances have efficiently enhanced your general strength and agility.

Another crew member perks up when you plop the heavy stack of cardboard boxes down with a loud thud. “Oh, can you carry those lights to stage left too?”

“Sure.” You could have pretended to pick up one box at a time and to drag your feet across the stage with difficulties to avoid being used. But you’re too lazy to repeat the same cycle two more times, so you really don’t have any other choice here.

Nevertheless, you suppose it’s not entirely bad to do all of this heavy handiwork. Because it keeps your mind off of unwanted things, such as Lee Minho for example. Lee Minho, the assassin, not the actor—you’d gladly fangirl over that certain celebrity rather than admit that you actually enjoy the hitman’s abrupt presence in your life.

The fact that you know he will find you even if it means traveling to the ends of the Earth and back doesn’t help to ease your insomnia. So for the past few days, you’ve been working extra hours along with picking up a job at a florist in hopes of not bumping into him. Stupid. You know it is. But how can you deal with a self-esteem crisis because the idea of being a burden just irks you so much?

It’s like you’re hopelessly proving that you don’t need anyone when you, in fact, want that kind of unconditional love that every other human yearns for.

After helping your colleagues out with the lighting, you simply sit behind those thick curtains until the show is over. Then, you head out, find a place to sleep, and head to an old lady’s place to pick up new clothes to change into for the next day. Since she’s been treating you with nothing but kindness, you’ve tried to pass by and helped her out at her son’s antique store too.

Your routine is supposed to go that way and stay that way. You won’t die because you don’t like overworking yourself. You’re doing just great.

“Hey, Y/N! Your brother is here to pick you up!”

Throwing your crewmate a blunt wave, you find your way out of the school’s theatre through a back door without shifting the expression on your face. You don’t have any siblings. And your colleagues don’t know anything about your family background either. So it, unfortunately, boils your guesses down to one.

Despite knowing who it is and why they show up, you open your mouth to speak, “How did you find me again?”

Minho shows up with a more casual version of his working attire—instead of the fully black, monochromatic outfit, he’s changing it up with a leather jacket, white t-shirt and jeans. He leans on his shiny motorcycle smugly like he knows something that you don’t, in which you very much dislike.

“Young lady, I’ll have you know that being an assassin helps me appear at places to do things I’m not supposed to do,” he ignores the fact that your question was purely rhetorical and chimes.

You attempt to throw him a glare which isn’t intimidating enough. “Call me ‘young lady’ one more time and I’ll put my foot where it’s not supposed to be.” Who are you kidding? He’s a hitman when you’re just a kid. Pigs would be flying by the time you managed to physically shoo him away.

“Am I supposed to guess where that is?”

“Enough. Go to work. Get out of here. Leave me alone.”

“I’m sorry, are you encouraging me to kill people?” Minho gasps, acting shocked and appalled. Clearly, he’s not good at it despite sharing a name with a well-known actor.

You can only retort harshly, “Don’t put words in my mouth, you ass.”

“Come on, kid. Let’s go get something to eat.”

“Why?”

His hand automatically reaches for your forearm. “Don’t people eat for pleasure? What’s wrong with you?”

Your heart leaps in, anger perhaps, pupils shaking when he closes in on you. Upon your reaction, Minho retracts his arm immediately. He should have thought better of it; you’re probably too traumatized to be dealing with him right now.

At that, your eyes round at the remorse on his face and you could have glared him off right then and there. But somehow, your basic human manners overcome your usual snappy self, letting you think that maybe he means no harm. Maybe he’s checking up on you one last time before going on about his life. You shouldn’t be too riled up about it just because he tried to kill you once.

Minho catches the familiar anxious gaze and sighs, “Okay, we don’t have to get something to eat. I’ll give you a ride back. Do you have somewhere to stay the night?”

It’s rotten work, whatever he’s trying to do. So you shake the harmless tingle inside your chest away before pushing past him. “No,” you answer dryly and leave.

six.

You go to work sick the day after because you couldn’t find a place to sleep in and had to make do with napping in front of a tattoo place. Yes, napping; because when you finally shifted into your cat form and allowed your eyes to rest, the sky started pouring waterfalls. The rain had soaked into your shiny black coat, making it frizzy and luring the sickness up your spine the moment you tried finding a different haven.

No one notices. No one.

Not even the mask, the extra layer of sweatshirt nor your hushed coughs every now and then. Despite downing the cold pills early in the morning, you’re only burning up harder by the second. Oh, you know! Maybe they just don’t care, that’s it. Because calling in off for work due to a minor cold isn’t a valid reason. However, you’re still shivering on the inside and burning on the outside. Enhanced genes or any of that bullshit isn’t enough to prevent you from getting sick like any other student. Perhaps something wasn’t complete, or they’d messed up somewhere. Perhaps that’s why they’re trying to get you back.

How foolish of you to think somewhere deep down, they still want you back. With a reason as blunt as you being their child.

Drowning in deep thoughts, you almost crash into a pile of boxes filled with equipment when your foot gets tangled to a random cable. Your eyes automatically screw shut as you wait for the impact but it never comes. Only a gentle pair of hands on your shoulders did. From that point on, you can’t hear or see properly. You don’t even have enough stamina to register who’s holding onto you so reassuringly. Whatever is happening gets hazier by the tick of a clock. It’s either you’re hallucinating or Minho is giving you that mirthful scowl of his.

Yep, you’re definitely hallucinating.

“Why didn’t you call in sick for work?”

“That’s a stupid fucking question.”

A frown adorns his perplexed features as his glassy eyes skim your face. He has a really pretty smile, he should smile more, you think. His hand latches onto your burning forehead, slides down on the side of your cheek with such grace as though he’s caressing you. A grumble leaves his lips at your dreadful state. This is why he should have never let you go in the first place.

“Come on, kid. Let me help you,” Minho says before giving your arm a light tug.

You don’t like what you just heard. “I don’t need your help.”

“You can barely walk.”

“Who said so-” As if on cue, he lets go of your arm bluntly. Caught off guard, your legs go weak without any remaining strength. You stumble and would have most likely fallen on your face if it weren’t for his grip on your arm. A gasp comes out inaudible when he hoists you upright, not planning to let go any time soon.

Minho scratches the tip of his nose with his ring finger, sniffing lightly. It seems like he’s arguing with a younger version of himself. He now knows how it felt like for those caretakers back then.

“You did,” he says with the same smirk when you woke up in his apartment for the first time.

seven.

That’s the only time you’ve ever allowed someone to help you with something. But Minho had to constantly check on you every two seconds, not wanting you to fall asleep on his bike while it’s speeding down the highway like a gust of wind. For a moment there, he really thought you would slip away into the night as he tried to find his keys because that’s just how you are.

Minho is no doctor, but he doesn’t go to one for a cold or a really bad fever. He can manage, he tries to convince himself.

After testing your temperature and giving you something new to change into, he slaps a cool gel patch onto your forehead before heading off to the kitchen to cook up something. You need to be full to be able to take your medicine anyway.

In the act of resting on his bed, you decide you can’t take staying in the same spot anymore so your body perks up in a sluggish manner. The aroma of home-cooked food wakes your senses almost immediately, causing you to look over at his busy figure by the marble counter. You think it’s endearing how he hasn’t bothered to change into something more comfortable. But he instead threw an apron over his working attire and dived right into the cooking process.

You have always felt like you were missing out on something whenever you looked at Minho. Perhaps it was how his striking eyes stared at you, whether mischievous or else. Perhaps it was how his lips were turning down most of the time with less than affectionate words.

Or it’s plainly how he has been trying to hide that he actually cares.

“Hungry?” He tilts his head to the side playfully once his sixth sense starts kicking in.

You can only nod. “Yeah.”

It takes Minho a lot of convincing yet you won’t let him feed you. Like hell, you would. Therefore, with helpless eyes, he watches you from across the table. He doesn’t laugh or get annoyed when your shaky hand drops the spoon and splatters the soup all over the table. His hand simply reaches for a piece of paper towel to clean up the mess, tossing it into the trash bin later. The same cycle repeats in comforting silence until you finish the entire bowl. The soup definitely wasn’t five-star worthy. But it’s enough to warm you up inside and out. Of course, Minho chooses to let the dishwasher do the job—his hatred for doing dishes is always at its finest.

Then, like the other night, he has already passed out on the table with a blanket draped over his body when you step out of the shower. Instead of plopping the weight of your exhaustion onto his bed this time, your legs stay frozen like cement on the floor while your eyes take in his reclined figure under the thin fabric. Minho is sleeping with his head buried in his arms, his glasses and messy files abandoned to the side. He’s definitely not a heavy sleeper because he doesn’t snore; only feather-like breaths can be heard through this endless beat of silence. The faintly blinking light from his laptop makes you feel exposed so you push yourself toward the balcony.

A hiss comes out hushed and quiet when your feet come into contact with the cold tile floor, bringing you across the studio apartment with small tiptoes. You peer over your shoulder, gazing at the only available source of light. Unconsciously, you ball your fists.

With a soft sigh, you slide open the glass door and step out to bathe yourself in the comfort of the moonlight. Despite the chilling air of the night, something warm fills up your lungs like an overflowed cup of wine. It suffocates you a little until the knots in your muscles and mind loosen; a sense of relief washes over you—you haven’t felt that in years.

Nothing makes sense.

A hitman hired by your parents shouldn’t be putting a roof over your head, tucking you into bed nor feeding you. Minho barely knows you; and your knowledge about him as a genuine person isn’t enough to convince you that this is reality. Because after years of wandering the streets, being tossed around like trash with plenty of a series of unfortunate events, you’ve made it a habit to sink into yourself.

So the longer you stay here, the more you’ll get attached to him. And the more you get attached, the more he takes away your default instincts to turn your back on everything.

Guilt wells up inside your chest as though it’s an old habit, a setting by default. If you ever try to go over the moderate line, you will break.

Holding back a croaked sob, you know that once you let it go, tears will only start flooding. With a push of your muscles, you effortlessly hoist yourself up the metal railings in one go. The wind combs through your hair like an empathetic hand but you ignore it, Minho’s sweater closing in on your skin.

You should leave, you try to urge yourself. You should jump off and dive into the depths of the night, let the allure cradle you in its emotionless arms.

Because after all, despite all those eyes on you out there, you’re ultimately alone within.

A foot dips out into thin air once the slump in your shoulders goes weightless. Immediately after, an incredible force pulls you by the ankle, and to the ground with a loud thud. Minho falls onto his back harshly, groaning slightly with you on top of him.

He knew what you were trying to do, he saw it the other night with his own eyes. Even under the knowledge of your capabilities, Minho still feels a rush of panic rising inside his chest. It’s only until his arms fully have a hold of you does his racing heartbeats slow down. Supernatural abilities or none, you’re still sick. And he’d be losing his mind if he woke up to an empty bed tomorrow morning.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he speaks with trembling vocal cords, in a tone you’ve never heard before. Strict but mellow. As though there’s a race inside his mind but he’s desperately trying to keep his cool. It’s fear. The moment he’s introduced to the idea of losing you—it’s genuine fear.

“Minho, I can’t die. Didn’t I tell you—“

His grip squeezes you in a breath tighter, cutting you off completely. “The fuck were you thinking? You can’t just jump off the balcony like that!”

“I already told you. I can’t die. Minho, I’ve done that plenty of times before,” you furrow your brows in a troubled manner, unsure of how to react.

Minho widens his eyes at you in sheer disbelief. Shock riddles his senses and gets the best of him. So now he’s fussing with his hands, incoherent profanity leaving his lips non-stop within the next thirty seconds or so. He’s usually very calm, collected, calculating, and cold. This is very unlike him. It makes you wonder why he’s acting this way. He knows that you can’t die from jumping off a building. So what’s there to worry about?

“You’re such an idiot! Try doing that again and I’ll kill you with my own-“

You truly don’t know how important you are to him. Frankly, he hasn’t even realized that yet.

“I’m sorry,” you say, pulling him closer. Since you’re bad at resolving any kind of conflict, you opt for the most rational solution—going with his flow until he’s calmed down. “I won’t do that again, promise.”

His lips fall agape at your words. He wasn’t expecting that. And even when you see how he’s reacting to your sudden change, you decide it’s no time to back down. This might be the only time you could show him that you’re at least grateful for everything he’s done.

He’s quieted down now. And when he manages to speak again without tripping over his own words, his voice comes out as a whisper. “Hey kid,” he looks down at you, wanting to stroke your hair but drops his hand in sheer defeat. “You didn’t answer my question earlier. Why didn’t you call in sick for work?”

“Who would do my job when I’m gone? Isn’t that irresponsible?” You exhale deeply before fluttering your eyes close, finding odd peace within the rhythm of his heart.

Minho says pointedly, “Well, you could have asked someone to help you with it.”

“No one would help me.”

“How’d you know? Have you tried asking them before?”

Your eyes shoot open and flicker around your surroundings, you’re at a loss for words for a split second there. Heat rushes to the apples of your cheeks in shame, your head hung terribly low. “I’m not used to asking for help. I’d hate to be a burden,” you confess.

Innocence glimmers in your eyes when you look up at him, waterlines threatening to break any second now. Your lashes are slightly damped and how lost you’re looking right now can physically draw crimson on his heart. At the end of the day, you’re just a kid. You had to grow up the hard way, with no one by your side telling you what’s right and what’s wrong, even simple things like how to react to non-verbal affection.

Don’t let her go, Minho. Not now. Not ever.

“Then fix it now.”

“What?” You pause.

“If you need help, ask for it. If things are hard, say it. I’ll be there to give you a hand.”

Tears well up in your eyes, croaked sobs shake your body, only prompting him to pull your closer. It’s warm. Damnit, why is it so warm? “I-I can’t sleep. Sing me something?”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

Minho just knows that he would bleed with you even when the rain pours and the sky falls one day.

312 notes · View notes

trashforhockeyguys · 3 years

Text

Don’t Hold Me -16- Carter Hart

A/N: Alright...here we go. It’s beginning now. So, I’m sorry. Like very very sorry. But um...enjoy? As always all previous parts are linked in my masterlist.

You sat alone in your dorm room, trying to figure out what you were meant to do. Three days had passed since the break in. Carter was trying to give you space, he was trying his hardest not to smother you. He seemed to understand that you needed to process what was happening now. But he missed you, and you missed him.

You weren’t sure how this was supposed to go. You didn’t know how you were supposed to keep him safe, but still keep him close. You loved him, but you loved him too much to let him stay.

Not as you stared at the note that fell out of your textbook a few days prior. He sent one warning, he told you what was coming. He wanted to torment you, let you know he was there. He was everywhere, always watching, just waiting for the perfect time to strike. This was a game to him, a game he was going to keep playing with you until you didn’t have anything left.

You felt like the walls were closing in on you. Like the whole city was closing in on you. But there was nowhere that you could go to get away from this. It would follow you everywhere...he would follow you everywhere. You had to figure out a way to keep him away from everyone you cared about. You had to keep them safe.

You pulled out the note that had fallen from your textbook just a few days before.

YOU CANT IGNORE ME FOREVER

He already knew how to get to Carter, he knew where Travis lived. He found you at school, and likely had a way into your dorm. There was no running from him this time, he had you cornered again. The only option you had was to play along with his game, whatever it would be.

You jumped when your alarm went off, reminding you of the class you had in fifteen minutes. Kora was already gone. You’d have to walk by yourself. What if he was waiting for you? You wouldn’t put it past him. In truth, you were terrified, more so than you had been since he showed up here in Philly. Because now you knew he really meant it, he was going to do everything he could to burn your life to the ground.

You had three unread texts from Carter, a missed call from Travis, and both from Ethan. They were all worried, and this time they had every right to be. This was real now, there was no more denying that he was here and he wanted to wreck it all.

Taking a deep breath, you gathered all of your books and shoved them into your bag. You had an art presentation at the end of the week, and all of your pieces no longer seemed as bright and clear as they once were. Shadows covered all of them, looks of worry seemed to make their way into the eyes of those you drew.

You tried to keep your head down as you made your way into the correct building. You tried to avoid everyone you could. Tried not to think about how he could be watching you right now, or watching Carter or Travis. He could have someone back home ready to mess with Ethan...he could be planning anything.

Maybe this is what he wanted, he wanted to drive you insane before he struck. Maybe he was just waiting until you were at your weakest again so it would be easier to finally finish whatever plan he had.

“Y/N! Hey, I’ve been looking all over campus for you!” Kora exclaimed as she ran into the small lounge in the student center.

Your head snapped up from your sketchbook, hours passed since your last class. You were trying to get out some of the feelings that were trapped in your body. Drawing seemed to be the easiest way for you to do that, even if all you could do was draw all of the people you loved scared or in pain.

“Oh..yeah sorry. I um- I guess I lost track of time.”

“The guys were worried sick,” She plopped into the seat next to you, “Travis wanted to know if you’d feel better staying with him.”

“No...I need to stay here,” You replied slowly.

He would do something if you went to Travis’ place. Somehow staying here in the dorm seemed like the safest option for everyone. He couldn’t get into the dorm or know which room you were in. This felt like the best option to keep everyone safe.

“You’ve seen him again, haven’t you?” She questioned.

You nodded slowly, “He’s everywhere. Kora...stay away from any strange guys, okay?”

“Y/N….”

“I’m fine. It’s going to be okay,” You forced a smile, “I should go, there’s a game tonight. I can’t miss it.”

“Are you sure you should go?”

You weren’t sure at all. In fact you were pretty sure that you shouldn’t go at all. But Carter and Travis were expecting you to be there. You were at every home game. You couldn’t start missing them now because they’d know something was really wrong.

“I’ll be fine. Promise.”

Even if you didn’t believe it yourself, you had to make everyone else think that you did. You wanted them all to believe you were fine, so that they wouldn’t worry about you. You couldn’t handle them all thinking you were one step away from breaking down again. That was really the last thing you wanted.

The boys finally stopped looking at you like you’d fall apart at any moment, you didn’t want to go back to that, you couldn’t. Not after you had to go through so much to make sure they didn’t see you as that girl anymore. But, even now you could feel yourself starting to slip back into it all. Back into the fear.

You quickly changed when you got back to your dorm, your fingers ghosted over all of the jerseys and shirseys you had. Some of the shirseys dated back to long before you met Travis, and a lot of them had been handed down to you by Ethan. They were all so worn in and soft. You pulled out the oldest one you had, which was nearly worn out. There were holes along the collar and sleeves, and it was three sizes too big for you, but it never failed to make you feel safe. Ethan gave it to you when you left for school, just for that purpose. You quickly pulled it on before slipping Carter’s jersey over top of it.

You really didn’t want to go, you wanted to hide for the rest of the night. But you knew both Travis and Carter would be here and ready to bust down your door if you didn’t go. So you forced yourself out of the dorm and into the waiting cab. You made your legs move towards the area and through security. You tried to act happy and carefree as you sat with everyone else. You tried...because that's all you could do.

“How are you doing? The guys said Carter’s worried,” One of the wives asked.

“Oh, I’m fine! Finals are just coming up soon,” You shrugged, trying to get off of the topic.

They didn’t need to know you were scared of your own shadow, and all that could go bump in the night. You were scared of what you knew was waiting for you, somewhere in the city. He was probably here tonight, ready to strike the moment he could. The only thing you knew to do was try and minimize whatever fallout would come on the team.

“Are you sure? That breakin was horrible.”

You nodded and forced a smile, “They’ve fixed the issue with security, and the apartment is fine. I really have been busy with classes that’s all! Promise.”

You hoped you convinced them. You didn’t want to answer any more questions about how you were doing. Carter was worried, you knew that, just like you knew that Travis was worried too. There wasn’t much you could do to relieve their fears. They knew you too well. You were sure Nolan was just as worried. And Ethan...you didn’t even want to think about how he must be going out of his mind. You hoped Kora was doing a good job of making sure he thought you were fine. You didn’t want him getting on a plane and coming back out here again.

Your skin was crawling during the first period. You knew someone was watching you somewhere in the arena. You looked to the bench, none of the guys were focused on you. Travis and Nolan were on the ice, Carter busy in net. It wasn’t a member of the team. That only meant that you were being paranoid, or he was here.

Half way through the second, you got a text. You were scared to look at it, having the dreadful feeling in the pit of your stomach that it was going to be him. How he would’ve gotten your number didn’t even cross your mind. He was crafty, and when he wanted something he made sure he could get it. Especially if it meant he’d get to ruin you. He made that very clear.

GET AWAY FROM YOUR BODYGUARDS IF YOU'RE SMART. THE SMALL TEAM STORE BY YOUR SECTION. FIVE MINUTES

It was like ice water was poured all over you. He really was here. He knew where you were, and the fact that you were surrounded by the families of all of the players. There were arena attendants right by all of you. You had a feeling Travis and Carter asked for one of them to keep an eye on you while you were at the game, just so they could feel at ease.

You looked around, trying to figure out what to do. It was the middle of the game. None of the guys could help you. You looked up to the player box, where a few injured or scratched players were watching the game. You didn’t know any of them enough to ask them to come with you. This would have to be something you did solely on your own. Which was exactly how he wanted it.

“I’ll be right back,” You told the girls around you, “My parents want me to give them a call. I guess my brother didn’t really explain what happened very well.”

You forced another smile, this one hopefully just as convincing. It seemed to work because none of them questioned as you got up. They didn’t watch you as you walked away, there didn’t seem to be any worry at all. It was just as you needed it to be.

But, that didn’t stop your own heart from trying to pound out of your chest. Your ears were ringing as you climbed the steps towards the concourse. There was no telling what he wanted from you this time, but you could only hope that you would make it out okay since you were in public this time. You were in an area where you were known. It was no secret that you were dating Carter, or that you were like a sister to Travis and Nolan.

Your legs shook as you walked along the concourse towards the team store. You just wanted all of this to be over. Life was so different before he came back. There was a period of pure bliss with Carter. And before he was even a big part of your life, you were so happy and didn’t know any different. Life was good. Life was great. Everything was new, and exciting. You didn’t know much about pain, or being hurt by people you loved. Now you did...and it was because of him.

“Look at you, wearing his jersey.”

Your whole body went cold. He was standing just before you, dressed in black like he used to. For just a moment you hoped he wouldn’t even be here, you hoped he was just playing with you again. But he was here...and how he had you in his trap.

“He’s my boyfriend, he wanted me to wear it.”

He smiled, but it wasn’t kind. Nothing about him was kind. Nothing was comforting, or felt right. Every part of him was now a warning telling you to run as fast as you could. But your feet stayed right where they were. You didn’t move any closer, and neither did he. You were in a stalemate.

“You look like shit.”

You let out a bitter laugh, “What do you want?”

He took a step closer, watching you like a predator stalks its prey, “Oh, Doll. Don’t you want to play a game? You used to love our games.”

You shook your head, “You loved them. I never had a choice. You forced me into all of it.”

He cocked his head to the side, “I remember you used to beg for more.”

You hated who he made you then. You did all that you could to keep him with you because he’d convinced you that no one would want you after him. He made you into something you hated because you felt like you didn’t have a choice. He stripped away everything that you were and made you into his own personal little toy...his doll that he could play with.

“You made me into that person,” You hissed, “You broke me.”

He laughed, such a mincing sound that you wished you’d never have to hear again, “Oh Doll, I was just getting started.”

“Zachary, please stop,” You begged, “Leave now and I won’t tell a soul. It’ll be like you were never here.”

“And miss out on the real fun? Oh no I don’t think so. We’re just getting started.”

“Zack, please. I haven’t done anything. I left, I moved on. I haven’t been home in years,” You felt tears burning your eyes. You tried everything to force them back, “I gave up everything because you nearly killed me.”

“No. No, you don’t get to keep playing the victim. Not now. I ruined you? No. I lost my scholarship. No college would even consider me. No one in town will hire me. You ruined my life, all because you had to go cry big bad wolf. It’s time for you to pay up.”

“I’m begging you. Please just leave. The court records are sealed, you can go somewhere else. No one would have to know.”

“Oh, but this is going to be so much fun, Y/N. I don’t think you’ll have a need for that jersey when we’re done though.”

“Zachary, don’t touch him. Please. Leave Carter out of this, he has nothing to do with you and me.”

“Haven’t you figured it out? He has everything to do with this. Him, and Konecny and his little lap dog Patrick. All of them,” He explained, “And that hot roommate of yours, who’s so very sweet. She loves to help people.”

Kora...anyone but Kora.

“I wonder just how Ethan would feel if I was to get my hands on her? I’ve fucked his sister, might as well add his girlfriend to the list too.”

You surged forward, “If you lay a hand on her I swear to god-”

“See, now you’re willing to play. I knew one of them would convince you. So you’re going to go back to that group over there, and you’re going to tell them that you’re done for the night and you’re going to go home. And when he calls, because we both know he will, you tell him that you’re fine. And you keep telling him that.”

“Zach-”

“Shh, I’m not done yet. From now on, you don’t get to ignore me. Understand? I know where to find all of them. I’ve beaten Konecny before, I’ll gladly do it again.”

Fear rose up in you, because you knew he meant it. He never got along with Travis. Travis always saw right through him and he couldn’t stand that. He always took every chance he got to remind Travis how much he didn’t like him. You knew if he got the chance here, he’d do his very worst.

You knew he wasn’t kidding about any of it. Not anymore. He meant every word, and if you didn’t do what he wanted he would make due on all of the threats. You didn’t have a choice anymore. You couldn’t go to the police, they wouldn’t believe you. You had no evidence of what he’d done before because the records were sealed due to the fact that you were a minor when it all took place. So they closed and sealed them to protect you. Never did you think that it would turn around and hurt you.

“Just don’t hurt them,” Your voice was small and broken, “Do whatever you want to me, but don’t hurt them. Please.”

“Oh, I plan on doing a lot with you, Doll,” He winked at you and held up his phone, “I’ll be seeing you soon.”

He smiled again and turned to walk away. He got a couple of yards away from you before turning back around, “And don’t think about breaking up with him to save him, it won’t work. It’ll only make things worse for everyone. Have a good night, Y/N.”

Your whole body shook as you slowly turned around. You really wouldn’t be getting away from it this time. He had you trapped. There would be no running, no cunning away to save everyone you loved from getting hurt. They’d all get hurt somehow. But you hoped you could shoulder most of it and save them from as much pain as you could. You were strong enough to handle it all again. You made it out alive once before, you could do it again.

Slowly, you made your way back to your seat and informed the group that you weren’t feeling well and were going to go home. You weren’t even sure your legs would be able to carry you out. You tried not to look back towards the ice. Not as tears finally started to fall. You were doing this to keep Carter and Travis safe. You were doing it to make sure Nolan never had to know what you really had to go through before he met you.

And Kora...You would do a lot of things to make sure she was safe. She didn’t need to see any of it first hand. She didn’t need to experience how horrible all of it could be. You wanted to make sure that she would still be the same Kora by the end of all of this. If you had to, you’d cut her out after it was all over, just so she would never have to know.

And Carter...you wished you could’ve frozen those moments of peace and love with him. You wished you could’ve stayed in bed that day, in your own little world with him. Or that you two could’ve met in a different life, one where you’d never loved Zachary. One where the two of you could just be normal. Where he wouldn’t feel the need to keep protecting you from everything. You wished your life would’ve been different, not for yourself, but for the people that you might end up dragging down with you.

You never wanted to hurt any of them. You always knew you’d fall...but you never thought you’d end up bringing them along too. So, you’d play the game, you’d do whatever you had to do. Just to save them. You were already gone, there was nothing you could do about that anymore. But you still had a shot at keeping them out of it. And you were going to ensure it stayed that way.

#carter hart imagine #Carter hart imagines #Carter hart fanfic #Carter hart fanfiction #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl fanfic #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #hockey fanfic #hockey fanfiction #Philly Flyers #Philly flyers imagine #Philly flyers imagines #nicolewritesthings

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lambden · 3 years

Text

Here’s some belated Geraskier fic that I finally get to post, as last week’s flash fic challenge has wrapped up! This was originally published anonymously; kudos to those of you who guessed that I was the author. Head to the collection to see the picture prompt that inspired this, as well as view the other works. I've been having a great time participating in fandom events like this; I promise there's more on the way!!! (Read on AO3)

Up To Date

prompt: "You were so hot that when you asked if I was the blind date you were looking for, I lied and said yes. But then your actual date comes up to introduce themselves and I'm so embarrassed."

G, 2.3K words, modern AU, Geralt/Jaskier

It shouldn’t be this difficult to find inspiration. He never used to struggle like this in high school, finding his muse in everyone and everything. Even his mundane trip on the city bus to and from school would give Jaskier hundreds of ideas, for poems too personal to publish or lyrics too deep for his band to use. Back then he had thought he lacked discipline and experience, so the clear choice had been to take his interest in poetry one step further and go to university.

The problem, as he’s now discovering halfway through his second year, is that he maybe hates university. He loves it, of course; he loves the praise from his professors and peers, he loves learning about the history of literature and art. He even loves the academic rivalries that wax and wane every term, and the competitions that ignite a mean streak in him he didn’t know he had.

But his assignments are of worse quality than anything he’s ever written before, and try as he might, they aren’t getting any better. Putting words on the page just to meet a count is impossible for a poet, not when the space and thoughts and images are all supposed to be cohesive. Poems used to flow from him so freely he hadn’t been able to keep track and now his well of motivation has just about run dry.

That’s what led him here, for the third time this week. His creative dysfunction has forced him into the day-to-day habits of an elderly man who spends his days reading in public gardens. It hasn’t helped so far, but maybe this third time will be the charm. Jaskier finds his favorite place: right by the koi pond, next to a strange art installation with ivy crawling along it. He sits at the base of the giant question mark, dropping his backpack onto the bench beside him.

“This better fucking work,” mutters Jaskier to himself and the koi, opening today’s book to a random poem. He refuses to let his mind wander at first, gluing his eyes to the page and reading with intense intent. The first poem he sees is about love.

Groaning, Jaskier flips the page. The next poem is also about love.

The third poem is about war, and Jaskier thinks that might be alright, until he realizes what this long-dead poet is trying to tell him, which is that war is also about love. Because it is, of course, but also of course it is. Jaskier scowls deeply and flips through the book to a random page, hoping to find something to spark inspiration that won’t just make him feel hopeless and single and hopelessly single.

Before Jaskier can get through the title, someone speaks to him, startling him so badly he jumps. “Are you Yennefer’s friend?”

Jaskier scrambles to catch the book by its cover and nearly drops it. He hadn’t even heard anyone approach. “Sorry?”

The stranger audibly sighs, as if Jaskier has inconvenienced him terribly. With all the force of someone announcing their presence at their own death row, he grits out, “I’m here for a blind date she set up. With you.” Jaskier looks up at the man and sees him wearing a blank expression, pointing at the question mark in front of the bench. “By the thing.”

“Oh,” Jaskier says, still looking at the man. It takes a second for the words to sink in because the stranger is perhaps the most handsome person Jaskier has ever seen. He could write a thousand poems and still fail to capture his beauty. He has golden eyes, for one, and a sharply chiseled face. Even grimacing like this, his jaw is set in the loveliest way, and his stern brow is framed by platinum white hair, half-tied up. He’s wearing a fairly gloomy outfit for a blind date, but maybe he told whoever Yennefer is that he would be dressed in black. Regardless, he’s making it work.

The gorgeous stranger is still waiting for an answer, scowl worsening as Jaskier tries to make his decision about how the fuck to handle this. Really, there’s no decision at all— he just impulsively takes the leap. All his best ideas come when he’s stumbling forward blind anyway. “Yes,” he finally says, jumping to his feet. “Yes, um, I’m sorry, you caught me off-guard. I’m Jaskier.”

“Geralt.” They’re of a similar height, but Geralt is so much wider. Jaskier wants to climb him like ivy on a question mark. “I’m sorry I interrupted.”

“It’s fine! I got here a while ago. You know, can’t be too early!” Jaskier has never been early for anything in his life. He sits down again and shoves his books into his bag as quickly as he can. Geralt shifts his weight back and forth between his feet before awkwardly sitting on the bench next to Jaskier, looking out at the garden. “I’ve never done this kind of thing before,” he admits, which is true. His usual lies and schemes are much less chaotic.

Geralt doesn’t reply to that, leaving Jaskier to privately wonder about his dating life. He stares at the plants, giving the impression that he might be hideously nervous. Jaskier has no idea why someone like Geralt would be nervous about anything but it’s an awkward situation, to say the least. Right as Jaskier’s about to suggest they get out of here before Geralt’s real date shows up, the man asks, “What were you reading?”

“I was studying, sort of,” Jaskier says. “I’m a student.” Then abruptly he wonders how much Geralt knows about who he’s supposed to be, and he swallows, pulse racing.

Glancing over, Geralt’s yellow eyes meet his. There’s no obvious doubt there, just a curiosity. “What’s your major?”

“Poetry,” Jaskier grins as their conversation starts to pick up something resembling a rhythm. “What about you, are you in school?”

“No,” says Geralt, cutting his dreams of a normal date conversation short. “Are you any good? At writing poetry?”

What a weirdo. Jaskier’s heart thrums. “I’d like to think so!” This, at least, is something he knows how to talk about. Except, of course, it isn’t really the truth. “Well… recently, I’ve been in a bit of a creative rut. Just waiting for the right burst of inspiration to come along.” Perhaps this blind date that he’s stolen will suffice, but he doesn’t say that. “This place is great for that, actually. I mean, it hasn’t worked yet, but I’m sure any day those fish will sing for me.”

Geralt blinks. Jaskier feels a bead of sweat run down the back of his neck. He tries a different tactic, crossing his ankles and asking politely, “Are you a reader? What kind of things do you enjoy?”

“Nonfiction,” Geralt answers, slightly stilted. His gaze drifts over to the plants once more. “Not biographies, more like… encyclopedias and field journals. I like field journals.”

“Alright,” Jaskier says, shrinking into himself. This is going terribly. “I’ll have to go bribe some scientists for their field journals, then.” The corner of Geralt’s lip twitches, and Jaskier’s stomach flips. Gorgeous and weird and maybe, although he’s trying his best to hide it behind seven layers of nerves, maybe a little amused by Jaskier. Jaskier is going to fuck him right here in the garden. “Do you take journals of your own for work?”

A rather roundabout way of asking ‘what the fuck is it that you do’ but somehow, it lands. “I’m a… researcher,” Geralt mumbles. How very vague. “But I don’t publish my findings very often.”

Jaskier raises an eyebrow. “Do you work… for a company?”

“No.”

“Right. So you’re just keeping all your findings to yourself for no good reason at all.”

“No.”

“Then it sounds like you’re a pretty terrible researcher, actually.”

Geralt’s eyes flash as he turns to glare at Jaskier. “What?”

“Well, if you don’t share what you’ve found with anyone—”

“My… colleagues—”

“Aha! So you have colleagues!” Jaskier pokes Geralt’s side. “You aren’t just holed up in some depressing storage unit with months and months of research just for you.”

Once more, Geralt half-smirks. Not even half— more like a one-fifth smirk. “Years,” he admits.

“Years…” Jaskier tilts his head to the side thoughtfully. “Why do I have the feeling that you’re perhaps a significant number of years older than me?”

“I had the same thought when I saw you sitting here,” Geralt mumbles.

Jaskier snorts. “Seems like something Yennefer should have warned us about, perhaps. I would ask you directly how old you are, but I’m fairly certain that the only response I will get is a very gruff no.”

“No,” says Geralt, nearly smiling.

Making a show of pouting, Jaskier folds his arms over his chest. “Is that your favorite word?”

“No.” Geralt breaks into laughter as he repeats himself, and his whole face lights up with it. Jaskier laughs too, delighted by how joyous Geralt looks. He’s even more beautiful when he’s happy like this, and Jaskier wants very badly for this not to be their last date. “If I tell you my favorite word, you’re bound to judge me for it, as a poet.”

“As a poet, I swear not to mock you,” Jaskier raises his hand to cover his heart, barely restraining himself from grinning.

But before Geralt can share whatever it is, someone else approaches their bench. A second stranger— a woman about his height with short brown hair, wearing a pretty blouse. Jaskier notices her much more quickly than he’d noticed Geralt, and he makes the connection instantly. This can’t possibly end well.

“Oh, Yen wasn’t kidding,” says the stranger, eyeing Geralt. “You are very distinctive!”

Geralt stares back at her, slack-jawed for a moment. “What?”

“I’m Renfri,” Geralt’s date introduces herself. Jaskier wishes the earth would open up and swallow him whole, especially when she glances over at him. Her gaze slides back to Geralt, as does Jaskier’s, and yeah, he is very fucking distinctive with that white hair and those yellow eyes. Damn. “My friend Yennefer set us up for a blind date…?”

As Jaskier contemplates throwing himself into the koi pond, Geralt twists to stare at him. Jaskier can only imagine how mortified he must look right now; his face burns as both Renfri and Geralt look his way. Perhaps Renfri will figure it out before Geralt says anything; she looks like a smart woman.

But Geralt just gets up, dusting himself off and shaking his head. “No,” he tells Renfri, which would almost be funny if it weren’t the weirdest thing Jaskier has ever seen anyone do. Then Geralt leaves, turning to walk away from both of them, leaving Jaskier and Renfri alone together in the garden. Renfri frowns, watching him go with obvious increasing confusion. Jaskier also jumps to his feet, equally confused but determined not to lose sight of Geralt.

He chases the man— and it does feel like a chase, Geralt must be fucking speed-walking away— and finally tracks him down well outside the garden. Geralt is thundering down a set of stairs leading to a parking lot and he doesn’t stop at the sound of Jaskier careening towards him. Only when Jaskier desperately calls his name does he finally stop, slowing until he reaches the bottom landing and then standing there, still.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier calls down the stairs, breathless. He begins to descend them but Geralt doesn’t turn around. “Fuck, you’re fast! Shit. I’m sorry, Geralt.”

Without looking his way, Geralt complains, so quietly that Jaskier nearly misses it, “Yennefer is going to kill me.”

“I would have fucked off,” Jaskier says quickly, hurrying down the rest of the steps until he gets to the bottom. Geralt still doesn’t look at him so Jaskier slides none-too-gracefully into his space, demanding his attention. He’s hardly red in the face or anything, but he looks embarrassed. Jaskier crumbles. “I’m sorry. I— seriously, I don’t care, I would have fucked off. I should’ve left, I should’ve— You should go back there, she’s beautiful!”

Geralt’s nostrils flare but he doesn’t look away. “Why did you lie,” he demands, flat.

“Well,” Jaskier deflates. “Um. You’re beautiful.”

“Hmm.”

“I really am sorry,” he offers.

Geralt, still watching him closely, says, “You don’t sound sorry.”

“What do you want me to do?” Jaskier throws his hands in the air, breaking away from Geralt’s stare— in the greenhouse, surrounded by bright lights and open, manmade nature, it had been easy to sit under the weight of Geralt’s eyes on him. Down here, at the end of a staircase and the entrance to a dark garage, chest still heaving, it feels too intimate. He puts some distance between them, sighing. “You want me to go back there and explain the whole situation to poor Renfri?”

When Jaskier finally turns around again, Geralt’s gaze hasn’t left him. “I want you to come have dinner with me instead,” he says, slowly but purposefully.

“Oh,” breathes Jaskier. “That’s— well, if you want that.”

“I already made a reservation for two. My name’s on the list.” Geralt is fidgeting with the end of his sleeve at first but when he approaches Jaskier he drops it, striding forward without hesitating. “Table for Geralt and one young brunet friend of Yennefer’s.”

Jaskier chokes on his own surprised laugh. “I don’t actually know Yennefer,” he needlessly explains.

“She’s going to hate you,” says Geralt, half-smirking, and then he adds, “Well, she’ll hate both of us now.”

They get to the restaurant twenty minutes late, Geralt’s hair mussed up and lips a bitten red and Jaskier wearing his backpack and a shit-eating grin. The host sees them and immediately tells them their table has been cancelled, and they end up getting terrible two-dollar slices from a hole-in-the-wall pizza place. They eat on the way back to Geralt’s car and then he drives Jaskier back to campus, kissing him soundly in the door to his apartment until Priscilla comes home and yells at Jaskier to get a room. As they squabble Geralt apologizes, polite and nervous, and kisses Jaskier’s cheek and tells him it was nice to meet him.

Jaskier goes inside and spends the next thirteen hours writing the best poetry he will ever write.

#my writing #geraskier fic #geraskier #flash fic challenge #events

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imonthinice · 3 years

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The Criminal Psychology Majors, Jason Todd x Fem!Reader Part 17/?

Word Count: 3.8k

Author’s Note: Y/N - Your name.

So, when I started this, I didn’t expect it to become what it is, or for it to really be taken seriously. I wrote it because I wanted to get better at storytelling, and now I’m averaging 20 notes a day. That’s insane to me.

Warnings: Eludes to sex, mentions of trauma, mentions of court system, victim blaming, mentions of injuries, swearing, No beta bitch we die like Jason Todd

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16) (Part 17) (Part 18) (Part 19) (Part 20)

Waking up next to Jason was becoming something of a routine for Y/N. It had been 4 days in a row that she woke up next to him or with him in arm’s reach. She loved that about their relationship, how quickly they both could fall asleep with each other.

She rolled over in her bed and realized Jason was sweating and clutching the sheets. She leant over him slightly and turned on the fan, hoping he would sweat less so he could be in less pain.

She didn’t know what would actually stop the pain, she didn’t actually know if he was in pain. She reached out to stroke his back, just trying to comfort him, it seemed to work. He didn’t exactly reject her advances to rub his back. But he did jump a bit when she touched him.

She didn’t want him to be hurt by her touching him, so she did attempt to wake him up. He didn’t answer her though, so she got up from her bed and looked at herself in the mirror. She looked rough like she had been crying all night about the trial. Makeup running, eyes puffy, bloodshot. But what else did she expect after that trial? She didn’t remember anything.

She decided to shower, in her own shower. It had been 3 days since she last showered, which was okay but it wasn’t something she was used to.

She got into her shower and just thought. She was fucked up. She had been fucked up this entire time, she had hidden secrets from Jason, from everyone. She thought it was selfish, immature, and irresponsible that she did that. But she also didn't know how to talk to them all.

How do I even start that conversation? Hey, I’m fucked up, help me. I’m sorry, I messed up, she thought, I can’t do that, I can’t.

She got out of the shower and glanced at the clock like she would normally, it was 4:00am. That’s new, she thought, I didn’t know it was this early, maybe I should not have showered.

She smiled to herself a bit and took care of her face, doing a facial routine, just trying to calm herself and come off that high she was on for the majority of the day before. She knew she had to take care of herself to help her become stable again.

She knew what she did yesterday was linked to trauma, she just knew it. She didn’t know what it was, or how to combat it. But she knew she would probably not be mentally capable of watching the rest of the trial, and that was okay with her, she didn’t want to watch the rest of the trial. She would ignore her professor if he asked her to write anything about the trial. She knew he likely couldn’t because of her connections, but she wasn’t going to get mad at him.

She didn’t want to get mad at anyone for this. Opinions about the trial, asking her to talk about it, anything, she didn’t want to hate.

Jason was still asleep when she reentered her room. She smiled at him, wishing he was awake with her at that moment. She went to her notes at her desk and sighed, she guessed she would sit down and do some work. She pulled out her journal and wrote;

To each member of my family, somehow we reached here,

I’ve ended up with people wanting to hurt me,

Here we see the pain of there,

Maybe three.

I guess I can’t write poetry,

Maybe it’s all I see,

The pain, the torture, the people who hurt,

What am I doing?

She scribbled down a dying rose. She didn’t know why she did all of that. Normally she didn’t feel like that. Poetry was a good way to get all of the emotions out. Her journal had a lot, a lot, of insane writings and drawings of things she felt.

She guessed she was fucked up. But she thought the things wrong with her would make her art better. She needed therapy, probably. She was going to look into that, she decided in those moments. Therapy may help her cope with a lot of the stuff that she dealt with.

Or was she aware that she’d never be fixed?

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

She sat at her desk after making a quick coffee. It was still only 5:00am, and she was organizing her notes, just thinking. Maybe she’d paint something. Maybe she’d get a picture of the Wayne Manor Gardens and paint it. She just wanted something to fiddle with if she was going to be harassed if she left the house. She probably wasn't going to be able to leave the house for a while.

She was fine with that, she didn’t like it but she didn’t hate it either. She just wished for the trial to be over, even if the man was found not guilty of the charges.

And the longer the painting project, the longer she could spend locked away from the media. That was just all that she wanted, to walk away from the media while still keeping Jason.

He was still sleeping. She didn’t notice because she was so entranced in her own art, but he was struggling at that moment.

And then she noticed.

She got up and went to her bed and sat beside his head on the floor. She stroked his hair and tried to comfort him when he woke up.

“Hey,” she whispered.

He didn’t answer.

“You alright?” she asked.

He turned his back to her, so she stroked it.

“It’s okay if you’re not alright, baby,” she said, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

She crawled into bed with him and became the big spoon for a bit. She didn’t say anything to him, he didn’t say anything to her. He was sticky and sweaty, but she didn’t care.

Silence was killing for most people, but she sat through it and allowed him to be quiet.

She wished for the stories behind his scars, but she didn’t want to push for them. They hadn’t been together for long enough for her to ask about it. But she loved to trace his scars with her fingers, just letting him know she knew about them. She didn’t know how he felt about it. But she tried to be kind and loving towards his scars.

Some were small holes. Some were small lines. Some were long lines. One was Y-Shaped on his chest. One existed on his cheek and she couldn’t make out what it was.

She didn’t think that he was lesser because of his scars. He thought he was lesser for his scars.

“Hey, Jay. Do you want to eat breakfast? It’s 6:00am, we can dip to get food?” she asked, trying to make him feel better.

“If you don’t mention the nightmares, sure.”

“I won’t.”

He rolled over to her and smiled before kissing her.

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

They got up a couple hours later, clothes strewn across her room, boxers and pants torn. She laughed, hoping he would still have clothes to wear.

“Don’t laugh, I might have nothing to wear!”

“I hope you have something to wear, babe.”

“And what if I don’t? We were pretty messy.”

“We were, but still. If you have nothing we’re kind of fucked,” she said, glaring.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re cute. Just stop staring at me like that! It takes two to tango!”

“The forbidden horizontal tango,” she said between laughs.

“The forbidden horizontal tango is now the only way I am going to refer to sex.”

“I mean as you should.”

“My family is going to kill me for calling sex that.”

“I mean as they should,” she laughed, “Did you find clothes?” she asked, having already gotten dressed.

“Okay that’s unfair, you can’t wear new clothes when I’m stuck with ripped boxers.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have worn them in the first place,” she said, laughing, “And to be fair, Jay, I’m the one with clothes and you didn’t follow your own suggestion for an overnight bag.”

“Okay, listen, first of all,” he grabbed her, “That’s obviously my fault but shush, secondly, you’re dressing very black today,” he observed.

“Felt I would look the part of dating a Wayne.”

“No one’s going to see you.”

“That’s the point. I’m an invisible partner of a Wayne.”

“Well, I think you look nice.”

“I’m glad,” she laughed, “How ripped are your clothes?”

“Decently. Not noticeably, but decently.”

“Fun! Shall we go?”

He laughed and grabbed her arm, pulling her lightly to the car and getting in to drive.

“You ever think the vigilantes around here have complex lives?” she thought aloud.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do they have crazy, fulfilling lives like us, or are they just there to be heroes of the night? Are they sitting there wondering if they’re going to come home to their partners or if their parents are worried about them?” she questioned.

He sat there, looking forward. If only you knew. If only you knew what I go through, what everyone goes through. He managed to laugh and blow her off, “Maybe they’re just robots made to fight crooks in alleyways.”

“I’m serious. What if they’re all out there worried they’re going to die?”

“C’mon now.”

“Jay! They’re people!”

“They’re probably okay, baby. I doubt they’re out there almost dying.”

She wanted to say ‘You almost died’ but she bit her tongue, “That’s probably true. But it’s always something I thought, even when I lied in Metropolis with god damn Superman. I always wondered if he had a home to go to.”

“Who knows. Who knows.”

“They would. Maybe I should get a job as a reporter, interview some of them. Say ‘Fuck it’ and know if they have homes.”

“That’s dangerous.”

“How?”

“My Aunt, Iris, Barry’s wife? She’s a reporter. She’s on the frontlines for the supervillains and the small-time crooks of the world.”

“So anything and everything in between? Festive.”

“Well, that’s the life of a reporter. Journalists? Like my Uncle? He deals with a lot less bullshit unless they link him to Bruce. Iris is a reporter so she’s constantly there, Clark is usually never there.”

“Well, we at least know the elusive reporter and journalist have families,” she joked and he laughed.

“The elusive reporter and journalist in their natural habitats, my favourite National Geographic episode.”

She looked out her window at the streets and the people. She hadn’t been outside at night recently on the streets of Gotham, and she missed it. There was always something about it that made her keep coming back. Maybe it was the orphaned kids that she would go and make sure were okay. Maybe it was the fact that she watched one of the vigilantes swing to another roof.

She still remembered that moment well. She thought it was amazing, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for her to have experienced. She wished she knew more, even if she just knew which one they were. So she could go on the forums and ask if people had spoken to them. Maybe it wasn’t a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, maybe others had witnessed what she did, but she wouldn’t know if she did not know which it was.

“Hey, random question, do you know the vigilantes' names in the city?” she asked Jason.

“Uh, yeah? Why?” he responded.

“Okay so, the first night I walked home from your house after my car got towed right? I saw one of them. I’m not familiar with the vigilantes of the city, so: Do you know which one is the one with the blue bird symbol on their chest?”

“Oh, that one’s Nightwing. He seems cool, I don’t know, never actually met the guy.”

“Don’t Wayne Galas get attacked by villains on the regular though?”

“That doesn’t mean we get to talk to them,” he laughed, “It would be cool if we did, though.”

“Yeah it would. Would be a killer story for your Uncle and Aunt.”

“They are the only tabloids I liked because they leave us alone.”

“No reports from the Daily Planet about the Waynes?” she joked.

“God, Dad would probably half-jokingly sue Clark over that. Like sue him for 3 dollars or somethin’ levels of jokingly suing him.”

“Now, that, that would be a story for the tabloids.”

“Remind me to tell Dad about that, maybe it’ll get the press off your back.”

“You say that like your extended family cares about my trials.”

“They do, they wonder how you found yourself wrapped up in 2 crimes in the span of 2 weeks.”

“I wish I knew how I did that.”

He laughed, “If only we knew.”

“I guess we go get breakfast now, fast food?” he asked.

“Obviously, I’m not eating in a restaurant with this high of a profile recently, my god,” she laughed.

“Alright, anything in particular? I can just order for you if you’re not up to talking to some people.”

“Go for it.”

“Alright.”

She didn’t pay attention while he ordered, instead she opened her lovely cellphone. And there they were, the tabloids click baiting the trials she was involved in. She rolled her eyes, knowing most of them were wrong, when she saw the article written by Clark Kent about it. She was tempted to read it, to know what Clark said. She figured he’d be an unbiased source fo information, but also likely more on her side than the defendant’s side. She didn’t even know the defendant's name.

She tapped on it and began reading.

The Case of The Court Versus David Brown.

Brown is a man known to the courts of Gotham, and the county jail of Gotham. When he was accused of assaulting a young woman, Ms. Y/N (Last name), not many members of the Gotham Police Force were shocked.

On the first day of the trial, Brown was asked to plead, to which he said, “Not guilty, your honor,” which is under a lot of scrutiny of those who have seen the video of Ms. (Last name) running from Brown in the alleyway where she head-butted him.

The prosecution opened their case,

“Ms. (Last name) was assaulted by the defendant, there is no question about it. The question here is if his motive was for the ransom Ms. (Last name) referenced in her interview with police after the event. The defendant very clearly went after Ms. (Last name) because of her ties to the billionaire Bruce Wayne, who would have easily paid the ransom for her if she hadn’t escaped.

The defense opened their case,

The question of whether or not my client assaulted Ms. (Last name) is not up for debate, he did assault her. However, it was in self-defense. She had assaulted him first, pulling him into the alleyway and attempting to make advances on him. She twisted the story in her on words to include the head-butting incident, in reality, my client punched her for her advances.

The people who watched the first event of the trial have noted being “Disgusted” and “Annoyed” at the practices that the defense brought to court, “Slandering the name of Ms. (Last name) when she is the victim.” many people are upset with the defense in this trial.

The next day of the trial should take place within a week. Until then, the questions are not going to be answered.

She looked at the defense's argument numerous times. She was in shock that they would accuse her of such bullshit. She was terrified that they would get away with this, when Jason pulled her out of her thoughts with a coffee.

“You shouldn’t get so involved in the tabloids right now, love.”

“Sorry, if it makes you feel better your Uncle wrote it. And thank you.”

“Anytime. I guess Clark wrote it well, but you watched the trial?”

“I don’t remember it.”

“You’re probably not going to watch more of it, are you?”

‘No way,” she said while drinking her coffee as they drove back to her house.

“That’s fair. No one expected you to be able to be able ot watch it.”

She nodded and kept drinking, “They made up so much bullshit.”

“They did, oh my god, I was pissed, baby. I was so god damn mad. Because what the fuck do you gain from lying?”

“Don’t even put that question in the universe, you know they’ll try to answer it the next time they’re in trial.”

“God you’re right,” he laughed, “Got you a breakfast sandwich. At least the dammed tabloids can’t take that away from us.”

“Thank god,” she laughed, “Thank you.”

“Seriously, anytime. It’s worth it.”

“You’ve spent so much money on me.”

“Pocket change.”

“Well, duh. Trust-fund baby.”

“Ouch.”

“I’ll take you somewhere when I’m less high-profile. Maybe we’ll fake a breakup to keep everyone off my ass so we can go somewhere.”

“Fake a breakup? Wouldn't that just make you hated?”

“I’m already hated. I’m a gold-digger, a whore, a cheater, a statistic, a suicidal maniac, a homicidal maniac, a psychopath, I can go on and on about the shit being said about me.”

“Man, people need to keep their mouths shut.”

“You could say that again- don’t actually. But like, what the fuck did I do to deserve this, honestly? All I did was go on a date with you to get bombarded, yes, I do treat the press unfairly, but I do my best to never say a bad word about them publically, just jokes,” she joked, “I hate this,” she laughed.

“I hate tihs too,” he laughed, “You’re worth it though.”

“Oh man, a week into dating, two weeks into knowing each other and we’re here.”

“We should be anywhere else but in the midst of these terrible circumstances.”

“It’s unfortunate.”

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

Drinking her coffee on her bed with Jason beside her was something else, it was probably the most they had branched out in 4 days. The silence was lovely now that neither of them were having issues. They ate and drank in silence. They didn’t need constant conversation to prove that the enjoyed the presence of each other.

She took a minute to take it all in, the messy shelves in her bedroom, the place on her desk where her laptop belonged, the broken handle to her bathroom door, the sheets on her bed which had been pulled and ruffled from Jason and her having fun.

She looked out her window and looked at the rain starting to pour and decided to cuddle closer to Jason. He was warm but had a presence of underwhelming coldness to him, like he gave off fake body heat. She didn’t know what it was, but the extremes of his body were something she enjoyed but hated.

The exposition between his black hair to his white tuff of hair, the rough eyebrows to the small and delicate freckles, the blue of his eyes which seemed to glow green. The way it was like she was driving down a road, full speed ahead, and crashed into a wall, that was how it felt to be with Jason.

But who doesn’t love to die in a fiery accident into a wall at 500mph?

She laughed internally at her own joke about him before grabbing his hand and yanking him into the living room and past her roommate, A/N. A/N did not question it, because there was a new life to her roommate recently.

She dragged him out into the rain, to which he protested.

“What the fuck, respectfully?”

She laughed, “Don’t be respectful, and trust me. I’m going to make a movie moment.”

“I’m getting wet.”

“That’s my job,” she joked as she turned on a slow song before going to Jason and dancing with him.

“Well, can’t say I’ve done this,” he said.

“I don’t think most couples do.”

“Then why are we?” he asked

“Uh, yolo? You only live once, might as well dance in the rain with one of your lovers?” she retorted.

“One of them? Am I not the only one?”

“Oh no, you are,” she laughed, “But who knows, maybe we’ll fuck monogamy up the ass,” she joked.

“Probably not.”

And they danced for a few hours. Twirling and dipping in the rain. Watching the clothes they were wearing get more and more wet until the the white parts of Y/N’s dress were see-through, which took a while considering how small they were.

Their hair was soaked and her makeup was running but they didn’t care. They were having fun, and no one was going to stop them, not a villain, not a vigilante, no one. He would wipe away her makeup since it was basically already off her face and laugh.

“Your makeup looked nice before we came out here.”

“I bet! The rain’s probably washing it all way, did I look like I was crying?”

“You looked like you were sobbing.”

She laughed, “You love to see it, you really do.”

The music was basically drowned out by the rain. It was on her phone, so it was probably water damaged from the rain, but no one cared. They just wanted to have fun.

But the dancing got tired because of the fact that Y/N was in heels, so she went and picked up her phone. It wasn’t damaged. She looked at her recent texts while Jason tugged her lightly to the bathroom, to see that Bruce Wayne, Jason’s dad, had paid off her car and it was being driven back to her house.

“Hey baby?”

“Y/N?”

“Did you tell your dad to pay off my car?”

“Oh, yeah. I figured it’d get impounded and my dad could just wait a while for you to pay back. It getting impounded was going to cost you more money.”

“God you're right and I hate that.”

He laughed and kissed her before turning on the shower.

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

That was the second time that day that they had had sex. It was impressive that they had had sex that many times, and that many rounds. They thought it was fun as all hell to have sex whenever they had the chance.

Maybe they were saying “Suck it” to Bruce, or maybe they were just having fun. Maybe it was both.

“You look so cute with my hand around your neck,” he said behind her before lightly grabbing her neck and pulling her head back to his chest. He buried his face in her shoulder.

“He says while looking down,” she joked.

“I’ll squeeze.”

“Jay, we just showered. C’mon. Keep it in your pants.”

He groaned, “No fun,” he tilted his head into the crook of her neck and started leaving little kisses.

“Jay, C’mon.”

He sighed, “Fine. Fine, fine, fine. I guess we can stop,” he jokingly-whined at her, “At least we can kiss.”

“That’s true, but get dressed.”

“Get dressed!” he whined to her, “In this economy!”

“God dammnit,” she laughed, “Stay naked then and I’ll eat your food.”

“Don’t you dare.”

#dcu #dceu #dc #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd fluff #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x fem!reader #red hood x y/n #red hood x you #red hood fluff #male oc #female oc

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fabulouspotatosister · 4 years

Text

just for a day

summary: What’s a little acting between friends? If friends was even the right word.

word count: (idk yet man lol ) 3,373

request: Hello! I just wanna say your writing is absolutely amazing! If I may, could I request an 11 x reader where the reader’s friends keep bugging them to get a boyfriend, but they say they already do and they have to ask the Doctor to be their “boyfriend” (kind of like with Clara at the beginning of Time Of The Doctor) and eventually leads to feelings being spilt? If not, that’s perfectly fine!

a/n: this got WAYYY too long and for that i am so sorry lmao. i’m writing and posting this on the same day so if there are many mistakes or it doesn’t make sense that’s on me. anyway, i hope you enjoy this fic!

gif credit: @pavel-chekovs

“You’re back!”

You’d expected screaming. You’d expected yelling, and a fair dose of pterodactyl-esque screeching from the students in your advisory class, but what you weren’t expecting was crying. And lots of it. Nearly every fresh-faced elementary student was in tears, some sobbing quietly and some full-on bawling as soon as you walked through the door.

It was nice, cute even, but honestly a little disconcerting.

“Hi, everyone,” you said, shutting the door carefully behind you. The sight of their crying faces immediately activated your Parent Mode. “Are you all okay?”

“Perfectly fine!” Marih chirped, president of the class and therefore a little more levelheaded than the rest, which earned her a handful of disagreeing sighs. “What? Guys, you look ridiculous crying,” she continued, as she wiped her cheeks with the back of her palms and gave you a toothy grin. “We’re just happy you’re here again.”

You smiled at her, and reached out to pat the top of her head. “That’s great and all, but it’s like you guys haven’t seen me in ages.”

A heavy silence fell over the whole class. You saw students shift in their seats and look down at the floor, suddenly very interested in their black school shoes. Even Jaden, the class’s resident troublemaker, didn’t say a word. Marih cringed, ran a hand through her long dark hair, and smoothed the front of her checkered uniform.

“How long have I been gone?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. Marih seemed to cringe away at the question. “I thought I was only travelling for a week!”

“Actually,” Marih said, stretching out the word, “you’ve been gone for three months?”

Your mouth fell open. You stared at her for a moment, dumbfounded, before you dug into your pocket and fished out your phone – she was right, it had been exactly three months and a week since you’d left the school to go travelling.

You groaned. “Oh, I’m going to kill him.”

By travelling, you meant time travelling and by him you meant the Doctor. The madman in a box that you’d run off with. You had let him turn your life upside down in the best way possible since he dragged you into the TARDIS, with his stupidly gorgeous smile and eyes and – you were getting off topic. Now you were plotting the murder of the man that you would consider to be the most incredible thing that had ever happened to you.

“Hey, ma’am?” came a soft voice from the front of the room. Karyll, with her tied-back hair and glasses, looked up at you from her seat. “Why are you looking like you’re going to kill someone?”

“’Cause I am,” you said cheerily, shoving your phone back into your pocket. Oh, you were going to have words with him, and they would most definitely not be nice ones. “Have I missed anything big? Were you nice to my substitute?”

A collective wave of disagreement swept over the class, and you couldn’t help but let a smile slip onto your face. These were your babies after all, and if you’d really been gone for three months then they were sorely missing their Second Mom.

Maybe the tears weren’t that much of a surprise after all.

“Okay, good morning everyone! Now, if we’re still on schedule, and I really hope we are, we should be talking about integers…”

The late afternoon sun drifted through the curtains of your classroom, filling the room with an almost hazy glow as you sat with your best friends in a haphazard circle of desks. Your kids had all gone home already, and a little pile of flowers and chocolates sat neatly on your shelves, right beside your lesson plan folders.

Denise leaned forward to look at them, her curly hair falling over her face. She was the elementary students’ science teacher, and was so well-organized it was almost inhuman. She would have liked the planet where everything was arranged alphabetically, you thought.

“I’m jealous, my students never give me gifts,” she said as she leaned away. “Sis, where have you even been?”

“Long story,” you replied, and it was. You weren’t sure if you could fit everything you’d been through – travelling through time, going to planets lightyears away, and of course all of the near-death experiences – into a story that you could tell in under an hour, and you weren’t going to try.

“And you’ve been travelling? By yourself?” Julianne, an arts teacher, raised her eyebrows at you from behind her laptop. “God, that’s lonely. Oh – unless…” Her calm expression morphed into something truly evil in your line of work – mischievousness. “Unless you had someone with you.”

“I mean –” Oh no, this was going to be hard to get out of. “I mean, I wasn’t alone,” you said, hoping the smile on your face was enough to mask your utter fear. You knew exactly where Julianne was going and you hated it. “I was with someone.”

“Ooh,” Julianne said, her grin growing so sly it was sending shivers up your spine. “You’ve been gone three months, has anything happened between you and your travel buddy?”

Heat rushed to your face. If you were a cartoon character steam would be pouring from your ears. “Why would you say something like that?”

Julianne shrugged. “We’ve been telling you to get a boyfriend for so long. You said you’d be gone a week, and then you disappear for three months… that kinda says something, don’t you think, Denise?”

“Definitely.” Denise grinned, and you shot her a helpless look.

“We’re doing this because we love you,” Julianne sang. The light from her laptop was enough to make her look absolutely menacing. “So? Travel buddy? Or more than that?”

The Doctor wasn’t just a travel buddy, and he was so much more than that – but you hadn’t found the words for what he meant to you, at least not yet. Companion was enough for you and him, but even then, there was a weight to that word. And there was definitely a weight to your partnership, but you wouldn’t call it… dating.

Julianne simply waggled her perfectly shaped eyebrows at you. You swallowed. You and the Doctor were a long story too, and Julianne wasn’t going to be happy with “maybe” for an answer.

The words were out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. “Fine, he’s my boyfriend!”

I want to crawl into a hole and die was your inner monologue, and your background music was Julianne and Denise’s raucous laughter. I want to crawl into a hole and never have to face the world ever again.

Smash cut to you, standing nervously in your bedroom, gripping your phone so tightly you were sure it was going to break. Your plans of killing the Doctor for dropping you off late would have to wait. The phone rung once, twice, and you chewed your lip. If he was in the Time Vortex, any version of him could answer the phone and you couldn’t deal with that on top of everything, not today at least –

“Hello?”

You heaved a sigh of relief at the sound of the Doctor, your Doctor’s voice. “Help?” you squeaked out.

“Help?” the Doctor repeated. There was a blaring noise, and then the sound of electricity crackling. Something fizzled and popped, and the Doctor shouted something that sounded like a swear. “Oh, shut it – you – sorry, sorry. You were saying?”

“Uh, where are you right now? Are you somewhere?” you asked.

“I’m not somewhere, I’m drifting! Right above Earth, approximately right where you are,” he said. You could hear the smile in his voice. It quelled your anxiety somewhat. “I’m doing maintenance. Agh – ow! I think I can see the roof of your house through the clouds, unless that’s someone else’s house. What color is your roof?”

You giggled. “It’s brown. You’re in the same time as me?”

“’Course I am,” the Doctor said. You heard the clanging sound of metal being dropped. “I never left.”

The Doctor liked to run off on his own when you were home and have his own mini-adventures. He liked to come back and say he’d spent his time with alien royalty, or something like that. But instead he was staying put, he was waiting, for you. It made the next part so much harder.

“I need you to be my boyfriend,” you said quickly, covering your burning face with your free hand.

“Oh,” the Doctor said simply. Another clang.

Oh? “Just for a day,” you coughed. “I kind of said that I had a boyfriend, and that he was my travel buddy, and now my friends kind of want to meet you. It’s my grade’s family day tomorrow, maybe you could, uh, show up?”

“And be your boyfriend,” the Doctor said.

You nodded, then, “And be my boyfriend. Just for the day. You never have to show up again.”

There was a beat of silence, and for a second you thought the Doctor was going to say no – he had every right to, of course, and you could just lie and say that he couldn’t show up – but the Doctor laughed, cheerful and warm. “Ding-dong! Okay! What time tomorrow? I have to study, I’m a bit rusty in places.”

Your mouth fell open for the second time in twenty-four hours. “You’re serious?”

“Very! Any pet name preferences?”

You groaned loudly, and the Doctor laughed again. “Shut up!”

“Alright, alright. Guess I’ll have to do my own research.”

There was another moment of silence, and when the Doctor spoke again, it was much softer, much less playful. His voice almost sounded fond. “Goodnight?”

“Goodnight, Doctor,” you said softly, and the call cut off with a series of short beeps.

Was it a surprise that you barely slept at all? You had spent the whole night with your imagination running at full capacity, your mind latching onto every single thought and concept it could come up with. You slipped in and out of sleep, lying still in bed whenever a possibility popped into your head. To say you were nervous was the understatement of the year – but what was a little acting between friends?

If friends was the right word for it.

You waited for the Doctor behind the school, leaning against the concrete wall and watching the TARDIS fade into this plane. Wind blew into your face as the TARDIS groaned and wheezed, eventually materializing in front of you.

“I’m not late, am I?” the Doctor said, sticking his head out of the TARDIS doors. He grinned widely, his hair falling into his face. You grinned back at him and pushed yourself off the wall.

“You’re early, which is a first,” you said. The Doctor frowned at you, stepped carefully out of the TARDIS, and frowned some more. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“I think I’ve earned the right to look at you however I’d like,” the Doctor huffed, adjusting his bowtie. He’d ditched the tweed for the day, it seemed, going with a long green coat that annoyingly complimented his eyes. The frown didn’t last very long, though, because he went right back to grinning brightly at you. He held out his elbow in your direction. “Shall we?”

“Here’s the lucky girl,” Julianne cooed as you walked into the empty canteen. All the tables were pushed aside to make space for all the games you’d be playing – in the corner of your eye, you saw the Doctor light up at the sight of all of the streamers and balloons. “And here’s the lucky boy – oh my god, Denise.”

“What?” Denise popped up from behind a large speaker, then blanched. “Oh, now I’m double jealous.”

The Doctor pulled away from you to lightly kiss both of Julianne’s cheeks in greeting. Julianne looked positively starstruck when he stepped back to stand beside you, quickly waving Denise over. Denise had her mouth hanging open, still clutching a microphone in her hands.

“Hi,” you said, gesturing at the Doctor, “here’s my boyfriend.”

The Doctor raised his hand and smiled. “Hello! I’m John Smith, lovely to meet you both. You’re my girlfriend’s girl friends, I assume?”

“Uh –” Denise blinked owlishly. “Yeah, we are.” Then, quietly and to herself, “Holy moly.”

You couldn’t help but grin at their flabbergasted faces. The Doctor rested his hand on the small of your back, and you leaned into his touch as if it was the most normal thing in the universe. That was enough to make Denise stumble into Julianne, who barely even reacted, as she was still staring wide-eyed at the both of you.

“I think we caught them off guard,” you said. The Doctor chuckled and leaned down to kiss the top of your head.

“You did when we met, sweetheart,” the Doctor said smoothly. Sweetheart echoed in your ears and bounced off the walls of your already racing mind. Your heart stuttered in your chest. That was bad.

“Oh, are we doing charm now?” you asked. “Are you trying to be charming?”

“I did say I would study,” the Doctor said.

“You guys are insufferable,” Denise said, but she was beaming at you. “If you could get your hands off of your travel buddy for just a few minutes, I need help with the mics, the families are gonna be here any minute…”

Her voice trailed off as she walked back to the speaker. You stood on your tiptoes to kiss the Doctor’s cheek, feeling his skin heat up underneath your lips. “See you later.”

“…See you,” the Doctor echoed, and bent down to kiss your cheek too. He turned on his heel and walked towards the decorations, softly muttering, “Ooh, balloons! Love a good balloon…”

You stared at him for longer than you should have, watching him poke and prod at the balloons lying on the tables. He put his face very close to one and smiled at his reflection in the plastic. Affection welled up in your chest, and a tiny smile slipped onto your face.

“Look at you, you’re smiling at him,” Julianne chimed, sidling up to you and nudging your side. “That’s disgusting.”

“Says the girl who said I needed to get a boyfriend,” you shot back.

The Doctor went still for a little bit and turned to face you, smiled and winked, then went right back to inspecting balloons. Julianne made a strangled noise, and you made one too. So he was doing charm, and you hated to admit that it was absolutely working on you.

“I meant to say disgustingly adorable,” Julianne said. “You’re so lucky.”

You gave him another glance as you walked away to help Denise with the mics – “help with the mics” was apparently code for “I’m going to tease you more about your new boyfriend” which wasn’t helped by the fact that every so often, the Doctor would look in your direction and just smile, which was enough to make you stumble over your own words and give Denise more teasing fodder.

The parents and their kids eventually filed into the canteen and you flipped into Teacher Mode. You stood next to your students, pinched their cheeks and then greeted all of the parents and got everyone ready for the program. (You didn’t notice how the Doctor mirrored you, standing a little far away and watching, a dumb smile on his face.)

Julianne and Denise were the emcees for the family day, big smiles on their faces as they rounded up everyone for the games. At the mere mention of games, the Doctor was back at your side at an instant, his eyes glittering with excitement.

“Please don’t destroy the kids,” you pleaded.

“No promises,” he replied, and then proceeded to destroy the kids in most of the games.

The first game had Julianne call out for whoever could bring an item of her choice to the table – the Doctor, with his coat that was surely bigger on the inside, had no trouble pulling out whatever was asked. Even when Julianne started to test the waters and ask for increasingly insane items, the Doctor just kept going. He jumped in joy like a little kid at the win, bounding up to you and pressing a kiss to your cheek. You’d just blushed and smiled, ignoring the butterflies that were multiplying in your stomach.

The Doctor holding your hand wasn’t new. The Doctor being close to you wasn’t new. The Doctor being affectionate with you wasn’t new. But now it was all under the guise of being your boyfriend. Of course it felt different, but to your surprise and growing horror, it didn’t feel bad.

The Doctor shouting your name snapped you out of your thoughts. He was standing on a piece of newspaper as Denise started to get music ready, waving his arms to beckon you over. His coat was gone, thrown onto a nearby table, and even without it he was dashing.

“I need you over here!” he yelled, still jumping excitedly. His hair bounced up and down with the movement. “I need a partner!”

You let your feet carry you to him, trying to ignore the stares pointed your way. The Doctor took your hand in his and pulled you onto the newspaper.

“Stay close,” the Doctor said. “I’ve got this.”

Loud, thumping music filled the air. The Doctor spun you around and you squealed in surprise, moving your feet clumsily to the music. Suddenly, it stopped, and the Doctor pulled you back onto the newspaper. It was a tight fit, and you had to press yourself against his body to even stay standing. The butterflies in your stomach went crazy at the contact, and once again you tried to ignore that, too.

“What did I say?” the Doctor breathed, his breath tickling your ear, his smile wide and manic. “Let’s dance!”

The paper got smaller and smaller, and the two of you got closer and closer. Sweat started to bead on your forehead, and the Doctor had rolled his sleeves up in the middle of all the chaos. In the end, it was just you and another pair of parents, tiptoeing on their own folded pieces of newspaper.

“I’ve got an idea,” the Doctor said, his voice loud over the music. “When the music stops, jump into my arms.”

“Seriously?!” you shouted, and the Doctor nodded enthusiastically. “You’ve got the balance of a drunk giraffe! You’ll drop me!”

“Do you trust me?” the Doctor asked.

There wasn’t any question. “I do!”

“Then jump!”

The music stopped, and in the split second where the Doctor stepped onto the now-tiny folded newspaper, you ran and leapt. For a moment, it seemed like he wouldn’t be able to catch you at all, and in your mind you could already see it – you crashing into him and sending you both tumbling to the floor.

The Doctor’s arms shot out and caught you. Cheers erupted from everyone in the canteen, and behind you your competitors both lost their balance and fell face-first onto the floor. You wrapped your arms around the Doctor’s neck to steady yourself in his arms, feeling him shake slightly as he kept you aloft.

“We won!” you gasped, still basking in all of the cheering. “As expected from my lovely boyfriend.”

The words left your mouth as easily as breathing. You smiled up at the Doctor, breathless from all of the dancing. His skin shone with sweat, his hair was a mess, and his bowtie was askew, but even that was enough to make you throw all caution to the wind – still in his arms, you pulled him down and kissed him.

Cheers erupted from everyone again, but you could care less. The room could be empty and nothing would have changed. As cliché as it sounded, all the mattered was the feeling of the Doctor’s lips against yours. Your hands found their way into his hair and he melted into your touch, pulling you closer to him.

“You know,” the Doctor breathed as he pulled away, “I don’t want this to be just for a day.”

“Good,” you replied. You leaned up to press a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Because I don’t either.”

#doctor who #doctor who x reader #eleventh doctor x reader #11th doctor x reader #doctor who fanfiction #eleventh doctor fanfiction #oh god i spend too long on the intro for this i'm so sorry

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