#i do suspect there is more beneath the surface...

[grugruel]

Say it Again

Pairings: Cooper Howard x f!reader

NSFW/MDNI

Masterlist

Summary: For a long time, there'd been a quiet, reciding fondness between you and your companion. And when you finally journey back to your old vault, feelings are stirred from the depths and brought to the surface.

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: (mentions of blood, violence, death), angst, pinv sex, passionate sex, strong feelings, "I love you", pet names (darlin', sweetheart, honey), hair pulling (squint and you'll miss it), overstimulation, creampie, praise (both recieving).

AN: Not yet proofread! Let me know what yall think about the music inserts. I figured since its such a big part of the fallout universe, I might aswell ad it in a fic too! Enjoy yall!!

The vault was open. . . It took my mind a few moments to wrap around the idea.

The thought of it being perpetually shut was so hard-wired into my being that I would've thought the gaping door a hallucination had it not been for my own departure a few months prior.

And I knew- I knew it ment nothing good. But perhaps they'd all left–alive, wandering the wasteland in search of better luck–a better life.

♪ Yes, pretending that I'm doing well

A familiar melody rang faint, barely reaching through the howling wind as it sang up a storm of scorching sand, whipping and tearing at my clothes.

In abivalence, I made my way toward the facade. Eyes examining the number 33 written in a bold, weathered font on the hefty external door.

A pang of guilt hit me–maybe I shouldn't have left, maybe I could've prevented whatever happened here. With the inhale of a calming breath, I stepped up to the construction, running the flat of my palm along the beaten but familar metal.

Then, without so much as a single thought of caution, I stepped over the threshold. The safety of a vault- my vault, was too fresh in my mind. That allong with the trust I placed in the hands of my shadow, suspecting his vigilance to be enough for the both of us.

Tracing the cool, grand archway with my fingertips as I entered, feeling the wear of oxidisation on its surface. Such a small detail I'd never payed any mind to before. How aged it was, yet still standing strong. A reminder of its resilience- of its impenetrable metal, planned to withstand outside threats for hundreds of years. And now, there it stood–wide open. The derision of the situation nagged me terribly.

♪ I'm lonely but no one can tell

When no longer veiled by the wind, the song sang clearly, its notes reverberating throughout the metal in a forboding fashion. Setting off a feeling of unease in the pit of my stumache.

While I stood familiarising myself again, I could feel a pair of eyes watching me, observing me. Monitoring my grief-struck and conflict ridden mind with a commiserating gaze. Their constant and reassuring prescence hovering behind me in semblance of a specter, keeping a respectful distance as my mind worked through what might have transpired while I was away.

♪ Oh yes, I'm the great pretender

The volume grew stronger as we made our way inside, my feet moving with slight hesitation as they clanged along the grated flooring.

♪ Adrift in a world of my own ♪

Stepping on the elevator, I steadied myself against the railing, feeling it vibrate beneath my hands with the frequency of the music. Those sweet well-known tunes only growing more and more eerie as we descended, accompanied by that strange constant hum from the bedrock, from the quiet. A white noise that only lived in vast open constructions such as this. Inhabiting the walls, the floor, and open spaces made from metal and stone.

A shiver ran down my spine, I'd never liked the quiet, despite the volume of the music, the quiet resounded. It'd always made to much noise in my mind.

♪ You've seen and you've left me to dream all alone

But when the doors opened to the floor below, a reassuring hand placed itself on the small of my back, amicably giving me a final push when I'd stood too long hesitating.

And it helped, it really did. The eclipsing stillness of the vault and the distorting of the music softened, fading and returning to that of good times–when they'd still existed.

♪ Too real is this feeling of make-believe

But the possibilities of what I might find ahead launched a gruesome assault on my mind. I tried distracting myself–thud, thud, thud. Our dull steps tapped against the floor. A pair of spurs clicking along with the steady rythm, leather groaning. Turns out I could only hear him, and I prefered it that way.

♪ Too real when I feel what my heart can't conceal

It was a better focus then the constant searching for bloodsplatter and unmoving bodies, splayed out on the floor or tucked into a corner, seeking shelter, protection–spurs, leather-

I snapped back, the lyrics echoing in my mind and bouncing of the walls simultaneously, resonating throughout the empty halls as I jumped off of that dark train of thought before it could spiral further. The hands scrunched the fabric of my clothes, silently checking on me, attempting to refocus my mind. On the music, on him, anything was better.

♪ Yes, I'm the great pretender

I followed the words, thinking of the ones before and those to come. I still remember the list of songs. They'd played during weddings and social gatherings. We had them in our houses. I remember dancing in the kitchen, with swaying to the music with those I love. It was one of those moments which you knew you'd remeber forever, which would become a core part of you. Always to be looked back on, and sure enough.

I could't help myself from smiling, such fond memories. In my peripheral, his eyes softened. Still keeping his vigilant watch over my well-being, returning my smile with no intention of ever telling me, unkowing that I had indeed noticed him as he did so.

♪ Yes, just laughing and gay like a clown

But now, as I wandered the abandoned halls of the vault, they were only a tragic reminder of a time gone by–yet, I could see no bodies, no evidence of a fight or struggle–relief flooded through me. However, I still didn't dare make my way down to the compost section, I'd walked that path to many times on my last day here.

♪ I seem to be, what I'm not, you see

The hand angainst my back brushed my clothed skin with a thumb, circling a vertebra, moving to squeeze my arm as it then fell back to his side. The loss of his touch was dissapointing, but the closeness of his body made up for it.

We took a turn, away from the chance of decaying bodies and toward the fields of crop. I wanted to see it one last time, remember that last wedding–the good times, before I left and the place had become this, before it was reduced to a graveyard of memories.

♪ And I'm wearing my heart like a crown

I found my eyes wandering as we walked, constantly sliding to the man beside me. An aching arose in my heart, the two of us could've been something real sweet. Something true, something strong. If only we had the freedom of chance and opportunity. But as it were, we simply coexist, solely striving to survive in a world swallowed up by nuclear waste and feral brutality. I don't know what I would've done without him, it was a long road for us to grow this close–we didn't get along too well when we first met.

♪ Oh yes, I'm pretending and praying that you're still around

The music tunes out, fading into quiet nothing, like dust particles leaving rays of light–simply seizing to exist. I felt the comparison too familiar for my liking, turns out anything is just a methapor for something else.

After waiting patiently and biding it's time, that strange hum takes up again. Making me wish he'd hold me steady, a d let the drumming of his heart be the only thing I hear. A wish that frequented my mind a lot as of late.

It's interesting how much you learn about yourself and the world when leaving the safety of your vault. The most ironic thing–radiation, and the fact that its the least to be worried about on the surface, the real danger being what dwells in the midst of it. Creatures–beasts, savages and monsters. The rad mutated animals are nothing compared to the barabarians that the human species have become, I really had no idea what stripping someone of their basic needs and a guaranteed future could do to a person before I entered the wasteland. And now, I cant help but marvel at the fact that only a few have resorted to eating eachother and worshipping radiation.

Dog-eat-dog is an old expression that comes to mind. Apparently it was used way before all of this befell us, and I can't help but imagine how bad we could've been back then to create such a phrase in a law-abiding society. But they were the poeple to destroy the world and we to rebuild it, so perhaps its not that strange after all.

Either way, I don't remember it personally. I wasn't alive back then, but it was told to me by someone who was.

The next song started up, the sorrowful tune keeping the deafening white noise at bay, and as I had predicted the list, it was my favorite to be played.

♪ There's a place where lovers go

To cry their troubles away ♪

The tape, surely damaged–played a slower version than I remembered, but it was all the same to me as I let it envelop me in a veil of comfort before finally laying eyes on what we'd come here for–corn. I felt their green stems beneath my fingers as I walked along the field, it was a miracle they were even alive and surviving whatever hardships they'd encountered. Another metaphor.

There came a rustling behind me, my companion doing the same as I had. A scarred hand reaching out to slide his fingers through the crop, keeping a stunned expression on his face, the corners of his lips curling upward.

♪ And they call it Lonesome Town

Where all the broken hearts stay ♪

It must've been a long time for him since feeling something living like this. Much, much longer than it had for me. And I'd just taken it all for granted.

Keeping our pace, we followed the path through the crops until fianlly, the familiarity of a huge wall welcomed me home.

Surrounding me was a vast sky with millions of stars and endlessly stretching mountains, following a path so distant I could not spot the end, all the while the high moon cast silvery blue light upon the world. A projection of the Nebraskan countryside. I used to stare at it for hours, dreaming myself away to a place that no longer existed. 'Did it really look like this? The world- I mean.' I hatched out of me.

♪ You can buy a dream or two

To last you all through the years ♪

'It sure did.' My companion turned to face me, choosing a lesser view over the pretty one before him. He was a mere arms-length away. 'It could be real beautiful.' He said, his eyes roaming my face.

♪ And the only price you pay

Is a heart full of tears ♪

He was a brute, that is true. He was the outcome of living through literal hell, but he'd fared quite well through it all in my opinion. He had his humanity left, which is more than I can say for the majority of the population. Charming and quick-witted, dangerous and cold. He'd seen who we were and what we had become, it's no wonder he acted the way he did. But it was all the same to me, he was strong and handsome, he could even by kind-hearted at times, and I loved him through it all.

♪ Goin' down to Lonesome Town

To cry my troubles away ♪

The implication made me blush, and shy away from his eager eyes while I averted my own, leading them back to the contryside. 'I wish I could've seen it.' I tried to focus, studying the sight meticulously, jotting down every detail in my mind. I hadn't had time the last time I was here- not to dwell. Too late now it seemed, the memory resurfacing with a passion as my eyes drifted over the scorching cloud in the sky, burned into the irreplaceable film. My lips drew into a thin line as I swallowed, it was reality, it was life. But it didn't stop my stumache from churning, the stench of wet metal revisiting my nose.

♪ Goin' down to Lonesome Town

To cry my troubles away ♪

A scarred hand reached up to brush strands of hair from my face, again, distracting me mercifully. Rough knuckles gently sliding over my cheek and the neighing of my jaw. 'I wish you could too.' He grasped my chin between this thumb and index finger, tilting my face upwards, our gazes meeting eachother.

♪ In a Town of broken dreams

The streets are filled with regret ♪

I leaned into his touch, for it was rare. Rare that he allowed himself simple pleasures such as touching me, even though I would willingly give myself to him at a moments whim. 'I love you.' I whispered. 'Please, please let me.'

♪ Maybe down in Lonesome Town

I can learn to forget ♪

The music glitched, the sound warping spookily as the needle scratched and jumped the groves in the needle. Shutting off for a second and then coming back on, restarting the song.

He shook his head, eyes uncharacteristically soft as met mine. Uncharacteristic to anyone but me. 'I can't feel ya', sweetheart.' He reclaimed his hand and took a step back, squeezing it into a fist, frustration shaking it as he cursed himself. The music tuned out, and all I see was the blue light contrasting his red-burnt skin, enforcing its texture as shadows settled in the contours and the pale silver on his high points. All I could hear were his words, the frustration and insufficiencies hinding in his tone, mirroring my own. 'Can't feel your fuckin' softness, cant feel your skin.'

'You can–' I followed his movement, gaining on the distance he'd created between us. '–it might not be ideal, but it's us.' I slid my fingers along his clothed arm, grabbing his coarse hand.

'I'm here, not perfect, and that's what you can feel. Imperfection. . . It's something that belongs to us.' I gave him a faint smile, doing my best to reassure him. To truly make him understand.

'I dont deserve you.' He leaned his forehead against mine, his cowboy hat sliding up his head as he did so.

It was my turn to shake my head now. 'Oh, but if you only knew what you desvered.' My voice broke, eyes watering. 'The world, coop. You've been through so much, you survived the bombs dropping for fucks sake, and the following 200 years after that. What you did during those years was for your own survival, please do not ever feel bad about any of it.' The silence that ensued became too long, too deafening. 'I wish you could see yourself through my eyes, so beautiful in your own right.' A tear fell down my cheek.

'I dont feel bad 'bout it sweetheart, thats the problem. I aint any of that, 'm a selfish killer. There's nothin' left of who I were–the good part. . .' his hand slid down my arms, squeezing my biceps to emphasize. '. . .what little good there was, it died a long time ago.' His drawl thick as he spoke, kissing my forehead. 'You can do better, 'n I cant allow those precious years of yours to go to waste on somethin' like me.' He wrapped his arms around me, placing one hand on the back of my head, cradeling it to his chest as he pulled me close, resting his chin on top of my head. The wetness of my cheeks transfering to his shirt. 'Don't cry, sweetheart. Dont cry 'cause of me.' He kissed my forehead again, working his way downward–cheekbone, jaw and finally–my lips.

His hands slid down the outline of my body, shoulders and ribs, then settled on my waist. He pulled me closer, deepening the kiss in the same motion.

♪ Maybe down in Lonesome Town

I allowed him to kiss me for too long, I allowed him to believe his own words for too long. I pulled free, tearing away to breathe, to lock my eyes on his. 'I dont want who you were, dont you understand?' I cup his face, truly feeling him beneath my fingers, and loving every bump and dent. 'I want who you are now, scars and all. It's not for you to allow me anything. Get that in your head.' My voice had gone harsh, and even though he needed to hear it with all the conviction I muster, I added 'Please. . .' As softly as I could.

♪ I can learn to forget

The last notes of the song died out.

He shook his head as a small, breathless, humorless chuckle erupted from his lips. '. . .I love you too. . .'

♪ Only you

The next song started, the voice vibrating through his bones. A song he'd danced to when it was first released, twirling a life that no longer existed in his arms. He closed his eyes, humming along to the tune as he embraced the memory, arms wrapping tightly around its waist, hugging it lovingly one last time. Then let go.

♪ Can do, make this world seem right

He mouthed the words as he opened his eyes, finding her sweet face looking up at him, his pretty girl. It'd taken him more than he wished to admit, to say those three words. How such meak and fruitless words had cause him so much turmoil, he didn't know.

♪ Only you

Because when he looked at her now–stars projecting in her glimmering eyes, the wetness of tears remaining on her cheeks, anf with the backdrop of a countryside from a bygona era–the prevailing feeling was grief, a mourning over the precious time wasted, time he could've spent in admitant love with her. Holding her, kissing her, loving her. Things he just hadn't allowed himself to concede to, to fall slave under it. To truly feel it from the bottom of his heart–instead, reciding in the pit of it, in some dark, tucked away corner, was the feeling of being lesser and undeserving of her softness, her own kind heart.

♪ Can do, make the darkness bright

'Come.' She said, a faint smile on her lips as she grabbed his hand, pulling him with her. Away from the corn, away from Nebraska. He followed her willingly, blindly trusting her as she pulled him to wherever. He didn't care, as long as he was with her.

♪ Only you and you alone

The music grew fainter, devolving into a sweet hum, a lullig as the distance of the speakers tossed the sound boucing after them, echoing along the vaults longevous walls while they moved through them.

He turned her hand over as they walked, observing it quietly as he rubbed gentle circles into the plush skin of her hand, admiring what softness he could feel, his distorted hands dulling the sense unbareably.

♪ Can thrill me like you do

But it didnt matter in the end. Imperfection is what she'd said, and it belonged to them. His heart ached, eyes drifting over the small form leading him. The way her hair swayed and body moved, he could feel himself harden. Guilting himself. It was love for a woman, a family, that had once driven him to survive- with that life now long gone, it was that beautiful girl infrontnof him that kept him going.

♪ And fill my heart with only love for you

They passed several doors with accompanying mailboxes, until she slowed and halted her steps so suddenly, she almost collided with his chest. Her form stood frozen, contemplating, just as she'd done when they first entered the vault.

A scorched finger rose up to stroke her cheek. 'You alright, sweetheart?'

♪ Oh, only you

'Mhm. . .' She hummed. 'One moment.' And whipped around to face him, opening his saddlebag to rummage through it.

Unsuspectingly, a blush crept it's way up her cheeks, seemingly caused by the intent gaze he focused so tightly on her.

♪ Can do, make all this change in me

They'd just kissed, professed their love. Yet, it was his closeness, his warm breath against her that made her blush. He'd never want to be anywhere else. His gaze wandered, studying the home they stood infront of. Eyes landing on a mailbox, he read the full name aloud with a loving smile on his lips.

'I like the way it sounds when you say it.' She whispered, a coy smile on her lips. Suddenly- her eyes widened, finding what she'd been looking for, she pulled the object out of the bag, holding it up for him to see. An old pipboy.

"Welcome" it read, and as she turned one of the kogs, the door to the house opened.

♪ For its true

It was exactly the way I remembered it, not a detail out of place–rather an added layer of dust coating every surface of the place.

I ran a finger along the top of my scratched desk, gathering a pillow of dust on top of it. And then I saw it, standing lonely and abandoned–my old radio. Glee filled me as I turned it on, reflecting the song that was already playing outside. Filling my little house with soft waves of sweet tunes, all thr while weighing my heart terribly. Strong nostalgia splitting me in two. 'I used to love dancing.' The words left my lips in a soft murmur. 'Some of my favorite memories are from this kitchen, and now. . .' My voice broke. Inspected the dust and rubbed it between my fingers, observing how it crumbled to the floor. Perhaps another meatphor–how I myself am responsible for my old life crumbling.

♪ You are my destiny

A pair of hands found my waist, a chin coming to rest on my shoulder. He pulled me close, my back thudding against a strong chest. 'Its alright. . .' He breathed against my neck. 'We can make new ones.' Kissing my skin softly as he began moving with the music.

♪ When you hold my hand

My lips curled into a smile as I declined my head against his chest, snaking my hand behind his neck as the other fell on top of his hand, squeezing it with gratefulness. 'Thank you.' I whispered.

♪ I understand the magic that you do

He twirled me around, luring a giggle to erupt. He caught and pulled me close again, this time face to face. His eyes were still so clear, such a stark contrast to his muddled skin.

♪ You're my dream come true

The lyrics seemed to speak for us as my fingers interlocked behind his neck, my thumbs brushing his jaw. While his hands squeezed my sides, exhaling a long breath as we swayed, his eyes intently searching mine. 'I love you, sweetheart.'

♪ My dream come true

Without hesitation, my lips met his. 'Then prove it to me Coop. . .' Coyness tugged on my lips, my hands sliding to the buttons of his vest, '. . . Let me feel it.'

♪ Oh-oh, only you

He grinned against my lips. 'Anyhtin' for my girl.' And his hands wrapped around mine, helping them unbutton his clothes, skiding them off of him. Barechested as he was, he twirled me again. Back to chest, he whispered in my ear, 'Your turn, darlin'.'

♪ Can do, make all this change in me

Gladly, with my hands still guided by his touch, I brushed them along my torso, undoing every button of my shirt as I did so and slid it off my shoulders, my bra coming off next. He cupped them eagerly, a groan leaving his lips as he massaged them. Ingiting a pulse deep in my uterus. The music seemed to tune out off my mind, selective hearing I suppose.

Moaning in response, I could feel him harden as he pressed his hips into my ass. 'Need to feel it.'

'Undress.' Was all he said, removing his own clothes as I did mine.

A short moment later, he had my back pinned against a wall and my legs wrapped around his hips as he held me up with a firm arm around my waist–the other busy lining himself up with my core.

Suddenly- he pushed inside, leaving me as a whimpering mess. 'Good girl, sweetheart. . .' He whispered, doing nothing to ease the aching matter. '. . .sound so pretty for me.'

And without warning, he pulled out, and thrusted back into me again with full force. 'Mmh- Fuck!' I cried out. But his lips were on mine before I could fully register how big he was. Again and again, he trusted right into my core. His tongue fighting for control as it battled my own. My body was aching with a burning want for him, a need so strong I already felt myself closing in on my orgasm. '. . .'M gonna cum, Coop. Slow down, p- please. I stuttered the words, strained breaths dividing the sentence.

'Its ok sweetheart, you're doin' so well.' He reassured me, then took my words as a direct command and pushed us off the wall, walked over to the bed and threw us onto it with a cloud of dust kicking up around us.

Obiding my request, he backed up, hooked my legs over his shoulders and re-entered me with a shuddering moan. The feeling of my core effecting him as badly as his member effected me. With one hand burried in my hair, the other palmed a breast while his lips found my neck, gently taking my skin between his teeth as he pushed so deep inside me I almost screamed, but managed to bite my lip to keep quiet. That's when I felt him shake his head against me. 'Don't go all quiet, let me hear ya', honey.'

And so I did, releasing a string of curses disguised as moans while I wrapped my arms around his neck, placing kisses on his cheek while nuzzling my face against him. But I felt that blinding pressure building again, slower this time, but with an unrelenting force.

His warm breaths against my neck accompanied by the feeling of him inside me and the slick sound we created had my head swimming. It was too much, too fast. But this time, I wanted it. '. . .'M close Coop.' I whimpered.

'Me too, honey. Real fuckin' close.' He panted, voiced muffled as he kissed and sucked at my neck, hands fisting my hair and squeezing my breast. His thrusts began faltering as we both approached climax. 'Fuck, feel so good.' He cursed, groaning the words in my ear as our bodies rocked together, moving in sync. I was aflame, the pulsing in my body acting the accessory to his own members pulsing inside me. My eyes screwed shut, he felt so fucking good it was a simple reflex.

He kissed his way along my throat, pulling on my hair to angle my jaw for him, his lips trailing along it's sharps points, then up my cheek, settling in my lips. 'Look at me.' He breathed.

I wanted to listen to him, but my eyes did not. The pleasure was to much, the wall inside me so near collapsing-

'Look at me, sweetheart.' He ordered again, his voice sharper this time.

Having no other option I forced myself to open them. But it was worth it, listening to Cooper always was.

'Good girl.' He praised, his lips colliding with mine. And that wall burst, his words being the final battering ram. Tidal waves of pleasure rolled through me, roiling like crashing waves inside me. 'Love you, sweetheart.' He moaned.

No words would ever spur me on like those ones did, my uterus was quaking with every act of him. 'Say it again.' I pleaded.

'I love you' he whimpered. . . Whimpered. Strong and dangerous as he was, he whimpered as he came inside me. His rocking thrust strained as he continuing rutting into me, doing his best to lead us through our orgasms.

'Good boy, Coop. Again. . . Please.' I begged.

And he listened, repeating the words "I love you" against my lips, his voice pitching and breaking from the sheer pleasure he was submitted to. And when moving to softly nip at my ear, he whimpered those same three words in my ear over and over again until I felt a wetness on my cheeks–tears, I realised. He was overstimulating himself, crying as he made love to me. 'Fuck-' he shuddered the word, the slickness he'd created only coaxing more sounds out of him. 'Love you real fuckin' hard, darlin'. . .' He cried again. And I could've reached a second orgasm from that alone.

'I love you too Coop, love you so much. Youre so good to me.' I reassured him, my own voice near a cry as he was putting me through the ringer in the process. Finally, he began slowing down, his entire body shuddering from the way my insides clenched around him, milking the juies out of him. He kissed me one final time, then pulled out and collapsed beside me.

I had to take a moment to collect myself before turning to face him, my hand reaching up to brush the wetness from his cheeks.

His eyes met mine, both full of unconditional love. We laid like that for some time, loosing ourselves in eachothers gazes as we regarded one another in silent contemplation. All the while I could feel his seed leaking out of my core. 'You're a good man, Cooper Howard.' I whispered.

'I do what I can to deserve ya', sweetheart. The day I'm anythin' else but good to you-' He began. But I stopped him, not wanting his thoughts to walk down that road.

'You'll never be anything but good, Coop.' I inclined my head, kissing him softly before I nuzzled my head into the crook of his neck. 'Don't forget it.' My voice a murmur against his strong neck as I slowly drifted off to sleep within the safety of his embrace.

♪ We'll meet again

Hand in hand, our gazes stay on the halls infront of us as we walk back the way we came.

♪ Don't know where, don't know when

My eyes were on the sand as we left, attempting to distract myself by studying the way the the kernels dent beneath my weight. But with a deep breath, I stop and raise my pip-boy clad arm, looking back toward the falling night, toward the empty timecapsule.

♪ But I know We'll meet some sunny day

The words once again faint as they stab through the howling wind. I turn a kog on the pip-boy, and the vault door rolls into motion. The world around us painted in red-pinkish hues as the door's mechanics shut in the echoing vocals completley, the entrance closing with a heavy, reverberating grating sound.

I can feel my heart thudding hard, beating with a sadness and re found happiness. Revisiting my old home had given me melancholy and a new love. 'You coming?' The voice was soft, considering–unwilling to leave my mind wandering through old, lonely thoughts.

'Let's go.' I murmured, my eyes still on the weathered number 33 as the wind whipped at my cheeks.

'Look at me, sweetheart.' my love drawled, gathering my attention, and I redirect my gaze to his. 'We'll come back.'

I nod. 'We will.' A faint smile make its way to my lips as I stood on my toes to place a kiss on his lips.

Then, with his hand in mine, we wandered the wasteland. Searching for better luck–a better life.

#fallout #fallout imagine #fallout smut #fallout fanfic #cooper howard smut #cooper howard #cooper howard x you #cooper howard x female reader #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard fanfic #cooper howard imagine #the ghoul smut #fallout x reader #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul fanfic #the ghoul imagine

[pikahlua]

MHA Chapter 395 spoilers translations

This week’s initial tentative super rough/literal translations under the cut.

tagline 1 No.395 幸せの上に　　堀越耕平 ナンバー395 しあわせのうえに　　ほりこしこうへい NANBAA 395 shiawase no ue ni   Horikoshi Kouhei No. 395 Above happiness  Kouhei Horikoshi (Note: There are many ways to potentially translate this title. “Ue” means top, above, beyond, before, regarding, because of, and many other similar things. I take this title to either mean there’s something more important than the speaker’s happiness or the speaker is doing something because of their happiness.)

tagline 2 トゥワイスが消え… トゥワイスがきえ… TUWAISU ga kie... The Twices vanish...

1 だよな… da yo na... “That’s right...”

2 分倍河原は……いいやつだったもんな… ぶばいがわらは……いいやつだったもんな… Bubaigawara wa......ii yatsu datta mon na... “Bubaigawara...was a good guy...”

3 トガヒミコ… TOGA HIMIKO... “Toga Himiko...”

4 好きなものになりたくて握った筈のナイフを すきなものになりたくてにぎったはずのナイフを suki na mono ni naritakute nigitta hazu no NAIFU wo The knife I should have gripped because I wanted to become someone I like

5 怒りと憎しみで握っていました。 いかりとにくしみでにぎっていました。 ikari to nikushimi de nigitte imashita. I gripped with rage and hatred.

1-2 私が生きやすい世界にする為に わたしがいきやすいせかいにするために watashi ga iki yasui sekai ni suru tame ni For the sake of making a world easy for me to live in

1 今になって"個性"を伴った「変身」の負担が いまになって"こせい"をともなった「へんしん」のふたんが ima ni natte “kosei” wo tomonatta 「henshin」 no butan ga The burden of Transform now after the accompanying [other] quirks...

2 痛い いたい itai “It hurts.”

3 "伝わるゼロ・グラビティ"の "つたわるゼロ・グラビティ"の “tsutawaru  ZERO GURABITI” no “The transmitted Zero Gravity is”

4 巻き添えになったヒーロー達も軟着地させてる… まきぞえになったヒーローたちもなんちゃくちさせてる… makizoe ni natta HIIROO-tachi mo nanchakuchi saseteru... “letting even the heroes who became involved land softly...”

5 人を介した分解除も緩やかに進行するのね… ひとをかいしたぶんかいじょもゆるやかにしんこうするのね… hito wo kai shita bun kaijo mo yuruyaka ni shinkou suru no ne... “Even your Release is progressing gently out of concern for people, huh...”

6 お茶子ちゃん… おちゃこちゃん… Ochako-chan... “Ochako-chan...”

7 結局 けっきょく kekkyoku “In the end,”

8 どこまでいっても落としたりはしないのね どこまでいってもおとしたりはしないのね doko made ittemo otoshitari wa shinai no ne “no matter what you do, you won’t drop anyone.” (Note: This is the same phrasing as the line about Izuku being a nerd no matter what in chapter 348. Literally, the first part of the phrase means “no matter where you go,” but the idiom in English would translate to “no matter what you do.”)

9 寒い…血が出すぎた　頭と体がつながってないみたいに…全く動けない… さむい…ちがですぎた　あたまとからだがつながってないみたいに…まったくうごけない… samui...chi ga de sugita   atama to karada ga tsunagattenai mitai ni...mattaku ugokenai... I’m cold...I bled too much. It’s like my head and body aren’t connected...I can’t move at all...

10 動かなきゃいけないのに…！まだ…！ うごかなきゃいけないのに…！まだ…！ ugokanakya ikenai noni...! mada...! But I have to move...! I still...!

1 血なんて一生くれてやる ちなんていっしょうくれてやる chi nante isshou kurete yaru I’ll give you my blood for the rest of my life!

2 …カァイイ？ ...KAAII? ...I’m cute?

3-4 あなたの笑顔が素敵だと伝えなきゃと思ったの あなたのえがおがすてきだとつたえなきゃとおもったの anata no egao ga suteki da to tsutaenakya to omotta no I thought I must tell you that your smile is lovely.

5 世界一 せかいいち sekai ichi The cutest in the world.

(Note: The sound effects are of Ochako gasping for air and her teeth chattering from cold.)

1 致死量の血が出てる ちしりょうのちがでてる chishiryou no chi ga deteru “You’re losing a lethal amount of blood.”

2 私が刺した後もあれだけ動いてたから… わたしがさしたあともあれだけうごいてたから… watashi ga sashita ato mo are dake ugoiteta kara... “Because you were still moving that much even after I stabbed you...”

3 お茶子ちゃん おちゃこちゃん Ochako-chan “Ochako-chan,”

4 敵連合は ヴィランれんごうは VIRAN rengou wa “the League of Villains

5 全部ぶっ壊すの ぜんぶぶっこわすの zenbu bukkowasu no “will smash everything,

6 壊れた先にあるのは こわれたさきにあるのは kowareta saki ni aru no wa “What lies beyond the destruction is”

7 きっと… kitto... “surely...”

8 私が生きやすい世界 わたしがいきやすいせかい watashi ga iki yasui sekai “a world where I can live easily.”

(Note: There’s a sound effect “chiu” present for Himiko sucking up Ochako’s blood.)

1 でも demo “But”

2 お茶子ちゃんが言ってくれた事嬉しかった おちゃこちゃんがゆってくれたことうれしかった Ochako-chan ga yutte kureta koto ureshikatta “I was happy about what you told me, Ochako-chan.”

3 生存競争って私言ったけど… せいぞんきょうそうってわたしゆったけど… seizon kyousou tte watashi yutta kedo... “I said this was a competition for survival, but...”

4 お茶子ちゃんがいなくなるの"だけ"は おちゃこちゃんがいなくなるの"だけ"は Ochako-chan ga inakunaru no “dake” wa “That only Ochako-chan will go away,”

5 やっぱり嫌 やっぱりや yappari ya “I absolutely hate it.” (Note: To be clear, I think she’s saying that despite this being a competition for survival, she hates this result where only Ochako is the one who dies.)

1-3 この気持ちは本当だから このきもちはほんとうだから kono kimochi wa hontou dakara “Because this feeling is genuine,”

3-4 私の血全部あげる わたしのちぜんぶあげる watashi no chi zenbu ageru “I will give all my blood to you.”

1 ーー…暖かい ーー…あたたかい --...atatakai --...warm

2 でも…ダメだ…！そんなことしたら demo...DAME da...! sonna koto shitara But...you can’t...! If you do something like that...

3 前に死にかけた時 まえにしにかけたとき mae ni shi ni kakata toki “Before, when I almost died,

4 仁くんがこうやって助けてくれた じんくんがこうやってたすけてくれた Jin-kun ga kou yatte tsukete kureta “Jin-kun helped me like this.”

5 仁くんの"個性"はもう無いから私がお茶子ちゃんになる じんくんの"こせい"はもうないからわたしがおちゃこちゃんになる Jin-kun no “kosei” wa mou nai kara watashi ga Ochako-chan ni naru “Since Jin-kun’s quirk is gone, I will become Ochako-chan.”

6 他者の"個性"が使える以上血もその人そのものになる ひとの"こせい"がつかえるいじょうちもそのひとそのものになる hito (kanji: tasha) no “kosei” ga tsukaeru ijou chi mo sono hito sono mono ni naru “Even more than being able to use someone else’s quirk, my blood will become [the same as] that person’s blood.”

7 ダ… DA... “You...”

8 メ… ME... “can’t...”

9 ……捕まえたら… ……つかまえたら… ......tsukamaetara... “......If you caught me...”

10 私が死ぬまで血を届けに会いに来るつもりだったの？ わたしがしぬまでちをとどけにあいにくるつもりだったの？ watashi ga shinu made chi wo todoke ni ai ni kuru tsumori datta no? “were you planning to come visit me to deliver your blood until I died?”

small text 傷口閉じるよ きずぐちとじるよ kuzuguchi tojiru yo “I’ll close the gash.”

11 お茶子ちゃんは…ただ"敵"を捕まえるだけでよかったのに おちゃこちゃんは…ただ"ヴィラン"をつかまえるだけでよかったのに Ochako-chan wa...tada “VIRAN” wo tsukamaeru dake de yokatta noni “Ochako-chan, even though it would have been fine to just capture the villain,”

12 ただ異常者を排除するだけでよかったのに ただいじょうしゃをはいじょするだけでよかったのに tada ijousha wo haijo suru dake de yokatta noni “even though it would have been fine to just eliminate the the freak,”

13 ヒーローらしく正しい事をするだけでよかったのに ヒーローらしくただしいことをするだけでよかったのに HIIROO rashiku tadashii koto wo suru dake de yokatta noni “even though it would have been fine to just do the correct thing like a hero would,”

1 なのにさ nanoni sa “even so,”

2 なのに余計な事"考えて"… なのによけいなこと"かんがえて"… nanoni yokei na koto “kangaete”... “you nevertheless think about unnecessary things...”

3-4 お友だちいっぱい傷つけて刺してきた相手をさ… おともだちいっぱいきずつけてさしてきたあいてをさ… otomodachi ippai kizutsukete sashite kita aite wo sa... “about the person who hurt and stabbed so many of your friends...”

5 変だね へんだね hen da ne “that’s weird,”

6 お茶子ちゃん おちゃこちゃん Ochako-chan “Ochako-chan.”

7 あな…た…こそ…！ ana...ta...koso...! “You...are...!” (Note: This is a phrase that essentially means “Speak for yourself!”)

8 こんな…！ konna...! “Something like this...!”

9 私は"好き"に生きるの わたしは"すき"にいきるの watashi wa “suki” ni ikiru no “I like how I ‘like’.”

10 だから捕まってあげられない だからつかまってあげられない dakara tsukamatte agerarenai “That’s why I won’t let [anyone] capture me.”

11 お茶子ちゃんの「捕まえる」と一緒…でも おちゃこちゃんの「つかまえる」といっしょ…でも Ochako-chan no 「tsukamaeru」 to issho...demo “That includes your [version of] capture, Ochako-chan...but”

12 刺してごめんね さしてごめんね sashite gomen ne “I’m sorry for stabbing you.”

13 怒鳴ってごめんね どなってごめんね donatte gomen ne “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

14 本当よ ほんとうよ hontou yo “Really.”

1 …燈矢くんが …とうやくんが ...Touya-kun ga “...Touya-kun”

2 お家燃やしてくれたんだ おうちもやしてくれたんだ ouchi moyashite kuretanda “set my home on fire for me.”

3 嫌な事が詰まった普通のお家 いやなことがつまったふつうのおうち iya na koto ga tsumatta futsuu no ouchi “My ordinary home full of horrible things.”

4 なかった事にしてくれたの なかったことにしてくれたの nakatta koto ni shite kureta no “He let me pretend like nothing ever happened.”

5 嬉しかった うれしかった ureshikatta “I was happy.”

6 でも…なくなっても心には残るの でも…なくなってもこころにはのこるの demo...nakunattemo kokoro ni wa nokoru no “But...even if it’s gone, it will remain in my heart.”

7 お茶子ちゃんはなかった事にしなかった おちゃこちゃんはなかったことにしなかった Ochako-chan wa nakatta koto ni shinakatta “Ochako-chan, you didn’t pretend like nothing ever happened.”

8 それは痛くて辛いけど それはいたくてつらいけど sore wa itakute tsurai kedo “That was painful and harsh, but”

9 触れられた時ーーー ふれられたときーーー furerareta toki--- “when you touched me---”

10 心がワクッて こころがワクッて kokoro ga WAKU tte “my heart got excited”

11 戦いは避けられなくても たたかいはさけられなくても tatakai wa sakerarenakutemo Even if this battle is unavoidable,

12 その奥にあるものを無視はしたくない そのおくにあるものをむしはしたくない sono oku ni aru mono wo mushi wa shitakunai I don’t want to ignore what’s behind it.

13 軽くなったから かるくなったから karukunatta kara “because you made it lighter.”

1 あり���とうねえお茶子ちゃん ありがとうねえおちゃこちゃん arigatou nee Ochako-chan “Thank you, Ochako-chan.”

2 嬉しかったよ うれしかったよ ureshikatta yo “I was happy.”

3 本当に嬉しかったのお茶子ちゃん ほんとうにうれしかったのおちゃこちゃん hontou ni ureshikatta no Ochako-chan “I was really happy, Ochako-chan.”

4 その人そのものになりたくて そのひとそのものになりたくて sono hito sono mono ni naritakute I wanted to become many people,

5-6 羨ましくて愛しくて血を飲み干してきた うらやましくていとしくてちをのみほしてきた urayamashikute itoshikute chi wo nomihoshite kita so I drank up the blood of those I envied, those I cherished.

1-3 ヒミ…コ…ちゃ… HIMI...KO...cha... “Himi...ko...-cha...”

4-5 はぁい haai “Ye-...ep!”

6 もしも moshimo If only

7 もっと早くに識れたなら もっとはやくにしれたなら motto hayaku ni shireta nara I had figured it out sooner,

8 血を飲み干したくなるのと同じくらい ちをのみほしたくなるのとおなじくらい chi wo nomihoshitaku naru no to onaji kurai then as much as I want to drink up the blood,

9 血をあげたくなるような ちをあげたくなるような chi wo agetaku naru you na it would have made me want to give blood.

10-11 そんな"好き"に出会えていたら そんな"すき"にであえていたら sonna “suki” ni deaete itara If I was able to meet [someone I] ‘liked’ like that,

12 世界はもっと生きやすかったかな せかいはもっといきやすかったかな sekai wa motto iki yasukatta ka na I wonder if the world would have been easier to live in.

1 それでも soredemo Nevertheless,

tagline 想い伝えて… おもいつたえて… omoi tsutaete... Conveying thoughts...

2 私はトガヒミコ わたしはトガヒミコ watashi wa TOGA HIMIKO I am Himiko Toga.

3 好きに生きて好きに生きた すきにいきてすきにいきた suki ni ikite suki ni ikita I live the way I like. I lived the way I liked.

4 世界一笑顔がカァイイ せかいいちえがおがカァイイ sekai ichi egao ga KAAII My smile is the cutest in the world.

5 普通の女の子！ ふつうのおんなのこ！ futsuu no onna no ko! I’m an ordinary girl!

#my hero academia leak translations #mha 395 #bnha 395 #my hero academia manga spoilers #final showdown spoilers #ochako uraraka #himiko toga #such a feels-heavy chapter #but even so #i do suspect there is more beneath the surface...

[springtyme]

heyy love, could you do an aaron hotchner x fem bau reader where they dated in secretly for a while but then he broke up with her. the reason he broke up with her is because he is her boss and that always was something that made him feel doubtful about their relationship. it’s up to you if you want to end it with an happy ending.

thank youu

𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐀𝐭 𝐌𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 ♡

Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader || Main masterlist || Spotify

Thank you so much for the request, dear anon! Such a lovely one and I was so happy to write for Hotch! mwah <3

summary: You suspect that you've been in love with Aaron Hotchner since you first laid eyes on him three years ago. Now you're on your way to Idaho to go on your first case together since he broke your heart two weeks ago.

word count: 4.5k

warnings/tags: Angst and fluff. Boss/employee relationship. Hurt/comfort. Heartbreak. Kissing. Sharing a bed. (first time I write for Hotch, so please bear with me) Haven't proof read yet. I don't know if I really like how it ended up tbh, but maybe it's just because I was really tired while writing it..?

You keep your gaze on the pages of the book, despite the words keep blurring together and after having read the same paragraph four times over, without even having registered what you have read. You’ve given up on actually getting any reading done, but you don’t want anyone talking to you right now and you still have almost four hours left before you land in Idaho. So you keep eyes glued to the book, hoping that the act of pretending to read will deter any unwanted conversation.     

You can feel his eyes on you, not all the time, but you feel how his gaze occasionally lingers on you. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but you sense his presence nonetheless.  

Taking in a deep breath you look up from the book to steal a glance in his direction, catching his eye for a brief moment before he looks away. There’s a flicker of something in his expression, a hint of longing that mirrors your own. But just as quickly as it appeared, it’s gone, replaced by the stoic mask he wears so well as he continues his conversation with Derek. 

The last two weeks have been painful, filled with a whirlwind of emotions and unanswered questions since Aaron had ended your relationship, before it even had a chance to really begin. It’s been three years since you joined the BAU and from the very beginning you had felt drawn to Aaron Hotchner in a way that defied logic and reason, like there was a connection between you that transcended the professional boundaries of boss and subordinate. 

A silly crush is what it had started as, but the more you got to know him, the more you realized that what you felt was far more than just that. It was a deep, undeniable attraction, a connection that went beyond the surface level. And as time passed, that initial spark grew into something more profound, something that stirred your soul and filled your heart with warmth. 

Sometimes you had let yourself hope that he felt the same way, that the moments of shared glances and unspoken words between you held a deeper meaning, but you had never dared act on it, or let yourself get your hopes up too high. The reality of Aaron’s position as your boss and the boundaries it imposed had always stood as a barrier. The unspoken rules of professionalism, the fear of risking his or your career and the harmony of the team had kept your feelings hidden, buried beneath layers of duty and obligation. 

It was three months ago that things had changed between you. It had been a moment of vulnerability, a shared confession during a late-night conversation with the raw emotions of the aftermath of an exceptionally harrowing case that had laid bare the depths of your emotions, and the longing that had simmered beneath the surface for so long had reached a point of no return. 

He had kissed you that night and it was sweet and tender, yet charged with unspoken desire and desperation. It was a moment of surrender, a brief glimpse into a world where the barriers between you could be broken down and the feelings you had both been suppressing could be allowed to flourish. 

The next couple months had been a whirlwind of stolen moments and whispered confessions, each one deepening the bond between you in ways that words could never fully capture. There were secret meetings in secluded corners of the BAU office, stolen kisses in the quiet of the night, and shared glances that spoke volumes without a single word being uttered.

But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, a shadow began to loom over your newfound connection. Aaron had started to act distant and reserved, his once warm and affectionate demeanor now replaced by a noticeable aloofness. And two weeks ago on a night where the both of you had stayed late to finish some reports he had told you that it all had been a mistake, and that the two of you should maintain a strictly professional relationship moving forward. 

His words had cut through the air with a sharp finality and landed like a heavy blow, shattering the fragile hope that had still lingered within you. Aaron’s eyes had been averted, unable to meet your gaze as he spoke the words that shattered your heart.

You steal another glance at Aaron, watching as he maintains his composure in conversation with Derek, his mask of professionalism firmly in place. 

You turn back to your book, the words still a jumbled mess on the page. You can’t pretend to read anymore, not when your heart is heavy with memories and unspoken words. With a sigh, you close the book, making Emily, who is seated across the aisle, glance up from the case file she is reading with a questioning look. 

You offer her a faint smile, attempting to convey a sense of normalcy despite the turmoil swirling within you. 

“You okay?” she asks as she sets aside the case file. You appreciate her gesture, knowing that Emily’s intuition often went beyond words.

You take a moment to collect your thoughts, the weight of unspoken emotions pressing down on you. With a small nod, you offer Emily a reassuring smile, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just a lot on my mind,” you reply softly, the words carrying a weight that belie their simplicity.

Emily nods in understanding, her gaze holding a sense of sympathy. “He’s an idiot, by the way,” she says with a wry smile, and you feel how your heart stops for a second, panicking at the thought of Emily uncovering the truth of what has unfolded between you and Aaron. 

“What do you mean?” you stammer, the words tumbling out before you can stop them, your heart pounding in your chest as you wait for Emily’s response.

Emily just smiles at you as she picks up her file again. “We’re profilers, it’s not hard to read between the lines,” Emily says with a knowing glint in her eyes, her smile reassuring and understanding. “And you’re not as hard to read as you think, it’s clear that you have been dating someone, you have been looking like a smitten kitten for months, it’s been really cute to see, by the way, but something has changed recently. You’ve been distant, and often lost in thought sulking,” Emily continues, her tone gentle yet perceptive. 

It’s not like it really surprises you, given how perceptive Emily is, and how deeply you’ve been feeling the shifts in your relationship with Aaron, but you had still hoped that you could have hidden your feelings from colleagues. 

“So, yeah, whoever he is that has you feeling like this is an idiot, you’re clearly a catch,” Emily says with a reassuring smile, her words carrying a sense of warmth and understanding.

You feel relief wash over you, though Emily has sensed that you’ve been heartbroken, she hasn’t figured out that it is our boss that has been the course of it. 

“Thanks, Em,” you say, offering the dark haired woman a tired but grateful smile.

Emily returns your smile. “If you ever need to talk or just... not talk, I’m here,” she offers, her voice warm and reassuring.

“I appreciate that,” you say, and you do really mean it, but you know that you’re not ready to talk about any of this yet. “But I think I’ll try to take a nap first, hopefully clear my head a bit before we land.” 

“Mm, sounds like a plan,”Emily responds with a soft chuckle. 

Grabbing the blanket from the empty seat next to you, you lean back in your seat, engulfing your body in the soft, fluffy material. 

Before closing your eyes you cast one last glance at Aaron, his profile etched against the soft glow of the cabin lights. The memories of stolen moments with stolen kisses floods your mind, mingling with the ache of his recent rejection. You feel a pang in your heart, a mix of longing and sorrow, as you turn away, curling up in your seat, closing your eyes to the world outside.

You pull the blanket closer around you, the soft warmth of the blanket envelops you, cocooning you in a sense of comfort and security, providing a shield against the turmoil of your heart. The gentle hum of the airplane engines lulls you into a state of relaxation, the rhythmic sound serving as a soothing backdrop to your thoughts and emotions. 

As you feel yourself drifting further into the realm of sleep, your senses start to weaken, the sounds of the airplane cabin fading into a distant murmur and you barely register the tears gently sliding down your cheeks before you drift off. 

· · · · · 

You’re softly pulled out of sleep by the gentle touch of a hand on your shoulder. As you slowly flutter your eyes open, the soft glow of the cabin lights illuminates the figure beside you.

“Hey, sleepyhead, we’re about to land,” Derek’s voice is warm and filled with a hint of amusement as he gently rouses you from your slumber.

You blink a few times, the remnants of sleep still lingering in your mind as you adjust to the reality of the present moment. With a small smile, you offer Derek a nod of gratitude. Slowly, you sit up in your seat, the blanket slipping off your shoulders as you get ready for touchdown. 

As the plane begins its descent, you feel a mix of emotions swirling within you - longing, sorrow, and a hint of resignation. The turbulence of your heart echoes the turbulence in the jet cabin as you start dissenting onto a lower altitude.     

As the cabin lights dim in preparation for landing, you look up to find Aaron’s eyes looking in your direction, his gaze briefly meeting yours before he looks away, a shadow covering his features in the soft glow. This would all be so much easier if he would stop looking at you all the time.    

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions as the plane continues its descent. The mix of longing and sorrow in your heart feels almost suffocating, but you push it aside. You have to focus, have to keep your head clear for the sake of the case, you are a professional and you are not going to let your emotions cloud your mind. As the wheels touch the runway with a slight jolt, signaling your arrival in Idaho, you

And as the team disembarks from the plane and makes their way to the awaiting SUVs, you feel a sense of resolve settling within you, happy to no longer be confined to the limited room of the jet cabin and as you step out into the crisp evening air, you release a sigh of relief. 

You watch Aaron walk ahead of you, his posture rigid and his expression unreadable as he walks to one of the cars and you beeline for the other. You keep your gaze fixed outside the window for most of the car ride, watching the landscape pass by in a blur as the car speeds towards its destination, a little sleepy town about an hour away. 

As you and the team arrive at the local police station, you can feel the tension between you and Aaron simmering just beneath the surface. The case at hand requires your full attention, and you push aside the turbulent thoughts and emotions that threaten to consume you as you focus on the task at hand.

Throughout the evening and early night, you work alongside the team, profiling the unsub and piecing together clues to hopefully catch the unsub before they strike again. The familiarity of the work, the rhythm of profiling and investigating grounding you in the present moment, making you go into a state of laser focused professionalism. You find a sense of purpose in the work you do, a reminder that you are more than the turmoil of your emotions.

But as the night wears on, the team regroups at the hotel to get a few hours of sleep before continuing the investigation in the morning. You find yourself standing outside the small hotel, looking up at the dark, star lit sky and as you turn to head inside and join the rest of the team, you feel your heart do a little jump in your chest as you see Aaron standing a few feet away, his gaze fixed on you, his usual stoic expression faltered, his brown eyes softening as they meet yours.   

For a moment, the world around you seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you standing in the quiet night, and suddenly, you know that the decision you have made to the hard choice you’ve struggled with for the past two weeks is the right one. 

 Without saying a word, you walk towards him, a mix of uncertainty and determination coursing through you. As you come to a stop in front of him, he opens his mouth to speak, but you raise a hand to silence him. “Not here,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper, and you gently take his hand, leading him towards a secluded corner of the hotel grounds. 

As you come to a stop, you turn to face him, the dim light of the night casting shadows across his face. With a heavy sigh, you search his eyes for any sign of the man you once knew, the man who had kissed you with such tenderness and held you with such care, for the man you think might’ve even loved you. You had loved him, had long before he kissed you, and you still love.

 “Aaron, I…” you begin, trailing off as you feel all the words in your head leave you as you look into his eyes, remembering that night he had kissed you for the first time. It had been a late night just like this one, it had been the first time you had ever called him by his first name. 

“Let’s sit,” he says, his voice gentle yet strained, as he guides you to a nearby bench. You both sit in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily between you. Finally, Aaron speaks, his voice raw with emotion. “I’m sorry for hurting you, for leading you on, for... for everything.” His words are filled with regret, and you can see the pain in his eyes, a pain that mirrors your own. 

He reaches out his hand, hesitating before resting it on yours. His touch is soft and hesitant but filled with unspoken longing and you feel how your heart skips a beat, how you have missed the feeling of him touching you, even if it’s just the slightest of touches. 

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he says, his voice now barely above a whisper. 

‘But it did hurt, it hurt so, so much’, is what you want to say. But as you look into Aaron’s eyes, filled with regret and vulnerability, you find yourself unable to form the words, the intensity in the warm, chocolate brown depths of his gaze rendering you speechless. You see the conflict within him, the turmoil of emotions swirling beneath the surface, and you feel the need to avert your gaze.  

You look down at his hand on yours, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down your spine in the balm night air. For a moment, you allow yourself to savor the familiar sensation, the connection that still linger between you despite the circumstances.

Aaron’s hand tightens slightly around yours, a silent plea for understanding. “You deserve so much better than that,” he murmurs, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand.

You take a deep breath, the words forming in your mind before you speak them out loud. “Maybe I don’t want you to decide for me what I do and don’t deserve,” you say, looking up at him again, your voice steady despite the emotions swirling within you. Aaron’s eyes widen slightly at your words, a mix of  crossing his features.

It seems like it’s his turn to be lost for words, which for some reason seems to give you a bit more courage. You fill your lungs with another deep breath before opening your mouth.  

“I’m quitting,” you declare, your voice firm and resolute. You’ve been struggling with making the decision, but as you look at Aaron now, face lit up by the soft moon light you know that it is the only decision for you, you are never gonna be able to let him go if you keep working for the BAU. “I’m turning in my resignation letter when we get back from this case.”

Aaron’s eyes widen in shock, his grip on your hand tightening even more as he processes your words. The weight of your statement hangs heavy in the air between you, the unspoken implications of what this means for both of you settling in. You can see how a myriad of emotions flicker across his face – surprise, concern, and perhaps a glimmer of something else that you can’t quite place.

“You can’t do that,” Aaron’s voice is firm but filled with a mix of concern and resignation, his gaze searching yours for any sign of doubt

You can’t help but feel a pang of hurt at his words, it’s not like you had expected him to be happy about your decision, but a little, and probably naive, part of you had hoped that he would acknowledge that it would be the solution to how the two of you could be together, hoped that he still wanted that. But you’re not leaving the BAU for the slim chance that you can be with Aaron. You’re quitting because it’s become clear to you that it is the only solution. If the only time you can push aside the pain of being around him is when you’re actively investigating  a violent crime case, you have to let him go, and you can only do that by leaving the BAU. 

“Yes, I can… I have to, I think,” you say firmly, yet you feel your heart breaking a little by the thought of leaving. “I need to do this for myself. For my own well-being,” you continue, your gaze unwavering as you look into his eyes. “I can’t keep pretending that everything is okay when it’s not.” 

Aaron remains silent for a moment, his expression unreadable as he processes your words. Finally, he sighs, a hint of resignation in his voice. “I never wanted it to come to this,” he admits, his voice heavy with regret.

“I know,” you reply softly, a tinge of sorrow coloring your words. “But we both knew the risks when we started this.”

“I should never have put you in this position,” Aaron says, his gaze dropping to the ground as he speaks. “I should never have kissed you that night. Ilet my own feelings cloud my judgment, and I hurt you in the process. I’m your boss, and I took advantage, and I-I hurt you, and…” 

“No, look at me, please.” You reach out and gently cub his cheek in your hand, making him meet your gaze. “Aaron, it wasn’t just you. I wanted it too, I wanted to be with you,” you confess, your voice breaking slightly with emotion. “I wanted to take the risk because I thought it was worth it. And maybe it was, for a while. But we can’t keep going like this, Aaron. It’s not fair to either of us.” 

Aaron’s eyes search yours, a mix of emotions swirling within their depths. “What are you saying?” he asks softly, his voice filled with a hint of desperation. 

“I’m saying that I need to let you go,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I need to let go of this hope that maybe someday we could find a way to be together. I can’t keep holding on to something that’s only causing us both pain.” Tears gather in the corners of your eyes as you speak, the weight of your decision pressing down on you. But despite the pain, you feel a sense of clarity wash over you, a sense of liberation in finally speaking the truth. 

Aaron’s eyes soften, his hand coming up to gently grasp yours that’s still cupping his cheek. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his voice filled with regret and sorrow. You offer him a sad smile, tears finally spilling down your cheeks as you lean forward to press a soft kiss to his cheek before pulling away. 

“Me too, Aaron,” you say softly, your voice filled with a mix of love and heartbreak. As you stand up from the bench, you turn to walk away, the weight of your decision settling in your heart. But before you can take a step, you feel a hand grasp yours, stopping you in your tracks. You turn back to see Aaron standing before you, his eyes filled with determination and a hint of something you can’t quite place. 

“I...I can’t let you leave without saying this,” Aaron begins, his voice wavering slightly. “I’ve been a fool. I’ve let my own fears and insecurities cloud my judgment, and in the process, I’ve hurt you. But I can’t let you go without telling you that I love you. ” 

Your heart skips a beat at his words, the depth of his confession washing over you like a wave. For a moment, you feel a flicker of hope ignite within you, a spark of possibility that maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance for the two of you. “But what does that mean, Aaron?” you ask softly, your voice filled with a mix of hope and trepidation. “What are you saying?” 

Aaron takes a deep breath, his gaze unwavering as he speaks. “I’m saying that I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to live with the regret of letting you slip away. I want to fight for a future where you are a part of my life. I know it won’t be easy, I know there are risks and complications, but I can’t let you go without at least trying cause I love you.” 

Tears stream down your cheeks as you look into Aaron’s eyes, the sincerity and love shining within them filling your heart with warmth and longing. Taking a step closer to Aaron, you reach out to cup his face in your hands, meeting his gaze with determination. 

“I love you, too. I think I’ve loved you from the moment I met you.” 

Aaron’s eyes widen in surprise, a mix of emotions flickering across his features. Without another word, he closes the distance between the two of you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss filled with passion and longing. The world falls away as you melt into each other, lost in the moment of shared love and desire as the man you love kisses you under the moonlight.

The kiss deepens, becoming a promise of the future you both want to fight for, a pledge to overcome the obstacles that stand in your way, a balm for the weeks of heartbreak. And as you break apart, breathless and filled with emotion, you feel how your entire body shivers, already missing the feeling of Aaron’s warm lips against yours. 

“You’re freezing,” Aaron frowns, quickly shredding himself of his suit jacket and draping it around your shoulders before wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. “Let’s get you inside.”

You nod, your heart swelling with hope and love as he takes your hand in his, leading you back to the hotel. Hotel might be a little generous; it’s more of a bed and breakfast, with so few rooms that the team had to pair up and share, but it was the only accommodation in town and it is not like you and the team aren’t used to having to share rooms from time to time. 

It turns out the rest of the team has already paired up and hit the hay, leaving only one room since you’re the last two to arrive. “Looks like you and I’ll have to share a room,” you say, a small smile playing on your lips, an hour ago you would be horrified by it, but now you’re absolutely thrilled about it.  

“Yeah, looks like it,” he says with a soft smile on his face as you get your keys before taking your hand in his again and leading you to your shared room.  

As you step inside, the warmth of the room envelops you, melding with the warmth of Aaron’s touch as he pulls you into his arms, his lips finding yours once more in a sweet, tender embrace. In the dim light of the hotel room, with the moon casting a soft glow through the curtains, the emotions swirling within you are no longer suffocating, but freeing, as you surrender to the love that has bound the two of you together.

As you finally break apart and look around it turns out that the room is a twin room, with two beds divided by a bedside table. It makes sense that your coworkers didn’t leave you to share a room with a shared bed. 

You share a knowing look with him before the both of you start to quickly get ready for bed, it’s late and you’re both exhausted and there is only a few hours till you’ll need to get up again. 

You share one last kiss before moving to your respective beds, but as you lay there, the distance between you feels unbearable. The man you have been pining over for three years has just a little while ago told you that he loves you after weeks of heartbreak and he lies so close yet you can’t even touch him? That’s ridiculous! 

“I can’t do this,” you whisper, your voice filled with longing as you look at Aaron.

“I know,” he replies, his voice just as filled with yearning as he pulls his covers to the side letting you slip into the bed with him. 

You settle into his arms, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, and you feel as if you’re finally coming home. The walls that had been built between you are crumbling down, allowing you to embrace the love that has always been between you.

As you snuggle closer to Aaron, his arms wrapped tightly around you, you feel a sense of peace wash over you. The turmoil of the past weeks fades away, replaced by a deep sense of contentment and love.

“I’m never letting you go again,” Aaron whispers, his breath warm against your ear, and you know that he means it. And you know that you never want to let him go either. 

With a smile on your face, and your heart full of love and hope, you drift off to sleep in the arms of the man you love, knowing that no matter what challenges lie ahead, you will face them together.

#springtyme writes #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotch x f!reader #aaron hotch angst #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotch fluff #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotchner fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fanfic

[comfortless]

Deep Water

nix! König x fem! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. no.. intentional harm done to reader but there are sporadic mentions of murder (drowning), König is kind of a creep here do you guys forgive me (say yes), implied sex; dubcon everything. König is wearing a fishing net rather than the usual hood because. it made sense to me sorry.

notes: yet again, i have found that i can not manage to write anything except for silly fantasy nonsense… bear with me this will pass (it will not). if you’re uncertain of what a nix is, i recommend skimming over this (or tl;dr— a shapeshifting water spirit).

You’ve always been told to beware of the river, especially on nights like this. When the singing starts up you were to run, as far and as fast as your feet could carry you. It would be the most beautiful sound you had ever heard, as well as the last. Whatever beast lies in wait along the silt of the riverbed luring people in with its haunting song isn’t kind. The drowned bodies resurfacing bloated and paled are enough for the townsfolk to assume that assuredly, a monster lies in wait someplace within the glassy water.

For all of the fear, town myths were just that— myths.

As always, there’s no singing when you seat yourself on smooth, mossy stones by the river’s bank. The moon hangs low, casting its brilliant reflection on calm, dark water. The air is alive with the buzzing of cicadas clinging to the trees at your back and night birds calling out to the wind. Nothing is amiss; it’s only peaceful, and that’s why despite the warnings, you often find yourself here when the temperature is favorable.

There are nights when the river isn’t calm, and currents are the most reliable reasoning for the deaths from past summers. The water is full of large rocks with sharp corners, teeming with plants that could so easily snare an ankle, and when the water is frothing and cruel it’s no surprise that one could be thrashed to unconsciousness if they weren’t careful.

You didn’t come here to take your chances on swimming, anyhow.

If anything, it’s a mere reprieve from the bustle of the town. No one wanders here any more since the myths gained traction, passed from mouth to listening ears time and time again, leaving this place entirely untouched. Occasionally the obnoxious teenager would cross your path on the walk here, declaring loudly to their friends about how they supposedly saw some slimy beast, eyes like moonbeams and scales like razors lying on the bank.

During your little adventures here, you often carry a snack with you, but not for yourself. Tonight, it’s just a small package of vanilla flavored cookies. In truth, they were awful— dry and near flavorless, but you suspect your friend here wouldn’t mind too terribly much, and if it got them out of your pantry without wasting it was a win for the both of you.

When the large dorsal fin crests over the water mere meters from the bank, you gratuitously crush the treats in a closed fist and toss the crumbs into the water. Time and time again, you’ve fed the large animal, watching as it thrashes about just below the surface before disappearing back into its depths. You’ve never gotten a good look at it, either, but you imagine it must stretch out past your height or further; some sort of gar or sturgeon.

Just as many times before, it glides further in, fin entirely out of sight now. The only evidence of it ever appearing at all were the small waves rippling in its wake. All is quieted once more as you embrace the placid bliss, readying your small flashlight and losing yourself into the book perched in your lap.

The next night, you’re greeted by a large snake basking over the rock you typically sat upon. It lies still, coiled into itself as it regards you, forked tongue flicking out for several moments before it simply slithers off, hiding itself away beneath the moss and stone.

“Best to leave you alone, huh?,” you ask to it’s retreating tail, feeling a bit silly for speaking to the reptile at all. It doesn’t respond, of course, nor does it bother to come out of hiding either.

You opt to seat yourself on the hill overlooking the water instead.

You find that after a day occupied by tedious tasks, there truly was no greater place to abandon your woes than here. Everything was peaceful; wild yet simplistic. Even with all of the death that seemed to haunt this place, you never feared the thought of ghosts. You’ve even entertained your imagination a time or two, that if you ever did meet one, you would only ask it not to disturb the wildlife you have grown so fond.

There’s a freedom and a mystery to places like this, places without the foot traffic of other people. It brings with it a sense of whimsy, especially when you glance towards the water and see the surface reflecting every twinkling star above.

The fish doesn’t appear, even as you listen to the water in wait, your head tilted as you lie back on soft grass to watch for ripples, for the swell of a large fin moving beneath. Nothing. You read your book as the night progresses, nearly completing it entirely before you make your way back home.

Weeks pass by like this— work, river, home and repeat. Occasionally it’s the same large snake that greets you when you wander there, more often it’s the large fish circling about waiting for crumbs of whatever treat you choose to bring. The bank and the small hill overlooking it have become a separate home to you, one where you can be away with the fairies, talking to your animal friends that never seem to stick around for long.

When the weather grows warmer, you even dare to take a swim.

You’re stood on the slick stones of the bank, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of underwear. It’s not proper swimming attire, but you reason that you’re not at the beach, not a soul is around, and it doesn’t really matter at all that you might look a bit silly. The prospect of swimming along that behemoth below is a tad terrifying, but you wouldn’t dare to wander too far in. Maybe the fish would even be intelligent enough to not attempt to eat you after you’ve been so kind to it.

It’s hot, and with a sticky layer of sweat glossing your skin, your worries seem minuscule in light of an easy way of cooling off. You toe at the calm water for a moment, testing its temperature before willing yourself to take a step forward, then another before you seat yourself in the vibrant expanse of darkened blue. Here, you realize, is the best place to stargaze, too; they shimmer all around you, within reach as you tap at the surface of water, watching it undulate beneath the pressure of your fingertips.

You could reach the moon, too, if you swam further out. A few meters from the bank and you would be directly beneath its reflection, bathed in that ethereal glow.

You watch for your friend for a time, trying to prioritize your wariness over your whimsy. When the fish doesn’t tread by you, the water remaining calm, you rise to your feet and take slow, metered steps as the water parts and flows against your shins.

Though the river is disturbed no matter how gently you stride forward, nothing slides out from its depths in pursuit of you. Nothing happens at all when you reach out to splay your hand out against the reflection, the water now gently lapping against your stomach rather than your legs.

You hadn’t expected any sort of shift in your reality, that would be ridiculous, but perhaps some sort of clarity; a further calm for a weary mind. It doesn’t come, and with a disheartened splash you wade your way back towards the shore.

This has been your sanctuary for some time. Excusing the snake, there’s not been any sort of threat to you, not here. A safe water world all your own. Though, that peace is shattered the moment that you make it to the bank and hear the water shift some small distance behind you. Turning your head, you’re met with the sight of a man, the bulky muscular silhouette towering in the patch of moonlight you had just stood in. Bright blue eyes catch the light, reflecting like an animal’s as you scramble back to where you’ve left your shorts.

He stands there, silent and unmoving like an obelisk even as you hastily dress yourself with a thundering heart and breaths that sound more or less like gasps, senses heightened by your panic as you turn tail to run.

No one had been there. You were sure of it when you sunk into the water. There was no sound when this person had swam over to take your place. He was just there, as if he had been the entire time and you somehow failed to notice.

You make your way into the woods framing this place, hurried steps and untied shoelaces. You don’t even bother with your flashlight.

Finding your way back home with aches in every muscle, the desperate rampage you had taken to get away finally coming to a close when the door slams shut behind you, you quickly shower and mull over what’s just happened. A ghost, perhaps. It had to of been. Any other person would have made noise in their approach, especially being that big. The mind could play its tricks; what you had seen was likely not even there at all— a terrifying figment of your imagination. That sets you at ease, somewhat, but not enough.

You don’t sleep well that night, tucked beneath your blanket and staring at the filtered moonlight through your curtains. Work isn’t on your mind at all come morning until your phone chimes with a notification from your manager, questioning your tardiness. A languid crawl out of bed follows, another shower, an unsatisfying breakfast, all before you opt to send a text back to let him know you won’t be in today.

It could be excused, you’re reliable and decent enough at the job; not one to boast, but far more eager to please than the rest of your coworkers. You would be entirely useless if you went in on no sleep, you reason.

You don’t want to go back there, not under the veil of night, but you find yourself horribly curious the longer that you bide your time indoors. You had to know if the thing that you saw was really there, had to calm your nerves. What if he had always been watching each time, and you simply hadn’t noticed? The forest bordering the river is terribly dark at night, anyone could crouch behind the shield of a tree and remain undetected until they willed the courage to drag you in, cup a palm over your mouth to silence your cries.

Maybe it was the monster the people in town rumored about.

The thought of some strange, silent thing living beneath the water waiting for an opportune moment to take you by the neck and drag you down to the silty floor to watch you drown horrified you. Yet, that’s the one conclusion that sticks. Those eyes… so lurid and haunting, no human being had eyes like that.

You inhale sharply, steeling your nerves as reach for a pocket knife for defense, toss it into the bag slung over your shoulder, and storm out the door.

The trek there is nothing short of dull.

No matter where you look, what shadows rise up beneath the dim glow of a falling sun, there’s nothing out in the woods. The river is equally tame. The water babbles over rock, cicadas buzz off in the distance, and not a thing seems amiss. Your search for footprints that don’t belong to the soles of your shoes turns up empty. The only thing that suggests just maybe it wasn’t all in your head is the book you had neglected to retrieve in your fear the night before.

The cover, every page within, now warped as though it had been pulled into the water and spit out to dry. You pick it up, peeling through damp pages, running your fingertips over the smeared ink. It’s possible that a particularly aggressive splash could have sullied it, but something tells you that that isn’t the case. Either way, it’s unreadable now. You sulk a bit as you slip the ruined thing into your bag and step towards the smooth stones to watch the water instead.

Night creeps in slowly with you there, and you’re on high alert for a time before you begin to relax as usual. Even giggle to yourself at how silly it was you believed you saw a ghost at all as you entertain yourself by skipping small stones across the water.

No large snake, no massive fish, no titan of a man appears before you, only a calming crescent moon and a few wandering wood ducks, gliding down from the bank to splash about. A thought comes to mind as the calm emboldens you: what would happen if you got in just one more time?

There’s nothing to suggest that you’re playing with fire as you leave your shoes neatly in the dry sand. If the ducks could swim unbothered by fish or men, then surely you could, too. You watch the little creatures a distance away as they dip their heads beneath the surface and chitter away amongst themselves while you take your first step in.

You don’t dare to go as far this time, stopping when the water brushes over your knees. You wait there while time seems to slow to a crawl, expecting the absolute worst, glancing further down the river, dipping your hand below the glassy surface until your fingertips brush the sand beneath.

It’s horribly hot and you’re still exhausted from the sleepless night before. The water feels nice, and you feel as though you have some sort of claim to it as you’ve been here more often than anyone else would dare to. Ghosts and monsters be damned, you seat yourself and let the water lap over your shoulders, tilting your head back to watch the stars.

When the singing begins it takes a moment to register just what it is that you’re hearing. It’s not beautiful, not like the myths have said. It’s hissed, a low whisper, a mockery of what a human song would sound like. The voice is rasped, lilted yet cold. The realization that it sings words from your book of poetry is what terrifies you the most, the warped pages all making sense now.

Your eyes dart to either side of you, forward, before realizing the voice is coming from behind you. Cold spreads through your veins as you try to force yourself to stand, but in your fear you find yourself petrified, rooted in water that would surely become your grave.

You can’t bring yourself to turn around, to inevitably find your eyes locked onto the shadowy frame of a man far too large, his eyes glistening and pale like the moon hanging above.

The voice pauses when it finds you unmoving, and you can hear the rustle of the creature shifting its weight where it’s stood on the rocks lining the bank. You’ve no clue how deep the river gets, where the opposite side leads, but your only chance of escape seems to be swimming through in the hopes that this thing doesn’t choose to chase after you. A part of you knows that he would, that that is exactly what he expects you to do, goading you to flee deeper with his eerie song so that he can drown you just as he did the others.

You do the opposite as you squeeze your eyes shut and crawl back towards the bank, making sure to keep some distance despite your willful blindness. You wouldn’t look at it, wouldn’t talk to it, you would just go home and never come back.

“Best to leave you alone, hm?”

You still as your fingers brush against wet moss, the voice no longer a whisper but loud, loud as it echoes your words from days past just above you. Beating back your own curiosity proves futile, because you look up at the damned thing then, expecting to see an impossible terror before you, sharp fangs wet with blood and appendages too spindly reaching out for you. Instead, you see only a man.

He’s crouched, only a meter or so away, and you immediately recognize his broad figure. The same as the night before. From this distance you can make out the finer details, the length of net covering his face and neck, the webbing between each finger. Still a scary sight, but only in the way it’s unfamiliar and imposing rather than instilling any sort of primordial fear.

“Excuse me?” You pull yourself fully out of the water, rising to your feet and taking a tentative step back. You’re prepared to run, a coil pulled too tight on the verge of snapping.

The man, creature, whatever he may be just tilts his head, lets the silence hang in the air for a moment before he has the audacity to laugh whether to himself or at the strange, bewildered expression on your face.

His stare is assessing as he sucks in a breath, follows suit in rising to his full height. From the size of him alone, you know you’re not getting away. A mere stride for him would be two or more for you, a deliberate tug of your wrist from him could snap it in an instant.

Yet, he doesn’t reach for you, only gestures toward your bag lying on the ground with a subtle flick of a finger. You give him a quizzical glance in turn, not bothering to retrieve it. You could come back during the day with a friend, gather it and never return. Only, your knife sits somewhere inside, the only protection that you’ve got. The realization spurs you to bend over and toss the strap over your shoulder.

“I’ll… I’ll be going now.”

The stare remains fixed upon you as you take another step back, blinking slowly every now and then as you both remain in some strange stasis.

It takes you a moment to put the pieces together. The reciting of words from the book, the mimicking of the words spoken to the snake, the hint at your bag… he’s expecting something and it’s not to steal away your life, only to be fed and have your company. It’s not charming, it’s awfully strange and eerie, but you find yourself giggling at the prospect of taming some murderous, shapeshifting monster with subpar treats and poetry.

You pull open the bag, searching for anything you may have brought along that he could eat, eventually prying out a small package and offering it out to him.

“Is this what you want?,” you ask, voice hushed and trembling.

He shakes his head, rustling the net cloaking him in the process. So, he understands, he’s just been willfully ignoring every other thing you’ve said prior. You store the package away with a perturbed expression crossing over your face.

“Then what?”

Any relief you had felt seems to dwindle when the giant takes a half-step closer. His skin is cool and wet as the river as he brushes his hand over your forearm, curling a set of fingers around it. The touch is gentle, but there’s a promise of violence lurking somewhere in the depths of his eyes.

“Come with me,” he urges in that harsh whisper from before, delicately squeezing as he pulls you towards him, leading you back to the river with a tight grip and a step back over the stones. Though his touch is passive, there’s a frightening strength lurking someplace beneath his flesh, tacked to bone, and as your gaze trails lower to rest to rest at your feet, the space between you two, the evidence of a life prone to violence and strength is laid bare before you.

You don’t fight the hold as he leads you to water so deep it caresses the base of your neck, right below the milky glow of a waning moon. Deeper still, as you’re pulled below, pressed down to the very bottom with his body lain over you. You can only hold your breath so long before an involuntary gasp leaves you, and a wave is funneled straight into your lungs.

Panic is fleeting, but the adrenaline stays ever-present. You claw, push, kick, to no avail. Pinned down by a hand weighing like an anchor you feel your vision flooding and hazy as his head knocks against your jaw, mouth sealing tightly over yours. It’s not a gentle kiss, the net fashioned into a hood digs into your skin, teeth scrape over your lip until you feel the sting of blood drawn.

All at once, your vision darkens and it’s over.

You find yourself lying back on the shore as the morning sun warms your face, causes your dampened shirt to cling to your skin. Disoriented, but alive, brushing your thumb over your lower lip as you sit up to stare at the subtle waves lapping over moss and rock.

Just a dream, you tell yourself, knowing full well you hadn’t fallen asleep.

Just a dream, even though you avoid the river entirely now. Your route home from work changes too, avoiding even a glimpse of the path that leads down to that place. You don’t even replace the book, you toss what remains of it after fishing through your bag, murmuring something about it surely being cursed and entertain yourself with film at night instead.

Sleep remains tentative, you wake with every sound, and your dreaming is filled with visions of a figure pushing you down into deep water, his weight bearing down upon you so heavily that you can not move until you wake with a start, eyes searching your bedroom.

Several weeks, and the fear does eventually fade.

The morning that the rain begins to fall, you realize you haven’t even thought about the river in days. There’s no monster prowling your nightmares anymore. You lived through what may or may not have occurred, and that was the end of it, simple as it may have been.

A late shift at work has you wandering out into the rain, umbrella in hand. You’re grateful that you live close, that you’re not entirely soaked to the bone when you step inside of the mundane building. Your coworkers notice your change in demeanor immediately, chirping about how glad they are that you’re finally feeling better, looking more yourself as the hours pass you by. It brings a smile to your face, a real one that you haven’t had in place since that last night.

Even in the summer, there’s a chill to the air in the late afternoon as you hurry home from work and make your way inside, stripping out of your wet clothes and setting your umbrella aside. It’s darker outside than it should be, even more so indoors. Reaching for the switch to turn on the lights proves useless— the power’s out.

You light your way with your phone, ignoring the way your pulse quickens and your heart flutters with the fear that something just doesn’t feel right. Your skin prickles with the thought of some unseen pair of eyes watching you, blue and cold. You only relax when you slam your bedroom door shut, locking it and pressing your forehead to the wood as you sigh. The puff of breath that escapes your lips is not the only in the room, you find out when the light of your phone illuminated your bed. Crouched beside it, a towering figure with a face veiled by fishing net. Words don’t come when you open your mouth to speak, and your heart stutters in your chest as you stand shaking but otherwise petrified.

“You didn’t come back.”

Of course you hadn’t.

Most people wouldn’t have.

“No. I’ve been… busy,” you choke out the excuse, hoping to pacify whatever emotion you imagine lurked beneath his tone, undetectable through the hiss of his voice. “I’ll visit soon, promise,” you lie, back pressed against the door as your fingers curl over the knob.

Your fear seems almost unwarranted. He doesn’t move toward you, only stands to wander back to the window where he must have broken in.

“Tonight?,” he asks in a voice so soft, the voice he must use as a lure because tugs at your heartstrings immediately, makes you want to follow despite the threat this thing poses merely by existing, despite everything.

“It’s cold— I’ll get sick,” you murmur. “How did you even find me..?”

“I will keep you warm.” The question goes unanswered.

You find yourself stifled again as he lumbers towards you, brushing cold fingers across the side of your face. It’s not a mockery of a kiss you receive next but a firm bite where your neck meets shoulder, not yet hard enough to draw blood, but enough to make you shiver, to grip at the wall of muscle that makes up his chest.

There’s a desperation to his movements as he herds you towards the window, pushes you toward the path leading back to the river. You’re soaked to the bone in seconds, hardly able to keep your eyes open past the weight of dampened eyelashes. The rain is so heavy it feels as though every step is like the first you took into cursed water, your feet sinking into the mud along the path with each tentative stride. The realization that you’re there doesn’t even hit you until you’re chest-deep in the chill, violent waves pushing against you, each carrying the threat of toppling you over entirely.

The palm splayed out against your bare back keeps you upright, leading you to a smooth rock jutting out in the midst of what seems a sea of frothing white and blue. The sea above is just as dark, angry clouds roaring as you’re pressed down onto your back, shivering terribly.

He keeps his promise though, a tight grip on each thigh as he pries your legs apart, sinks in between them and blankets you from the rain. Even with the cold pressed to your back, you feel the warmth of a summer sun above you, scorching from inside, just as blazing as the look in his wild eyes. The last of any resolve slips when you’re pulled beneath the violent waves, a tangle of limbs and desperate kisses coaxing oxygen into your lungs. Each roll and pull no less tumultuous than the waves overhead. A placid end when the rain comes to an impromptu halt, just as he stills over you. Hands rush to cup your face with one final, desperate and biting kiss.

When the morning sun pulls you from sleep, cool moss against your back and the weight of his head resting over your middle, the shallow water lapping lazily at your figure, you find that you no longer fear drowning.

#könig x reader #konig x reader #könig x you #konig x you #könig #konig #cod fanfiction #cod fanfic #konig fanfiction #i have been mulling over this for an eternity sorry it needed to be extracted from my brain #he is absolutely more lycanthrope coded to me but whoosh whatever nix König be upon ye #also apologies to everyone for not writing much lately and the fact this is hardly a real fic #cursed by the sleepy i just need a 10yr long nap #<- in my ‘in denial about burnout’ era

[kaynothanks]

The Bargain Store

Pairing: Loki x goddess!reader

Summary: You, a goddess hiding on Earth, encounter Loki, who eons ago vowed to kill you. Loki never was one to keep his word.

Warnings: (18+ mdni) loki, what else? the smut just happened, i don’t even know how (yes, I do), oral (f receiving), loki has ulterior motives, mention of blood (lip), unprotected p in v, vaginal fingering

Word-Count: 6.5 k

Nobody suspected anything. Never had. For the past few decades, you had been the owner of your little shop, after spending many centuries on the run.

Throughout centuries, there had been wars and revolutions, plagues and remedies. You had stood witness to them all. Watched from the distance as civilizations went into ruin and new ones emerged. You had made sure not to get too involved. It wasn’t your place; not your planet and not your people. Still, you had been on earth for a big part of your lifespan. In your world, you weren’t anything special, a sheep in a broad herd. And you had had enough of it. So, you had left. Ran from your responsibilities, bid no goodbyes and settled for something less.

Centuries had woven themselves into the very fabric of your being, each era a thread in the intricate tapestry of your existence. You had been many things: a whisper in the wind, a shadow in the twilight, a force as ancient and unyielding as the stars themselves. Yet, for the last few decades, you had chosen a far simpler, more unassuming role—a shopkeeper, tending to a quaint little establishment nestled on a serene street, far removed from the cacophony of the bustling city that surrounded it.

Your shop was a sanctuary, not just for you, but for all who sought refuge within its walls. From the outside, it appeared no different from any other boutique that dealt in herbs, teas, and the occasional curious trinket. However, its essence was imbued with something far more ancient, a magic that hummed quietly beneath the surface, perceptible only to those who truly believed or those who, like you, were of another world entirely.

This little shop was your haven, a place where you could be both less and more than what you were. Here, you were not the goddess who had danced among the stars, who had witnessed the rise and fall of empires, who had fled from a war that threatened to consume her very soul. Here, you were simply the keeper of secrets, of remedies both mundane and magical, offering solace to the weary and the lost.

Your reasons for choosing this existence were manifold, but at their core lay a desire for peace, for a semblance of normalcy in a life that had been anything but. You had grown weary of the endless conflicts that had defined your existence, of the power struggles that had torn apart realms and ravaged worlds. Earth, with all its simplicity and complexity, offered a respite, a place where you could hide in plain sight among its inhabitants, who remained blissfully unaware of the greater cosmos that swirled around them.

The shop became a reflection of your desire for tranquility. Its walls were lined with shelves laden with jars and bottles, each containing herbs and potions that held whispers of your old world. You delighted in the mundane tasks of tending to your plants, mixing herbs, and brewing teas, finding a sense of purpose in the healing and comfort your creations provided. Your customers, none the wiser to the true nature of your being, were drawn to your shop by an inexplicable pull, leaving with remedies for their ailments and, sometimes, a lighter heart.

For years, this life had been enough. You had convinced yourself that you could forget, that you could move beyond the past and forge a new existence among the humans you had come to cherish. But the past, as it often does, refused to remain buried. It came for you on an unremarkable day, shattering the peace you had so carefully built with the ringing of the shop's bell and the entrance of a figure from a life you had tried to leave behind.

Loki's arrival was a storm on the horizon, a harbinger of chaos that threatened to upend the world you had created. The God of Mischief, with his piercing gaze and sly grin, embodied everything you had fled from: the power, the destruction, the endless machinations of gods and men. His presence in your shop, a place that had been untouched by the affairs of gods for so long, was a stark reminder that one could never truly escape their nature or their past.

The last time you had seen Loki, it was on the battlefield. You had been on opposing sides, and his last words to you were a vow of death. Yet, here he stood, looking around your shop with a curious gleam in his eyes, not having recognized you yet. Or had he? With Loki, one could never be too sure. You steadied yourself, the mask of the shopkeeper sliding effortlessly into place. "Can I help you find anything?" Your voice was calm, betraying none of the turmoil inside.

Loki turned his attention to you, his green eyes piercing. For a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of recognition, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. "I'm looking for something unique," he declared, the silk of his voice wrapping around you like a familiar shroud. His steps were measured as he approached, the predator within barely leashed. "A gift for someone who values... rare items."

You couldn't help but wonder who Loki would consider worthy of a gift. Your curiosity, however, was a dangerous thing, especially around him. "I have a few rare herbs and special tea blends. If you're looking for something more unique, perhaps a potion or two? Depending on what you wish to achieve." You kept your tone neutral, professional.

It was a game of cat and mouse, and you both knew it. Loki's lips twitched into a smile, and he moved closer, his gaze never leaving yours. "And what would you recommend for someone seeking... forgiveness?"

The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, the mask slipped. Loki was asking for forgiveness? From whom? The thought that it might be you crossed your mind, but you dismissed it just as quickly. "Forgiveness is not easily obtained by potions alone. It requires sincerity and action. But," you paused, turning to fetch a small, unassuming bottle from a shelf behind you, "this may aid in opening the heart to forgiveness, making it more receptive."

He took the bottle, examining it with a thoughtful expression. "And what do you seek, shopkeeper? What would you have me pay for this aid?"

"Peace," the word slipped out before you could stop it. It was the truth, however. Peace was all you had sought by coming to Earth, peace from your past, from the endless battles and politics of gods.

"A tall order," Loki mused, placing the bottle down and stepping closer, invading your personal space. "But perhaps not impossible."

The tension between you was palpable, a dance of curiosity, old grudges, and unspoken questions. "Why are you here, Loki?" you dared to ask, needing to know his purpose. Your heart raced, not just from surprise but from a resurgence of a darker thrill you thought you had buried deep within. The life you had led before, filled with power plays and destruction, beckoned with a seductive finger through Loki's emerald gaze. As Loki dared to step closer, crossing the invisible boundary you had mentally drawn around yourself, a surge of defiance ignited within you. Your heart raced, not solely with fear but with the resurgence of a power you had long kept dormant. With a thought as sharp as a whispered incantation, you summoned a dagger into existence. It materialized in your hand, its golden blade gleaming with a light that spoke of ancient magics and forgotten realms. This was no mere weapon but a relic of your divine heritage, a testament to the might you once wielded freely.

You didn't hesitate. The years had taught you caution, yes, but they had also honed your instincts, sharpened them into lethal points. As Loki advanced, a smile playing on his lips as if he were merely a predator toying with his prey, you struck. The movement was fluid, a dance you had performed countless times across the battlegrounds of the stars. The blade sliced through the air, aimed with deadly precision at the figure before you.

But the strike met no resistance. Instead, the dagger sliced through the illusion, the projection of Loki dissipating into nothingness, leaving behind only the faintest traces of his magic in the air. It was a trick, a mere sleight of hand from the God of Mischief, and you had fallen for it. A cold realization washed over you, a reminder of Loki's cunning, of the depths of his power which, it seemed, had only grown over the years.

Before you could recover, before you could even curse your own folly, arms enveloped you from behind. It was an embrace as familiar as it was unexpected, one that spoke of countless lifetimes and entwined destinies. His hand snaked around your waist, securing you against him with an intimacy that belied the years of separation and the shadow of past betrayals. The other hand, firm and unyielding, gripped hold of your wrist, effortlessly disarming you of the dagger you had conjured. Its golden light flickered and died, leaving you exposed, vulnerable in a way that went beyond the physical.

Loki's breath was warm against your neck, his presence a cloak of inevitability you found yourself powerless to resist. "How I have missed you, darling," he murmured, the words vibrating against your skin, a mix of threat and endearment. In that moment, with Loki's arms around you and his voice weaving spells of its own, you were transported back across the aeons, to a time when love and war were intermingled, and your fate was inseparably tied to the whims of gods.

The realization that the figure you had attacked was but a projection, a mere echo of Loki's true self, sank in with a weight that was almost suffocating. It was a reminder of his mastery over illusions, over the realities he could weave with a mere thought. Yet, the arms that held you, the breath that teased the hairs at the nape of your neck, they were undeniably real. This was no illusion but the god himself, in flesh and blood, as tangible as the tumultuous history you shared.

The conflict within you, a storm of emotions and memories, raged with renewed intensity. Loki's proximity, his touch, it reignited flames you thought had long since turned to ash. But this was not the time for reminiscences, for getting lost in what had been. The immediate truth was that Loki, the very being who had once vowed your destruction, now held you within his grasp, not as an enemy, but with a possessiveness that spoke of deeper, more complex intentions.

As his hand released your wrist, letting the vanished dagger be forgotten, you were left to grapple with the reality of his return. His words, laden with an emotion you couldn't quite decipher, echoed in the silence that followed. Was it a declaration, a manipulation, or something in between? With Loki, the lines were always blurred, the truth as shifting as the sands of time. The shop around you, once a sanctuary of peace, now felt like a stage set for a confrontation centuries in the making. The tranquility you had so carefully cultivated was shattered, replaced by the crackling energy of a storm about to break. Loki's presence, both familiar and foreboding, promised nothing and everything, a paradox that was his very essence.

Still ensnared in Loki's unexpected embrace, his words lingering in the air between you, a whirlwind of emotions battled within you. Anger, betrayal, and a flicker of something dangerously akin to longing. His presence, his closeness, was overwhelming, yet you found the clarity to make a choice. You would play his game, match his deceit with your own cunning, even as thoughts of vengeance danced just beneath the surface of your composed exterior.

Turning your head to face him, you allowed the moment to stretch, to teeter on the edge of something neither of you could fully grasp. Your lips hovered so close to his, the heat of his breath mingling with yours, a tantalizing promise of what could be. "Have you now, my love?" The words slipped from your lips, laced with a venom sweetened by the honeyed guise of affection. It was a challenge, a provocation, delivered with the precision of one who knew just how to stir the god of mischief.

Loki responded not with words, but with action. He hummed, a sound that vibrated with a multitude of unspoken thoughts and desires, before leaning down to capture your lips in a kiss. It was a bold move, one that sought to bridge centuries of separation and silence with the intimacy of a moment. The kiss was a fusion of past and present, a clash of wills and desires, as complex and enigmatic as Loki himself.

Yet, as his lips moved against yours, a part of you recoiled, a reminder of the chasm that lay between what was and what could never be. With a resolve as cold and sharp as a blade, your hand found its way into the silk of his dark locks. You allowed yourself a brief second, a heartbeat, to feel the warmth of him, to breathe in the scent that was undeniably Loki, before your fingers curled into a fist, gripping tightly.

With a swift, decisive motion, you pulled him away, breaking the kiss, severing the illusion of reconciliation and intimacy. "I don't believe you for a second," you hissed, the words dark and laden with all the unspoken truths and lies that had accumulated over the years. It was a declaration of war as much as it was a rejection, a line drawn in the sand that marked the boundary between past affections and present distrust.

Loki, taken aback by the suddenness of your rejection, the intensity of your grip, could only stare, the mask of charm and seduction slipping to reveal a glimpse of the genuine surprise and, perhaps, a flicker of a bruised ego beneath his mask. The god of mischief, so accustomed to being the orchestrator of deceit, found himself momentarily at a loss, caught in the web of his own making. The air between you crackled with tension, charged with the electricity of a storm on the horizon. In that moment, with the remnants of the kiss still lingering like a phantom touch upon your lips, the complexity of your relationship with Loki was laid bare. It was a tapestry woven with threads of love and hatred, betrayal and longing, each stitch a testament to the turbulent history you shared.

Your defiance, your refusal to succumb to the seduction of a momentary weakness, set the stage for what was to come. It was a declaration that you were no longer the deity who had fled, who had sought refuge in the shadows of anonymity. You were a force to be reckoned with, a player in the game of gods, and Loki would do well to remember that.

Loki's response to your defiance was as swift as it was unpredictable. His initial surprise at your resistance melted away into that all-too-familiar grin, a mischievous curve of his lips that had always heralded trouble. The atmosphere shifted palpably, charged with a tension that was as much about power as it was about the unresolved history simmering between you. He advanced, the godly aura that clung to him making the air around you thrum with energy. His approach was deliberate, each step calculated to intimidate and enthrall in equal measure. You found yourself retreating until the solid form of the front desk halted your escape, the mundane reality of your shop a stark contrast to the unfolding drama.

Loki's fingers, cool and assertive, found the hem of your clothes, tugging with a playful yet disapproving frown. "I must confess, I find myself at odds with your choice of attire," he remarked, his voice a low purr that vibrated with an undercurrent of something darker. "These... mundane garments do not suit you. I miss the dresses of old, the ones that whispered secrets against your skin, the ones I could remove with but a thought." His words were a deliberate provocation, designed to unnerve and reminisce a past intimacy that had once been.

Before you could muster a retort or push him away, he lifted you with an ease that spoke of his godly strength, sitting you atop the counter with a possessive certainty. The action was bold, an invasion of personal space that he seemed to relish, watching for your reaction, gauging how far he could push before you snapped. His behavior, this blend of familiarity and threat, placed you at a crossroads. Part of you, the part hardened by centuries of hiding and surviving, screamed for caution, for you to summon your powers and push him away, to reinforce the boundaries he so blatantly disregarded. Yet, another part, perhaps the part that had once known him more intimately, that remembered the complexity of his character, urged you to wait, to use this proximity to your advantage.

The realization dawned on you then, amid the tension and the charged air, that Loki's tactics had shifted because he needed something from you. His words, his actions, were part of a larger game, one that involved merely his goal, and by extension, you. It was a game of manipulation, of old affections twisted into new strategies, but it was also a game you could play.

"So, you miss the past," you found yourself saying, voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling within you. Your eyes locked with his, a challenge laid bare. "But the past is a realm even you cannot return to, Loki. We are not who we once were, and desires... desires can be as fleeting as they are dangerous." It was a gamble, invoking both your shared history and the undeniable tension of the present. You sought to remind him that you were not the same deity he had once known, that you had grown and changed, just as he had. In this dance of words and wills, you were not just the prey he might have assumed you to be; you were a player in your own right, with your own cards yet to be revealed.

The next move was his, and the air between you crackled with the anticipation of it.

Loki's gaze, a maelstrom of green, held yours with an intensity that bordered on the palpable, each flicker of emotion a testament to the centuries that had shaped him. His response, when it came, was threaded with the weight of ages and the depth of a god's desires.

"My yearning for you," he began, his voice a low thrum that seemed to echo with the gravitas of eons passed, "has never been of the fleeting kind. It is as enduring as the stars that light our skies, as unyielding as the fabric of reality itself. To suggest otherwise is to misunderstand the very nature of my being."

With these words, he sank to his knees before you, an act so filled with symbolic surrender and yet charged with an undercurrent of strategy. In this position, Loki, the god of mischief, the architect of chaos, positioned himself in a posture of fealty—or so it seemed. Yet, you knew better than to take the gesture at face value. Loki was many things, but straightforward was not one of them. Every action, every word, was laced with layers of meaning, designed to manipulate and coax the desired response from those he engaged with.

His move was bold, a calculated risk meant to disarm and perhaps to remind you of the dynamics that had once defined your interactions. It was an acknowledgment of your power, your importance in this intricate game he was playing. Yet, it was also unmistakably a ploy, a way to close the distance between you, to weave a narrative of shared history and unresolved tension.

The air around you seemed charged, thick with the history and the palpable tension of the moment. Loki, on his knees, looking up at you with an intensity that spoke of genuine desire mixed with the ever-present calculation, presented a picture of vulnerability. Yet, you were not so easily swayed. You knew the depths of his cunning, the lengths he would go to achieve his ends. His admission, cloaked in the grandiosity of his age and station, left you with a choice. To engage, to allow yourself to be drawn back into the orbit of his world, his plans, or to hold firm, to remember the reasons for your distance, for the life you had chosen away from the machinations of gods and their games.

The moment stretched, a tableau of tension and possibility, as you weighed your response, acutely aware of the stakes, of the game that was afoot, and of Loki, who knelt before you, a god cloaked in the guise of a supplicant, yet undeniably dangerous, undeniably compelling.

As Loki knelt before you, the atmosphere thick with tension and unspoken words, you made a decision. Lifting your leg, the black of your heeled shoes catching the light and glinting ominously, you pushed against his shoulder. It was a gesture meant to distance, to assert your autonomy against his sudden show of vulnerability or manipulation—whichever it truly was. Your voice, when it came, was laced with a mixture of resolve and undeniable truth, a reflection of the complex dance that had always defined your interactions.

"Your desire for me," you began, your words deliberate, "could never hope to keep pace with your lust for your myriad schemes and machinations, my love." The term of endearment, spoken so, carried a weight of irony, a nod to the past entanglements and the understanding that, for Loki, the pursuit of his goals often overshadowed everything else.

Yet, instead of acquiescing to the push, of allowing himself to be dismissed so easily, Loki's reaction was to tighten his grasp on the situation—quite literally. His hands, those instruments of mischief and manipulation, found your leg, his touch bold as he held you in place. Then, with an audacity that was quintessentially Loki, he pressed his lips against your calf in a kiss that was as shocking as it was calculated. It was an act of defiance, a refusal to be pushed away, and a statement of his intent all at once.

This gesture, so intimate and yet so brazen, served multiple purposes. It was a challenge to your autonomy, a test of your boundaries, and an undeniable declaration of his continued interest. Yet, it was also unmistakably Loki—crossing lines, blurring boundaries, and always, always pushing for more than what was offered. The action left you momentarily stunned, grappling with the rush of emotions it elicited. Anger, irritation, an unwelcome surge of something more confusing, all mingled together. It was a reminder of the power he wielded, not just through his magic, but through his very presence, his ability to unnerve and to provoke.

In that moment, the complexity of your relationship with Loki was laid bare once more. It was a tangled web of attraction and repulsion, of history and the potential for future conflicts. His refusal to be dismissed, to be pushed aside, was both infuriating and intriguing. It was Loki in all his complexity, challenging you to respond, to engage, to once again become entangled in the endless cycle of push and pull that had always defined you.

The next move was yours to make, and the shop, once a place of mundane tranquility, had become a battleground of wills, a stage upon which the next act of your shared story would unfold. With a flick of your fingers, reality within the confines of your shop twisted and shifted, unfurling like the petals of a flower under the first light of dawn. The mundane guise that had cloaked the truth from prying eyes dissolved, revealing the hidden splendor that no ordinary human could perceive. The illusion you had meticulously maintained for years now peeled away, and the floor beneath your feet transformed, paths of gold unfurling like rivers through the space. Artifacts, their origins as ancient and varied as the stars themselves, now adorned the walls—each piece a testament to histories untold and powers unimaginable.

But the transformation did not stop with the shop. It enveloped you as well, the very essence of your being responding to the unspoken command. The simple, mundane dress that had draped your form vanished, replaced by attire that echoed Loki's wistful remembrance. What materialized was reminiscent of your homeland's attire, designed for the relentless heat and the unyielding brightness of your realm. It was barely more than a tunic, the silk woven in patterns that spoke of ancient craftsmanship and royal decree, clinging to your form in a way that left little to the imagination. The hem flirted with the very brink of decency, the rump of your body barely shielded by the delicate fabric, a bold declaration of your heritage and status.

In this transformation, you reclaimed a fragment of your past self, the visage you had donned before you sought refuge and anonymity amongst the mortals of Earth. The change was not merely physical but symbolic, a shedding of the facade you had adopted to navigate the complexities of a world not your own. Standing there, in the true appearance of your being, you confronted Loki not as the unassuming shopkeeper he had encountered moments before, but as the goddess you truly were—powerful, formidable, and undeniably yourself. You stood before him not as an adversary to be underestimated, but as an equal, a being of immense power and depth, whose true nature was as complex and as potent as his own.

The shop, now a reflection of truths long concealed, served as the perfect backdrop for the unfolding confrontation. The artifacts that lined the walls, each bearing witness to the ages and the stories they contained, stood as silent sentinels to the encounter between two beings who transcended the mundane, whose histories were intertwined with the very fabric of the cosmos.

In this moment, the illusion shattered, the truth laid bare, you awaited Loki's response, the air thick with anticipation and the weight of unspoken challenges. The game, it seemed, had shifted, and the rules were being rewritten with each passing second. As the golden light settled and the true form of your shop shimmered into existence around you, Loki's initial reaction was a momentary flicker of surprise that quickly morphed into an appreciative smirk. His gaze swept over the transformed space, taking in the ancient artifacts and the streams of gold that ran like rivers across the floor. But it was the change in you that held his attention captive. The way the silk of your tunic clung to your form, the bold declaration of your divine heritage—it was as if he was seeing you for the first time all over again.

Loki breathed, his voice a blend of admiration and something darker, more primal. "This," Loki's voice wove through the air with an echo of ancient power, "is the true essence of you that lingers in my memory.” His eyes, alight with a mischievous and predatory gleam, never left your form as he slowly circled you, taking in every detail. "Hiding in plain sight, were we?" he mused, his tone teasing yet laced with an edge that hinted at the complexity of your shared past.

Despite the tension crackling in the air between you, you stood your ground, your posture radiating confidence and power. "And what of it, Loki?" you countered, your voice steady and imbued with strength. "Did you expect to find me cowering? Diminished?"

Loki's circling came to a halt, and he faced you, the distance between you charged with an electric anticipation. "On the contrary," he replied, his voice soft yet carrying an undeniable weight, as his fingers went forward, pulling at one of the strings keeping your body hidden from his gaze. "I've always known your strength, your... resilience. It's what makes this game so exhilarating."

The word 'game' hung between you, a reminder of the countless layers and facades both of you had navigated over the eons. This moment, however, stripped away those layers, revealing the raw essence beneath. It was a confrontation, yes, but also a recognition of the profound connection that had always existed between you—a connection fraught with complexity and contradictions.

"Are you certain you wish to engage in another game, Loki?" Your voice, steady and imbued with a quiet power, cut through the charged silence, even as you felt him unbuckle your shoes, his fingers deftly and slowly slipping them from your feet. "I seem to recall your rather... unfortunate defeat last time." The words hung in the air, a challenge and a reminder of past encounters where the balance of power had shifted, leaving Loki on the losing end.

Loki's hands stilled momentarily as he lifted his gaze to yours, a cunning glint sparkling within those deep green eyes. "Ah, but my dear, to dwell on a solitary defeat is to overlook the endless expanse of the game," he mused with a sly, almost serpentine smile. "The allure for me lies not in the victory or the loss, but in the exquisite complexity of the play itself. The interplay of strategy, the artful dance of minds. And," his voice dropped, a velvet caress against the tension hanging in the air, "the delicious possibility of reversing fortunes, which, I assure you, is a prospect I find most... exhilarating."

As he spoke, his fingers slid underneath your heel, leading your leg to rest over his shoulder with a care and precision that contradicted the levity in his voice. Loki laid another feathery touch to your thighs, gripping them tighter as he wedged his face between them, while you held fast to the edge of the counter. You stifled a moan when his tongue traced over the seam of your core.

There was no need to harbor affection for the man to appreciate the artistry his mouth provided. His tongue grazed the surface of your clit and you felt a tremor coursing through your very bones. He delved deeper, his taste encompassing the entirety of your core. As he did, your legs seemed to tighten inadvertently around him, though it posed no barrier to his indulgence. Your cunt clenched and you were swept away as his fingers dug deeper into the flesh of your thighs, pulling you closer onto his awaiting tongue. The surge of familiar emotions within you was overpowering, far too intense for your unprepared body. Your head fell back with a moan as you gave yourself to him in your entirety and Loki groaned, his tongue honing in on your bud as he chased your orgasm. He refused to relent until the heat had filled you whole, filled your soul. You writhed underneath him, hips helplessly buckling. Loki chuckled, a melodic blend of amusement and triumph, resonating with an undercurrent of sly cunning.

“That’s it, darling,” he coaxed as a surge of desire blossomed within you, enough to part your lips into a broken cry. His dark hair peeked between your fingers and his tongue snuck out to lick his lips while his gaze was set on you above him. His hand wandered to your tunic and yanked it away. His thumb grazed your nipple when he returned his mouth to your center, two of his fingers slowly dipping into your glistening heat.

“Loki,” you whimpered, tightening the hold on his hair—he matched your movements, arm securing you to him so forcefully no might on Earth and beyond could have parted you from his lips. He curled his fingers, rubbing that special spot inside of you and your stomach twitched. You felt him grin against your heat, teeth gracing over your sensitive bud, as a tremor ran through your body.

“My tempest darling,” he sighed when he finally pulled his fingers from you, leaving behind such an agonizing feeling of emptiness. You were about to retaliate, when he stood, bringing your body this his, hand running along the length of your thigh before he hoisted it against his hip. “Even if doubt shadows your heart, my dear, believe me, the absence of your taste on my tongue has been an ache most persistent,” Loki declared, his voice weaving together assurance and playful sincerity. One of his hands made quick work of undoing the dress pants of the black suit he was clad in, the other clutching your thigh close—so terribly tight you were certain even the skin of gods could be bruised by his hungry fingers. His lips found yours, softly at first, though through the looming desire burning within, Loki’s control appeared to stray when you bit into his lip, drawing blood. A groan tore from his throat, eyes darkening as he looked down at you, refusing to part from your gaze even as he entered you. Your mouth fell open against his, a silent moan slipping from your lips, his forehead dropping onto yours. He moved then, pulling out barely before he pushed back in so deeply it shook you. Loki had always been the embodiment of wickedness wrapped in the guise of charm; an enigma whose very presence stirred a vicious blend of temptation and sin, drawing all who encounter him into a dance with the devilishly divine.

“How I’ve missed you,” he whispered against the heated skin of your neck, traveling downward to softly kiss along your bared collarbones. His voice was a divinity, dark and rich and soaked with the sweetest of all sins. The emerald green within his eyes reflected the gold surrounding you. One of your hands cradled the back of his neck, fingers catching loose strands of raven hair that had grown so long in the centuries you hadn’t laid your sights on him. Loki held your thigh in a fierce grip, fingers digging further into your flesh with every stroke of his throbbing cock with your heat.

“You swore to kill me, my love,” you gasped as he delivered another harsh thrust, your head fell forward against his shoulder a searing pleasure built within you.

As his teeth grazed the delicate skin of your neck, savoring the salty essence of your being, Loki’s hand traveled from the curve of your thigh, securing you firmly against him at your waist, moving you against him in a refined rhythm. Against the warmth of your skin, he murmured, “To kill you, my little deity, would be akin to consigning a part of my own soul into the abyss.”

A gasp caught in your throat as he thrust into you deeper than before and you collapsed against him, coming with a cry of relief. He continued thrusting into you, arm keeping you secured against him as though you were about to vanish as you had done all those years ago. He lifted your chin, his mouth capturing yours when you felt him jerk inside of you. You felt his warmth spilling into you, his shameless groans filling your ears as he emptied himself within you. Breath mixing with his, you stayed there for a moment—in which the world seemed to narrow down to the space between the two of you, to the silent conversation spoken through glances and the slight tremors in your lungs.

Loki stole another kiss, then, as if breaking from a spell, his expression shifted, his early devotion to you giving way to a more serious, contemplative mien. “Business with you, my tempest darling, had always been a delight most exquisite,” Loki said, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that bordered on violence. “I trust you’re familiar with the tales of the Celestial Compass, aren’t you?”  he continued, referring to an artifact of immense power and ancient origin, rumored to guide its holder to whatever they sought most in the universe. It was an object that you had kept hidden away, its location known only to you.

The mention of the compass sliced through the tension, a stark reminder of the stakes at play. Loki's presence in your shop, the transformation of your surroundings, the exchange of words—all were mere preludes to this moment.

"Why, Loki?" you asked, your voice a mix of curiosity and defiance as you fixed the tunic he had so carelessly pulled aside. "Why seek the compass now? What is it you desire so fervently to find?"

Loki's smile then was enigmatic, a mask that offered no clear answers. "Ah, but revealing one's desires so openly is a dangerous game, my dear. Let's just say... I seek something that has long eluded me." The ambiguity of his response left you wary, aware that Loki's desires were seldom straightforward and often entwined with greater schemes and hidden agendas. Yet, the acknowledgment of this quest, of his need for the compass, revealed a vulnerability in Loki—a crack in the armor he so carefully maintained.

As Loki awaited your response, the weight of centuries and the anticipation of what was to come hung heavily in the air. The next move was yours to make, in a game that was as much about uncovering truths as it was about concealing them. In response to his inquiry, your reply came not in words, but in the form of a serene smile, a silent echo of your shared past. With a casual flick of your fingers, you vanished into the ether, just as you had done countless centuries before, leaving Loki alone in the confines of what now appeared to be a decrepit shop. Its once vibrant essence faded, reflecting the sudden void your departure had created.

Loki, momentarily taken aback, quickly regained his composure. A laugh, rich with both amusement and a tinge of admiration, escaped him as he reached out to snatch a golden letter materializing out of thin air. The letter, simple yet profound in its message. The words, though brief, carried the weight of eons, a testament to the enduring dance between you two. Loki's gaze lingered on the golden script, a smirk playing on his lips, already plotting his next move in the timeless game between you.

“Farewell, my love.”

#loki series #loki x reader #loki fanfic #loki #loki laufeyson #loki smut #loki x y/n #loki x you

[grandlinedreams]

Two weeks. Fourteen days, three hundred and thirty-six hours since the Polar Tang last surfaced.

Not that you're counting, or anything. You love your crew, you do ㅡ but there's only so much of inky black portholes and crewmate shenanigans (read: Penguin and Shachi) that you can take before it becomes too much to handle.

But you've finally surfaced, Polar Tang bobbing contentedly at the dock of an island that, for all intents and purposes, is beyond peaceful. Those grow rarer and rarer it seems (an unfortunate setback when you have a bounty on your head), and you're glad that your crewmates are just as excited as you are to get some non-submersible based peace.

Sighing contentedly, you lean against the railing of the deck, head tipped skyward. The breeze is nice ㅡ with your boiler suit peeled down to tie around your waist and leaving you in the black tank top beneath, there's quiet enjoyment to be had of air that hasn't been recycled and scrubbed clean.

"Not going to go run around with everyone else?"

The question comes from behind you, footsteps familiar enough that you don't need to turn around. Hooking your fingers around the railing, you lean back, tipping your head further to look at Law. "I don't think that Bepo, Shachi and Penguin constitute as 'everyone else'."

"Don't lean like that, you'll fall." A hand cups the back of your head, pushing you to correct your stance.

"You won't patch me up if I get hurt?" Your eyes lock with gold.

"When it's your own fault? No." The linger of Law's hand against the nape of your neck says otherwise, and a soft smile tugs at your lips as you take in his appearance. It's unchanged from his usual besides the absence of Kikoku, his sleeves rolled up to expose his tattoos.

"How tragic," you lament, grinning when you catch the slow eyeroll from the man beside you before your attention shifts back to the sky above. The sun set hours ago, tugging a blanket of midnight blue to replace the sun, scattered with silver pinprick stars. "Aren't they beautiful?"

Law follows your line of vision, the gleam of stars winking down. "I suppose so."

You snort. "Wow, what a romantic. No surprise you swept me off my feet with that kind of attitude." Your tone is light and teasing, meeting his flat look with one of amusement. Stepping closer, you ignore the reflexive tensing of his body as you lean against him. It's a little risky, pushing for affection beyond the closed door of his room ㅡ but when all he does is look away and give a sharp tug to his hat to shadow the blush of his cheeks, you know you've won. "Think they'll ever figure it out?"

They, of course, being the rest of the Heart Pirates ㅡ and Law snorts, this time truly amused. "The way things have gone so far? I doubt it."

"True," you say, leaning forward to rest against the railing once more, your gaze drawn back to the sky. "I think Bepo at least suspects something."

Law's hand drifts along your bare shoulders, fingers curling to tug you back towards him, and you smile to yourself as you let him. "If he does, he won't say anything." He pauses. "Do you want them to know?"

You debate for a moment, relishing the warmth of his palm against your shoulder, the fact that you're privvy to this softer, more vulnerable side of your usually intimidating boyfriend.

"Nah," you answer at last. "Think I'd like to keep this with you all to myself for a little longer." His fingers squeeze, and you don't have to look up to know he's smiling.

"Me too."

#ㅡmine. #one piece x reader #one piece scenario #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #–ml: law.

[jokeringcutio]

Stepdad! William Afton x (f)  Reader: New Year ( Warnings: Smut)

AN: Happy New Year to all my followers and all you WilliamAfton / SteveRaglan / MatthewLillard Fanbunnies. Here’s a little drabble that fits inside the stepdad AU universe.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content. Talk about adultery/secrecy/taboo relationship, mouth on v, p in v, unprotected s*x, threats of stepdaddy wanting to keep you with him.

The soft glow of fairy lights illuminated the room as you sat at your desk, pen in hand, diligently writing in your diary. The New Year had just begun, and with it came a sense of renewal, of change. You couldn't help but wonder what this new period in your life would bring—new experiences, new people, or perhaps a different side to those already in your life.

The door creaked open, and without looking up, you knew it was him—your stepdad, William. He entered quietly, his footsteps barely making a sound on the wooden floor. You didn't move, not even when he approached and placed a warm, strong hand on your shoulder.

"Enjoying the peace and quiet after all that partying?" he asked, his voice low and smooth like aged whiskey.

"Definitely," you replied, setting your pen down. "Vanessa and Mike really went overboard with the drinking, huh?"

William chuckled, his fingers starting to trace slow circles on your shoulders, drifting lower with each pass. "Yeah, they were both pretty hungover the next day. Serves them right for turning our living room into a war zone."

You shivered at the sensation of his touch, but continued the conversation. "I guess it was a memorable way to start the year." Your thoughts betrayed you, wondering if William's presence in your room held some hidden meaning, some unspoken desire.

"Memorable indeed," he murmured, his hands now dangerously close to the curve of your breasts.

The heavy thud of your diary closing echoed through the dimly lit room. William's blue eyes locked onto yours, a shadowy look lurking in their depths. He leaned in, his breath hot and hushed against your ear.

"Your mother is doubting our wedding," he whispered, his voice laced with bitterness. "She's talking about divorce. She suspects I've been fucking her darling daughter."

Your heart clenched at the words, anger bubbling just beneath the surface. You scowled at him, the unfairness of it all surging within you. It was he who had started this twisted game, manipulating you into secrecy. You would never want to hurt your mother this way. You’d never have allowed a married man to touch you if he hadn’t been living in the same house, under the same roof, manipulating you into this with every breath you took.

"And did you tell her the truth?” you hissed, accusingly. “Did you tell her how often you fuck her little girl?” You used those words on purpose, as William loved to remind you of how much younger and weaker you were compared to him. Nothing more but a little girl that needed to be put in her place. Whether you’d been bratty or not.

A low growl escaped his lips as he grabbed your wrist, flipping you over the desk without a moment's hesitation. Your body tensed, adrenaline rushing through your veins. He pushed your pants aside with rough fingers, and then… he surprised you.

His beard tickling your skin as he lowered his mouth to you.

"Dad!" you gasped, but it was too late. His tongue traced patterns on your most sensitive flesh, teasing you mercilessly. A shudder ran down your spine, the pleasure building up inside, threatening to explode.

The tip of the tongue dipped in. He slurped and sucked and suckled on your nub until you writhed in pleasure. But a strong hand kept you pushed down, your chest against the desk, your diary trapped underneath your tummy.

"Remember who's in charge here," he murmured against you, his voice dark with desire. The air from his lips tickled your wet folds. You felt a shiver run down your spine, felt your walls pulse helplessly with pleasure.

He always managed to do this to you. The strong hand kept pushing you down, giving you no room to move away from the onslaught of his mouth. His lips, his tongue, his beard – he was driving you insane. This must be the reason your mom invited him into her life, you thought through the haze. He was so good in giving you pleasure, that you’d forget whether you had said yes or no or had allowed him in. The sensation of his beard brushing against you only heightened the intensity, pushing you closer to the edge. You were seeing stars.

And then his lips were gone.

"Please," you whimpered, your voice wavering. "Daddy, please." The word felt strange on your tongue, but there was no denying the thrill it sent through you. William's eyes darkened with lust as he flipped you over, onto your back, and positioned himself between your legs.

"Remember, you are my little girl too now," he growled before thrusting inside without warning. The intensity of it left you gasping for breath, fingers digging into the edge of the desk. His movements were rough and hungry, leaving you with an overwhelming sense of both fear and pleasure.

His cock was stretching you impossibly wide, your vaginal walls pulsed around him in an effort to fit him in. Slick lubed him all the way, dripping down and even coating his balls that were heavy and tightened with each thrust, ready to burst.

"Harder," you managed to choke out, driven by a need you couldn't quite comprehend. He obliged, his grip on your hips bruising and unyielding. Your thoughts were a chaotic whirlwind, torn between desire for William and guilt over betraying your mother.

"Mine," he snarled, his eyes locked onto yours as he drove into you with brutal force. The desk squeaked and thudded against the wall, the papers that had been laying upon it fell to the floor, your phone tumbled over the edge. The word echoed in your mind, pulsing with each pounding heartbeat. You belonged to him, body and soul, and there was something undeniably intoxicating about that fact.

As the coil within you tightened, desperation clawed at your chest. "Oh, Dad, I'm—"

"Say it," he demanded, his voice harsh and unforgiving.

"Daddy," you whispered, barely audible. “I’m gonna come on your cock.” And with that final submission, you shattered beneath him, your climax crashing over you in waves. It took him a few more firm thrusts but he followed soon after, his release hot and possessive inside you.

You bit your lip after catching your breath, listening to the low pants of your stepdad as he too got down from his high. You watched as he ran a hand through his wispy hair, grey locks betraying how much older he was compared to you. Not that you minded. You thought the age had added a spark to him – like fine wine.

Withdrawing from your trembling body and leaving a trail of lukewarm cum on the inside of your thigh, William reached down, sliding your diary from underneath you. He flipped it open, his eyes scanning the pages. The thin-lipped serious expression he wore slowly was replaced by a predatory smirk. As he read, his smile only grew wider, more satisfied.

"Look at this," he murmured, his fingers tracing over your words. "You write you can’t wait for us to fuck. So eager during the day, waiting for your mom to go away so Daddy can have his fucking fun on the playground.”

A low groan, an indication of what your words did to him. You knew exactly which parts he was reading. The entries where you described how your body had started to adjust to him. How it felt when he had you warm his cock. How happy you were when he made you cum afterward. How your feelings for him had started to change. Whatever they had been in the beginning, they had been fully replaced with an unadulterated love for him.

His blue eyes met yours, the smirk never leaving his face. “You like it when I fuck you, sweetheart. How sweet. It even says you claim to have fallen in love with me."

He closed the diary, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss on the top of your head. The contrast between his earlier violence and this tender gesture left you reeling. He helped you up into a sitting position before he turned away from you, adjusting his pants and making sure he looked presentable again.

"I'll find a way to keep you with me," he promised, his voice low and dangerous.

You knew you should have been terrified, but all you could feel was that strange, dark thrill deep within your core. William Afton had claimed you, and there was no going back.

~

If you like this kind of filth, I have a lot more of Stepdad!Afton x Reader and more coming up. I also write for other interesting bad men such as slasher characters. If you are feeling generous - as it is the season of giving - you can always leave me a little thank you on my Ko-Fi (:

I’ll post some quick links below to other works. My prompt box is still open, but I will be heading into the hospital at the end of December and depending on my treatment, I might have to close it in the near future. But I’ll keep you up to date :)

Quick links:

~~ Masterlist - Request Box -  Support me on Ko-Fi ~~

#william afton x reader #stepdad x stepdaughter #stepdad au #reader x william afton #william afton #Stepdad!WilliamAfton x Reader #Fnaf filth #Happy New Year #older man x younger woman

[boxofbonesfic]

ransom + “You twitch in your sleep. It’s honestly one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen.” from the sleepy prompts list 🥰✨ dark or not ur choice

Title: Sleaze

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Warnings: Just a bunch of implications really, Implied Infidelity, Mentions of drunkenness, Ransom being a creep

A/N: i wrote this in twenty minuted hiding my phone under my desk, please excuse any typos 🥲

Your mouth feels dry and cottony, the taste of wine still bitter on your tongue. You shift without opening your eyes, your borrowed gown bunching uncomfortably beneath your hips as you do.

The night returns to you in alcohol soaked flashes; answering your childhood friend’s last minute summons with forced enthusiasm—after all, Louise only seemed to remember you existed when her flakey friends left her high and dry.

“What are you doing right now?!”

This time it was her engagement party, an extravagant affair planned by Louise’s overbearing mother, and her equally overbearing soon-to-be mother-in-law. You had already been in for the night, settled onto your couch with a glass of wine when your phone had gone off.

Louise had begged you to come—her maid of honor and two bridesmaids had both cancelled last minute, leaving her down one scheduled speech and gracious toast. And you’d gone, despite the ugly bitter feeling at not having made it into the bridal party yourself—and really, you’d understood the decision, considering your relationship had devolved into getting coffee once every few months.

You had thrown together a speech on your way over, practicing the padded list of platitudes in the rearview, about the “best friend” who was really just more of an extended acquaintance. She had a dress for you to wear, of course, striking down your department store cocktail dress with the same thinly veiled mixture of pity and disapproval that had caused the distance in the first place. You shrugged it off the way you’d been doing for over a decade—you couldn’t expect someone born with a silver spoon in her mouth to understand the taste of cardboard.

Your head is pounding, and you lift a hand to it, pressing your fingers to your temples. You’d drunk far too much, unsuccessfully drowning the feelings in a sea of red wine and bubbly to chase away the bitterness. How could you not be? You were staring down your third year at the Times, with no articles of your own and too much debt. Meanwhile, you doubted the majority of Louise’s guests—Louise included—had ever actually needed to work.

And then there was her fiancé… You shudder, lifting yourself from the plush pillows beneath you with a groan. You suppose to Louise’s credit, she had a type and stuck to it fairly religiously—assholes. And Ransom Drysdsle didn’t seem to be any different.

You shudder, your disgust re-surfacing at the thought of him. The crafty, shit eating grin on his too-handsome face as he’d brushed up against you for the fiftieth time, the palm of his hand slipping brazenly against your ass through the dress with an exaggerated “Oops”.

Sleazeball.

You groan again as you stand up, the slinky hem of your evening dress pooling at your feet. The heels and purse you’d worn—also courtesy of Louise’s closet—are in a heap at the foot of the bed. The room itself is as unfamiliar as the rest of the estate and boasts the same sort of heedless opulence that you’d noted in the rest of Louise’s fiancé’s sprawling manor; expensive original art, furniture that you suspected was both older and more expensive than anything in your meager apartment.

Through the tall windows the sky is dark, pinks and oranges are just beginning to eat away at the dark edges.

Why am I still here?

Vaguely you can remember being led up the grand staircase as the world shifted with every step, and a voice like smooth honey—

“You sleep it off in here, Sweetness.”

You debate whether or not to take the shoes and purse, considering your own are in the trunk of your car. Which is, of course, valet parked somewhere on the massive property. After a moment of hesitation, you decide to leave them—how far could the car even be?

You remake the bed to the best of your ability before heading for the the intimidatingly large door. You reach for the brassy handle, but to your surprise, it turns without you touching it. You gasp, stepping out of the way as it swings open. Ransom is on the other side, so close you can hardly believe there was a door between you only seconds before.

“Oh—well look at you. Didn’t think you’d be up so early.” You can feel the weight of his gaze as it travels down the line of your exposed throat and shoulders. “You drank like a fish, Sweetness.”

Louise’s fiancé is draped across the doorway like a sleazily suited curtain, his blond hair swept back from his handsome face. He’s still dressed in his party clothes, his expensive suit jacket slung over one shoulder and sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Embarrassment thins the smile you force yourself to return.

“I—yeah,” you mumble, rubbing the back of your neck. “Sorry about that.”

“What? No, don’t be,” Ransom shakes his head with a little laugh. The cruel curve of his lips makes it seem mocking, even if it isn’t directed at you. “By the time Lou’s friends are through, the staff is usually pulling heads out of toilets halfway through the night.” You grimace at the mention of Louise’s other friends, the ones who’s absent places you’d been called in to fill.

Ransom doesn’t move, remaining planted in the doorway like an annoying weed. For a moment, you stare at one another, until you clear your throat.

“Well, I guess I’d better—”

“How’d you like my room?” He asks suddenly, cutting you off. “Bed’s pretty comfortable, I think.” It’s something about the way he cocks his head, his lopsided smile spreading once again across his face, that makes you feel like he knows something you don’t. “Well, old room.”

“I, um. It was fine.” You say haltingly. “Comfortable. I’d like to—”

“You know, you’re nicer than Lou’s other friends,” Ransom says slowly, sliding one foot over the threshold and then the other. “I like a nice girl.”

“I should leave.” You say it plainly this time, but he continues to ignore it, like you hadn’t spoken at all. The tightness in your chest grows painful as he kicks the door shut behind him. You’re confused as he begins to work at the pearl buttons of his shirt, undoing them slowly as he speaks.

“You twitch in your sleep, you know.” He replies as he lays his jacket over the back of a chair. The diamond cufflinks at his wrists join his blazer as you stare at him in abject horror. “It’s honestly one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen.”

#bones drabble #ransom drysdale drabble #ranso drysdale x reader #ranso drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x y/n #ransom drysdale imagine #darkfic #dark AU #cevans #cevans fandom #cevans fic #chris evans #chris evans fanfiction

[wheels-of-despair]

Taking Matters Into Your Own Hands Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Eddie's on the phone talking to a nerd, and not in bed pleasuring his beloved like he should be. Evil Woman finds a way to make him focus on the important things. Contains: A vaguely threatening attitude toward Dustin Henderson, stripping for attention, wearing Eddie's battle vest, A Warning. Words: 600ish

Dustin Henderson will be hearing from your lawyer.

You've been lying ALONE in Eddie's bed for TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES while that damn kid rambles on the phone. You gather from Eddie's side of the conversation that it's about Dungeons & Dragons. Like they don't get enough of that before school, and at lunch, and after school, and at official meetings of The Fucking Hellfire Club.

You like the kid, really you do. You like all of your Hellfire children… usually. But it's Saturday, and he's cutting in on your Eddie Time, and that is against the law. Hence the lawyer you're about to contact.

You look at your watch and roll your eyes again. That's it. You're going to have to take matters into your own hands.

No, not like that.

You're going to force Eddie to take matters into his own hands.

You didn't wear uncomfortable underwear today for nothing.

You peek down the hallway and see Eddie's back still to you, sitting at the kitchen table with the phone cradled to his ear, probably doodling something on an envelope. You roll your eyes and peel off your shirt. If this doesn't work, you're trading him in.

You take off everything except those stupid panties that have been riding up your ass all morning, and reach for Eddie's battle vest. You slip it on and turn around to check yourself out in the mirror above his cluttered desk. Not bad, Evil Woman. Not bad.

You casually stroll out of his room and into the kitchen, like your only goal is to get a drink of water. You even resist the urge to ruffle his hair as you walk by to get his attention. You approach the sink and reach up into the cabinet for a clean cup, and feel the vest lift to show off your ass.

Something clatters behind you. Did he drop the phone? You smirk to yourself and fill the cup halfway, take a sip, and set it on the counter. You slowly turn around to find Eddie staring at you with his mouth open. As you suspected, the phone is on the floor. You lean back against the counter and spread your arms along the edge, placing your palms on the cool surface to show him more of the bare skin beneath his unbuttoned vest.

Still just staring.

You can hear Dustin yelling all the way across the room.

"EDDIE! EDDIE, ARE YOU THERE?"

You cross your arms now, for maximum cleavage, and raise an eyebrow. Make the right choice, Munson.

Without taking his eyes off of you, Eddie fumbles for the phone cord and starts reeling it in. When he gets to the receiver, he holds it up to his face, mumbles "gotta go" into the wrong end, and tries to hang it up without looking. Which means banging it against the wall.

You finally take pity on him and cross the room, taking the phone from his hand and putting it back on the cradle.

He's still just staring.

You stand between his open legs and rake your fingers through his hair. Is he even breathing?

"Did I break you?" you whisper.

He nods silently, eyes wide.

"Let's try a system reboot...y?" you chuckle at your own joke and reach for his hands, placing them on your half-exposed ass cheeks. Eddie's instincts kick in, and he squeezes.

"Next time you ignore me for one of your little sheepies, I'm gonna take matters into my own hands."

He smirks.

"Which means you don't get to play."

His smirk turns to a pout.

"You feel me, Munson?"

"Yes, ma'am," he says, giving your ass another squeeze.

#writings of despair #eddue munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x evil woman

[sashi-ya]

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟑 DAY 25: HAKI Shanks 𝘹 F! 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

Requested by: @bookandyarndragon ➡ Hi Sashi,  May I please have haki play with Shanks and an Afab reader who also has all three types of haki for Kinktober? Sort with of some give and take peting ans stroqking with Haki as well a domination. tw: mdni. usage of haki to fight and sexually. dominating shanks. breathe play. masturbation. vag. wc: 1k masterlist

In strength and power, you could say both were almost equal; however Shanks has always made you weaker…

It is fun enough to fight with him, using your swords and innate powers. It is pretty destructive, however, for the environment; either on the ship or on a random island, there is always a trail of devastation when you are finished.

“No, stop you two. Go fight on the beach, no more on the ship!” Benn scolds both of you, kicking you out of the Red Force. Shanks might be the captain, but Benn is like a mother.

“Either way you are gonna lose tonight” you mock Shanks, jumping to the shore right from the railing.

The red-haired laughs, and soon as you land on the sand, he does the same.

You run, unsheathing your sword to start the fight. Shanks, who can be a very honourable fighter, isn’t with you and attacks you by your back.

It is your observation Haki what alarms you, and your armament Haki what protects your shoulder from his blade -and of course Shanks holding back his force-.

“Traitor! You are attacking me from behind now? how dare you? Coward!” you turn around, hitting Gryphon’s edge with yours.

The brawling extends its length for more than twenty minutes, and, when you two become disarmed, it’s time to fight with your own hands… however, there are no fists involves but rather looks.

Eyes on fire fix into the other’s, a power that reaches the extents of the island and perhaps even further. It is invisible, but it can be felt; some pass out, others feel dizzy… both of you, like falling into a dark pit, with no oxygen and no light… but still standing still with no visible changes.

“I can leave you breathless, you know that?” Shanks brags about his unmeasurable power.

“You might, but I can still live with no air” you answer, feeling like invisible hands surround your neck and squeeze harder each second it passes.

Shanks smirks and allows his shirt to be fully opened as he walks slowly towards you. He seems not to be bothered by the constant usage of his emperors Haki, while you lose concentration.

Your knees become weak, and your legs are unable to hold your weight. You fall to the ground, but his strong embrace surrounds you before you could do so.

“Does my enemy here require some mouth to mouth to keep going?” he murmurs, holding your almost limp body with his arm.

You blink… “motherfucker… you won because you are too sexy, even to me” you grunt, before he could plaster his lips against yours.

Soon, his tongue takes advantage of your lazy one. You were still dizzy, suspecting that he didn’t stop using conquerors Haki at all. You let him do as he please, after all, your fights always end up this way… either Shanks lets your Haki make him dizzy or you do; in any case both always end up tangled in a lustful session of brutal sex.

He carries you, while kissing, towards the back of a big rock. The waves hit the surface and some water filters and wets the sand beneath. You don’t mind, he doesn’t either. Your sweating bodies are pleased to feel refreshed, nevertheless.

With your back resting on the rock, you take a deep breath. “Shanks… stop it.. I can’t breathe” you plead, feeling the crushing pressure of an irrational force that can’t be seen but of course can be felt.

“I am not using my conqueror’s babe… what are you talking about?” he lies, enjoying the way your eyes go white from time to time.

“You are… I know… you are” you huff, coating your fist in armament Haki to hit his abs. You can’t hurt him; you don’t even have the strength to do so.

He scoffs, attacking your neck with kisses and bites. “You are strong… why don’t you show me how much you could resist while I fuck you?” he whispers in your ear, sucking on your earlobe after.

You shiver. He can be dominating in so many ways, one of them is by overpowering you… but also, guiding you to the most submissive states you could ever think of. None of them are because of his Haki, however, but because you are naturally weak to his tempting demeanours.

And as competitive as you can be, but also needy and desperate to please him, you accept the challenge… “fuck me and don’t hold back, I will show you I can give you pleasure as much as I can take the force of your will”

“Very well… if you keep training like this, you will become a Yonko like me… now, where should I start… maybe, let’s see… touching you here?” he laughs, sliding his hand inside your pants and reaching for your sex.

Playful fingers, totally trained, slide in between your labia and land on your throbbing clit. He plays with how wet the surface is, slippery texture perfect to masturbate.

You wish it was easier, but at the same time being under his total domination tells you it’s totally worth it to feel like your world spins around in circles.

Moaning in silence, feeling like fainting and your core like exploding. Shanks slides his fingers now, deep inside your walls. You clench to them, even if your legs would not respond and neither your arms will…

But his fingers aren’t of course enough, and he wants more. And so do you.

“You are a monster… what are you, Shanks?” you mumble, with tunnel vision now and cold sweat running through your temples. His will, his power, his haki is beyond strong… he is not like the others, he is not a common human, he might be as well some type of God, some type of Seraphim.

He smirks, and perhaps he is not an angel, but a demon… “Am I…? are you already delirious, babe?” Shanks scoffs, lifting your weightless body up.

Your legs fall wide open as you lay on top of that rock, where the moonlight bathes you in silver hues and the waves crashing on the shore splash your back.

Shanks crawls on top of you, with his capri pants pulled down and his hardness out. Him, ready and effortlessly imprinting in your body and soul his haki, penetrates you unceremoniously and ruthlessly.

You are able to gasp, thankful for the air filling your lungs. Shanks Conqueror’s Haki is different from the rest… if he usually leaves people breathless, when he indeed uses it, oxygen seems to vanish from the whole atmosphere.

And so much he moves in and out of you, that you can only hear his grunts and little sighs… the blood in your ears, and the blurry vision, your pale blue lips, your trembling muscles…

He has conquered you; your body; your will… your climax and even beyond. You, had conquered him, as well… his will, his climax, and everything beyond…

taglist: @stephisokay @henrioo @shuzuiikoiii @bullbonez @fengxinwifutobecalled @i-started-reading-fanfics-at12 @crimsonlikeshellsing @weebare808 @thestarwasborn @bookandyarndragon @cyberdazetragedy @uzxotic @fushiguroshotwife 💖🙆‍♀️

#shanks #akagami no shanks #shanks x reader #shanks x you #one piece x reader #shanks one piece #shanks hc #kinktober 2023 #one piece x y/n #one piece #one piece shanks #shanks headcanons #hentober #shanks x y/n #red haired shanks #kinktober #shanks imagine #sashi ya #one piece x you #one piece x oc #sashi-ya #shanks smut #kinktober 23

[queenshelby]

Our Little Secret (Part Eight)

Pairing: Dark! Cillian Murphy x Virgin! Reader

Warning: Smut, Age-Gap, Daddy Issues

Notes: This will not be a love story. It will be dark, twisted and kinky. Cillian is portrayed as totally off cannon.

Later in the evening, you arrived at Cillian's and Danielle's holiday house in Cork with your parents. You all sat down, grieving, while Danielle opened a bottle of wine, offering it to everyone. You sat down with the group, sipping the smooth, dark red liquid as it slid down your throat. Conversation flowed easily, topics shifting from the funeral earlier that day to lighter subjects like movies and travel. But inevitably and unbeknownst to everyone else, your thoughts kept returning to the intimate moments you shared with Cillian.

Your mother, Sarah, seemed focused on the work messages that popped up on her phone, her attention drawn to the task at hand. Danielle, too, was lost in conversation with your stepfather Frank who appeared to be rather annoyed by his brother's wife's continuous antics. The air between them was dense and yet, the room hummed with conversation while a sense of unease hung in the air, subtle enough to go unnoticed by most, yet ever present to those who cared to notice.

Cillian often smiled at you in a way that was hardly appropriate, giving you a knowing look. It was as if he wanted you to know that you would always belong to him, regardless of whether it was behind closed doors or not. This thought brought a flush of both pride and embarrassment, causing you to look away, pretending to engage in conversation with the others.

Danielle glanced around the room occasionally, her eyes searching for something she couldn't quite grasp. She was oblivious to the truth that lay hidden beneath the surface, unaware of the bond between Cillian and you. And yet, she knew that something was up. Her husband was cheating again, and she needed to know who with.

There was no doubt about it now, but she didn't have concrete evidence, nor would she have expected you to be the one he was with.

The connection between you and Cillian was so subtle that nobody but you would recognize it and you even went as far as to pick up the phone and text him while he was sitting right across from you.

The rest of the company in the room did not suspect anything amiss; they only observed that you were slightly preoccupied.

"This suit you are wearing looks divine," you wrote to Cillian while looking around nervously, trying to divert any suspicion. He raised an eyebrow in acknowledgment before taking a sip of his wine.

After a second or two, he typed up a response while ensuring that Danielle did not notice what he was doing.

"So is your dress and the fact that I know that you are not wearing any underwear beneath it now makes it even more appealing," came the reply which ultimately made you blush.

You looked around the room once more, satisfied that nobody noticed your exchange with Cillian before texting him again.

Feeling a bit anxious while texting, you stole another glance at Cillian, observing the play of emotion across his face – desire mixed with calculation. It made you realize just how much power he held over you. He understood exactly what buttons to push to get you where he wanted you.

"Will I get to spend some more time with you after everyone goes to sleep?" you texted back, suppressing a smile as you waited for his answer.

Cillian's thumbs flew over his phone, conveying his agreement in mere seconds.

"Absolutely. I will sneak into your bedroom after my wife has fallen asleep," Cillian wrote back, grinning ferally.

You felt a thrill course through your body at the thought of being alone with him again and of having him inside you while his very own wife was asleep next door.

"And what will you do to me after you sneak into my bedroom?" you flirtatiously teased, letting the excitement show clearly in your eyes.

Cillian grinned broadly when he read your message.

"First, I will lick that cum from earlier out of your pussy," he replied suggestively, running his tongue seductively along his bottom lip and your skin prickled with awareness as the image of him doing that to you.

"And then, I will put my cock back inside you and fuck you till you can't walk straight tomorrow," Cillian continued to text, making your stomach somersault with anticipation.

You gasped enthusiastically, already wet and excited just thinking about his words just as your mother Sarah spoke up, telling you to get of your phone.

You quickly turned off your cellphone and nodded at your mom as she handed you a glass of wine. As soon as you got the chance, you picked up your mobile again, typing another steamy message to Cillian.

"Are you serious?! Are you really going to come into my room tonight??!" You pressed send and immediately looked around the room to make sure none of the adults could see what you were doing. However, there was still a part of you that craved the risky element of potentially getting caught.

Without missing a beat, Cillian answered your question.

"Yes, baby. I will slip into your room, undetected, and ravish you for hours." He let out a low laugh, watching as you squirmed in your seat. His smirk said it all - that he had you hooked, completely under his control. No matter how wrong it might seem, you found yourself desiring him even more than you had before.

"You are on your phone again," your mother suddenly pointed out before apologising to everyone else in the room. "Y/N is seeing someone I think," Sarah then mentioned casually in her drunken kind of state.

You winced slightly, realizing that your cover may be blown and began to blush.

"Mum, please," you pleaded while Cillian put away his phone and smiled.

"Oh yeah?" he asked teasingly, causing you to cringe. "Who is the lucky guy?" he wanted to know while everyone watched intently.

Feeling cornered, you hesitated briefly before deciding to play it cool. "Just someone from school," you stated nonchalantly, trying to maintain your composure despite your racing heart.

"She won't tell us, but that's okay," your mother told the others, laughing lightly.

"Yes, because it is nothing serious," you told your mother while Cillian furrowed his eyebrows. 

"You know what? I should introduce to the son of our new neighbors one day. His name is Max and he is rather good looking. He is 22 and studies law at Trinity," Danielle then suggested, catching everybody's attention including yours. "What do you mean by 'rather good looking', Danielle?" Sarah queried, intrigued.

"Well, he's tall, athletic, with lovely green eyes...the type that would make anybody stop and take a second look," Danielle elaborated further, painting a vivid picture in everyone's minds except yours.

"Maybe we could set something up?" Sarah offered jokingly, showing interest in playing matchmaker for you just as Cillian jumped in.

"I don't think he is that good looking Danielle. Despite, he is a little arrogant, wouldn't you say?" Cillian remarked, raising his brow at Danielle as he took a drink of his wine.

"He seems charming enough, Cillian," Danielle commented casually while Cillian shook his head.

"I am sure Y/N can do better than Max O'Connor," Cillian told his wife, sending a wink your way and you realized that there may have been a hint of jealousy in this voice.

Cillian did not seem to like the idea of you potentially seeing anybody else besides him. Even if that wasn't necessarily true in reality, the situation provided fertile ground for drama and conflict.

Meanwhile, Danielle ignored the comment and carried on changing the topic to discuss various legal matters related to the death of their mutual aunt. All throughout these proceedings, your mind constantly drifted back to Cillian and your impending rendezvous.

As the hours passed, the party finally started breaking up, leaving everyone exhausted. Everyone retired to their respective rooms, signaling the end of social interactions for the night.

Soon after you retreated to your room, the house grew quiet save for occasional creaks coming from the floorboards. Your heart raced with anticipation as you slipped out of your clothes and put on a thin silk nightgown that hugged your curves seductively.

You then settled on the bed with a book and began to read to kill time, knowing full well that you weren't actually interested in reading. Instead, your gaze kept wandering to the clock ticking softly beside your bed. The silence within the room seemed deafening, amplifying every sound. It appeared as though time stood still as you anxiously awaited his arrival.

Finally, the moment arrived. Quiet footsteps echoed down the hallway, and you instinctively recognized those steps as belonging to Cillian. As he approached your room, his breathing quickened, betraying his mounting excitement.

With silent precision, he entered your room, shutting the door behind him without making a single noise. The sight of Cillian standing in the dim moonlight sent shivers down your spine, as he stood there, wearing nothing but a pair of black Calvin Kleins.

His skin glistened lightly with sweat, highlighting his slender but toned physique. Your breath hitched involuntarily, your heartbeat escalating rapidly. This man knew exactly how to ignite fire within you. Inhaling sharply, he moved closer towards your bed, his intent clear.

"Danielle is asleep, but we need to be quiet," he said after he reached the bed and, with a swift motion, Cillian pulled your nightgown over your head, exposing your naked form beneath him.

Desire coursed through your veins as he traced lazy circles along your chest with his fingers, eliciting tiny moans from your lips.

"I will try my best to be quiet for you, Cillian," you whispered, reaching up to run your hands through his hair affectionately. His touch left trails of electric sensations wherever they touched your skin. It was hard to believe this was happening right now, so close to everyone else in the house, yet feeling so incredibly private and forbidden.

"Good girl," Cillian murmured against your neck, giving it a gentle bite. You shivered at his teeth grazing your skin, the eroticism almost too much to bear.

"Now spread your legs wide for me and let me eat you out," Cillian instructed huskily, his mouth dangerously close to your earlobe. His hot breath against your sensitive flesh heightened your desire, urging you to comply instantly. You obeyed, spreading your thighs wide open, presenting yourself vulnerably for him.

The mattress dipped as Cillian lowered himself onto the bed, positioning himself perfectly to taste your sweet nectar as well as his own as, just a few hours earlier, he came inside your pussy. 

"Fuck, you are so wet and full of my cum," he exclaimed, appreciatively taking in the view as his fingers parted your labia. "I can't wait to taste you," he added with a grin, leaning in to press his face against your cleft.

Your heart skipped a beat as he slowly ran his tongue across your folds, savoring the tanginess that mixed with his flavor. Each pass made you feel wanton and depraved, wanting more of his skilled ministrations.

"Oh god, please," you moaned before covering your own mouth with both of your hands, trying to suppress the noises escaping you. The sounds emitting from deep within you confirmed his prowess and skill. But most importantly, the raw passion and lust filling the air intensified the experience, drawing both you and Cillian deeper into this illicit encounter.

"We taste fucking perfect together," Cillian groaned as his tongue entered your wetness once more, driving you wild with pleasure. He then suckled upon your clit, bringing you closer and closer to climax. Your body trembled violently, unable to contain its release any longer. With every thrust of his tongue, another wave of ecstasy crashed over you, leaving you utterly powerless against his expertise.

At long last, an earthshattering orgasm ripped through your entire being, nearly knocking you off the bed.

You tried to suppress your screams and moans, knowing that Cillian's wife was asleep next door, but it proved futile. The intensity of your climax coupled with Cillian's masterful manipulation pushed you beyond all reason. Your insatiable hunger for his touch consumed you entirely, transforming your senses and Cillian stopped quickly to cover your mouth with his hand.

"Ssshh, you need to be quiet," he cautioned tenderly, kissing your forehead delicately before pulling away, recomposing himself. However, his gaze remained hungry and predatory, making your heart race even faster.

"I am sorry. I will try harder," you reassured him while Cillian slowly positioned himself between your legs.

"Good girl," he whispered approvingly, running his thumb over your smooth skin. Your nipples hardened under his touch, aching for more contact.

"Now spread your legs a bit more for me and let me fuck that sweet little pussy of yours full of cum," Cillian commanded, his tone dark and demanding. Without hesitation, you obeyed his command, opening your legs wider to grant him better access.

"No, wait..." you began to say as Cillian positioned himself and guided his erection toward your entrance, teasing the tip around your wet entrance until you were both desperate for penetration.

"You need to pull out before you cum. I left my pill at home, so I didn't take any tonight. It should be fine, but just in case, you should not cum inside me again tonight," you warned him and Cillian nodded reluctantly before, inch by agonizing inch, he pressed forward, allowing only the smallest portion of his cock to enter you initially. Your muscles squeezed tightly around him, welcoming him inside your warmth.

"I will just have to cum in your mouth then when I am done fucking you," Cillian growled possessively, claiming ownership over your body. He proceeded to start thrusting into you, starting with shallow movements that built into harder ones as he got lost in the rhythm. Your moans and gasps filled the space, creating a symphony of pleasure that reverberated between the two of you.

Each powerful stroke brought him deeper inside you, causing both of you to lose control, surrendering completely to the primal nature of your connection.

"You feel absolutely amazing. So warm and tight. And I love how greedy you are," Cillian praised as he continued thrusting into you with forceful strokes. Your body trembled underneath him, your walls contracting repeatedly around his member.

He held your head firmly, pinning you to the bed as he spoke harshly, "you are mine to fuck, just mine!"

 His words stung like a whip, reminding you both of whose body you belonged to during this tryst.

"I am yours to fuck, Cillian!" you cried out, losing yourself completely in the act. Caught up in the heat of the moment, neither of you could hold back anymore.

"I am close," you told him fiercely, pressing your lips to his neck as your eyes closed, feeling his strength flow through you.

Cillian responded with fervor, speeding up his pace dramatically, rocking your world with each plunge of his length inside you.

"Yes! That's it! Good girl! Take my cock!" Cillian commanded, sealing his lips around yours with a fierce, dominating kiss that left you both craving more. His large hands gripped your waist firmly, holding you in place while he continued thrusting into you with such force that you found yourself unable to speak coherently. All thought processes ceased as the pure physical sensation took complete control over your mind and body. Every movement he made felt electrically charged, sending shock waves throughout your system.

As Cillian pounded into you with increased vigor, the bed shifted beneath your weight, hitting the wall multiple times until, finally, you came, hard and fast.

As the euphoria hit you, time seemed to stand still - and then everything rushed back in one tumultuous torrent of sensation. Forcing your way past your limit, you met Cillian's gaze with a mixture of pride and satisfaction. The look he gave you, however, suggested something different altogether – he wanted to make you cry out for him. With one final forceful push, he claimed victory over your body. You screamed, the sound muffling slightly against his palm.

Still, there was enough noise to alert someone nearby and, as soon as you had peaked, Cillian struggled to contain himself any longer.

Without warning, he pulled out and released his seed all over your belly button, watching intently as the sticky substance dripped downwards on to the sheets.

"Fuck you look so hot, covered in my cum," he growled, tracing his finger along the path it took before collecting some of it and bringing it up to your mouth.  Reluctantly, you opened your lips, allowing him to feed you his essence. As you swallowed, the bitter yet enticing liquid combined with the salty residue of arousal and sweat sent shivers racing through your veins. This marked a turning point between you two, blurring lines and reinforcing the bond of deceit that would consume you.

"That's good, isn't it?" he asked softly, his voice laced with both admiration and tenderness.

"So good, although I wish you could stay and sleep here, with me, tonight," you exclaimed, longing his closeness as, slowly and unbeknownst to him, you were developing feelings for him.

"You know that is not an option," he said dismissively, not looking directly at you as he got up. "I am married, remember? And if this wasn't bad enough already, my wife is asleep right next door," Cillian quipped lightly, avoiding direct eye contact with you, feeling guilty towards you as well as her.

"I know. It still would be nice to share another night like the one in the hotel," you admitted sheepishly, glancing sideways at him with a wry smile with was a suggestion to which Cillian agreed.

"I think that could be arranged when we are back in Dublin after this trip," he replied, smiling slightly. 

Your cheeks flushed red with excitement, hoping that day would come sooner rather than later.

Cillian reached down to the floor, reaching for his briefs and putting them back on. His eyes were lingering fondly on your face for a brief moment before he was walking towards the bed again and kissed you goodnight.

He turned off the lamp near the bedside table and exited the room quietly, shutting the door behind him with deliberate care. Leaving you alone, wrapped in his aftermath, savoring the memories of what just transpired between you two, the thrilling sensual interlude continuously playing on loop in your mind.

Unbeknownst to anyone else, especially Danielle, who slept oblivious in the adjacent room, you allowed these thoughts to become a constant companion, driving you wild in ways you never imagined possible as, slowly, but surely, you were falling in love with a much older married man, and you knew that this was a disaster to happen.

Tags:

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#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x you #cillianmurphy #cillian x reader #cillian x fem!reader #cillian x y/n

[starlingflight]

Ginniversary Drabble 3

Prompt - O72 - sorry, its just that i get nervous when someone else is driving.

AO3 or read below:

“So,” Ginny drew the word out until it was almost a breathy sigh that she knew would carry to Harry's ears on the faint spring breeze. Sunlight glinted brightly off the sleek chrome surface as she stroked her finger languidly down it. She looked at him over her shoulder, letting her hair fall back and pushing her lips out into the smallest of pouts. “Were you ever planning on taking me for a ride?” 

She leaned back against Sirius’ old motorbike, half-perched on the leather seat, as Harry laughed. “Your mum will kill me.” 

“I’m of age,” she reminded him, quite unnecessarily; he was definitely aware. “I don’t need my mother’s permission.” 

“No, but I do!” Harry protested, leaning against the wall of her father’s shed; showing no intention of moving, despite Ginny’s best efforts. “She has to love you unconditionally, I’m already on thin ice.” 

“Oh please, she’ll disown me before she disowns you!” 

“She already gave me a lecture about how you’re her responsibility until you finish Hogwarts,” Harry continued, a slight tremor in his voice she knew he was trying to battle into submission. “It took a lot of the enjoyment out of my treacle tart.” 

“That is not true!”

They shared a look and Ginny thought the same image that was filling her mind might be in his too; a taunting smile, a jet of light from her mother’s wand, the corpse of Bellatrix Lestrange dropping sickeningly to the ground. Suddenly, the balmy spring day felt unseasonably chilly. 

Ginny’s laughter was weak, but she forced it out anyway. Ghosts could only haunt you if you dwelled long enough to let them; she had become experienced in outrunning them. 

“I’m practically done, only one term left to go.” 

“Ninety-six days.” Harry agreed. His eyes went wide. She suspected the words wouldn’t have slipped from his lips at all if not for the unsteadiness of the moment. 

Ginny quirked an eyebrow; the smile spreading across her face was genuine. “Keeping count, are you?” 

“No,” Harry’s grin made it clear that this was a lie. “I know for reasons totally unrelated to you.” 

“Oh? What reasons might those be?” Ginny settled herself more firmly onto the motorbike’s seat, legs dangling over the side, looking at him expectantly. 

His smile remained in place, but something in his eyes turned earnest. “I’m keeping count.” 

Her head fell back in laughter. The motorbike remained stationary on the ground but Ginny felt the familiar soaring in her stomach that she’d grown accustomed to accompanying a moment of complete happiness in the face of the demons that were always lurking beneath the surface. 

“So, in ninety-six days I can take this thing for a spin?” 

“I can take you for a spin on it,” Harry corrected. 

“And what if I want to go solo?” 

She didn’t. She had a very specific vision of how this was going to play out, one that involved her arms wrapped around Harry’s waist, and her face tucked against his back while the wind blew through her hair. 

“No.” 

Still, the speed with which he shot down the suggestion had her eyebrows raising in surprise.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, eyes shining with a vulnerability Ginny was beginning to understand was for her eyes only. “It’s just that I get nervous when someone else is driving it… it was…” 

“Sirius,’” She finished for him. 

This time, it was Harry who didn’t allow them to linger in the shadow of a grief too big to face on a peaceful Spring afternoon. “Anyway, is that really what you want to do the minute you finish Hogwarts?” 

“Maybe,” Ginny shrugged, allowing the change of topic. “It feels fitting, doesn’t it? To finish school and do something a bit reckless and dangerous?” 

Harry shook his head. “It’s not that dangerous – your dad put loads of safety charms on it when he was rebuilding it.”

Ginny refrained from pointing out that if that was the case, there was no reason for her mother to protest her going out on it now. 

Instead, she slid from the seat and swiftly crossed the untidy patch of grass that separated them. “You’re playing this all wrong…” Her hand found his; Harry immediately used the contact to pull her closer. “you’re supposed to tell me how risky it is…” She rose onto her toes, letting her lips brush against the shell of his ear. “Entice me with tales of your thrilling adventures...” 

When she pulled back, Harry was smirking at her, and his eyes were focused intently on her lips. “I did get this when I went round a corner too fast the other day, if that’s dangerous enough for you?” 

He held up his free arm, the one not currently wrapped around her waist, revealing what she’d thought was a long, red burn across his forearm.

She’d seen it already, her eyes had been drawn to it the minute she’d got off the train, but she’d assumed it was from work, and hadn’t asked for any further explanation. The scenarios she dreamed up in her head while she was at school, and he was maddeningly out of sight, of things that could happen to him were hard enough to deal with, without adding more details to flesh them out further. 

Ninety-six days. Ginny had a feeling the number was about to become something of a mantra. Ninety-six days and she’d be able to see for herself that he was alright at the end of each day. 

“That looks terrible,” she said, pretending to look more closely at the minor abrasion. “I think you might be in need of a mediwitch.” 

Harry’s voice lowered in response to her tone. “If you think that’s necessary…” 

Ginny was already reaching behind her, nodding, as she unlatched the door to the shed. “I’ve really expanded my healing capabilities this term… if you’ll just step into my office, I think I should probably examine you, just to be on the safe side.” 

#hinny #harry x ginny #post-canon #ginniversary bingo #drabble

[the-mostdiabolik-of-lovers]

ELLO !! i’m glad your back

(NSFW)

may i have reijis reaction to a really feminine and sweet s/o but also can have an attitude or sharp tongue in other words is an angel and does what she’s told most of the time but also can be a massive tease and acts up when she wants attention and or is needy- 🎀

Reiji: One would almost never guess what sharp-tongued stubbornness lies beneath your surface. Almost.

Reiji: It happens to always be those you suspect least, who are the most of a handful. Perhaps if you learn to have manners, I'll do more than ignore your demands for attention.

#diabolik lovers #dialovers collection #the-most-diabolik-of-lovers #ask #react #reiji sakamaki #sakamaki reiji #dialovers #anonymous #diabolik lovers x reader #diabolik lovers ask blog

[helloescapist]

The Hashiras in Bed | Gyomei Himejima

Word Count: 3269

Setting: Gyomei Himejima x gn!reader

Content Warning(s): NSFW, smut, shameless, brief mentions of kinks, casual and committed relationships.

Summary: NSFW headcanons, what sex and intimacy means to the Stone Pillar.

A/N: I'm okay. totally okay.

[artwork is not mine, all credit goes to Koyoharu Gotouge]

Entering the Stone Pillar’s bed, you’re expecting softness. Sweet caresses, tender praises. Soft nothings that edge into fantasies, of devotion, and of worship. The callous of his fingers traced amongst your surface, testing each pull of your muscle beneath him. Savoring the feel of you beneath him, using his sense of touch forth his imagination, to paint the image of your desperate cries, the yearning in your eyes beneath his fingers. Himejima’s heightened senses, the fast past of your breathing as you meet his hands eagerly, drawing a near shy avert of his smile before pressing further. A gentle giant that hums of intimacy, that worships you with beneath the etch of his fingers, and ringing prayers in each whimper.  More than capable of seizing your arms above your head, lifting you to meet his hips in eager thrusts that command devoutness. The mere depths of which he can captivate your depths, leave your hips aching and shattered beneath each thrust, the mere tender way his hands that captivate your own, your thighs caught at his pelvis. Completely aware that if the Stone Hashira ever desired to, he could crush you-- sex with Gyomei may not be everything you suspect.

It's true, on one hand, the sex with the Stone Hashira can be tender, as well as giving. More often than not bordering on comfort, on routine, and the safety of familiar positions. Knowing well that he can capture your pleasure within the security of your hold, but there is more lurking beneath the crust of stone, buried under layers of dirt, touched upon the heat of the earth.

Should you only bring it to the surface, dare to tempt the fissure. To summon release, to accept what disasters may come.

The reality is that Gyomei take sex very seriously. He craves comfort, he seeks out security, and as such, it should come at little to no surprise that he is not one to delve into a casual relationship.

The idea of bearing himself to passing fancies, strangers in hearts, familiar with names only, no I imagine that the idea of exposing himself to someone who is not one with his soul, trading flesh for pleasure would likely not only make him uncomfortable but leave him reeling in a pit of self-deprication. Desperate to scrub the memory of an unfamiliar touch, the taste of a stranger’s tongue, the scent of the unfamiliar, or how his dick twitches at the echoes of a moment.

The small touch of loathing that burns into his stomach before he relents the distant reminders into his fist. Horrified at the cries he elicits from himself drawn up from a simple passerby.

No, for Himejima sex is so much more, and to engage in even the occasional rendezvous with even an acquaintance is a detail of shame he will burry into secrecy.  

So unlike that of the Insect Hashira, the axe wielder not only desires the connection of hearts and souls, but requires it for the sake of a performance.

Casual ventures may have started as genuine interest one in which he desperately wanted to divulge in the unknown but was quickly met with the harrowing of realities.

Questions of what he was doing, why was he here, everything quick to seize his conscious. To wonder if in some way his partner may feel pushed into the entanglement as well, his interest quick to dwindle. To become fairly disinterested at the point of harm to his partner, though Gyomei would be the type to remain consider.

The sickening realizing of how… artificial it all feels. Devoid of connection, of love, of hearts as one.

No, he no longer as the means to pleasure you in such a way, but he will not leave you in a horrendous state. The depths he will draw an orgasm to your senses, for your troubles and time.

Yeah, it’ll become more of a business transaction, a little something for your troubles—the way he leaves your core muddled and near weeping, your knees unable to bear your own weight.

Leaves you fucking ruined for any other.

He is not the type to open on a whim to a stranger, nor does he enjoy the idea of ushering his burdens to others, and friendships are cultivated over time, so the idea of casual sex is not one that he will visit often, if at all.

But stranger things have been known to happen.

Actually, for Gyomei sex is crucial in a relationship, but due to his distaste for the touch of a stranger, you can expect that a majority of sexual encounters will not likely occur outside of a deeply committed relationship. So much so that you should be aware that Himejima is entering the relationship with minimal experience, and unattuned to his own needs.

Gods above, imagine exploring the depths of sexual pleasure with him.

That being said, you may be under the impression that Gyomei is not one to seek sexual encounters, and there is some truth in that in his day to day. However, in terms of his own relationship, you could not be further from the case.

You will do well to remain patient with him, because he is not one to jump into matters of the flesh quickly. It’s not going to occur within the first few months of courtship and may not be met for a minimum of a year.

He needs time, he savors familiarity. The comfort of your touch, to know the passions of your heart, the whispers of your slumber, and the coos of delight of your favorite meal. To know the ache of childhood disappointments, and regrowth, rejections and joy,

Gyomei desires to know you to the fullest extent before the desire to know the depths of your physical, the heat of your whole, or the desperate way you cry for his thrust—no, he wants to know you on the deepest level possible because in his heart and mind, sex will be so much better when this bond is solidified.

As though in entangling limbs, the final truth of your bond. Verification of your devotion, of hushed moans unheard by others, pittering thrust against wood paneling bearing the weight of you both etches your bond into your souls united as one at peaked pleasure.

In a committed relationship, he savors sex, and places a higher value on it than other Slayers may.

In truth, there are many ways in which Himejima struggles to communicate the depths of his affections, the hush of his burdens, and the weight of his responsibilities. Intimacy is the perfect way to convey the depths of his devotion.

The drowning of his love, and adoration for you, and he will make it a point to make an encounter routinely. Even if that means he must be boring and pencil you in for a weekly appointment.

 Actually… I imagine in many ways due to his inexperience, and nature as a whole, a routine tryst may be the best route for him. You will discover that while sex is crucial to the Stone Hashira, spontaneity does not come naturally.

So much so that you will have to make the first move. When the time is right of course. Too soon will draw anxiety of expectations, set a pace that leaves him uneasy and insecure.

Pondering if his inexperience will sedate your needs—the thought is enough to have him avoiding the opportunity at all costs. But gods if you ever divulge upon your own needs, crying his name. As time goes on, your bond has become more assured.

Nights spent snuggling, days simply basking in each other’s company. Shared secrets, assorted or not, Weeks turn into months, months have turned into a painstaking year or more.

It’s understandable if you’re practically weak at the notion of finally getting his kimono to slip, just the small peek of a shoulder is enough to make your rabid, daring to trace a finger at his shoulder blade.

Little things such as apply balm to his wounds nearly erotic—no that he ha noticed. He has, and the smallest part of him wonders if perhaps you want—nope, no. Gyomei is so painfully likely to talk him out of the notion that his own lover may actually want to bear themselves to his desires that you will absolutely have to be the one to make the first move.

Let’s be clear, even if the blush has claimed your features, and you struggle to sputter the inquiry, gods he’s melting and choking on his food or if your move is perhaps one of a bold stroke.

the tease of your fingers slipped between the folds of his kimono. Tracing soothingly, the deepening pressure of your lips against his own. Parting only momentarily as the heat of your gaze as you whisper with the utmost assured of your own desires, “I want you.”

Truthfully, a more forthcoming partner is more likely to have their needs than one who is meek and struggling to communicate sexual desires. Not that he would ignore such, it’s just definitely going to take a paaaaaaaaaainful amount of time for either of you to progress. like, it’s been HOW long?.

Himejima will take your lead if you should only take your hand between his. Many assume that due to the man’s stature that he is quick to lead the pace of the relationship, but they would be so terribly wrong.

He is by nature, reserved. So much so that it can hinder the first few encounters, and pose the potential of leaving you both feeling awkward. Eager strokes that fall between shattered hips.

The blush on his features, tripping his fingers unsure of where to group to graze. Unable to relinquish himself to the moment, to you, and because of this, a partner who is capable of seizing control of the bedroom will be beneficial for the both of you and less frustrating.

Because of this, you will have to take the lead. To whisper small touches of praise, and reassurance. Cry into his touch, whisper sweet compliments between peppered kisses, met at the pace of his hips.

“MMM, t-there. J-just like that.”

Assist him in finding the pace in which both of you are peaking, clinging to one another in the sweetest of unfolding. Risks of becoming undone.

God, help him come undone. He carries so many burdens upon his shoulders, struggles to allow the control to slip between his fingers.

His quite nature is one that shields those around him; Gyomei never wishes to disrespect another person, and this will follow him to the bed.

Not only is consent at the top of his thoughts, but unless you take charge, the Stone Hashira is so worried if his pace is enough, if the depth, the length, the girth of his dick is too much beneath his weight; the look of how you had appraised his erected cock.

As though marveling the length, and the girth. Praise whispered of how big his cock was somewhere between stroking his confidence, but also leaving him wondering if--- is it too much for you? Are you okay?

I’m telling you, Mei-Mei is a sub that needs all of the reassurance. Fight me.

Help him to push the thoughts from his mind. To succumb to his desires, to your touch. Whisper praises. Marvel at his cock, sing the depths of enjoying as he fills you to the hilt.

Delight in his comfort, because as Himejima grows more and more comfortable in your embrace, in your nights together, under your direction, you will find that he is a passionate man.

Even better is the moment in which you reassure him that traditions mean little in your bed, and in your sex life. The moment he sheds the expectations that he should carry the burden of initiation, of drive, and domination, the slip of resolve has slipped between his fingers.

Drifted to the lulls. Soothed by your reassurance, and determined to serve you in ways you never dreamed. He has shattered his cocoon, and will do everything within his power to edge you to oblivion under your command.

Sex with Gyomei is all about sharing himself, his deepest self. To give his all to his partner.

At times, you may even be surprised at how the sweet and timid partner you know so well, can become passionate and wild in the bedroom upon our initiation. The blush of his cheeks met at the praise, driving him deeper and deeper.

Having you thanking all the gods that the bedding is a futon, knowing all too well a western bed would snap beneath his thrusts. The Stone Hashira is giving. Understanding.

 He strives to satisfy you. To leave you broken, ruined for anyone who dares to follow.

Discussions of your sex life is actually a big hit for him. One part of it is that it touches on that consent kink, the reassurance that everything, I mean everything he is about to do to you, or you to him is on the table, and suited to fulfill both of your fantasies, but I expect that this would spill over into aftercare. More on that in a bit.

The ability to talk about such things—it’s a hudge hit for him. It gives him confidents, and reaffirms that you are his, and his alone. To be able to have such intimate, deep conversations. He adores that you both of you feel as though your boundaries are being respected, and all sexual desires are accepted.

I’m genuinely convinced that Gyomei is in all terms of the word, a service sub.

The hitch of your hips against his tongue. Left to roam the edging of your sex, peaked and hitched. Yearning and crying in desperation. Bucked against him. Or the way your voices nearly growls as your fingers grip his hair, beckoning him to dive deeper into your sex.

The command of your voice near enough to have him on his knees, worshiping you through whispered flicks across his tongue. Any wish is your desire, he is at your mercy, just please. Whisper his praises.

“mmmmm,” your voice a purr, straddling his hips the pinion of your weight rendering his movements stiff and uneasy. The coy buck of your hips that spewed the smallest of whimpers, pathetic little please that cooed desperation. The cutest of moans, and tremble of his hips. Shaky breaths that fall on near tears as you press against his hips, refusing the attempt to meet your own. “I didn’t say you could move.”

The time in which he happened upon your fingers buried deep in your cunt/threading across your dick. Small purrs pleased and teased, thinking of the massive cock to fill you to the brim, oh how he struggled with the issue of whether to interrupt you.

To thread his hold on you. To meet you. He’d never. Never dare to pleasure himself unless without your instruction. Shy fumbled way, having to be assured to stroke himself as you directed.

No, walking in on you was a severe infringement that had him worried, until you purred his name, told him to either close the door, or join him.

Initially, it can be quite a struggle for him to completely confess his deepest desires, and truthfully, it may take even a little longer than one would anticipate.

You likely have figured out how he leaned towards sub during one stroke, the curiosity having bubbled into you before you took the lead, daring to be a little more aggressive than usual.

The way he melted beneath you. Allows the press of your hand to guide him to his back, putty beneath each thrust. Breathy little moans, cooed out.

Confused, dazed at your command, and unable to deny the claims of his body. Or how quickly he relented into you, weak beneath your pounding.

Allowing the cute muffled moans of surprise guide the slam of you against him,  sensitive to every shift of you against the tip of his dick to the sheathing of his shaft, filled to the brim. Leaving him tender, near babbling.

The sputtering of an apology when he cums far sooner than expected.  

As a giver, and so eager to please, Gyomei is the sort to be fairly open to a variety of encounters in a committed relationship.

Funny as outside of a relationship, he wouldn’t even consider holding hands, but I digress.

Approaching him in an open conversation, communicative to express your needs. Ensuring you do not press upon the force of the kink whatever it may be—give him room to consider.

It can at times be a little much to process, but he holds it considerably dear to his heart. You’re trusting him with the deepest of your desires, and he’s considering it if he has not already outright said yes. More curious requests may take a little more time—and it’s fair.

He’s fairly vanilla by nature.

Things such as dirty talk, and massages will always land their mark with his heart.  Sort of, for the most part he’s adventurous, and as long as it is nothing that inflicts pain upon you.

He’ll give it a shot at least once, but as usual, he will require praise. A little more here and there, peppered in, feed his ego, and you will discover how quick he is to lean into the encounter.

Completely immerse himself in it, allow you to carry him away, absolutely lose himself and become unraveled in the moment.

That being said, I strongly believe that Gyomei would adore the opportunity for you to hand cuff him, tie him to the bed, or whatever position you desire to do so. Have him at your mercy.

Honestly, the Stone Hashira is a mountain of a man, and because of this, there’s a double-edged gift of this. It’s allowing him the opportunity to step out of his duties and allow you control of him.

To relinquish to your touch. In whatever way you desire. Pull his hear. Tie him to the bed. Bring him to the brink of tears only to deny him.

Whisper sweet filthy nothings, depict the absolute way you will run him, have his cock weeping in each thrust, the tip of his cock to meet your tongue. Cried, desperately pleading, and begging you desperately. Ached, and trembling.

Over stimulated.

The blush against his scars, shattered cries and pleading. Begging. Only hushed his cries against the way you reassure him that he is doing such a good job.

Just a little more.

Not yet, tsk tsk.

Not until you say so, mmmmm the rock of his cock, a victim to your relentless pounding.

Grasping what little sanity he has to resist the buck of his hips, bite down the shattering cries and aches of begging to cum into your core. Biting back the feeling of humiliation, the touch of your fingers firm. Cooed begged.

Puddled, and spewing.

To hold him tight when he can no longer resist, to ease kisses upon his brow. To listen to the small bit of tears, as he apologies for the mess, to adore the gentle way his fingers will wander your thighs.  To understand that Gyomei will accept you for all that you are and give himself to you time and time again. Etch your name into your heart, the intertwine of your bodies proof of your own bond, souls intertwined in heart and ecstasy.

It’s vulnerability.

It’s devotion.

It’s him.

#demon slayer x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kny x reader #gyomei x reader #gyomei himejima x reader #thehashirasinbed

[aemiron-main]

I Lost It: Henry Lost His Innocence In That Cave

So, I talked in this post about ST vs It Follows & the idea of Henry’s experience with the scientist in the Nevada cave being sexual assault coded.

And now, I want to talk about that some more, specifically regarding the wording surrounding the cave incident and the use of the word “lost,” and talking about how Henry “lost it.”

Which, I hate to say this, but the wording reminds me of the wording surrounding a “loss” of virginity, especially with all the parallels between ST and It Follows that I already mentioned in that linked post, plus the way that they phrase the line as “I lost it,” rather than having Henry say something like “I lost my spyglass.” Using the word “it,” instead and leaving the line more open-ended/ambiguous leaves room for a double meaning.

On the surface, Henry lost his spyglass.

Beneath the surface, he lost something else.

And also, the Captain Midnight spyglass very much functions as a representation of Henry’s innocence- it’s associated with 7 year old Henry when we see him getting it for his birthday. And when TFS Henry talks to Patty about his Captain Midnight cipher + his lost Captain Midnight spyglass, Patty asks him if he’s too old for those things- point is, the spyglass is frequently associated with Henry as a child and his innocence pre-shadow- the spyglass that Henry lost. The symbol of innocence that he lost.

And in interviews about TFS, Kate Trefry talked about TFS involving the “loss of innocence:”

And specifically re: the virginity thing, there’s also a line from Hopper in TFS where he talks about how theyre looking for a “creepy little drama virgin” re: trying to find the person who killed the cats:

But then, EVEN THOUGH Henry is the person who killed the animals, Jim wrote him off as being a suspect because Henry “doesnt have the upper body strength.”

So, when we read between the lines, Henry isn’t a virgin because he doesn’t have enough upper body strength.

Gee, that doesn’t have absolutely horrifying implications re: sexual assault and not having the upper body strength to fight somebody off or anything. Especially not when we consider the idea of a flayed scientist attacking Henry and the extra strength that the Flayed seem to get (see: Flayed Billy).

And on the topic of upper body strength, I won’t be surprised if we get a parallel between Henry, Billy, and Barb with Henry trying to escape the cave and getting dragged back down the same way that Billy and Barb do when they try to use their upper body strength to save themselves, but don’t have enough upper body strength (especially with the lower levels of the steelworks having cave vibes & the lower levels of the library, where Barb’s body ends up, also having cave vibes):

Which, Barb’s very SA coded pool scene scene is cut with shots of Nancy losing her virginity:

Especially with how Barb tries to CRAWL out of the pool, and Billy tries to CRAWL out of the steelworks versus Brenner in TFS talking about how Henry will come “crawling,” back to him:

Especially with Brenner specifically being the one with the line about “crawling,” back versus Billy says “who’s there?” (see: Stav’s post about how “who” = Brenner) RIGHT before Billy gets yanked to the ground and tries to crawl:

TLDR: as much as I absolutely hate to say this, I won’t be surprised if Henry’s experience in the cave is likened to a loss of virginity and was the loss of Henry’s innocence and if Brenner was directly involved in this.

#stranger things #the first shadow #henry creel