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pinejayy · 6 months
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╰┈➤ OPLA Characters catching their S/O touching herself.
featuring: sanji, zoro, buggy, mihawk, shanks, and arlong
warnings: nsfw!! afab reader!! teasing, masturbation, oral, fingering, curse words, a little degrading.
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Sanji
Sanji prepared a nice dinner for the whole crew, and as everyone was eating he noticed that you weren’t at the table and like the gentleman he is he went to go fetch you for dinner.
He walked towards your private cabin and he knocked on the door, waiting for your response and sadly he heard nothing. So he knocked again….and still nothing. So he decided to just open the door “Y/N! My darling, dinner is ready.” He said.
He was shocked when he saw you laying on the bed with your legs spread open and exposing your pussy. You were touching yourself, he stood there watching you.
You were too busy in your own pleasure that you didn’t notice him. You were fingering yourself and moaning softly. As your other hand was playing with your boobs.
As you were pleasing yourself you felt someone’s hands grab yours and you quickly stop and look up seeing your boyfriend. You immediately turned red and cover yourself. “Ah! Sanji!! Why didn’t you knock.” You yell out and close your legs and sitting up, your face was red.
And he chuckled and moved your hands away and opened your legs. Exposing your wetness to him, and he couldn’t help but chuckle. “I did knock, but I guess you were too busy. I wanted to tell you that dinner was ready but I found myself a little snack. You don’t mind if I have a little taste right?”
And before you could reply to him he pinned you to the bed and moved his head towards your pussy. Dragging his tongue into your folds making you moan softly. Your hands quickly found their way to his hair. “Sanji…oh fuck.”
He couldn’t help but feel turn on but he did make dinner after all! So he pulled away “Come on now, let’s go enjoy dinner. You wouldn’t want the rest of the crew to get suspicious right?” He said making you pout and he laughed. “But don’t worry darling, I’ll have you as a dessert later on.”
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Zoro
God he was drinking all day so he was out of it, but he did become needy so that’s when he began looking for you around the ship and he had luck finding you. Grumbling to himself he decided to check your room.
As he walked towards your room he was about to just walk in like nothing but something stopped him. He heard small muffed moans coming from your room. And he pressed his ear to the door to hear you clearly.
“Damn someone is having fun without me.” He thought to himself and he couldn’t help but get hard as he heard you behind the door.
You laid on the bed fingering yourself, two fingers. Moaning Zoro’s name under your breath. “Zoro…baby I need you.”
Putting a smirk across his face, he opened the door and walked in. Closing the door behind him and locking it. “My look at what we have here. Someone is having fun with out me.” He teased out.
You quickly gasp out and sit up and blush. Looking away from him. “Oh my god! Why didn’t you knock!” You yell out. He had a smirk across his face and walked towards you and got on the bed and pinned you you down.
“And why didn’t you lock the door?” He chuckled and as he looked at you. “Why didn’t you tell me anything? You know I’ll always put some time for you and your needs.”
You blush and look away, still too embarrassed to talk. So he just leaned in and placed his lips against yours, sliding his tongue into your mouth. And his hands slowly started making their way down to your pussy. And he couldn’t help but moan softly as he felt at how wet you are and with a quickly motion he slid a finger inside of you. “I’ll treat you real good tonight, don’t worry princess.”
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Buggy
Buggy seemed needy today and he didn’t see you around! He usually wasn’t needy but today felt different. He seemed to look for you everywhere and you weren’t in sight which made him frown. He even asked his crew if they saw you. And they said no which pissed him off. “You guys are useless!”
He stomped his way back to your guy’s shared room, and he opened the door and he was shocked when he saw the slight. You were touching yourself!! You were having fun without him!
While you were too busy with fingering yourself Buggy smirked to himself and got an idea. He detached his arms and they made their way towards you. And he grabbed your hands making you gasp loudly and he pinned your arms above your head.
“My look at this dirty little slut, touching herself without me!” He teased and he walked towards you. “Buggy…I’m sorry!! It’s just tha-“ You began saying but were cut off with his lips smashing against yours.
You two shared a heated kiss, tongue’s fighting for dominance and Buggy growled into the kiss feeling his bottoms get tight. He was getting hard. Pulling away from the kiss, there was a string of saliva “God baby! You’re making me hard.” He laughed out. Standing up and his hands went back to his body.
“Go on touch yourself.” He said, grabbing a near by chair and sat down. “I wanna see.” He said clapping his hands together. “Give Buggy the Clown a show of his own.”
You just look at him and were completely embarrassed now. But you sigh and position yourself so he could get a better view. And you opened up your legs and slowly you began to slide in two fingers inside of your dripping hole.
As you were moaning softly, Buggy smirked and got an idea. “Close your eyes Y/N.” And you being the good girl you are you obeyed his words. Closing your eyes, and feeling something poke your cheek. And he giggled out “Okay you can open them!!” As you open them you saw Buggy’s floating dick in front of your face. “Be a good girl and open your mouth.”
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Mihawk
This man has had a long and stressful day and he just wanted to return home with you and have a nice relaxing day. But of course something had to come up. More like him walking into something.
Mihawk didn’t think too much before walking into your guys shared room. But he didn’t expect you to be touching yourself. He watched you as you play with your needy hole and clit while you moan his name out. He couldn’t help but lick his lips. This definitely was unexpected surprise from you.
He smirked to himself, you still haven’t noticed him yet so he coughed loudly. “Oh my! Look at my baby girl.” He cooed softly and walked over to you. You look away, blushing from embarrassment. “Mihawk…”
He began removing his coat and bottoms, and he threw his hat to the side. “Were you having fun hmm?” He got on the bed and began crawling towards you. “Aw is someone needy.”
And you just nodded. “Yeah…you’ve just been super busy lately. And we haven’t gotten any time together..” You say softly, looking away feeling ashamed. You knew he had business to do and he couldn’t always be there to satisfy your needs.
And he immediately felt bad, Mihawk knew he was busy but he didn’t realize how needy you were. “Oh sweetheart, why didn’t you tell me anything?” He frowned. “I don’t know I just didn’t want to be selfish..” You say softly. And he felt even worse now, but he was determined to make you feel good tonight.
A devilish smirk spread across his face. "Then please allow me to make it up to you darling." He whispered and leaned in towards you and placed his lips against your neck. He removed his boxers and his hard cock sprung up. "Please allow me to make you feel good tonight. Please say yes. "
"Oh God...yes please Mihawk." You moan out and he leaned in and shared a deep kiss with you. And slowly he postioned himself between your legs and started to guide his hard cock towards your needy pussy. Sliding in slowly. Both of you moaning, God it's been awhile. "I promise Darling that tonight is going to be special."
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Shanks
He was staying over at your place for a few days. And it's been wonderful, you guys have been having a great time. Such as cooking with each, late nights talks and amazing sex.
But at the moment Shanks was passed out in the living room and you were in your room all hot and horny. And since he wasn't up you decided to touch yourself. Not like he's gonna hear you anyways.
You began removing your clothes and laid on the bed and spread your legs and you began playing with your chest and trace your skin softly and slowly your hands made their way to your clit. Rubbing it slowly.
Shanks was sleeping and he woke up sudden. "Huh!? Fuck what time is it?" He asked himself and looked around and you seem no where to be found. Making him pout.
He stood up and yawned, and walked towards your bedroom and before he could open the door he heard you moaning behind the door. He groaned to himself. "Playing with yourself without me huh?"
Shanks opened the door and looked at the glorious slight of you touching yourself. He felt himself getting hard. God the things you do to this man. "Baby! You're having fun without me!" He pouted.
You yelped and sat up. And blush and look away from his eyes. Shanks walked towards you and before you could do anything his head was between your legs. And his tongue was going all out. Moaning into your folds as he ate you out.
You began moaning loudly. "Shanks! Oh God." And he graoned, God this is making him more horny. "You're in for a wild night baby!" He mumbled against your cunt.
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Arlong
Despite him hating humans you were quite special to him, he hates the fact that he fell in love with a human. But Arlong will protect you and he’s still pretty rude towards you and loves talking down on you but if anyone else were to say something bad about you he’ll make sure they’re his next meal.
But Arlong was at ‘Arlong Park’ currently his fishmen were throwing a party, there’s loud music and booze everywhere. He was having a good time, but you weren’t by his side which was odd, you were always by his side no matter what.
So he decided to go fetch you so you can join the party, heading his way to your room. When he got to your room he froze, he could smell you. Sniffing the air around, he placed his ear to your door and could hear you moaning.
A smirk spread across his face, and he decided not to knock and just walk in. “Hey Y/N, you busy?” He said, walking in your room. He saw you spread across your bed and with two fingers inside of you and the other hand was playing around with your nipples.
“Oh god!” You yell out and stop as you heard his voice. “Arlong baby!” You whimper out, and pouting. And he smirked and laughed at your reaction.
“Touching yourself? Typical humans and not being able to control their dirty needs.” He snarled but eyed you. He couldn’t help but lick his lips. He looked around and saw a chair in your room and decided to sit on it. He patted his leg “Sit.”
And you quickly followed orders and sit on his lap,gasping slightly and he wrapped an arm around your waist. “Now move.” He demanded.
Moving your hips against his lap and moaning loudly, feeling the fabric of his pants rubbing against your clit gave it the prefect friction. “Such a dirty little human, you’re getting my pants wet.” He spoke and stroked your hair. “I hope you’re ready for the time of your life. We are having our own little party.” 
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rqgnarok · 9 months
Text
delicate - jamie tartt
fandom: ted lasso
wc: 3,589
warnings: no mentions of specific pronouns for reader, jamie being a lil self deprecating, mentions of his dad, allusions to smut but, like, barely. set in season 2.
summary: jamie hadn’t planned on dating. his reputation’s never been worse. but then he met you.
masterlist / ao3 / ko-fi
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Jamie’s nervous.
This shouldn’t even be happening. Dating had been the last thing on his mind after his life fell apart. Leaving Man City, joining and being kicked out of a reality show, and coming back to Richmond with his tail between his legs– it had all been a domino effect; a very bad, terrible, decision after another. 
Jamie hadn’t planned on dating. His reputation’s never been worse. But then he met you. 
He’d gone out to some dive bar with a so-called friend of his– some guy he met during the production of Love Island that loved weed and Jamie’s connections– on a fucking Tuesday, of all days. Jamie was supposed to be in bed because training started at 7 sharp the next morning, and the last thing he needed was to show up late and tired. Instead, he’d been in a back alleyway behind a club downtown, moping and drinking his third fruity drink of the night, sweet and heavy with alcohol. 
It was a stupid idea, but he was lonely. The certified-prick plaque that he usually wore so proudly wasn’t so shiny anymore and his dad had been blowing up his phone about everything he was doing wrong– what he wore, how he combed his hair, who he hung out with, the failures that landed him back at Richmond. 
Jamie had been in need of alcohol and human company and up to that point of the night he was 50% on his way. He was considering finishing his drink and calling it a night when the muffled beat of the music inside the building exploded behind him, becoming so much louder it rattled his teeth.
Someone came out the back door, he realized. You; pretty with your own drink in hand, looking around. Your eyes fell on him and he sat a little straighter on the curb, unsure of what kind of attention he was gonna get.
You blinked. “Oh. Hi. I wasn’t expecting anyone here.”
“Sorry,” he answered automatically. He’d been doing a lot of apologies as of late. “Was a bit stuffy in there, ain’t it? It’s usually alone in here.”
He expected his accent to be a dead giveaway, gearing himself up for a photo or an autograph or a rant about something he’d done to upset you somehow. Instead, you smiled at him and turned towards the ground, shy.
Cute, Jamie had thought. He’d been doomed from the start. 
“Yeah. Don’t know what we were thinking, going out on a Tuesday,” you’d rolled your eyes, referring to the group of friends that had refused to take no for an answer and dragged you clubbing not even halfway through the week. “Like a hangover’s exactly what I need to get through this week.”
“That bad, huh,” Jamie raised his eyebrows in amusement, watching you huff and puff under the streetlight the back of the club offered. He hoped you couldn’t see him very well, his dark jeans and Nikes along with his designer shirt were pretty much footballer prick Jamie Tartt’s trademark, recognizable even to the worst of drunks. But Jamie didn’t want to be recognized, he just wanted to talk to someone. 
“You wouldn’t believe me,” you huffed, sipping your drink and obviously giving him an out. You’d both come out here for some peace and quiet, after all, but Jamie was done with quiet. 
He wanted his friends back. He wanted his efforts to be noticed, for his dad to leave him alone, and to enjoy the company of a pretty stranger at the back of a bar. 
So instead of following your cue, he patted the spot next to him, looking up at you with an attentive expression. “Try me.”
And so you did. You sat next to him and talked until three in the morning. Suddenly the bar was closing and the dark cloud that hung over Jamie’s head for months was momentarily dispersed in your presence. He went home with your number on a napkin and less than four hours to catch up on sleep before he had to go to work, but a happy man.
And, okay, look. Jamie’s popularity is– in the dumps, really. It’s all negativity at this point, and he usually balanced it with good football, but that was back when he took any honest criticism of his person as petty jealousy. Now, with his shattered self-image and after becoming the internet’s laughing stock, he’s been trying his best to keep his head down
since the media and most of England trashes him whenever he dares to take a breath in public. 
At least his mum’s talking to him again, or rather Jamie’s finally picking up when she calls, but things still don’t feel right. He’s playing and getting enough minutes but it’s not a victory if he can’t hug his teammates when he scores a goal. If he comes home to an empty apartment and no messages on his phone, no one to celebrate the night with. 
So, pretty much everyone hates him. Even Keeley’s bordering on forced politeness these days, which says a lot about how badly Jamie’s done it this time, and yet–
And yet. 
“The fuck are you smiling about?” Isaac grunted when he caught sight of Jamie biting back a grin while typing, lacking his usual bruv. Still in the doghouse, apparently. “Won’t kill you to be early for once, ey? Put that fucking thing away.”
Jamie did, not before a quick look at his texts before pressing send.
hey 
its jamie from the bar??
was wondering if u wanted to go out sometime. i really enjoyed spending the other night with u
He spent all training missing his cues, taking fouls from his teammates, and making Ted’s mustache twitch with… not disappointment but something. It made him a little nervous, but any thought about it flew out his head when he got his hands on his phone at the end of the day, your notifications on his lock screen.
Hi, I’d love to!
I really enjoyed being with you too :) 
Is tomorrow night too early?
It wasn’t. But your schedules were nightmares to line up and you spent almost three weeks trying to catch up to each other. You had a work thing, Jamie came back too tired from a game, you had a friend visit, another game was rescheduled… You name it. Anything that could’ve stopped that date from happening happened. 
But neither of you were giving up. While you couldn’t see each other, your text thread grew and grew and grew, never running out of things to talk about. Despite having seen you only once in person, Jamie was pretty sure he knew you better than he’d ever know other girlfriends and boyfriends he’d had. 
When you texted him to get a good night's sleep and when he told you to get home safe, he pretended, only with a little shame, that this was something you did all the time. That when you were on your way to your place he’d be there waiting for you, asleep on the couch because he tried to stay up for you. When you wished him sweet dreams he’d imagine you next to him, tucked close against his side.
He pretended he was yours. All the damn time.  
And this– today– when the planets finally align and a version of his illusions happens to come true, he’s nervous. Can’t help it, no matter how well it’s going. And it is going well, with Jamie in your apartment where you’d set up a nice dinner for both of you, the date you’ve been talking about for almost a month. He would’ve suggested his own place, but it’s filled with football memorabilia and awards he doesn’t want to explain yet. 
He likes how you treat him. You talk to him like he’s a normal bloke you met at a bar and not a celebrity you’re too afraid to even joke around with. 
“Oh, dinner looks ace, love.”
“Yeah? If I accidentally poison you at least it’ll taste good.”
“I’ll die chuffed, at least.”
A snort. “You’re so fucking British.”
“Oh, bug off, please! Thanks! Cheerio!”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Didn’t know you were so religious.”
“What can I say, Jay, you make me feel closer to God.”
“Ha! Haven’t even kissed you, yet.”
“You seem awfully confident.”
“Night’s very young, angelface.”
It’s so easy, being with you. Being himself with you. 
So what if you barely even know each other? He already knows all about your childhood dog and you’ve been made aware of what’s it like to grow up in Manchester. But shit, just because Jamie wants to bare his soul to you maybe it doesn’t mean he should. He could at least wait until you’ve seen each other in person more than twice, and yet.
And yet. 
He’s at your place, looking at your record collection, running his fingers over the spines of the books on your shelves. He just ate the pizza you cooked– vegan, because he did mention sometime in the past weeks that he’s on a strict diet regime and the fact that you remembered makes him wanna cry a little. 
He likes you so much. Doesn’t he owe it to you to be honest?
“I gotta tell you something,” he pipes up, obviously catching you off-guard.
“Alright,” you say slowly, leaving your wine glass on the coffee table and scooting to give him space on the couch, arms wrapped around your legs. “Sure. Shoot.”
Jamie sits, messing with his hair and avoiding your eye. He looks behind you at the picture frame hanging on the wall, a photo of you with your friends on a trip you took to the States last summer. The stories you told about them made him laugh so hard that he’d snorted and spilled his drink everywhere.
“I didn’t know how…” he sighs, figuring there’s no use beating around the bush. “Haven’t been completely honest with you, love. About… what I do. Who I am.”
“Jamie–” you begin, consoling and standing up straighter, reaching to place your hand on his arm. He shakes his head.
“I just– I didn’t know how to tell you,” he rushes out, meeting your eye with a pleading expression. How scared he must look right now he doesn’t know, but your features soften even further into something sympathetic, kind. He doesn’t deserve you. “And– and I know we– we’ve barely gone out, yeah, but I– I like you. Fuck, man, I like you so much, but you deserve to know–”
“Jamie,” you say again, firmer. You duck your head to try and meet his eye, searching for his stare. You’re still smiling. You haven’t stopped smiling at him since you met him. “I know. If this is about you being… famous, I know, okay? About everything.”
The anxiety that’s been clawing at his throat freezes and fades, just a little. “You… do?”
Your smile turns sheepish, a little guilty. “I… kind of recognized you the night we met. It took me a minute, but I knew I’d seen you somewhere. Your voice helped, too. I think I’d recognize it anywhere.”
“Oh,” he says, feeling like an idiot. He still wants to cry a little, but it’s less hysterical now. He manages to feel safe in your apartment, a space that screams you everywhere he turns to look. Your photos and posters on the walls, your chipped mugs in the kitchen, your colorful rug under your coffee table with one leg shorter than the others, held up with books underneath it. 
“I sound like a creep,” you admit, embarrassed yourself. “I’m a fan of the sport, is all. But I figured you wouldn’t like to talk about your life with a stranger, so I didn’t push. I’m sorry.”
Jamie shakes his head, finally reaching for the hand you have on his arm. You haven’t been a stranger since that first night. “Don’t be. I should’ve told you from the start. You deserve better than that.”
“Than… you?” Jamie doesn’t reply. His jaw tightens and your voice turns reproachful. “Jamie–”
“The public hates me,” he cuts you off. He hates to say it but you need to hear it. Even if you think you know what his life’s like right now, you don’t know the depth of the mess he’s in. “You… being seen with me will probably ruin your life. Wasn’t fair of me to ask you out and not tell you what comes with it.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Jamie,” you say, instantly fierce and defensive of him. You’re defending him for some reason, and you don’t know half of the things he’s done. “Not the truth, not a damn thing. You don’t need to put your whole life on display just to get me to… to trust you, or something.”
Tears blur his eyesight, but he refuses to cry in front of you. Not on the first date at least. Or is it the second one? Does your late night at the dive bar even count as a date?
“Love,” he says gently, threading lightly. “I’m serious. Wasn’t bluffing when I said I like you. A lot. And I know it’s only been, like, one date–”
“Two,” you pipe in. Jamie can’t help his amusement. That answers his question, he guesses. 
“Two dates, then,” he continues, rubbing soothing circles on your knuckles with his thumb. Your eyes go back and forth from his face to the touch, mesmerized. “But this could be somethin’, you know? Somethin’ good and I don’t want you comin’ into it blind or whatever. I’m not– I ain’t exactly a good person.”
You don’t even blink. “I don’t believe that.”
You’re stubborn. It’d be endearing if Jamie wasn’t so convinced of his shortcomings. “Love, I’m a twat. I’m mean to everyone I know, even people I like. I don’t tip enough at restaurants. Never been a very good boyfriend either. ‘m not sayin’ it to be mean. ‘s just who I am.”
You cup his face with your free hand and Jamie melts into it. It’s the first caring touch he’s been offered in fuck knows how long. “What if I like who you are? Public suicide and all, what if I want to be with you? What if you make me happy, Jamie?”
Jamie can’t see how he would but he doesn’t you to leave, either. Like, ever. “You make me happy, too. It’s like I know you already you know?. From a past life or somethin’, does that make sense?”
Your shocked silence makes him hesitate, his hands twitching in discomfort. “Is that… cool?”
“Cool,” you say, eyes full of wonder and voice a little emotional, pulling him closer before he can do something stupid like let you go. “Jamie, I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I met you.” 
A pleasant surprise washes over him, warm. He says, a little choked. “Cool. That’s– that’s cool.”
You grin, trying not to laugh, and cup the back of his neck to bring his mouth to yours. “Cool.”
There’s little talking after that, and who would’ve known your couch is the perfect make out spot? Jamie’s mouth is pilant and responsive against yours, his hands wandering for any skin he can reach and making tiny sounds at the back of his throat that you swallow greedily, unable to get enough of him. 
He leaves your place that night disheveled and happy, kissing you goodbye at least five times (two of them in the hallway before he finally scurries off) and not without making you promise to watch Richmond’s game this weekend. 
It takes you a little too long to clean up after, even if Jamie did wash the dishes you used during dinner (“what kinda guest would I be if I didn’t help? Ma would have a heart attack!”) because you keep bringing your fingers to your lips, tilted upwards in a dreamy smile. 
You make it work. Both you and Jamie continue with your lives trying to be subtle about this new development and a new routine is created; he comes to your place after most games and training unless he’s too tired. Then you meet him at his house, avoiding taking the same roads in case the paparazzi get a bit too creative. 
It’s a little weird. Definitely new, but you find yourself trying to spend as much time as you can with Jamie. Dates at smaller spots and at weird hours; he even takes you running at 4 am once, to which you responded with never again and I’ll forgive you for doing this to me if we share a shower. Needless to say, the early morning wasn’t a total loss.
But your homes turn out to be the safest places to turn to. He becomes ingrained in your apartment as do the flowers he buys for you and puts in a vase on your kitchen table: red chrysanthemums and white clovers, daffodils and heliotropes, blue salvia. 
You once use his phone to order takeout and he has a website on flowers and their meanings open. When he sees you carefully put some of the flowers in a book for safe-keeping, Jamie's face fills you with a need to keep him safe, too, coped up in your home and away from the world that keeps asking too much of him.
His teammates are warming up to him, albeit slowly. Jamie has reassured you he’s alright, that he knows mending the bridges he’d burned on his way out of Richmond will take longer than he’d like, but he’s hopeful about the way things are turning out. 
You feel bad sometimes for keeping him distracted at such pivotal moments in his life of self-reinvention, but he outright refused when you offered to distance yourself a little so he could spend more time with the friends he very clearly cared much about. He was almost offended about it.
We could wait if you want. Maybe it’s too soon to do this yet. I know it’s a delicate situation Jamie, and I don’t wanna rush you into anything.
I don’t wanna wait, Jamie had answered, stubborn. He tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear, pressing you against the kitchen counter. His eyes wouldn’t leave your face. I want you. 
And he has you. Completely and undeniably; this thing between you, this relationship, however delicate, becomes steadier as time passes. You’re already talking about meeting his mom and taking him back to your hometown for a visit, possibilities Jamie could never have dreamed of when he first met you. 
You’d told him during those first dates how unpredictable relationships could be. And neither of you can deny how your personal situation makes things even harder, but that doesn’t mean you’re not willing to try. 
I can’t make any promises of what’ll happen next. No one knows shit these days, Jamie. But I can be with you. And I can make you a drink, if you want. 
He tells you about his dad, too, eventually. In his effort to be more honest with you, even if you tell him multiple times he’s got nothing to make up for. He tells you anyway, wrapped in your arms on your couch while a movie plays in the background, the only source of light in the room. 
Me dad weren’t… you know. Good, or whatever. He’s always thought ‘m too soft and shit. And when I try not to be I… I’m someone I’m not, y’know? Someone I don’t like.
It puts a lot of things into perspective. About when you first met and how he later tried to push you away, convinced he was a terrible person and you wouldn’t want to be with him if you truly knew him. 
What you do want is to track down his dad and, like, throw a brick at his window or something. But you only embrace Jamie tighter, kiss his hair, and don’t mention how tightly he holds your arms to keep them around his torso. If he cries a little, then that’s between you and God, and you’ll die before you ever make fun of him for it.
You wake up one morning to find Jamie staring at you, eyes lidded and sleepy. 
“Dreamin’ of me, angel?”
Your first action of the day is to snort thanks to your fantastic boyfriend. “You wish, handsome.”
“I do wish,” he grins wolfishly. You see his hand sliding through the sheets, moving smoothly and calculated towards your naked body. 
“If you think I’m up for anything before you get some food in me, you’re gonna be awfully disappointed,” glee shines on Jamie’s face and you push it away with your hand, groaning at his dirty-mindedness. “Food, you shameless bastard, I said food. How do you get anything done with your mind stuck in the gutter all the time?”
“Takes some effort,” he says, pride unhurt and still reaching for you. You relent quickly enough, loving the feeling of his hands on you. “Come on, babe, I’ve gotta be up for trainin’ in an hour. We’ve more than enough time, huh?”
“That depends,” you support your head in your hand, elbow digging into your pillow. “What’s in it for me?”
“C’mere and I’ll show ya,” he promises, an endearing frown on his features. “What’re you doin’ all the way over there, anyway?”
He pulls you towards him with ease and you let yourself be caged in his arms, kiss after kiss after kiss.
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AHHHH HERE IT IS, HERE IT IS
i hope you like it! i kept ya’ll waiting a little but the response was insane!!! i wanted to give you the best i could write AND i wanted to use this fic to thank you for 1.1k! thank you for making me feel so welcome when venturing back into writing and for trusting me with your favorite characters <3 and prepare yourselves bc im making myself put as many fics out this month as i can!
<3
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iaintlithuanian · 9 months
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Hurt || Damon Salvatore x Human!Reader
Summary: Damon was known for having a short fuse, even going as far as to kill Jeremy,but he never thought he would ever do anything to you.
Warnings: physical abuse (one off but still bad!), swearing,
My requests are open! Feel free to ask for anything!
Master list
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As a human, you think your at the top of the food chain. And you are. That is until you find out about the supernatural. Vampires, werewolves, witches. But in reality that is a whole other chain. And you as a human are at the bottom. Unlike Matt you would die to be a vampire, it had been a dream since you were a child. And now that you know of the supernatural it would be handy to be one, considering it puts you at risk when you get caught up in the drama. Especially when your dating the eldest Salvatore brother. Your at risk constantly, and it’s not like Damon would have a problem with turning you, just everyone else does. Long story short, your a weak human on a team full of the supernatural. You think of this regularly, mostly when your waiting for Damon to arrive home. Which is what your doing now. The tv draws you away from any other thoughts as an interesting topic comes up.
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Your head snaps to the door as you hear it open. A smile spreads across your face seeing Damon walk through the door, but straight past you and to the liquor. No “hey baby” or any sign of acknowledgment. He just walked straight past you as if you hadn’t existed. Your face dropped as you turned to look at him from the sofa. He was pouring a whole glass of bourbon instead of the usual half.
“Bad day?” You question your head tilting slightly to the right. He gulped the drink down in one go and began pouring another, completely ignoring your question. “Damon?” You tried catching his attention again. “You alright?” You furrowed your eyebrows, trying to figure out what could be wrong apart from the usual drama. “You gunna answer or leave me guessing?” He glances at you with cold eyes, his expression darkening as he took a swig of his second glass, then swallowed the rest and beginning to pour his third glass. “Isn’t that a bit much-”
“Will you just shut up!” He screamed, taking a few steps forward. You flinched and stood up, your face hardening not about to let him talk to you like that.
“Excuse me?” You inquired, moving around the sofa to stand in front of him, letting him know he doesn’t intimidate you. “I was just asking if you were ok!” You argued pointing a finger at his chest. “Get you head out of your own ass for one second please!” You begged sarcastically, and saw his face twist in anger.
“I don’t need you looking out for me! Just leave me alone for one second!” He screamed in your face, “god your so god damn clingy! It’s like your stuck by my fucking side 24/7!” You felt your face extort into a sad expression. Tears welled in your eyes at his words. You just cared about him was all! He began to laugh “wow! Now your fucking crying! Get over yourself! You aren’t that important!” He took a few steppes forward, you mimicked his actions but backwards till you were up against the sofa. “You know who is more important than you right now?” He seethed, and you knew who he was going to say, and it was true but it was still going to hurt. “Elena!” he dragged dragged out her name and he pointed a finger at your chest. “You” he paused, knowing Damon, probably for effect. “You mean nothing right now! Klaus isn’t after you! And you can’t help anyone! Even Donovan is more useful than you!” He laughs slightly at the end of his exclamation. You frown.
“You just drunk, you don’t mean that.” You murmur but you know he heard you.
“Oh I mean it, I’m sick of you.” He says slowly.
“Your such a fucking liar!” You scream suddenly, taking him back for a second and you decide to play the only card you can, even though it’s over between him and Elena, you know he had his doubts about their relationship. And this was an all time low for you to go but he had hit a nerve.”you’ll are and always will be the bad guy! No matter how hard you try!” You get in his face, his expression hardens and more and her seeped into his eyes. “That why Elena never loved you not even Katherine did, it will always be Stefan, who knows maybe I’ll go to him next! Seems every girl ends up with him instead of you!” You would never be with Stefan, he was like a brother to you, but it would work in your advantage. But his next actions were unpredictable even to you.
Suddenly you were smashed into the wall Damon in-front of you holding your wrists above your head. You couldn’t feel your hands from the searing pain in your wrists, your eyes welled up as he looked at you with pure hatred.
“Shut the fuck up.” He seethed.
“Damon” you whimpered, he didn’t listen. “Damon let go!” You begged but it didn’t faze him. “Damon your hurting me! You cried and you saw his eyes soften but his grip remained tight. “Damon! Let go it hurts!” You tried to tug yourself free. His grip loosened and he backed away.
“Baby?” He tested, watching as you winced touching your wrists. “I’m so sorry I don’t know what came over me I had a bad day and then you wouldn’t stop talking-” you cut off his rambling.
“That’s no excuse” you muttered your face contorted in pain.
“I know” he stated looking at you with sympathy. “Can I see?” He whispered. You nodded and walked closer to him. He took your hands in his and studied to already deep bruises. “Y/n im so sorry” se muttered kissing your wrists gently. He knew it would take a lot for you to forgive him and become comfortable and feel safe around him again but he was willing to try. “Can you forgive me?” He looked into your eyes.
“yeah. But it might take some time okay?” You asked and he pulled you into his chest.
“I’m willing to wait”
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gatitties · 3 months
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Oh my lord the cuddling request is ridiculously adorable i love both you and whoever requested. And what a wasted opportunity if the crew don't sit in whitebeard's lap, he's the best cool grandpa vibes of all time.
Could you do a similiar request but with the heart pirates, please ? I'm obsessed
─Heart Pirates x reader
─Summary: your way of showing affection and love is hugs, no one is complaining!
─Warnings: none
of course, love hugs request 😭🫶🏻
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─ This crew is, without a doubt, used to hugs, whether they are hugs of fear due to some threat from Law for not having made one of his requests or mostly between Shachi and Penguin because they really like to give content to the viewers of their bromance.
─ Law is not made for hugs, at least that's what he makes it seem, behind closed doors he loves cuddling with Bepo.
─ When you arrive and see that everyone is open to physical contact, except your captain, you feel more than comfortable hugging everyone whenever you have the opportunity.
─ As a big hug lover, you will join the bromance between the idiot duo, usually you tend to be the person caught in the middle of the embrace.
─ Ikkaku and Jean Bart are the least likely to be hugged, just because they tend to be the busiest, always doing tasks from one place to another, but they won't despise you if you go to them with open arms.
─ You usually hug Ikkaku's waist while she makes breakfast, you rub your face against her back hoping to get rid of the morning grogginess, on the other hand, Jean Bart is usually the one who hugs you before going to sleep, it's a quick squeeze to unload what last of the energy you have left in your body.
─ Law is doomed once you discover him hugging Bepo as if he were his pillow, you respect that he wants to look 'tough' in front of others, but you will follow him closely to be able to hug him.
─ As it's difficult to get, your hugs with Law will be a surprise, taking advantage of the fact that he spends some sleepless nights, you throw yourself at him when he is most distracted, you only last a few seconds before being transported to another part of the submarine, perhaps without some part of your body so that you can entertain yourself by doing something since you have so much free time to assault your captain like that.
─ And now it's you and Law fighting to cuddle with Bepo because he's a 10/10, warm, fluffy, soft and cute, definitely more than one verbal fight with Law over cuddling with Bepo.
─ Although you reached an agreement, and the three of you end up snuggling, normally it's a short nap to regain some energy after a long night, that's Law, you only take a nap because you're lazy and sleepy.
─ Shachi and Penguin will find themselves clinging to you more often, aside from the little bromance, they found themselves very comfortable next to you, you could be doing anything, but one of the two would be wrapped around you because they are in their free time.
─ Of course, you don't stay behind and you also take advantage of your free time to throw yourself at them, hoping that even if they are doing some task, they will catch you so you can hang on to them like a baby Koala.
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animekpopsimp · 7 months
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Hayy love your ffs! May i request a Xiao, Kazuha, Lyney and scara (if only one is ok!) Fanfic of them reacting to the reader have to go back to their homeplace (inazuma,etc). Lmao angst is life tyy by the wayy keep up the good work 🔥🔥
(Thanks so much for the request! I'm glad you like my work. And I hope you enjoy this as well. 💜)
This Isn't Goodbye
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Xiao
You had said it when you first met Xiao, you wouldn't be staying in Liyue permanently. That fact alone should have kept him from falling for you. But, much like a mortal, he still fell. Perhaps he fooled himself into thinking things would last, that you two would stay together. Though deep down, Xiao knew that at some point, you would return to your home. It was where you belonged after all. You were just a visitor passing by, and the adepti had been foolish enough to let you steal his heart. Now he had to face the consequences, standing in front of you as you prepared to get on the boat that would take you back to your home, back to Inazuma. Xiao was angry, not at you, but himself. He thought he would be prepared for the moment you left the nation of Liyue, yet now he felt like crying. But he wouldn't let you see him like that, he would remain strong. With one final goodbye to Xiao, you boarded the boat and the Yaksha watched as you got further and further away, and before long you were out of sight. Deep down Xiao could only hope he would see you again.
Kazuha
Kazuha didn't have a home anymore, he didn't settle down. He was a wanderer, and he was ok with that. For the most part at least, but as the Crux made its way toward Liyue, Kazuha felt a heavy feeling of regret. He had fallen for you faster than he could have ever expected, even though he knew that you would return to your home at some point. Despite the sadness he felt, he didn't show it, he simply sat with you on the ship's deck, enjoying what time he still had left with you. Though, even that time didn't feel like enough, and as he watched you step onto the dock, his smile fell for a moment. You smiled at him, the sight making him feel bittersweet. Perhaps the two of you would meet again.
Lyney
Lyney didn't think he would ever have to say goodbye to you, he felt as if you two would be together forever. Though in hind sight, he should have realized that you were just passing by. Nothing good lasts forever after all. The two of you had made so many wonderful memories together, and Lyney wished he had time to make more. All the times your eyes would light up when he performed a magic trick just for you, and the way you would beg him to tell you how he did it. He loved every moment he spent together, and he hated that it would end. He stood with his sister, watching as you prepared to depart. Mondstat was always your home, yet it was so far away. Lyney almost couldn't hold back the tears as he watched you leave. Waving until he couldn't see you anymore. And finally, when he could no longer see it, he let a tear fall.
Scaramouche
Scaramouche wanted to hate you, he wanted to yell at you for leaving him. You were betraying him, weren't you. That's what he wanted to tell himself, but deep down he knew it wasn't true. And he couldn't be mad at you. Not when the expression on your face was filled with sadness. You didn't want to leave him, but your home was important to you, and who was Scaramouche to tell you that you couldn't go back. He kept his emotions under control as you left Sumeru, you had promised this wouldn't be the last time he would see you, and he believed you would keep that promise. He would wait for you, no matter how much it hurt.
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sebastianstanisahotmf · 4 months
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Never alone
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Bucky Barnes x Reader
A/N This is a part of my 100 followers celebration. I'm sorry I'm posting these so late at night but it's the only time I've got to post them. I wrote this on my phone so there might be more mistakes. Also, likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated.
THIS IS NOT AN 18+ FIC BUT I STILL FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE WITH MINORS READING MY FICS SO PLEASE DNI IF YOU ARE A MINOR
Summary You get back from a mission and Bucky isn't in a good state.
DO NOT REPOST ON ANY OTHER APPS/WEBSITES. THE ONLY PLACE THIS FIC IS ON IS TUMBLR.
Warnings Fluff, angst, crying, mentions of depression/ptsd
It was inevitable that Bucky was going to have good and bad days but today was worse than bad. He had never felt so alone.
You had been on a mission for 1 month now and Bucky was missing you a lot. You had called him the night before to tell him that you were only gonna be 2 more days but that didn't help. The constant nightmares made him feel so tired and depressed.
Bucky was halfway through making himself a cup of coffee when he heard the door open to your shared apartment. Before he could turn around, you were wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing kisses to his back.
"I missed you so much babe," you told him.
Bucky turned to face you, "I missed you too doll."
Bucky opened his arms and you hugged him. He buried his nose in your hair. You stood like that for a couple of minutes before you felt something wet on your hair and Bucky’s body tremble. You pulled back to see him crying.
"what's wrong babe?" you asked, cradling his face between your hands.
"I-I felt so alone while you were gone doll. I feel so stupid but the nightmares came back," Bucky sobbed.
You jumped up onto the nearest counter and opened your arms. Bucky walked over to you and rested his forehead under your chin while you rubbed his back.
The counter helped you be higher than Bucky so you could properly comfort him.
"shhh, you're not alone anymore and you're definitely not stupid. Your feelings are valid and you are allowed to cry babe," you whispered into his ear.
Bucky continued to sob into your chest for some time before the sobs turned into small sniffles and hiccups.
"I'm sorry doll for doing this to you. You're probably tired and me crying is the last thing you need right now," Bucky said looking down.
You put your hand under his chin to get him to look at you.
"I told you it's ok. The last thing you need to do is worry about me."
Bucky lifted you up and walked intp your shared bedroom. He placed you gently onto the bed and went into the closet to get a pair of boxers and a worn t-shirt . He knew how much you love wearing his clothes to bed.
You got changed and joined Bucky under the covers of your bed. You laid down with your arm out so Bucky could lay with his head on your breast.
"I thought you were gonna be a couple more days."
"Me to, but we got things done quickly. I'm sorry for not telling you, I just wanted it to be a surprise."
"it's thd best surprise I could ask for doll," Bucky looked up at you "when did you shower because you don't look like you've just come off a mission."
"I used one of the showers in the compound so I would be ready to go to bed as soon as I got here," you explained.
"I love you doll, so much, more than I could ever tell or show you," Bucky said, looking at you.
He leaned up to press a chased kiss to your lips.
"The same goes for you baby, I love you so much and I want you to know that you're never alone. I'm always a phone call away and if not I can promise you that I'll call you back as soon as I can."
"You're my world doll," Bucky mumbled with a smile in his face.
His eyes were getting heavy and he was welcoming the sleep which was something he hadn't done in a month. He knew that whenever you were there he was never alone and safe from the nightmares.
With that, he fell asleep, forgetting the coffee he was making himself in a pointless attempt to keep him from sleeping. Only thinking about how happy he was to have you home.
If you want to be tagged whenever I post a fic click on the link
If you want to see the things that I repost then you can follow my other account @sebastianstanisahotmf-reblogs
Taglist: @nicoline1998enilocin, @buckys-wintersoldier
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keenzinemugstudent · 7 days
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Imagine being a virgin sacrifice for the king of the sea because your friends decided to go to an abandoned forest and mess around with his shit so they use you as an offering as an apology they didn't tell you they literally tied you up and left you there, like what the hell?! So here you are tied up and than you see him
Literally your reaction to seeing Konig
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missblissy · 4 months
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The Painter - Astarion X Reader
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Summary: While out shopping in the city you come across a strange book. You decide to give it a read and get a few ideas… Maybe this was something you should share with Astarion?
Warnings: 🤷🤷 There isn’t really anything to be worried about, maybe suggestive themes but?? It’s mostly pinning, angst, kind of intimacy 👀 GN! Tav as always tho UwU)/✨
A/N: 🔫💀 I am here to bring more non-sexual intimacy with Astarion because I love healing a traumatized man. The poem used later in the story must get its credit where it’s due, and is Acquainted with the Night by Robert Frost. As always, enjoy!
There are many things such a skill can be useful for. In time one can grow more fond of this technique with time and practice. A brush stroke can be equal of that to the hand caress along the inner thigh and bringing pleasure beyon-
“Hmm? Reading something new, I see?”
The binds of your book screamed out as the pages slapped such, cover to cover, while your skin nearly jumped off your own bones, “Astarion! H-hey!”
Peering over your shoulder from the back of the couch was the keeper of your heart and destroyer of any sense of sanity you had left. Astarion raised a cursed brow at you and leaned a little closer. The night was young and the floors below the Elf Song rang with customers coming and going as they pleased. Thankful the top floor was all to yourself but still, the liveliness below could still be heard.
“Why aren’t you down stairs with everyone else?” You asked as you set the book down beside you, even managing to slip it between the pillows and cushions.
Most of the others had joined the music and drinking below, Astarion was down there the last you checked, getting into some kind of heated debate with Wyll and Gale about who could flip a coin better. Sometimes those three could be so…
You shook the thought away as Astarion crawled over the back of the couch and smoothly sat down beside you, “Well I came looking for you of course,” He gave a wave of his hand then a side look, “You don’t normally hide away reading,”
There was a soft laugh from you and a half shrug, “We’ve been here for weeks now. There is only so much fun a drunken tavern can provide, and spending every night down there isn’t my cup of tea,”
“Hm, you’re no fun. What’s another night of drunken debauchery?” Astarion teased with a nudge of his shoulder into yours, but you gave a little shake of your head and he got his answer, “Fine, fine~” He sang out then threw his arms behind his head as he stretched, “One boring night, coming right up,”
You knew he was only teasing and meant nothing by it. Seeing as the flicker of amusement in the corner of his eye told you he would rather be up here with you anyways.
Without a second thought or a slight of hesitation, Astarion made himself comfortable. He laid down with his head in your lap, you letting out a little giggle as he shoved your hands out of the way to make room for himself. His feet dangled off the arm of the couch and he shuffled a bit as he kicked off his boots.
“So, tell me about this book you're reading, my love. I’ve seen your nose in it since we left that book shop,” Almost as if by instinct, your fingers started combing through his white curls, “It must be a terribly lascivious fantasy, no?”
You could hear the little giggle bubbling behind his words as he spoke as well. How many times has he mentioned the book now and you’ve just ignored him? “It’s not that kind of book,” You didn’t stop playing with his hair, but you did look away with a faint blush. If he was going to be persistent about it then you had little choice to put up a fight.
He started to reach over toward the book tucked beside you but you slapped his hand repeatedly, “It’s not that kind of book,” You huffed then grabbed it for yourself. Just to prove your point you leafed through the pages then stopped on a specific one.
To say it wasn’t just any kind of book would be an understatement. You held the book open and showed Astarion. On the page was a simple diagram. Well… perhaps not simple.
The vampire spawn tilted his head a little, not exactly sure what he was looking at. Slowly he lifted his hands up and held the book open himself, “That pain priest really did a number on you back then, huh?”
“In a way, yes. But… Not exactly,” You said, while gazing at the page as well. It was hand drawn by someone tied up, very tied up, and very restrained, hanging from bounds of ropes off a ceiling. You flipped to an earlier page, one that shows exactly what knots where needed to achieve such a complex picture.
You then flipped a few pages back, “You did too,” You were hesitant to say those words, but there was no reason to lie. Nothing good came from it so why hide. You stopped on a different picture with a person fully in the nude but covered head to toe in painted on words. Then to another page that required both you an Astarion to nearly tilt your heads in a 90 degree angle to get a better look at whatever it was you were seeing.
A moment of silence passed and Astarion narrowed his gaze softly with a raised brow and looked up at you, “What is this book?” He closed it and looked at the cover, no title, then the spine, nothing. He went to the first page and only found a table of contents.
You gentle took it from his grasp and started fingering through it, to somewhere in the middle where the title was hidden, “Peculiar Pleasures,”
Astarion sat up fully, his head no longer in your lap as he straightened out beside you, “What did you mean, when you said you did too?” There was a slow growth of worry on his face, like he was about to be in trouble.
But you have a quick wave of your hand to dispel such worries, “Nothing bad,” You softly smiled and placed a gentle hand on his, he quickly took it but still had a silent question in his face waiting for you to explain, “I…” You started, not exactly sure where to start, “… I Was looking through the books at the shop, just wandering about. I saw this book, and it reminded me of you. And what you said about this kind of stuff feeling… Tainted?”
He didn’t say much but he did raise a brow and held an open hand out with a curl of his fingers. You passed the book to him and watched as those same fingers flipped pages with care and curiosity.
Still a little frazzled, you felt your shoulders tense up and rise to your neck while letting out a nervous laugh, “I just thought it was interesting…” You started to ring your fingers together with that same empty laugh, “And maybe this book could, I don’t know… It’s sex without sex!” You blurted out louder and than you expected then got yourself all sorts of frazzled, “Like… ya know… that kind of stuff. I just thought-”
“You thought it could help,” His voice was cool like ice and just as slick, “That’s very sweet of you,” You finally looked at him to see a smile in the corner of his lips. He leaned into the distance between you two and placed a kiss on your cheek, “I’d like to keep this for awhile, if you don’t mind,”
“You actually want to read it?” The surprise in your voice was hard to hide, why wouldn’t you be? You gave him an odd look full of questions regardless.
He gave you another side look, one more playful as he turned to full face you with a tip of his head slightly to the side. Your noses barely touched as he smirked, “I’m just reading it, love, we aren’t doing anything,” It was cruel of him to flirt like this, and to give such a teasing tone.
It made the tips of your ears burn and your cheeks match, “I know!” You huffed and turned away sharply, “I mean- well. Good.” You smoothed out your shirt as some form of distraction or action to seem casual, “I’m glad you like it then,”
A soft laugh escaped his lips and you felt a smile tug at your lips. Soon the giggles came from you both. Astarion raised an arm, inviting you in by his side and you quickly took the offer, snuggling up and resting against his chest, “How far have you gotten? I shouldn’t have that much to catch up on,” With how fast he reads? It’d only take him a few hours you guessed.
Astarion opened the book again once you had both gotten comfortable on the couch. With a shrug you told him, “I’m not that far, maybe a few chapters?”
“Wonderful,” His grin was cheeky, “Means you don’t have much rereading to do,”
A curious brow was raised on your face, “Oh?”
He snuggled himself closer and began flipping to the first few pages, “Of course, everything I could want is right here,” His voice was laced like honey, sickeningly sweet, “Why would I bother leaving?” He teased, “A beautiful paramour by my side, a saucy book for the ages, and the rest of the night to ourselves,” A stray hand of his began combing through your hair, all the while he focused on skimming pages with ease. It was rather perfect.
You let out a little hum, “You have a point,” The curl of his fingers through your hair was enlightening yet calming. It was like a call of tranquility. Another hum as your eyes fluttered shut, “Wake me when you get to chapter 4? Around page… I don’t know, half way through,” To hells with him if he thought you’d reread the damn chapters a second time.
“Mhm,” Was his simply and soft reply, then followed but the subtle turn of a page. He never stopped twirling curls of your hair between his fingers, something of a rhythmic pattern that was predictable and pleasant.
Sometimes you’d get pulled from the lull when he’d pause, his hand stopped and a strange chuckle could be heard escaping his chest. Even peaking an eye open you could already tell what he was reading. You saw a silly but errotic picture from before, someone clad with no clothes being tickled by countless feathers and… other peculiar things. You laughed at that one too.
Or a few pages later there would be an image of someone experimenting with entire blocks of ice and nothing else, or toying with magic in stranger ways than normal. Even a few pages were dedicated to the art of chanting and just calling out sounds and how to seek orgasmic pleasure from just screaming. Though you couldn’t deny, some things in the pages seemed entirely thrilling. It was indeed a book of peculiar pleasures.
So the half chuckles and chortles from Astarion every so often put a smile on your face. Though you still drifted in and out of a half sleep, despite the ruckus downstairs still raging on. After some time with a vampire you grew to love the coolness that always radiated from Astarion, like a freezer, he was naturally chilled and cool to the touch.
After a while however you felt a little jostle on your shoulder. Then more of a shake. Your eyes shot open and for a split second you were expecting a surprise attack. It was just your beloved vampire, though, seeing as you nearly forgot with your little power nap, “Star-bite..?” You yawned the nickname and rubbed some sleep out of your eyes.
You eyes flickered to the book beside you, still in his hands, you noticed he was nearly to where you left off, he only had a couple pages left to catch up though.
“This one,” Astarion’s voice surprised you, causing you to snap your head towards him. You caught a look of what could only be described as determination. He fully turned the book to you and pointed his finger to the page with an image you had already seen.
There was a drawing of a woman painting on herself. She was, keep in mind, nude, but her body was covered in runes and words alone. They covered her from head to toe. Your eyes traveled to the paragraph below, you still remember what it said.
Pleasure can come in many forms, this one being the pleasure of touch and grace while healing, and exploring the mind and body so intimately that nothing but a brush stroke is needed. This practice is known as The Painter. Its purpose is to form bonds either with yourself or with that who holds the brush. There are many things such a skill can be useful for. In time one can grow more fond of this technique and with practice. A brush stroke can be equal to that of a hand caressing along the inner thigh and bring pleasure beyond what a touch could ever do. Paint into you what you’ve always wanted to hear, or secrets you can’t keep any longer. You could even scribe poems, or runes, whatever means most to you.
“I want to try this one,” Astarion’s voice caused your mind and eyes to drag up to him.
You felt a rush of blood run to your cheeks as you forced an awkward laugh, “R-right now?” He couldn’t be serious. Your eyes flickered around the room, wondering if anyone had come up from the tavern yet.
Astarion only answered you with a quick and sharp nod of his head. Well then…
You blinked a few times, still somewhat surprised by his forwardness, “O-okay,” Then you said it again with more confidence, “Okay!” You shot up from the couch and looked around then made your way to the door, Astarion was close to follow behind you. He did manage to grab an ink well and a brush, however, as you managed to slip away to the solo suite down the hall. He had not forgotten the book either.
“So, what do you want painted on you?” You closed the door as he followed in, then turned and watched as he kept his nose in the book and sat down on the edge of the bed.
Without lifting his head, he raised only his ruby eyes and gave you a staunt look, “I was thinking a poem,” That was rather interesting, or so you thought. A little fitting even.
But you still had to ask, “Are you sure? I mean,” You made your way over to him, sitting side by side while taking the ink well and brush that we’re still tucked under his arm, “I only ask because it wasn’t that long ago we thought it was just a poem on your back,”
“I’m sure,” He closed the book with a swift snap as the pages shut together, “Besides,” He leaned a little closer to you with a smirk, “I get to choose what it says this time,”
A soft single giggle of a laugh escaped you. You then clicked your tongue with a little shake of your head, “Alright, where do you want to start?”
You watched as he proceeded to think, mule over what he wanted and what he didn’t want. Which was still a foreign concept to him that he hadn’t quite yet settled into. Eventually and with caution he said, “Let’s just start with my arm. I don’t think I’ve got enough words to cover me… Nor do I think I want to,” He gave a small and nervous, boyish chuckle at the end.
“Okay,” You nodded with a smile and waited as Astarion shed a few layers, then undone his shirt and exposed only his torso. You had nearly forgotten how beautiful he was, but only soaked in the view for a moment before giggling giddy with bubbles, “You talk, I write,” You hummed and dipped the tip of the brush into the ink, tapped away the loose drops, then hovered it over his one of his shoulders, waiting with anticipation.
His breathing slowed, and Astarion thought. He even closed his eyes trying to envision the words appearing on his own skin. Soft, but not a whisper, his voice traveled deep from his lungs. A strange sounding roughness filled his words.
“I have been one acquainted with the night.”
Slowly with each word, you carefully wrote every letter with deliberate delicacy, as if you were painting on the world’s thinnest canvas, ready to break under the smallest weight.
“I have walked out in rain—and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light. I have looked down the saddest city lane.”
His voice carried a world hidden within it, one that you could only ever catch a glimpse of in moments like these. Each faint brush stroke along his skin sent small and welcomed shivers from each place the hairs prickled his skin. Astarion even had to take long moments between each entry, to give you time to scrawl down his tainted words.
It was incredibly intimate, much to his surprise. Especially when he’d turn his head just enough to see you, and see your hard stare more focused on the brush strokes of each word than staring back at him. He couldn’t explain it, but having your attention still be on him, but not actually looking at him…. His chest felt light and his blood began to pick up speed. Your focus filled eyes would only glance back up at him when you were ready for the next verse. It was enough to make his breath hitch, for the candle light to reflect stars in his eyes and turn his head away once again.
“I have passed by the watchman on his beat, and dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain. I have stood still and stopped to the sound of feet… When far away an interrupted cry came over houses from another street,”
You carefully worked down his arm, making your way to his wrist, to gently clasp it with your free hand and turn his arm over, palm facing up. There wasn’t a moment of lapse or pause as you continued on working your way up the other side of his unpainted arm. For you this was just as intimate. You could see the shift in his chest, the way his breathing would quicken and slow again depending on where the brush stoked along his skin. In all fairness, it was a learning experience, but still one that made your cheeks burn. Especially when you could feel him staring.
You were keen not to look back at him, or away from writing down his words. As much as you wanted to steal a glimpse, to see the half lidded look on his face, the glaze over of his eyes and the way his lips parted with each intentional word when he was speaking… As for now, all the two of you could hear was each other's shallow breathing, then of course Asterion's little quick in tack of air as you finished the verse and looked up at him waiting patiently.
“But not to call me back… or say good-bye… And further still at an unearthly height, one luminary clock against the sky proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right….” He paused, and waited, and even more still once you caught up. He said nothing for a moment, nothing at all. But soon he sighed out his next and final words as if they were more personal to him, as they were becoming words of affirmation rather than confirmation, “I have been one acquainted with the night,”
He didn’t move, and neither did you. You couldn’t place your finger on it, but you watched him slowly flutter his eyes close and take in a few low breaths. The ink on his skin had started to dry and you carefully traced your fingers over the black words once more. There wasn’t any tension between you two, rather, a longing.
You’re voice came as a subtle surprise to him, just to hear it that is, “I have become one acquainted with the night,” You echoed, still tracing the words along his arm, “It’s a beautiful poem,” You leaned closer and place a light and loving kiss on his shoulder, “And a little sad,”
Hearing so made a bittersweet smile curl onto Astarion lips and he breathed out a soft and low hum of a laugh, the kind that came from his nose as he sighed along with it. He tipped his head towards yours, a loving nudge as he nuzzled his cheek against the top of your head, “It is sad, but true,”
“Hmm,” You smiled a little more as he placed a kiss on your forehead. You fell into each other, into a loose embrace by simply enjoying the closeness. You still traced your fingers lightly along his painted arm, then softly gave a loose chuckle, “You know this doesn’t look to bad,” You gentle lifted his arm, in the process you hooked your arm around his and locked yourself at the elbow while slipping your hand into his, “I bet you’d be able to pull of tattoos if you wanted,” A banter was in your voice, light and airy.
A quick laugh came from him, and he raised an eyebrow at you, “You think so?” His giggle was laced into his words, he peered down along his arm and took a moment to imagine the words being replaced with more permanent art, “Is that your way of saying you’d like me more with ink?” The tease in his voice was harmless and playful.
With a dramatic, “Noo!” You nudged your shoulder into his, swaying a little together as you each laughed, “Only if you wanted to, of course. I like you just as you are,” Though you wouldn’t mind at all… the back of your mind flashed you images of Astarion honestly covered with tattoos.. hmph.
Astarion placed a little kiss along the side of your temple to ease his teasing and said, “Honestly I’ve never considered them before. The idea of a needle poking me for hours on end sounds like torture… Though…” He looked back down at his arm, gave it a little twist and a full view as he admired the words, “You are right, I do look pretty good,” He smirked with sharp teeth.
You burst into a fit of giggles and nodded your head along with him, “You really do,” You gestured back to the brush and ink well beside you, “I can do more if you like?”
His eyes flickered to follow your hand then he gave a little shake of his head, “This is a good start, for now,” He reached over and took your hand in his, bringing the back of it to his lips and placing a tender kiss against your skin, “Thank you. For doing this, I mean,” Then he gave a cheeky little shrug and a slight harmless roll of his eyes, “And maybe for getting the book too… I… I think I needed this,”
“Of course,” Your brows knitted together but with a sweetness as you place a hand on his cheek, “Of course!” You repeated with emphasis, placing a kiss on his forehead and pressing yours to his, noses just brushes against each other while you humed, “Anything for you, my sweet Star-bite,”
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aesopsharpmybeloved · 5 months
Text
In the Light of Care
The Aftermath of In The Shadow Of the Study. Aesop Sharp finds the new fifth-year half unconscious in the Slytherin dungeons following an adventure gone wrong.
Shout out to my ever-fabulous partner in crime @tea-withjamandbread
I have a love-hate relationship with Sebastian, on one hand, I love him, on the other, he is an irresponsible blinded hot-headed dumbass.
And then I have a love-love relationship with Aesop, who despite knowing you are going to give him a heart attack one of these days is never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna run around and desert you.
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In the Light of Care (5.7k words)
tw: descriptions of pain, vomiting
You felt godawful all over. Ominis and Sebastian left you alone a while ago. You put up a brave face for them, but truth be told, you've never felt this terrible before. Your vision was blurry and all of your muscles were still cramping up with a pain that burned so much, you were certain it was burning your veins, dissolving you from the inside like acid. It was only when you were alone in that blasted corridor that you allowed yourself to fall down onto your bum, tears escaping your eyes and falling down freely. You tried to stretch as if that would help. You felt your body was inflamed, fever settling into your skin. You were sweating like mad and it took everything within you not to scream, not to sob, not to let your dinner travel up from your stomach and out of your mouth.
You were glad not to have learned the Cruciatus curse when Sebastian offered to teach you. However, you supposed, that even if you had learnt it, you would never ever use it. Even though the poachers, the goblins, and the dark wizards you've often engaged in combat were absolute scum, nobody deserved to have this cast on them. It was terribly unfair, terribly cruel. This wasn't offence-defence, it wasn't about prowess, or skill, or just plain luck. It was terror. There wasn't a right side of the wand to be on when it came to this. Both sides were horrible. 
You curled in onto yourself. Even after you broke down and onto your knees before the boys, Sebastian seemed to disregard it, being only interested in that blasted scriptorium. He was your friend and you loved him, but at that moment... At that moment you hated him, at that moment he was your tormentor. And he didn't even feel bad about it. You wanted to shake his stupid head, to scream at him, to tell him that he was going to find nothing in the scriptorium but more dark magic, more pain. Salazar Slytherin was a vain and cruel man, why on earth would he have made a cure for something, when it was only agony he wanted to create? It was pointless, and foolish and dangerous to have come here and you regretted it dearly as you tried to bury your pain, keep your tears contained. 
Yet, at the same time, you were glad that you went with them. Because if you hadn't, either Ominis or Sebastian would be forced to cast the curse on one another. And Ominis wouldn't, you knew now. And Merlin knows what would've happened to their friendship then if Ominis' best friend cast that curse on him, the very curse because of which he now had no family. So you chose to power through it, you put up a brave face. 
It almost crumbled immediately after. Sebastian looked like a child on Christmas, looking at everything in the scriptorium, while you were still cowering on the floor. A warm hand landed on your shoulder. On any other occasion, you might have welcomed it, but now the hand burned you, made the already aching muscles hurt even more, and you winced. "Are you alright?" Ominis asked, sounding just as close to crying as you were. And though you were still in agony, you did what felt like an Herculean feat, and put your own hand on top of his and squeezed. "Alright," you said simply. You really should stop lying to your friends.
You felt horrible for making Ominis go through this. When he asked the two of you to swear to never ever engage with dark magic after that endeavour was done, you agreed with him wholeheartedly. Mentally, that is, as you couldn't speak by then. You knew you had to apologise to him later, make it up to him. 
You wondered who would lose first, your consciousness or your stomach. What were you to do? You didn't bring any Wiggenweld potion with you, because you didn't think you might need it. You envied the boys now for being Slytherins, the comfort of their common room so close, while yours was so many flights of stairs away. There was no way you'd be able to crawl all the way there. There was no way you'd be able to crawl anywhere, not Ravenclaw Tower, not the Room of Requirement, not the Hospital wing. Now that you thought of it, you really shouldn't go to the Hospital wing anyway, the questions Nurse Blainey would have would only get yourself and your friends in more trouble.
As you sat and thought, your stomach finally lost its battle. You keeled over and promptly emptied your stomach on the stony floor. You felt the bile burn your throat, your eyes were losing focus. A voice came from somewhere far away. Annoyed at first, but as it got closer, you heard genuine concern. You were dry-heaving when a hand - larger than Ominis' - grasped your shoulder and forced you to turn. It didn't help your nausea at the very least, but seeing as you've already vomited all of the contents of your stomach out, you thankfully didn't throw up into the potions master's face. His striking dark eyes were panicked, his jaw hard, and he was kneeling next to you, which most likely did nothing for his leg. You would've attempted to speak, but your vision got dark and it dragged you down into the abyss.
You fell in and out of consciousness for a while. At one point, you looked down, professor Sharp still at your side but something was different. The smell of vomit was gone. You looked down at your robes and they were entirely clean. So was the floor. It was dark again. You saw professor Sharp's face, the underside of it, to be exact. He looked worried to bits. You felt movement and saw the surroundings change around Sharp's head. You felt strong arms underneath your back and legs. You wanted to comfort him, to tell him you were fine, that he needn't worry for you. Everything went black again before you managed to do so. Before the darkness consumed you, you felt the prickle of his chin on your index.
You woke on a bed after, and this time you stayed awake. You weren't in the Hospital wing, that was for sure. You weren't in your dorm or the Room of Requirement either, however, and you felt rather disoriented by that. Where else would you be, where else was a cot you'd use? When your eyes began focusing once more and your brain regained control of higher functions, you actually took in your surroundings. The air was cool, chilly almost, and it felt like heaven on your still feverish skin. There were shelves around the room, and in the middle of it stood a slightly curved desk. You were in professor Sharp's office.
The door to your left opened and the man in question came into focus. "I am very cross with you," he said, though his voice lacked any actual cut. He sat on your cot, and you now noticed he had a phial in his hand. It contained some dark liquid, still bubbling and looking utterly awful. "Drink," he said as he pushed a hand under the nape of your neck and lifted your head. He brought the phial to your lips and poured it into your mouth. You wanted to resist, the potion being foul enough to cause a dangerous churn in your stomach again, but you were so tired and the professor was unyielding.
You panted heavily after you swallowed the last drop, your body trying to bring it up again, but then you began to feel... Comfort. The pain was being flushed from your body. You didn't notice when professor Sharp grabbed your hand, but you felt his thumb stroking the back of it now. You looked up at him and regretted it immediately. He looked so tired. Once more, you unknowingly reached to touch his cheek. He startled when you did, yet almost right away closed one of his hands around your own.
"You know, I often say that the students will make me go grey prematurely, but I swear, you will make me go bald before you graduate," he said humourlessly. "Either you or your dear friends, Mr Sallow and Mr Gaunt. They told me what happened. Not everything, but the main gist of it. I've half a mind to give them both detention for the rest of their time here for leaving you the way they did. I've half a mind to give you detention as well for getting your stupid self into this, for not speaking up that you're unwell," he paused, his voice quivering slightly, "so clever, the lot of you, yet so incredibly stupid.”
The professor sighed then: “Look, I think I’m really starting to think I understand who you are - a good person who’s always willing to help her friends, which is, of course, noble of you. However, someone should finally tell you that you don’t have to insert yourself into every potentially life-threatening situation for them. In fact, as a Ravenclaw, you should be, and I believe you are, clever enough to talk them out of entering such situations themselves, which is just as good.”
You wanted to tell him that quite the number of these situations you didn't expect to be as dangerous as they turned out to be, and you were literally thrust into many of them. Not to mention there were simply some things you had to do… 
But you didn’t say a single word. Not only did Professor Fig specifically ask you to keep quiet about your ancient magic abilities (which were the reason you got into these situations in the first place), but you knew that if professor Sharp knew… Well, he’d most likely try to get you to stop. Something that was absolutely unthinkable.
Sharp was watching you like a hawk, obviously trying to see if he could find an answer to at least one of his no doubt plenty of questions fleetingly appearing in your eyes. The feeling of comfort the potion he gave you turned into mild dizziness again, and you felt a sudden need to sit up. The potions master seemed to have anticipated as such because he was helping you into a sitting position not a second later, his strong hands having no problem lifting your upper body up from the cot. You were glad for his help, as you honestly felt like you were suddenly made of solid lead.
"Could you kindly enlighten me as to why you mad lot would even enter such a place?" He asked after the dizzy spell went away again. You still felt exhausted, but decided it was easier to answer his questions now, especially if he let you off the hook afterwards.
"Sebastian's sister… She's ill. Well, cursed. But you probably know that sir," you rasped out, wrapping your arms around you to battle the coolness of his office. "Indeed I do," answered the professor, "truly awful what happened to her."
He actually sounded remorseful, but also appeared to have lost himself in his head a little bit: "So what, were you searching for a cure down there? I can assure you, you will find no cures to any ailments under Salazar Slytherin's name, it's not one of the things he was famous for… And unless Mungo Bohnam himself left a little scriptorium of his own here, I am afraid you won't find Miss Sallow's cure in these corridors at all."
The teacher suddenly looked ten years older than he usually looked. You didn't know just how old he was, your guess was perhaps mid-forties, but then again, this and his previous job may have caused him to age prematurely. You realised that he and Anne were in quite similar situations, and seeing as he, an adult, and an experienced former auror was not able to find a cure for his leg, he didn't give Anne too many chances either. 
It was all rather horrible, you thought. You've only met Anne for a while, but she seemed like a genuinely sweet person you could see yourself being friends with. And professor Sharp? Well, he was very different from the teachers you used to have before you came to Hogwarts. In the best way possible. He was strict, like they were, but also fair. He was tough and looked like a man not to be messed with. He administered both criticism and praise where they were due, and was very honest and open about everything. You had to admit that you enjoyed both the potion class, and his extra lessons to help you catch up to your classmates. 
It was a little alarming to see a man who normally radiated authority so… down.
"I think," you said after several minutes, "I think Sebastian is trying to find… the curse itself. Because when he does, finding a cure should be easier…"
"His sister was cursed by a goblin though, no? What makes you think you'd find something about goblin curses down there?"
"I don't… I don't know. I just wanted to help Sebastian."
The potions master sighed heavily, tapping his healthy foot on the stone floor, and you thought you heard him utter something about you being 'so bloody loyal, it’s a wonder you’re not a Hufflepuff.'
"And did you find anything?" He asked after a while, once more fixing you with an intense expression.
"No, not a thing, sir. Some old books and scrolls, half-eaten by rats and other vermin, some egocentric busts and statues of Slytherin himself, a goblet of something I almost drank after… after the torturing curse, because I was so thirsty, but then I realised that the cup's been sitting there for maybe 900 years at least and it might not be wise."
"See, Miss (L/N), you're learning the art of 'not dying' quickly. Indeed, you should not drink anything that's been standing in a cup for 900 years," Sharp said in a deeply sarcastic voice, and he looked like he wanted to throw his hands up in the air. He calmed himself down with several deep breaths: "And that's it?"
"That's it."
Hold on… Something was amiss. What was it? There was one book that wasn't eaten away by any creepy crawlies, wasn't there? A book…
"Are you perfectly certain?" the teacher asked once more, watching you intently.
Should you tell him about the spellbook Sebastian picked up? Did he and Ominis tell him about it? Sharp wouldn't be asking you if you found anything of interest if he knew about the spellbook, would he? It was at the tip of your tongue when you remembered:
'It’s a personal spellbook of one of the founders of Hogwarts! There’s got to be something in there that will let me reverse the curse! Anne will be cured!'
Sebastian sounded like a child on Christmas when he said that, all the while Ominis was pale as a ghost and you were trying not to tremble too much from Crucio’s pain. In the brunet’s voice was something that was just so absolutely convinced that he was right. And what is he was? What if he could really cure his sister with some counter-curse from the book? Maybe then you could also use it and help heal Sharp. What if Sharp took it away in fear that you may use the book for wrong, or that the book itself had a curse put on it? 
Should you tell him?
Your mouth opened and you took a deep breath. A feeling in your chest was telling you that you were signing a deal with the devil, but the 'yes' that rolled from your lips sounded perfectly calm and sincere. 
And there it was. You lied to a teacher who told you explicitly that he hated it when somebody lied to him. But you decided you were doing so out of good intentions. Like when you kept your mouth shut about ancient magic.
He sighed once more: "Alright then… I hardly think that you'd tell me if your goal was to become a dark witch, so I suppose this will have to do."
"I can assure you, sir, that's not the case," you replied weakly before you could stop yourself, "I hate those."
"Oh," Sharp asked, his interest seemingly peaked again, "meet many dark witches?" You cursed yourself inwardly, the last thing you needed was for him to probe at you even more: "I've met a few, sir. But it was enough for me to decide that I hated them…"
The professor's eyes were as sharp as his name, and you felt his gaze burning holes into you. Finally, he sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, deep in thought. And then he spoke again, his voice softer this time: "What is it you're not telling me? What is it that causes the bruises and the cuts on your face I see each time you come back from 'a visit to Hogsmeade'? And do not try telling me that you crashed into a shrub or fell off your broom, this excuse can only work on me so many times…"
The professor looked genuinely concerned. He was the first professor to question your occasionally banged appearance, the only one who insisted you tell him over and over again. "Are you in any kind of trouble?" He continued, "Because if you are, just tell me, and I promise I'll do my best to help you."
You put your hands on your face.
"Why can't you tell me?"
You did not answer. You didn't even take your hands away. The office was overtaken by silence. It must have been after curfew, as you heard no sounds from the corridors beyond the potion classroom. After what felt like hours, Sharp sighed once more. "Despite what some students may say about me, I am actually not some heartless monster. I won't make you tell me by force. But please, please, Miss (L/N), can you promise me one thing?"
It took a while, but you cautiously lowered your hands to look at him. He looked tired once more, but he didn't drop his gaze from you for a single second: "If you start feeling you're in over your head, if you feel like you need help, be it anything you're dealing with, please... Come to me. Even if it's just for a phial of Skele-Gro…"
Aesop Sharp was a good man, you decided, and a minute later, you found yourself nodding your head.
"Good," he said.
"May I be dismissed, sir?"
"Dismissed? Lass, the only place you're leaving here for is the Hospital wing! And given the nature of the curse that was cast on you, and the caster, I rather think that you wouldn't like that, would you?" You grimaced. Damn. You truly did not need more attention drawn to your little adventure into Slytherin's scriptorium. Obviously having no other options, you carefully lowered yourself until you were lying down again.
"Do you need anything? Food, water, are you warm enough?" Asked the teacher then, his voice softer once more. "I'm alright, thank you, sir," you replied and closed your eyes. They were so heavy, you felt like you might not open them again. 
"Sleep, Miss (L/N)."
When you woke up, you felt disoriented once more, and it took you a few seconds to realise where you were, and what sort of events led up to this situation. Looking around the office, illuminated by the faint morning light coming from the window behind professor Sharp’s desk, you saw the man himself sitting in his chair, sound asleep. His hands were loosely folded in his lap, his leg was propped up on a little footstool he must’ve conjured up for himself, as you’ve never seen it there before (could teachers, unlike students, conjure things in Hogwarts outside of the Room of Requirement? Most likely, how else would he have gotten your cot in here?), and his head was hanging to the side. The silence of the room was occasionally cut through by a snore from the teacher. 
He looked quite a few years younger while he slept, the line between his eyebrows gone, his face relaxed and open, much softer than it normally was. You supposed he was not at all bad-looking when he wasn’t currently giving Garreth Weasley the snarl of Chimaera. 
You lay there, panic slowly creeping in. Was he going to tell the Headmaster about your little adventure to the Scriptorium? Maybe professor Weasley? Fig? Has he already told them? Were you in trouble?
You shortly considered sneaking past the professor and away into your dorm. You were itching to have a nice hot bath and change into a different set of robes. You fainty remembered that Sharp cast a cleaning charm on them, yet they still felt grimy on your body, because what you remembered perfectly was the pain you went through in them. At that moment when Sebastian cast Crucio on you, it felt like your very clothes were choking and burning you, like they were covered in salt and your skin under them was scratched and cut up. You decided to burn them the first chance you got and get a new set from Mr Hill.
Once more you thought about making an attempt to leave but ultimately decided against it. The man was an ex-Auror for crying out loud, there’s no way he wouldn’t wake up if you as much as made a single step from the bed. He probably put a ward on it to alert him were you to get up. Not to mention it would solve absolutely nothing. He knew of the Scriptorium, and he knew of the Cruciatus curse. The only thing you’d achieve if you tried to sneak past him would probably be angering him. 
And so you stayed put, reclining on the cot. It was quite comfortable, which was something you couldn’t appreciate much most mornings. Even when you didn’t have classes to attend, you rarely allowed yourself to indulge in sleeping in, much less just lazying around in bed after you woke up. There was always something to do, somebody to help, someone to run an errand for, a beast to rescue, a potion to brew, a plant in need of fertilising or harvesting, a hot spot of ancient magic, or a Merlin trial to solve. You were a busy woman, you didn’t have time to lie around. And yet, as you did, you had to admit that you felt more well-rested than you had in weeks. 
Professor Sharp on the other hand you thought couldn’t be very comfortable. You were never able to fall asleep sitting up, even during long hours spent on the train when you and your family went for a holiday to St Ives, and the first class coupe you used had seating that was much more comfortable than his chair seemed. But then again, maybe there was some sort of cushioning charm placed on it to make it comfier. 
But then again, maybe not, you thought as a quiet but obviously pained groan replaced the professor’s snore suddenly. “Oh, Merlin’s saggy left-...” growled professor Sharp, his lips forming into a thin line and and the wrinkle returning to between his brows. His hand disappeared into the insides of his robes and searched around in the breast pocket for a bit, before resurfacing with a vial of green liquid. He pulled the cork out with his teeth and gulped the potion down in a single swallow, breathing heavily before his muscles finally relaxed once more.
The potions master opened his eyes, dark circles underneath them indicating that he himself didn’t rest quite as well as you. “Miss (L/N),” he said his voice rough from his slumber, “please know that I hope that you won’t get yourself into such a situation again not for only your sake, but for my own as well. I am entirely too old and too tired for sleeping arrangements like these.” Your quiet apology went unanswered.
A few minutes passed with the teacher having closed his eyes once more, and you would’ve thought that he had fallen asleep again, had his hand not been slowly tapping on the armrest. “How do you feel?” he asked without opening his eyes, and you were actually quite glad for that. “Much better, sir,” was your answer, “thank you… For taking care of me.” His dark eyes opened and bore into your own, their intensity nearly enough to make a chill run down your spine: “That’s not what you’re supposed to thank me for. Or did you think I’d just leave you there, half collapsed in your own sick? Is that what you think of me?” You cringed, your eyes screwing shut.
After a few moments of silence, Sharp sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “I suppose I am a bit… grumpier than usual because of my aching body. And while I wouldn’t have to suffer the consequences of sleeping in a chair were it not for your little suicidal adventure, it is not your fault that I am an old man…” “You’re not old… sir,” you replied, not really knowing why, you just… you just didn’t like seeing him so resigned. You respected the professor a lot, and you were confident that despite his bad leg, he was very much a force to be reckoned with.
He sighed again: “Be that as it may, know that I would not leave you there. I’m responsible for each and every one of my students. The official job description is teaching you lot the art of potion-making, but every member of staff is sworn to do everything in their power to protect the students. Yesterday evening’s events mean that we have failed in this aspect. And while failure is undoubtedly a part of the learning process, I certainly do not take it very well.
“Now, you shouldn’t be grateful to me because I took care of you, as absolutely any and every one of your professors would’ve done the same. What you should, however, be grateful for is the fact that I kept your little adventure to myself. And I am still not convinced I am doing the right thing doing so.  The fact that Mr Sallow used the Cruciatus curse on you is very concerning. The fact he even knows the curse is concerning! However, as he used it to get all of you out of that place, I might be able to forgive it. I plan to have a long talk with him about it, however. Being friends with Mr Gaunt, he should know better than to meddle with dark arts. He’s a bright young man, I don’t want him to end up in Azkaban because of youthful stupidity. You’re all terribly clever, it’d be an awful waste to lose you because you decided to bite off more than you can chew. And entering a place built by a man who was a single Unforgivable away from being considered a dark wizard is absolutely more than a fifth-year can chew, no matter how capable.
“That said, I offer you a deal - you tell me all about this excursion of yours, beginning with the location of the entrance, so that I can later make sure it is no longer accessible to anyone, followed by a detailed description of the events that transpired so that I can make a clearer picture about the whole situation, and I in return keep it all to myself. Mind, you and your friends will be scrubbing cauldrons by hand for the following few evenings so that I can make sure you’re staying out of trouble and not, for whatever reason, doing something as insane as going back.” You opened your mouth to protest, but before you had the chance to even take a breath, the professor spoke again: “You were mad enough to go there in the first place, how do I know you’re not mad enough to return, even with all that happened? 
“Well, Miss, what do you say? Do we have a deal?”
And so you told him. You told him about Ominis’ aunt and her disappearance within the centuries-old Scriptorium. You told him about a passage that could only be opened by one who can speak the tongue of snakes, therefore making the very first of the rooms a certain deathtrap for anyone and everyone who is not of Slytherin’s descent. You told him of statues that would strike as real snakes would if one took too much time solving their riddles. And finally, about learning of Noctua’s heart-wrenching and untimely demise at the hands of Salazar’s cruel trial. You then described the Scriptorium itself in length, leaving out the part where you found Slytherin’s spellbook.
“So there is another entrance?” asked Sharp, his arms crossed over his chest. He was listening to you attentively, only occasionally asking you to specify or fill in a few things. “Yes, professor,” you replied, “however, I don’t know whether it can be accessed from outside as well.” The potions master thought for a bit: “It would be good to retrieve the poor woman’s remains from there so that she can be given a proper burial, but I do not want to distress Mr Gaunt even more than he already was when I spoke with him yesterday by asking him to go back with me, not to mention bearing witness to yet another instance of the Cruciatus curse, so it would be convenient if the room could be accessed from the other side.”
You bit at your lip nervously. “With all due respect, professor Sharp,” you spoke then, your voice quiet, “Ominis said his aunt and the rest of his family weren’t exactly on the best of terms. I’m not sure if they would give her a proper funeral.” “They may not, but your friend Ominis might… Well, best not to trouble the young man even more now, he seems to have a lot on his mind as is.”
“Will you… will you keep this whole thing to yourself, sir?”
“I don’t make promises I don’t intend to keep, Miss (L/N). You told me everything I wanted to know, and I will keep my end of the bargain. I must, however, still discuss with Mr Sallow about his knowledge and uses of Unforgivable curses. There are some curses whose usage could perhaps be excused in some cases, but when we start to do so with the Unforgivables, we’re on our merry way back into the Dark Ages, when wizards and witches would calmly cast the Imperius curse at anyone who was merely mildly inconveniencing them. These curses were outlawed for a reason. Please, tell me that your classmate didn’t teach it to you…”
You squirmed in your seat. Sebastian did offer to teach it to you, but you said no. Should you tell Sharp? No, no… Best not to, Seb was in enough trouble as it was, no need to make it worse.
“He did not. And after I felt what it can do, I know it’s for the best… Nobody should know a spell like that! It’s so… unfair. It’s like… It’s like bringing a rifle into a sword fight.”
“That is a very good comparison, Miss,” said the potions master, “and you best never forget that. These spells are like poison, they’re unnatural, and each one tears away at your very humanity. I know that you wish to remain loyal to your friends, and I, once more, praise you for that. But I implore you to discourage your classmate from using such a spell again, even if it’s for a ‘good thing’. The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”
You nodded solemnly. You truly hoped there never came a time in which you’d have to once more witness the foul spell, or any of the other two Unforgivables. Sebastian wasn’t that kind of boy - yes, he did teach you one unsanctioned spell once before, but it wasn’t exactly a dark spell. If you were honest, you used it more during Merlin trials than against adversaries. 
You hoped you were doing the right thing still, not bringing up the book your friend your friend left the Scriptorium with.
Aesop Sharp watched you intently, possibly hoping that you’d perhaps shed some more light on the situation, but when several minutes passed in absolute silence, he cleared his throat, stretching himself once more. “Now…” he said, “I don’t know how about you, Miss, but I could eat a Hippogriff right now.” Despite yourself, and despite the dark thoughts swirling about in your head, you actually giggled: “If you do, sir, make sure it’s not white with orange eyes, that one’s a friend of mine.” 
The professor scoffed: “Friends with a Hippogriff, all the travelling merchants around the Highlands, and two of Slytherin’s three biggest troublemakers. I will need to keep a closer eye on you. This isn’t a joke, by the way, I do intend to keep an eye on you - the things Fig tells me combined with what all I hear about you doing is quite concerning.”
You gulped. You knew he’d find out about everything, sooner or later. After all, even professor Weasley was more than a little suspicious about your activities, but you managed to evade her questions by performing brilliantly in class and helping everybody you encountered. Professor Sharp, a former Auror, would certainly have no problem finding out the truth in the end.
There was only one solution. You had to work faster and harder, You had to carry on with the Keepers’ trials, and you had to stop Ranrok from opening war upon the Wizarding world. And ideally not die in the process. And, hopefully, then Sharp would understand. Maybe he’d even forgive you for the secrecy and the lies.
The teacher sighed and ran his hand over his face. 
“What I said yesterday stands. If you need help, you know where to find me. I won’t turn you away. I promise…”
He stood then, towering over your form, still reclining upon the cot.
“Come on, you’ll tag along with me to the Great Hall, so I can make sure your encounter yesterday didn’t leave any lasting effects. In case it has, perhaps your fellow students will find the sight of you limping next to me amusing.”
You grinned. Despite everything, you truly appreciated Sharp’s sense of humour: “Very well, sir.”
Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed the story. As always, you can find this fic and all of my other works over on my AO3
I am always very grateful for feedback 🥰
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blossom-works · 6 months
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Goodbyes Are Forever
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For about two decades, Christopher Redfield has dedicated his life to eradicating the use of bioweapons. For two decades, Christopher Redfield has lost unit after unit. Witnessing the deaths of over a dozen people per-mission. When does it all end? When can Christopher Redfield finally put down his gun and leave this life behind? To leave that part of him that died when you did and lay it to rest, just like what he had to do with the woman who took his heart to the grave with her.
"Hey, Chris! I just wanted to call and let you know that you shouldn't worry about me. I don't know when you'll hear this, but I love you. Come home safe, okay? Oh, and Leilani had her baby on Tuesday! Can't wait to meet the little stinker! Alright, I'll let you get back to your job, macho man. I love you."
You sounded so tender despite worrying about your boyfriend. Chris never really told you the truth behind his jobs and constant disappearance, and somehow, you always had faith in him. He never really knew why and even to this day, Chris does not understand where your faith in him came from. Claire told him that it was because you loved him. You loved Chris so much that you put blind faith in him. Crazy, right?
Maybe that is why Chris never felt alone with you. You could be countries apart, and your little voicemails and texts would make Chris feel like you were right next to him. Sometimes the man thought that you were a witch in that sense. You put some sort of a spell on Chris, making him unable to live and forget about you. A curse, because now Christopher Redfield is surviving, not living. He has had to survive before, but this is different. He no longer has that special someone waiting for him. Chris lost everything the day you perished.
It was not supposed to happen, no. Not if Chris could do anything about it. And he tried. He really did try to save you. Chris did everything he possibly could to bring you to safety, but it was not enough. You ended up turning into the same monsters he had killed countless times before. Chris' heart broke, shattered...disintegrated. The future that had whirled in Chris' mind for months disappeared. The invisible red string connecting your souls together was severed. Chris lost his love, the woman who nuzzled herself against his heart, keeping it warm and accompanied.
Killing you...Killing you was the same as killing himself. Would it have been better to let you bite and turn him? You both would be dead but together. That is all Chris ever wanted, to be with you. It was the whole reason why he bought a ring in the first place. In the end, Chris killed you. He killed his beloved. He remembers, clear as the dark day, holding your body with a bullet in your head. The bullet that Chris put there. He cried, wept, mourned, wailed. How could he not? Everything that truly mattered to Chris was gone.
Chris kept asking your dead body to forgive him. To forgive him for killing you because he could not protect you. He asked for you to forgive him for being a lousy protector, a lousy man. Your body had to be cremated so he and your family buried an empty casket. Your parents took your cremated remains once it was cleared of the virus, leaving Chris with his memories of you.
Months after your death, Chris still cannot find it in himself to throw away or donate your belongings. You did not live together when you died so he hauled everything to his place. He did it by himself. A broken man going through your apartment, the woman he loved more than he ever thought he could, and packing your things into boxes...What a picture.
Your favorite picture together is from one of Chris' birthdays. Claire was busy that day and no matter how much she tried, she could not make it to the celebration. You did not really know Chris' friends because they were all in the same job field as your boyfriend, so it was just the two of you. You bought a small cake and set up a movie night. If someone would have asked, that birthday was is Chris' favorite birthday celebration. He only ever needed you to be happy.
One of your hobbies was reading about human civilizations and history in general. You were a history nerd. Sort of makes sense because you taught second graders. You loved those obnoxious brats and they loved you. In a box are all the gifts your students gave you over your teaching career and their farewell notes and gifts. Your second graders were crushed when they heard that their favorite teacher died. Such a tragic death to someone who just wanted to teach the world's next generation. You taught future doctors, soldiers, lawyers, police officers, bakers, fashionistas, and so many more.
"Babe, the store didn't have any more of your favorite snacks so I got something else. I'll pop by again in two days to see if they restocked them."
A seemingly, meaningless explanation but not to Chris. You hated going grocery shopping so the fact that you would willingly go again for him made Chris feel giddy. Same thing with dishes. You hated doing dishes but would always do them so Chris did not have to when he came over. You wanted your boyfriend to relax since he never really had the time to. His job always kept him on his toes. Through every way possible, you showed Chris that you loved him. He can only hope that he showed you how much he loves you.
Chris misses you. He misses you so much that it physically hurts him. He buys the same detergent you bought so his clothes and linens will smell like you. He will spray your perfume on his cold bed to warm it up, even only for a fraction of a second. Pathetic, right? Well, Chris Redfield is a pathetic man. A man who could not save hundreds of innocent lives, his men, and the woman he wanted to call his wife.
Every now and then, Chris finds himself pulling out a glass frame. In it is the dried flowers from the first bouquet Chris ever got you. No man had ever given you flowers before so Chris' sweet gesture meant a lot. When Chris saw the frame of dried flowers, he asked about it because he had not seen it before and you told him. It was a special moment between the two of you. Flowers were not just flowers to you, they were special. They have meaning. Chris Redfield was not just any man to you, he was special. He as a person, had meaning to you.
You were always around when Chris needed you the most. He had nightmares. When sleep was supposed to be the most peaceful, it was terrifying to him. If you were next to him, sleeping away, you would wake up and comfort Chris. You would cradle him in your arms and whisper sweet nothings to him. You would wipe the sweat away and kiss him. If you were back at your apartment, sometimes Chris would call you in the middle of the night. You would talk him out of his terror and whisper sweet nothings to him. You would even go out of your way to go to his place to be there with him. Even if you had to go to work at six in the morning.
You never minded the baggage Chris carried. Sure it got frustrating and it even led to some arguments, but you were persistent. You wanted to be his rock and you wanted to pull Chris away from his nightmares. But now...now you are his nightmares. The same scene loves to infect Chris' mind. The scene where you turn and Chris has to be the one to put a hole in your head, and right after he pulls the trigger, you get up again and ask Chris why he did what he did. You always ask Chris that one question that shakes the man to his core. Pale, crying, and covered in blood you ask "Why did you stop loving me?"
Oh, darling...Chris never stopped loving you. To this day the man still loves you with whatever is left of him. Chris will never be able to love another woman like he does you. Chris' body, mind, heart, and soul belong to you. No flings. No dates. No "You're cute. Can I get your number?" To minimize women coming onto him, Chris bought himself a silicone ring. It does not matter that you two were never married, Chris is yours and yours alone.
After another long and grueling mission, Chris makes his way to a couple of shops. Once he gets what he needs, he heads to his final destination. The drive is long and quiet. Halfway through it, the sun starts to set and the road becomes more deserted. Chris' car tires bump along the gravel driveway that is on the side of the road. Arriving at the end of the driveway, Chris gets out of the vehicle.
Standing in front of the captain is an empty house. It was the home he was going to surprise you with. The whole plan was to show you the house and propose. Chris had set a large sum of money to the side so you two could renovate the old thing, but he never got to. You died not knowing this, of what could have been your lives. From the trunk of his car, Chris gets out a couple of containers. He pours its substance all over the inside of the building, making sure it does not splash on him.
Standing outside, right at the foot of the front porch, Chris lays a bouquet of flowers down. It is a replica of the first bouquet he got you. A bundle of blue forget-me-nots and white roses. Chris takes a couple of steps back and lights himself a cigarette. Puffing its toxic air, Chris thinks about what could have been. He wanted to marry you. Big or small wedding, Chris did not care. He just wanted to marry you. He wanted two boys too. No girls. Chris knows how men think, but it would be nice if he had a little girl. A mini-you running around in this house.
Chris wanted to grow old with you in this place. He wanted to go through the stages of life normal people do. What is that movie called? The Notebook? Yeah. Chris wanted to die like that. Peacefully in his sleep, lying beside you.
Puffing the last bit of his cigarette, Chris flicks the bud to the porch. Its ashes touch the gasoline puddles, lighting the house on fire. Chris watches the house be engulfed in flames. In his all-black attire, Chris just stands and watches. The roof starts to cave into the house from the weakening structure. Reaching up, Chris snaps off the necklace around him. A simple chain with what would have been your engagement ring. Kissing it, Chris tosses it into the fire.
For five hours Chris just stands there as he watches the house become nothing but ashes. Seeing only flickers of amber, Chris gets back into his car and drives away. He has no intentions of looking back at what could have been with that place. During your funeral, Chris did not shed a tear. Why? Because he cried everything he could the same moment you died. Besides, Chris will be mourning your death until he inevitably perishes.
"I miss you, Chris. A lot. I know you can't tell me what you really do, but that's okay. Stay safe 'cause if you don't I'll kill you myself. I know you're like twice my size and all, but I'll do it. And you better not do anything stupid. Alright, I'll stop nagging you for now...I love you, Christopher."
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yuulina-vre · 6 months
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Car crash
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Summary: Eddie is a bit stressed, which is not good.
Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader
Word count: 1.6k
Warnings: Car crashes, broken bones, mentions of blood
Masterlist
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"Come on, bunny, hurry. God, Hop is ripping my head off if we're late!”
“Eddie! Calm down. He won't.”
“Ha! Have you ever seen him mad? I mean, really mad?”
Y/N watches on as Eddie practically rips his car door off to clamber behind the wheel. Rolling her eyes, she throws her bag onto the passenger seat and climbs in as well, though she’s softer with the door. Eddie quickly starts the engine and pulls out of the driveway. It feels like He’s flooring the gas pedal. “I have, yes.” Eddies head shoots to her immediately. “What? When?”
“Eyes on the road, Eddie!” Y/N’s hand tightens on the handle f her door as she stares at the dark and empty street. Eddies head snaps back to the road, but she can see the confusion still in his eyes. “I might have, accidentally, of course, kicked a stone through his car window. And obviously, it has nothing to do with the fact that he just gave me a lecture.”
Obviously.” Eddie laughs and takes a corner a bit sharper than Y/N would like. “Ed’s, could you just, slow down a bit?”
“Bunny, you know how Hop is. If I’m late, he will lecture me, and I'm not as brave to kick stones in his company.” Again Y/N rolls her eyes, but her free hand comes down to his thigh, squeezing softly. “Please, Teddie. I just want to live. A bit slower and closer to the speed limit, yeah? If Hopper is bitchy about us being late, I tell him it’s my fault. He likes me. My head will stay where it is.” She smiles reassuringly at him. “Besides. It’s El’s birthday. I don’t think she minds.”
“It’s not her I’m afraid of.” Y/N sighs. She knows Eddie is a skittish and anxious boy at times. She rather not have him behind the wheel, but he wouldn’t hear of it and didn’t give in. In favor of relaxing him, she drops the topic and fiddles a bit with his radio until she manages to get a tape in with a few of Eddie's favorite songs. A quick glance to her right shows that his stressed expression leans a bit to something resembling a bit more relaxed and comfortable. The drive to Hopper usually takes about twenty minutes, so Y/N relaxes the more time passes. Just ten minutes into the drive, she sees something, and her stomach drops. “Eddie! The deer!” Her nails bore into his tight, her other hand clamping around the door handle, and her eyes squeeze shut. She’s not sure what happens then. Her body gets thrown to the side as the car swerves to the left. He swears loudly, and then, suddenly, her body gets thrown forward; the seat belt cuts into her body. A crash. Silence.
Y/N keeps her eyes tightly shut and tries to breathe through the pain and shock. “Fuck! Bunny, you alright? Are you hurt?” Eddie's voice sounds strained and worried. All Y/N can do, though, is take a few deep breaths and breathe against the pain in her chest. “Y/N?”
“I-I… Chest hurts.”
“Fuck, shit! Alright, eh…. Let’s- let’s get out of here first, yeah?” Instead of verbally answering, Y/N nods. She takes two steady breaths and loosens her seatbelt. She opens the door and stumbles out of the car. Her eyes roam over the hood that curled around a tree, though it's mostly on the driver's side. She hears Eddie curse as his door shuts, and instantly, worry sets in. “Teddie! Teddie, are you hurt?” She practically runs around the back of the car, only to be met with Eddie leaning against the driver's side. He cradles his right arm against his chest. Blood is dripping from his nose and left temple. “F-fuck.”
“Teddie!” Y/N quickly skips to him, cradling his head in her hands, trying to study his face. His eyes are a bit unfocused, and in the dim light of the streetlamp a few feet away, she can see that his pupils aren't the same size. Concussion, probably a broken nose.
“Can you look at me?”
“Which one of you?” Y/N’s worry increases since Eddie sounds pretty sincere and confused. There’s no sign of his typical grin. “Eddie! Tell me what hurts”
“Eh… head, pretty bad, actually.” Eddie groans and slowly slips to the ground. Y/N tries her best to guide him. She looks up and down the street, but on this dark fall evening, there’s no car to be seen. “What else?”
“Arm, think it's broken. My ribs kinda hurt. And my left ankle.”
“Okay, alright. Think you’ll be alright for a sec? I’ll quickly grab my bag and try to reach Hop, yeah?”
“No, what ‘bout you? Anything hurts Bunny?” She frowns a bit. He had asked her that already, but to not worry him, she runs her hand through his curls. “Just my ribs, probably from the seatbelt, and might bruise.”
“No…” Eddie whines as if he himself hurt me. It sounds a bit like he broke his favorite toy while playing. “It’s alright, Teddie. Keep breathing. I’ll be right back.”
In a few seconds, she is at the passenger's side again and grabs her bag from the floor. She’s quick to find her phone and dials Hopper's number, but nothing happens except the annoying beeping. “Come on, Hop, come on!” The lien dies, and she tries again. Her right foot taps nervously against the floor, one hand pressing against her chest, which still hurts from the seatbelt. Then finally, the line connects. “Hello?”
“St-Steve?”
“Yeah, who’s there?”
“I-It’s Y/N.” Her voice starts shaking a bit, adrenaline seemingly leaving her body. “Finally, we’ve been waiting for you! Where are you?”
“Is Hop there?”
“Yeah, give me a sec.” She hears Steve call Hopper's name. “Are you alright? You sound upset.”
“Y-Yeah, we, eh… We’ve had an accident.”
“Wha-”
“Y/N! Where the hell are you?! Munson too occupied to brush his hair?”
“H-Hop-” Mor doesn't leave her lips; just a sob comes out, which quickly lets tears cloud her vision. “What's wrong, kid? Where are you?” Y/N tries to fight her sobs and tells Hopper about the deer. The policeman sounds calm, but Y/N knows he’s anything but. He might act grumpy all the time, but he secretly loves and cares for each one of them. The second they hang up, with Hopper promising to be there in ten, she feels totally exhausted and tired. Sniffling, she goes back to Eddie only to find him with his eyes closed, head against the car. “E-Eddie? Eddie!”
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Still sniffling, Y/N is guided by Hopper through a set of doors. “Now, Y/N. He’ll be alright.”
“I-I know. Still s-scared me.” Hopper's Hand squeezes her shoulder softly, and walks with her through some halls until he stops in front of a door. “You okay? Rips alright?”
“Yeah, better, at least.” The man nods and knocks at the door but doesn't make any moves to enter himself. All he does is open the door and shove Y/N in. Though he has a small reassuring smile on his lips. She tries to smile as well, but she’s still shaken up. The accident has been barely more than an hour and a half ago and the shock from finding Eddie passed out still sits deep in her bones. It helps that she sees him smiling at her now as she turns to the bed in the small room. “Hey, Bunny.”
“Teddie.” She sighs a breath of relive and walks over to him, immediately pressing a longing kiss against his forehead. “How are you?” His hand comes up to softly wipe the few stray tears away. “Ribs okay?”
“You asking me?” Eddie only frowns at her, not giving any kind of answer. Y/N giggles nonetheless and nods. I’m okay. My ribs are just a bit bruised. Doctor gave me some painkillers. What about you?”
“I’m totaled. You can bring me to the scrapyard to my car. My CAR, Y/N!” Eddie wails theatrically, throwing his head back into the pillow. “Y/N only rolls her eyes and takes a seat on the bed by Eddie's hip, carefully taking his uninjured hand in hers. Her thumb strokes softly over his skin. “My arm’s broken, two ribs cracked, ankle sprained, and I have pretty little princesses dancing around my head, confirming I’m suffering from a concussion.” He pouts at Y/N. “You want to know what's worse?”
“What?” She smiles at him. He looks adorable. If you don’t count the injuries and the setting they’re in, she probably would pepper his face with kisses to make the pout stop. “None of these princesses are as pretty as you! Why can’t they look like you?” Y/N frowns at him and nods seriously. “Indeed, that’s bad. But I can tell you why.”
“Why?”
“They’re not me because that means you won't pull stupid shit as often, only to get me to see more than once.”
“Hey! That wasn’t my fault.” Eddie plays offense, but Y/N only giggles and leans in until she’s just mere seconds away from his lips. “I know.” Then she presses closer to kiss him. Eddie hums and his arms softly come around her, carefully pulling her closer. “If that’s what happens-” He kisses her again. “When I get hurt. I’ll do it again.” He manages to press a last kiss in before Y/N quickly sits up straight, glaring daggers at him. “Don’t you dare, Edward!” Her voice and Eddie's laughter echo through the hall. Hopper smiles at himself as she shakes his head in disbelief before he strolls back down the hall. “These kids.”
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rosewaterandivy · 9 months
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7. gold teeth and curse for this town
Summary: Rumor has it, that hometown hero-turned-teacher Steve Harrington is hot for teacher. The English teacher next door to him at Hawkins High, who also happens to be his childhood friend, that is.
Pairing: Steve Harrington x chaotic!dumbass reader
Warnings: 18+, no use of y/n - reader goes by the nickname Trouble instead, cursing, sexual situations (caught masturbating, slight voyeurism), spring break shenanigans, traveling idiots, Modern!Teacher AU, English teacher reader, History teacher Steve, slow burn, friends to lovers, romance.
A/N: This chapter is borne out of my current nostalgia for travel and Southern CA that I’m going to make everyone’s problem (the end of grad school cannot come soon enough!). Get ready to repress some 6K of feelings, questionable advice and coping mechanisms - reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated, reposting my work, however, is not; enjoy! 💜
series masterlist | playlist - newly updated!
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Now, Spring Break, IND ➡️ DFW ➡️ PSP ➡️ Joshua Tree, CA
You hustle Steve out of the loft with ample time to get to the airport. Unlike some people, you operated on the maxim that early is on time and on time is late. As a result, you and Nancy made for fantastic travel companions, you and Steve however…
“Christ, who pissed in your cereal this morning?!”
You sigh in exasperation at his outburst, grabbing your suitcase and shouldering your backpack while Steve locks the car. His hair is a travesty, sticking up every which way like he slept in a barn, he’s so put off by it he’s opted for a blue baseball cap today proclaiming, ‘If you ain’t a fisherman, you ain’t shit’ that he’d stolen from Hopper at some point.
“Eat my ass, dude!”
He stops short at that, causing you to collide with his back. You kick the back of his legs with your scuffed shoes, trying to jumpstart the whole walking thing. But no, Steve just stands there like a statue.
When he finally gets going again after a shake of his head, you swear he mumbles something under his breath. It sounds an awful lot like, “You’re killing me, woman.”
Whatever. He’s killing you— all stupidly attractive and mussed from an early morning wake-up call. 
Which, to be fair, was definitely unintentional on your part. Nancy could’ve done you a solid and warned you about the thin wall between your room and Steve’s. Quiet and discreet your ass, you’d be having words with Bellesa’s customer service later.
It was preventative, if anything, because you’re conscientious like that. Just a little something to take the edge off before spending the better part of a week alone with Steve. That baby pink sucker should’ve come with a warning, or maybe you’re just that wound up. 
Regardless, being less than mindful of your volume resulted in Steve barging into your bedroom right as you were about to come— hand grasping the vibe at just the right angle and shoved down the front of your shorts, shirt rucked up against your chest.
“What the fuck?!” you screech, orgasm slipping back from whence it came. You’re paralyzed in shock, startled by a rumpled, sleep-drunk, shirtless Steve in his boxer-briefs, which were doing fuck-all to help the situation at hand.
Speaking of which… You make a frantic grab for the covers to pull them up and over yourself, clicking the vibe off and stashing it under some pillows.
Meanwhile, he just stands there, steadily growing various shades of pink and breathing heavily. “I thought– You were—” he attempts, tongue-tied and dumbfounded. 
The realization hits him like a ton of bricks. His jaw drops open, useless, as he takes what he hopes will be a steadying breath in. But that’s of no use, because why would the universe ever cut him a break?
You sail beneath his nose, wafting from the movement of the sheets as you hastily cover yourself and that scent— that intoxicating sweetness he remembers pulling out of past lovers, sucking off his fingers, savoring in his throat— crashes into him with its entire, terrifying, exhilarating implication.
He’s utterly baffled. The kind of hard-hitting no shit moment you get when someone tells you the answer to a riddle you’ve been chewing on for hours, trying to decipher that missing component you just can’t get a grip on. And when the answer wakes up your brain, and your brain face-palms itself, you’re walloped with both relief and irritation.
In Steve’s case, he’s walloped with the scent of spearmint toothpaste and soap-clean skin only lightly musky. Saltiness lingering from an evaporated sheen of sweat, a dampness that dried over, previously wet from a specific type of touch.
Fuck.
He promptly turns on his heel with a muttered apology, body rigid and ramrod straight with tension, bathroom door latched before you can ask him where he’s going. He turns the water on for the shower and steps inside. Starts almost too fast, grip on his cock clumsy and impatient. Steve squeezes and pulls off, then he does it again, the drag of his fist making a delicious, sloppy sound—Do you wonder about him? Those nights you go on half-hearted dates and come back early, shrugging, “Felt weird to— There wasn’t much of a connection,” and plop back down, contented to be next to him. Is that something, too?
He should have fucked you a long time ago on the couch to the soundtrack of a forgotten movie. On the counter, interrupting breakfast, scrabbling for something to grip, knocking shit over, too fevered to care.
He’d do you right. Do you long and good and how you deserve.
“Steve—" you’d cry for him, “Can’t believe we haven’t done this before.”
“Yeah,” he’d say, “You’re so fucking warm, and hot, and my god, I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t take it anymore. Gonna get up inside you, baby, gonna open you up, gonna ruin you for everyone else.”
And with that image, Steve comes so much it’s astonishing. He shudders uncontrollably, gasping out loud with the wind knocked out of him, and arches up toward the ceiling like he might levitate. And then, on the comedown, because being backed up for who knows how long wound him up for the kind of orgasm that decides to return for an encore, he comes again.
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You get through security swiftly, the TSA agent from last time making conversation, checking your IDs and asking if you had another hilarious shirt on today.
“Nope,” you say, popping the ‘p’ and jerking your thumb behind you to Steve, “It’s all him today.”
The agent nods and smiles, surveying Steve and his stupid hat quickly. Hands back your IDs and with a laugh, “Have a good trip!”
You save yourself from saying you too! but just barely. Brain still fried from your earlier interrupted activities, no thanks to the man following closely at your heels.
Steve doesn’t say a word until you’re seated on the plane. And even then, it’s less of a word and more of a clearing of his throat that prompts your attention.
“I’m, uh, sorry,” he says, refusing to meet your eyes, “For earlier today. I honestly thought you were like, having a nightmare or something.”
You fail to stifle your laugh. “Steve,” you chuckle, “If the women you’ve been seeing sound like they’re having nightmares when they come—”
“I wouldn’t know,” he interrupts, lips pulled tight. “Not really seeing anyone at the moment.”
You make a silent ‘oh,’ eyes blowing wide. What were you supposed to say to that?
He busies himself with his backpack, pulling out a book and some headphones. You do the same, placing a worn copy of The Devil’s Highway on your lap and settling headphones around your neck.
Something nudges at your calf. You turn from the flight attendant’s spiel to find a folded piece of paper held between two of Steve’s fingers. He flexes them toward you and you, bewildered, take it from him as he returns to his book.
Curious, you run a finger across its worn edges as it unfolds. A familiar scrawl greets you, ‘IOU one explanation.’
Your own. 
Shit, the devil’s really in the details, isn’t he?
Your vision shuffles like a deck of cards, mind racing back to Christmas morning as you quickly ripped off a scrap of paper from a receipt and wrote this on the back of it before stuffing it into Steve’s stocking.
Your tongue darts out the wet your chapped lips, firmly back in the present. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. You were supposed to be better prepared, thoughts in some logical order, feelings sorted (well, mostly) before Steve played this card.
You were supposed to know what the fuck you would do.
How you felt about him.
You’ve folded the paper back up and shoved it into your pocket without even realizing it. Dazed and confused while the captain makes an announcement, prompting the cabin for take-off.
Steve’s hand finds yours against the armrest, warm and familiar fingers tangling up with yours. Headphones secured on both of your ears, you take a deep breath as your stomach momentarily suspends itself while the plane takes off; inertia giving way to weightlessness. A squeeze of your hand before you lose yourself for a few hours, the playlist, courtesy of your best friend, sailing through your ears.
Best friends, ex-friends 'til the end / Better off as lovers and not the other way around.
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Steve could kick himself for that stupid IOU, you’d been distant and quiet for most the day now. Barely said anything at all during the layover in Dallas, fucking hell. He’d left you to collect the bags while he dealt with the rental car. But he can’t drag his thoughts away from you, your eyes wide as you read the note, posture changing instantaneously. 
He interacts politely with the concierge but it’s clear his mind is somewhere else; he hopes he doesn’t come off as rude. When he makes his way back to you, wading through the crowds at the Palm Springs airport, you’ve gathered both suitcases and were sitting on top of one of them.
You’re on a phone call of some kind, turned away from him and hunched over like you’re trying to sink into yourself. His final present to you from Christmas on your right hand glinting in the light as your hold the phone to your ear. He hears a sniffle, quickly followed by a brief sigh.
“Yeah, thanks Nance,” you turn and spot him, offering a tight, watery smile. “Gotta go, Steve’s ready with the car.”
You listen as she says something, nodding along with her words.
“‘Kay,” you let out a shaky breath, “Love you too, bye.”
He bridges the distance between you, reaching for the suitcases before you can brush him away. You toe his backpack toward him, hefting your own over your shoulders with a grunt. Dodging a toddler and frazzled mom with a stroller, the pair of you make it outside, the sun a warm welcome against your faces.
You follow his lead to the rental car, a Ford of some kind, no convertible for the dirt roads and desert terrain of Joshua Tree.
The chirp of the car lets you know Steve’s unlocked it, you quickly compress the handle of your bag and shove it into the trunk. Backpacks are thrown into the backseat followed by a desperate plea from you for both “food,” and “the goddamn a/c.”
He grants both with a soft laugh. Maneuvers the Bronco Sport into Palm Springs with finesse, locating an In-N-Out in record time and rattles your order off from memory. You connect your phone to the bluetooth while you wait in the drive-thru line, mellow guitar chords ramp up and the melancholic sound of ‘drivin’ out into the sun / let the ultraviolet cover me up’ fill the car.
Steve steals your phone before you can change it to something less apocalyptic and depressing, so you’re left to listen to the rasping sounds of Phoebe Bridgers at the close of “I Know the End” while an In-N-Out employee hands you trays of food.
He thanks the teenager, and following the curve of the pavement and scores a parking spot just as a new song rips through the speakers. You hand him his order as he pushes the driver’s seat back to stretch his legs.
“Thanks,” he manages to say before shoving some fries into his mouth.
“Sure,” you reply, nearly unhinging your jaw to take a bite of the burger.
He laughs to himself, watching you. “S’like watching a pride of lions devour a warthog or something.”
You garble some smart-ass response, undoubtedly, before remembering your mouth is full. You roll your eyes and continue to enjoy your meal. Steve follows suit. 
After lunch, you suggest grabbing some groceries for the next few days. You wind through the aisles of Ralph’s, Steve following closely behind angling the cart to catch the incoming volleys of cereal boxes, power bars, and cartons of juice and milk. 
His heart clenches at the scene— it’s all very domestic, you ticking off your mental grocery list confident in the fact that Steve is just a step behind you— yes, dear; sure thing, sweetheart. You’re prattling on about some shit Wheeler pulled last week, a story you’ve already told him but he can’t bring himself to care, while you decided between Fruity Pebbles or Trix cereal.
Not when it seems like you’re just shaking off the gloom you wore earlier today. Eyes bright and animated, beaming smiles and pealing laughter; he can’t stop the smile that works its way across his face.
Back in the car before he knows it, groceries stowed in the back and cart returned to the corral. Taking his phone from the center console, you type in the AirBnB address and hand it back to him, fingers brushing against his just so. You say something about the property being at the edge of the park and a about an hour’s drive, give or take.
Steve just nods and starts the car. He follows the prompts of directions easily, and pretty soon Palm Springs is in the rearview. The road gives way to rolling hills and climbs with short descents as he drives closer to Joshua Tree. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices there isn’t the usual book in your hand.
He calls your name, “You alright?”
You nod, exhaustion evident in your gaze. “Mmhm, jus’ sleepy. Closing my eyes so I don’t get nauseous from the peaks and valleys.”
That’s right, you get carsick if you read on hilly or mountainous stretches of road. Though it’s not much, Palm Springs to Joshua Tree, he guesses the frequent hills and dips of the drive would be enough to do it. He turns the music down slightly, letting you doze.
It’s been a minute since he’s been alone with his thoughts. What with Nance moving out and you moving in, his mind has been elsewhere. It was a relief to finally be on spring break because it freed up some time for himself. 
Not that he used that time wisely, exactly.
He’d talked to Robin, briefly and abstractly, of course. But she was wise to his plight at this point, evasive tactics aside. She cautioned him, once again, to take it slow since you were liable to spook. She was probably right about that.
But then again, maybe not.
Chancing a glance to his right, he catches you and finds himself having a moment. How your face looked all soft and sweet—head lolled back against the seat and precariously resting against the window, how quiet you were, the strange peace settling between the two of you since lunch.
For a second Steve’s also not quite sure how he’s feeling– still gathering his bearings from the aftermath of new tenderness– but he’s so, so lucky that you’re exactly the kind of dummy he’s always known you were. Laughter bubbles from his throat when you snort yourself awake and blink blearily at your surroundings.
“We’re here,” he says softly, one hand resting against the steering wheel while the other pockets his phone.
You’re slow to the draw, having slept for the better of part of an hour, unclipping your seatbelt clumsily and fumbling for the door handle. And it’s all he can do not to kiss you stupid right then and there.
With a sigh and shake of his head, he exits the car and opens your door for you. A murmured ‘thanks’ as you hop down to the desert floor and read the host’s instructions for check-in. Your ancient chucks kick up dust as you walk to the front door and key in the code. 
Steve grabs the bags, leaving the groceries for later. He turns, spying a hot tub nestled among desert plants and grasses. The mountains behind the modern house provide a stark contrast to its sleek planes and lines. He almost feels bad for tracking in dust and dirt when he steps inside. 
The house itself is sleek, a paragon of modern design. Lots of windows to let in light, particularly in the living spaces. Primary colors and minimal art set the various rooms apart in the open concept space, he notes a red couch and yellow dining chairs, following the sound of your footsteps.
“It’s a two bedroom,” you call out from somewhere out of sight.
He’s both pleased and frustrated at that particular detail. Maybe that’s your way of introducing some distance between the two of you? He’d rather not think about it.
“They’re both nice,” you say, appearing out of thin air and leaning against a wall to his left. “We can flip for ‘em, I guess.”
Steve checks his pocket for loose change and prizes a quarter between his thumb and forefinger. “So heads is…?”
“The green room.”
“And tails?”
“The orange one.”
“Right,” he nods, “So on three, you call it.”
He counts it down and you call tails as the coin flips between you. He catches it on his palm, opening it for you to check.
“Tails it is—I’ll take the orange room, you get green.”
So, it’s settled. You take your suitcase and backpack with a smile before padding back to the second bedroom. Steve passes a pop art version of a Simpsons character displayed on the wall as he makes his way to his room. It’s not too far from yours with a sliding glass door to and view to the surrounding property. 
He leaves his bags by the door and beelines for the bed. His back hits the mattress and he’s out like a light.
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The clanging of pots and pans wakes him. The faint footfalls of bare feet against the concrete floor as your prattle around the kitchen. He scrubs a hand down his face with a sigh.
He’s still exhausted from earlier, so he settles on drifting back to sleep, maybe waking you up in the morning with a big mug of coffee for that inevitable travel-hangover you’ll have.
Steve yawns and grins when he hears your hip bump the counter, a hushed curse (“god damned asslamp, what the fuck”), your feet padding away, and the kitchen faucet turns on with a rush. You’re such a considerate dope.
Another yawn. He’s asleep again.
_
It’s the soft knocking on his door that rouses him this time.
He pries his eyes open, instant regret flooding his veins because he slept in his contacts again. 
“Uhgimmeaminute,” he slurs out, hand frantically groping for his phone to check the time. Which is useless since it’s dead anyway.
Your voice sounds out from behind the door, “Steve, you awake?” A pause. “Dinner’s ready, if you want any.”
He’s managed to turn over onto his stomach, elbows sinking into the mattress, hands cradling his head as he struggles to wake the fuck up. 
“Yeah,” he rasps out, “Be there soon.” 
Music echoes from the kitchen, something soothing and low-energy. You’ve set the table and lit a few taper candles you’d managed to find. He pours himself a glass of wine and takes a seat, watching while you sway and sing to yourself. 
You sing along with the music, accompanying Paul Simon as he talks about being being lovers and marrying fortunes together. Steve sighs.
He may be biased of course, but he’s always adored your singing— you’re no vocalist, not really, but that doesn’t stop you. You’ll warble out any tune that strikes your fancy with gusto. Eddie and his attempts to rope you into any sort of musical education had gone amiss— you like what you like, and you’ll sing what you like.
He could listen to you all day, if you’d let him.
He clears his throat and you nearly flip the skillet in front of you, wine glass ringing from the tapping of your jewelry against it. “Christ! You scared the shit outta me, dude!”
Steve cocks his head to the side, also listening—to the music, perhaps to your now uncomfortably loud heartbeat. You run your hand through your hair. The music chimes into a similar calming tone as the chorus starts.
You set a plate down in front of him and slide into a chair to his left. He looks at you, questioning, “Not hungry?”
“Oh, me? I think I’ll just chew on these grapes for a bit.” 
You take a sip of wine and make a show of working your jaw, as if you are, in fact, chewing the grapes from the Malbec. He huffs a laugh at your antics, tucking into his own dinner. With a wink, you swallow and say, “I ate during your nap, so I’m good.”
He’s not sure exactly what you’ve whipped up, but it’s damned good. “Right,” he says, hand covering his chewing mouth, “Sorry about that.”
“S’fine,” you assure him with a wave, “No worries.”
The lights are dimmed. The guitar melody crescendos before the song ends. There’s a pause of silence before the next song begins, and you feel your heart leap as the first few words start.
“Um…” Your voice cracks. “So, about that explanation.”
His eyebrows raise briefly before he blinks a couple of times. You tilt your chin to your chest and lace your fingers together, foot tapping anxiously as you sit in wait. “I mean, I think I’m just a little unprepared. Like, obviously, we kissed in December and then we both just let it go. And I’m supposed to have it worked out by now—but recently there’s been … tension.” You pause for a drink, “I guess it’s only natural for you to want to know— I just got freaked out when I realized how you felt. Not only because I’m literally the last person to figure it out… It’s just—”
You’re full of rambling, nervous energy but you try your best to play it off. It was such an awkward thing to say out loud, and there was no way you could come out and spit: I’m pretty sure I’ve been in love with you for while now.
Steve laughs and leans forward, putting his hand over yours. “I just… didn’t want to mess anything up.” He says, eyes earnest and fixed on yours, “At least, I hope I didn’t.” He cuts himself off, clearing his throat, “I mean, I lo—,” He stops, covering with a brief cough, “I, uh, care about you, a lot.” 
A heavy silence falls between you as the next track begins, allowing you to wallow in your own cowardice. Your inability to say exactly what he nearly admitted to a moment ago.
Love.
Is that what the pressure in your chest is? The nerves fluttering in your stomach anytime you catch sight of him or your phone dings with a notification? A reason for the ever-present smile on your face as you gossip with him in the hall before the bell rings? An answer for your burgeoning insomnia because you can’t sleep well unless you’re by his side?
Cause if so… god is it fucking torture. 
Since kissing Steve Harrington in the living room on that Sunday evening last December, you’ve replayed that kiss over and over again, time after time as you fall asleep. It’s been approximately two months and some change, numerous lunches and dinners, with one long walk in the park with your family dog before he got a frantic call from Robin and had to leave for “bake sale disaster clean up.” You don’t want to precisely calculate how much time has passed. What you do know is that all these moments add up to you lying in bed thinking about it while trying desperately not to scream.
Tack on to that Steve quite literally catching you this morning with your hand down your shorts, seconds from release while you were most definitely thinking of him.
Jesus H. Christ.
You linger at the table, twirling your empty wine glass between two fingers as you think. Steve clears his plate, gets himself a glass of water, and you return to the kitchen to join him. He’s patting his thighs with his wet hands when you come in, nodding along to the music.
You gaze at the damp spots on his legs, the fabric of his trousers slightly clinging onto his thighs. Quickly, before he sees you, you look away.
“The National?” He asks amusedly, “I really like them… he’s got a great voice.” It’s different from the song you’d included on the vinyl you’d given him over Christmas, but apparently he knew enough of their catalogue to recognize them by sound alone.
Color you surprised.
But I'm gonna keep you in love with me for a while / I'm gonna keep you in love with me.
Steve walks closer to you, stopping a few steps away and leans against the edge of the island. He crosses his arms and press his lips together, eyelashes fluttering as he smiles.
“What now?” He asks. His voice echoes the same low and deliberate tone you’ve heard before, and you think that the question isn’t really a question at all. But you’re not really sure what to make of it—tonight may have been the most forward he’s ever been.
“Was that, uh, an adequate explanation for you?”
“What you mean?”
Standing on your tiptoes, you move to face him. “What I mean is,” you begin, “In your expert opinion, did my rambling monologue over there satisfy the IOU?”
You pause and wait for his answer.
Darkness flutters over his eyes briefly before he catches your mouth with his instead. With a half-whimper, half-moan, Steve Harrington cups the back of your neck in one large, warm hand and your lower back with the other and presses your body flush against his.
Oh.
A brief parting of your lips gives you a moment to catch your breath, but he’s back again, tongue sliding against yours sweetly, as if asking a silent question.
Is this okay?
With a sigh of pleasure, you ask him to continue in the same, secret language. Your chest is burning hot, tummy quivering with nerves and delight as his hands roam your body. Firm. Strong. Almost desperate. Your own hands rest against his chest before one reaches up and cups his face, “D-does that answer your question?” He mutters against your mouth before he slides down past your jaw and lands his lips on your neck, “We could—”
Until suddenly Robin’s advice rears its ugly head. 
Steve had been warned about not getting involved, repeatedly. Plenty of concern from Robin about getting “poorly wired idiot signals” crossed. It’s dangerous with a friend, even more so with you because he can’t lose you.
Point blank refuses to, in fact.
He abruptly pauses and pulls away, like he thought better of it. His hands place you back down on your feet– back to Earth– as he swallows hard, looking at you with open, red lips. Steve rolls the bottom one between his teeth and clenches his jaw, eyes half-lidded and lustful. You’re probably a wreck, too, you think as you catch yourself against the counter.
In the absence of his mouth and yours and his warm hands skating across your body, you’re terrified.
And from the look on Steve’s face, you’d wager he is as well.
Suddenly you’re looking at him one way, and then in a flash, the same grin you always give him— the crooked one on the cusp of a dumb joke— turns bright white.
It goes brilliant like solar flare, and he thinks he must be losing his mind.
He hazards a glimpse to you.
Maybe Steve’s been losing it for a few weeks now, but he’s done a great job dodging the reality of your confession so far. Doesn’t matter what you mumbled—cracked out on exhaustion and sleep-talking—because in the end, you’re his friend and you love him the same way you love everyone else: annoyingly. Nothing’s changed about that.
It was just a kiss.
He says your name carefully and you perk up at the sound of his voice. He clears his throat, “We should probably call it a night.”
A feeble sigh as Steve pushes his hands into his face, gripping his hair, pulling his own head back until he’s staring at the ceiling, willing this excruciating moment to pass him by.
“Y-yeah, okay,” you whisper.
When he finally looks back down, you’ve left without a sound.
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“Mmm…”
He wakes up for a third time, not that he had been sleeping soundly by any means.
It’s barely audible at first, especially if he was still oblivious, but now it’s like his ears can comprehend a new language, like all his senses have been heightened.
Or maybe it’s just because you didn’t close your door entirely tonight. Steve can’t blame you, he did, after all, interrupt you this morning.
He can’t recall if voyeurism was ever his kink, but just this once, maybe it can be. His curiosity takes hold, lights up upon hearing a stifled groan of a syllable that sounds surprisingly like his name. If he focuses, he can dampen the nighttime outside his window, smother out the air conditioning and—
“Steve… that’s… oh, it feels so good…”
His cock springs to life.
There’s a rhythm of folded knees, thighs squeezed together in pulses, fingers reaching between them, and the hot, pleading breaths you puff into the clamped grasp of your hand. Even your heart, wildly banging around in your chest. He takes note of the tempo and dives beneath the waistband of his shorts, keeping pace.
“There, faster… don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.”
He thinks, I won’t, and finds it a little perfect how this entire thing seems to be mutual, after all.
_
He wakes for the last time, in the late morning, and rolls out of bed to brush his teeth and shower. He definitely smells like sex, and when he opens the door to the bathroom, you’re already at the counter, also smelling like sex. Steve slyly looks down and adjusts himself, tilting his groin away and out of view.
“Mornin’” You rub at your temple, squinty and tired. “Think you were in my dream last night,” you say absently, blinking out the sleep, ungracefully squeezing toothpaste onto your toothbrush where it falls off in a goopy pile. You scrub in gentle circles, leaning over to spit and rinse, and come back up wet and bleary. As Steve washes his face, you tug his towel from the rack.
He pats off his cheeks, brushes his own teeth with one hand next, the other reaching sideways to swipe a rolling bead of water off your neck, purposefully running his thumb up your throat.
Low and encouraging, he asks, “Yeah? Was it a good dream?”
You blink in quick flutters at that, surprised and abruptly reliving a fuzzy memory, a prickle of dew casting itself over your brow.
“Y-yes,” you stutter, sudden heat rippling off your body, that lovely perfume of incoming arousal rising to meet him. When you stumble back, flustered, he holds you still, sets you on your shaky feet.
Steve licks his lips, thinks about how maybe this won’t be a thing he’ll simply get over, how he is quite glad to have you, and maybe he can have more of you, too.
He thinks about how easily a mutual fantasy can come true and murmurs, “That’s good, honey. That’s real good.”
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An exasperated huff as Steve sticks his arm out in front of your collar. You look at him in irritation, ready to swat it away until your feet trip over a loose rock and he catches you by the shoulder. 
“Watch it,” he says calmly, setting you on your feet, “If you stop looking down at your feet, you might see something you like.”
Target acquired: you got a juicy ass, Harrington.
Smartly, you shut up, letting him walk ahead in case any more errant rocks might make you eat your words again.
The trail to Skull Rock is popular, full of hikers and brush branches as you’ve repeatedly discovered by taking twigs to the face. Keeping close to Steve, you let him shoulder most of the burden, only putting your hand up when a branch he snaps off with his hand flies too close to your eyes.
“IF—” You start loudly, and Steve bristles at your volume, “If you could pick one person from history who you’d take out to dinner, if circumstances made it possible,” you pause to take a breather, letting a family pass by on their way down the trail. “Who would it be?”
“I wouldn’t.” Steve retorts, “And you’re being annoying.”
“I’m not!” You insist, hands on your hips and eyes narrowed at him from behind your sunglasses. “You’re just being boring and refusing to play DC.”
“What’s that— the stupid thing the kids were whispering about recently? Dead crush?”
You respond with a maniacal giggle. “Mine’s Rasputin, he’s Russia’s greatest love machine!” 
Steve groans. Shoulders his bag with a disappointed sigh, exasperated that you tricked him into this stupid game, “Fucking– you’ve got to be kidding. That’s disgusting.”
With a flick of your wrist, you condescendingly scoff. “Glass houses Steve,” you tease. “Besides, you’d probably pick someone like Princess Di because you’re predictable.”
“Rasputin’s a bit dark, isn’t he?” Steve shakes his head, forging ahead on the trail.
Sticking your tongue out at the back of his head, you fix your gaze forward with a sly smirk.
“Who would you pick, Mr. H.? Let’s get a peek into that big brain of yours.” You lick your lips as he looks back over his shoulder.
Steve mulls the question over for a second, “Margaret Thatcher. I’d take her to dinner. And then to an early grave.”
There’s an exasperated sound that escapes your lips. “Okay, that’s not really how the game works. This is not supposed to be a political commentary- it’s a genuine display of … attraction!”
“To corpses.” He mutters.
“Okay, that’s dark.” You exhale with a brief chuckle.
You’re stunned into silence thereafter, and it’s a wonder, since Steve’s never known you to be silent for anything. A life-time of no-filter commentary that makes him physically ill at times, and you’re shocked quiet.
The fallout of last night lingered awkwardly, coloring the lazy morning and early afternoon. He didn’t even have the courage to look at you—only forging on with the day, dewy with sweat. Briny with exertion. Sweet and tangy and whipping through the air, chased by dry wind. 
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Steve’s back in the driver’s seat, you’re riding shotgun. Shades perched on your nose bridge, ruddied pout glorious against the sunset backdrop.
“You alright?”
A bead rolls down your brow, gets lost in the damp hair coiled by your ear. Steve reaches over, brushing your arm and you pull back, letting him dig in the backseat. He loops a finger through a hydroflask and hands it over. “Here.”
A small smile as you take it from his slack grip. 
The cool water slides right down your throat and soothes the fever in your throat. A clatter of the visor’s mirror slides open and you look at your reflection before pushing your glasses up again.
Steve has already returned to his side, staring out the gaping window, hair rushing over his beautiful face.
You tapped on his hand, water bottle clinking against it fell to the floor at your feet. The evening is cooling, chasing away the day’s heat. A filmy layer of sweat begins to condense on your brow despite the open windows and a/c on full blast.
And it’s just his way, isn’t it? To smile and wait, look so peaceful while your heart howls for him. To say I love you without ever having to say it at all.
Shyly, with his hand inching toward yours, eyes glowing the slightest bit gold as night falls, he whispers, “Better?”
A brief nod, you settle back against the passenger seat suddenly exhausted. 
“Stay awake for me, we’ll be home soon.” Steve pleads, linking fingers through yours in the growing darkness. The car rumbling back to life. “I’m sorry it took so long.”
His quiet way, his patient way, his careful way. Loving you without loving you. Telling you without telling you. Secret languages finally understood.
A kiss pressed to the top of your head and you don’t know if you should laugh or cry when he moves his hand to your thigh, fingers tangled up in yours. All you can do is duck your head and grin.
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pinejayy · 5 months
Text
╰┈➤ Bloody Needs || Vampire Sanji x F!Raeder
a/n: I saw some Vampire Sanji fanart online and it made me think uwu || not proof read, please let me know if there’s any mistakes uwu
summary: sanji is your boyfriend and he visits you and is thirsty for your blood.
warnings: sanji drinking your blood (a bit forcefully), him being a bit manipulative, biting, blood, guilt tripping you, oral (female receiving) fingering.
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It was a cold and breezy night in your small little village and Sanji watched your sleeping figure lay there peacefully in your bed. He stood there in the corner of your room watching you, watching your curves and how your chest moved slightly as you took deep breaths. He couldn't help but lick his lips, he was hungry...he needed some blood. He walked towards your body and watched you, you were wearing shorts and a small shirt, he made him hungry in other ways. He stood there, above your sleeping body hoping you would wake up soon.
As you were sleeping peacefully you felt a cold breeze in your sleep and you covered yourself with your blankets making Snaji growl under his breath. He leaned in and took a closer look at you, and as you were sleeping your body reacted to his presence and it shivered slightly. Snaji placed a hand on your shoulder and shook you slightly.
"Dear~" He whispered against your ear as he leaned in towards you. "Wake up...I need something."
Your eyes slowly began to open and you were still trying to adjust, just laying there and all you could was someone above you. Letting out a scream you began to swing your arms around hoping you would hit this person. Sanji was quick and grabbed your arms, pinning them down to the bed. "Hey, it's only me Dear~"
You immediately stopped as you heard his voice "I told you to stop doing that!!" You whimpered softly. Struggling against his grip and he stares at you and chuckles slightly letting go of you and sat on the edge of the bed. You sat up and look at your boyfriend "What are you doing here? I thought I wasn't gonna see you for a few more days."
Sanji looks at you and he couldn't help but stare at your neck as you spoke, slowly his eyes look into yours. "Yeah...I wanted to see you. I needed to see you my Dear." He said in a low voice, making you tilt your head to the side. Exposing more of your neck to him and he hissed under his breath.
"Aw! You wanted to see me already?!" You giggled softly. Yawning and stretching you look at him. Sanji leaned in and placed a small kiss against your neck. "Oh? I see someone is needy." Giggling out, as he kisses your neck you couldn't help moan softly. Sanji knew your soft spots. As he was kissing your neck you felt his fangs brush against your skin making you shiver. He's never ever asked for blood or for a bite but today...he needed you in other ways.
As his kisses ran along your neck, it took him all the will power to stop himself from sinking his fangs into your neck. "Dear...I need you." He whispered against your neck.
"Mm then I'm yours." You whispered softly. And he pulled away and he looked at you. He looked hungry, his eyes were glowing red and his fangs were out. Making your blood run cold, you've never seen him in this state of mind. "Sanji.."
And he ignored you and leaned in again and kissed your neck. As he was kissing your neck he grabbed you gentle and pinned you down. Snaji hands were roaming around your body, as he was kissing your neck you couldn't help but moan softly. He wasn't gonna bite you right?
Laying there you were enjoying yourself, and his kissing kept running around your neck trying to find a prefect spot. Closing your eyes as you enjoyed your self but suddenly you felt a sharp pain run along your body making your eyes shot open, crying out in pain. Your body reacted and you tried pushing him off but he didn't move at all. And suddenly Sanji covers your mouth with his hands. You keep trying to push him off but you didn't match his strength.
"Shh..just please stay still darling." He said softly and continued to suck on your blood. Tears stream down your face. And he pulled away and pulled his fangs out. He watched the bite marks he left drip a little bit of blood and he leaned in and licked the mark. Making you whimper, looking at him. "Oh don't give him that look...you were really going to let me go hungry?" He said sharply. And he leaned in again and kissed your neck making you whimper. "Don't worry I won't bite you again."
As he ran kisses along your neck he began to tug on your clothes. Getting the hit you began to remove your clothes and he watched you so intensely as you remove your clothes. And soon after you were naked. Licking his lips, a other kind of hunger took over him. He leans in and smashed his lips against yours, you could feel the taste of your own blood in his mouth making you cringe. Sighing into the kiss you returned his affection. Your guys lips moved against each other, Sanji was so needy that he was licking the bottom of your lip asking for your permission to which you gladly granted him. Both of your tongues fighting for dominance. And of course he won that battle.
After a few minutes of that heated kiss he pulled away and a string of salvia was between your guys lips. And he smirked at you. Leaning in towards your neck and he licked the bite mark making you whimper softly. “Please…not again.”
“I’m not going to bite you my dear, no need to worry. I just want an other kind of treat.” He whispered against your ear. And slowly his hands ran along your stomach and along your breast. Pinching your nipples as well making you gasp out. “Sanji!”
And he just smirked and slowly his hands made their way to your dripping pussy. Opening your legs immediately he couldn’t help but run a finger along your inner thigh. “Look at you so wet my dear, could I have a taste please.” He whispered and with no hesitation he inserted two fingers into your hole. Making you gasp out and moan underneath him. “Ah!!”
Sanji was loving your reaction, and he began to pump his fingers in and out of you slowly. Watching your reaction, he loved how your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Moving his fingers in and out of you slowly. He wanted you to beg for more…
“Please Sanji…faster.” You whimper softly, biting your lip and he gladly granted your wish. As he moved his fingers in and out of you he couldn’t help but lean in once again and place gentle kisses along your neck making you moan even more. He even dragged his fangs along your neck, making you struggle slightly which made his fingers stop. “My dear, I won’t hurt you…trust me.” He said. “You do trust me right?”
As he spoke you look at him, feeling a little guilty you just stayed still making him smirk in pure satisfaction. And slowly but surely his fingers began moving giving you your pleasure. Sanji returned to your neck, running his wet tongue against your skin.
Laying there as he fingered you, he began to curl his fingers upwards making you gasp out. “A taste please…can I taste you please.” He said. Making you blush out and all you could do was blush at his words. And that’s all he needed, quickly pulling his fingers out of you he was quick to lick his fingers. It was almost as good as your blood. And he wanted more of that as well.
He kissed your neck and he began to go lower. Passing your chest and stomach and he made sure to give special attention to your needy nipples. Sucking on them and biting them softly. And then he made his way to your stomach and he couldn’t help but run his tongue along your tummy. Making you blush, you were so needy that you even began pushing his head down making him laugh. “Someone is needy hmm?”
And you ignored his comment and keep pushing his head towards your heat. And he lowered himself even more placing your legs on his shoulders and he placed a long lick across your folds. Moaning under his breath. “Fuck…you taste so good.”
Closing his eyes he enjoyed his little treat, you couldn’t help but moan softly. He tongue did wonders for you. As he was licking your folds you were so lost in your thoughts you began to play with your nipples, your fingers trace around them and you even began pulling on them. Sanji watched you as he was licking your folds. He started to lick your inner thighs, making you whimper.
Going back to your cunt, he paid attention to your clit. Licking on it making you gasp out and your hands found their way to his blonde hair and you began to tug on it. Making him growl in pleasure.
He couldn’t help but suck on your clit. And as he was sucking on it you felt his fangs brush against your clit making you freeze. “You taste wonderful dear. God I’m so hungry..” He mumbled out, making you whimper.
“Hungry…?”
And he nodded and he pulled away from your cunt and began to kiss you inner thighs. “You know you could satisfy my needs..right.” He said, looking at you. Looking into his glowing eyes you shiver slightly. “You wouldn’t want your boyfriend to go hungry right?”
And you just nodded “Sanji…what are you trying to say.”
“I’m still hungry for more blood my dear.” He said and you whimper softly, your blood running cold. “Come on…you want me to starve? What kind of a lover are you..” He began saying, and going back to eating you out. Running his tongue along your folds.
Moaning, you thought about his words and they hit you like a truck. “Uh…I would be a bad one..” You moan softly, tears start to form from your eyes.
“Exactly…” He said against your cunt. “Now please…I’m so hungry.” He said and all you could was nod. “Okay…fine. But please not so much.”
And he immediately lit up and smirked “And don’t worry once my hunger in satisfied I’ll treat you good my dear.” He said and he kissed your inner thighs “Just make sure to tap on my head if you’re feeling lightheaded…I tend to go over bored when I’m drinking blood from a pretty lady.”
His comment made you raise an eyebrow, what did he mean by that. You were about to ask him to repeat himself again but you were quickly cut off with him biting onto the skin of your inner thighs. Letting out a small scream as he did that. Sanji couldn’t help himself but moan softly at the taste of your blood. “So good…so good.” He thought to himself.
You lay there, whimpering softly as he was drinking from your thigh. As he was sucking onto your blood he noticed at your face. He wanted to ease your pain, so one of his hands found its way to your clit. Slowly he began to circle it with his fingers. Making you moan softly.
You were in pain and now in pleasure. Sanji continues to rub your clit, picking up the pace as well. Making you moan softly. “Ah Sanji…” Crying out.
Sanji pulled his fangs out from your thigh and he began kissing your side. And surely his fangs pieced into the skin of your side. He couldn’t help but moan at your taste.
You didn’t know what to feel, firstly Sanji fangs were deep into your side and then his fingers were doing wonders. Moaning softly, you close your eyes and just lay there. As he moved his fingers you felt a knot in your stomach. “Ah baby…please I’m so close.”
And he moved his fingers against your clit even faster, and kept sucking onto your side. Blood dripping down his chin. He had to control himself or he was gonna break you. You began to feel overwhelmed. Your climax was near and you felt lightheaded. “Sanji…I’m so close..” And you began to tap on his head.
“Please hang on for a little more my Dear, just until you finish.” He said and you moan and whimper. Tears began to stream down your face. “Please..”
Your begging made him go faster. Moving his fingers faster than before, you’ve never seen this kind of speed. And surely you reached your climax. Moaning loudly not caring if you were loud.
“OH SANJI…” You cry out, throwing your head back. And reaching your orgasm you began to squirm and he quickly pulled his fangs out. Licking the blood from his lips and made his way back to your sensitive cunt. The mixture of your blood and your sweet taste made him crave more.
After a few seconds of tasting you he pulled away and he looked at you as you lay on the bed, tears stream down your face and a blush across your face. “Did you enjoy yourself my dear?”
And all you could do was nod, and he smirked. “Good because you’re in for a special night dear.” He said and stood up and walked towards your door. “I’m doing to bring you a glass of water and some food.” He said and opens the door and before he could walk out he looks at him and blows you a small kiss.
“Because you’re gonna need all the energy for tonight.”
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buckysmischief · 11 months
Text
designated spider killer - 4
Bucky Barnes x f!Reader
Warnings: stalking
masterlist | series masterlist
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@stuckonjbbarnes @buckybarnessimpp @minelskede @roostersforevergirl @bingewatchingmylifegoby @safetypinxtales @aikeia @giftedyoungster3000
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gatitties · 7 months
Note
HEY! I really hope your requests for TokREv are open because I had an idea plagued in my mind since this morning!! It defiantly changes canon, takes places after Kisaki gets kicked out of Toman! What is reader is his older sisters (19-20) and she finds out about what he did and she's pissed! Like she has ties with yakuza so she is able to get info on where mikey and his friends are hanging out and she shows up, dragging hanma and Kisaki by their hair/ears and she looks really scary before she just forces the two on their knees infront of the Toman captains and forces the two to apologize before she herself apologies for her brothers behavior and she's really sincere about it and promises Mikey that they'll never here from Kisaki Tetta or Hanma again, bows then just leaves, still dragging the two trouble makers behind her. This can be crack or fluff or serious. Headcanon, fic, scenario. Its really up to you, I just want to see this idea play out please.
─Tokyo revengers x kisaki!reader
─Summary: You discover something you don't like about your little brother and decide he needs to apologize
─Warnings: none
Oh this was fun to write, a interesting idea!!
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"Don't fuck with me…"
You massaged your temples after one of your friends had told you some information about small teenage gangs, having friends from the yakuza gave you the privilege of finding out about all the acts of vandalism that were about to happen or had happened, you always met with them to spill the tea on gang gossip.
And while you found some of the stories about teens fighting each other entertaining, you didn't fully support that behavior. Finding out that your little brother was involved in a group like that didn't please you very much. Even though you weren't the best sister in the world, you had to draw a line in his behavior for planning to destroy a group of friends. You didn't mind that he got into fights because you knew that he wasn't the typical one to throw punches, you knew that Hanma, his friend, would do it for him, but they would learn the lesson that violence wouldn't lead to anything good on their own.
But it was something different when you saw all the ins and outs that went into his main task, you weren't going through that, he wasn't going to go through that, trying to destroy people just out of contempt or trying to impress someone, in no way had you been taught those ethical values at home, your parents would be disappointed if they found out, you did him the favor of keeping that information to yourself, however, his actions were a hard blow to your morale.
Your friends talked to you a lot about fights, but also about respect, just like how they raised you, and a mistake comes hand in hand with an apology, whether it was sincere or not, depended on your brother, although it would be on your part.
That same day you entered the house, hearing the voices of both teenagers, a grimace on your face, still somewhat grumpy at their behavior, you didn't even knock on the door to ask if you could come in, you walked in with long strides, looking at the duo with a frown as Tetta looked back at you.
"What's up with knock the door and respect privacy?"
"What about having a minimum of values and not manipulating people?"
He looked away clicking his tongue, Hanma just smiled slyly, he even seemed amused by the situation because he couldn't give more than a damn about that whole Toman betrayal thing.
"You shouldn't care what I do or don't do with my life decisions, get out of my room."
You let out a sigh of surprise at the aggressiveness in his words, looking stunned as he even approached you to push you out of his room, a bad decision, when his hand touched your shoulder to push you, you put him in a headlock, holding his head.
"What the hell!? Hey, let me go!"
"I'll let you go when you apologize to that gang! What you have done is disrespectful and a stain on your morals."
He squirmed in your grip but you stopped him from letting go, although a laugh made him escape from your deadly hold, you turned your head slowly to see Hanma laughing heartily at your struggle, your eyes turned into burning flames, you used your dominant leg to kick the door shut while cracking the bones in your knuckles, they had pissed you now.
"Shit, did you have to laugh at a time like this? She's going to kill us."
Younger Kisaki muttered to his friend, his face paling at the sight of your completely serious expression, though Hanma didn't seem to take it seriously until he spent at least half an hour locked in the room with you. A few knocks on the door made you step back, you adjusted your clothes and hairstyle, smiling when you saw your mother open the door.
"Have I heard screams? everything is alright?"
"Perfectly, mom, we were just playing Uno, and you already know how wild the game is."
"Oh yeah, you two hate losing at Uno, anyway, don't you want something to snack on?"
You looked back, Tetta tried to say yes to get rid of you, knowing that your mother would kick you out of his room if he complained asking for privacy for himself, but you cut him off with just a look.
"Don't worry, I haven't spent time with my dear brother in a long time, I'll take him for ice cream!"
"Oh how nice, bonding time, then I'll leave you, be careful and have fun!"
When your mother left you looked back at the duo, they gulped at the sight of your mischievous smile. One of your friends had told you that just today Toman was having a meeting, so it was the perfect time to apologize, you dragged them both by the earlobe, letting their complaints be music to your ears.
Everyone tensed when they saw that both former members appeared, interrupting Mikey, who narrowed his eyes as he watched you drag them towards the first step of the stairs where he used to give his speeches, everyone remained silent, watching your next move.
"In the name of…" you pulled them down, making them kneel, you doing it with more grace and softness, still looking directly at Mikey " this two idiots, I apologize for all the problems caused, with all my heart, I promise that they will not bother you again, if so, I will take care of punishing them again."
You lowered your head, hearing a snort from your brother, you hit the back of their necks, hearing some murmurs that sounded like apologies on their part, although perhaps only Mikey and Draken could hear it since they were the closest. The two leaders of Toman looked at each other perplexed by the scene, they shared a smile, Mikey nodded towards you, ending the meeting.
"Thank you, I'll keep that in mind."
You nodded in the same way as farewell, still dragging your brother and his friend by the ears, once out of sight of all those teenagers ─who were surely laughing at the strange situation─ you let them go, your face softened slightly and you let out a breath you had been holding.
"I hope you two have learned your lesson… now, let's go get some ice cream."
"Ice cream won't solve the pain in my ear."
"No, but maybe you want me to keep stretching your ear until you can get a damn dilation."
You said under your breath, noticing how Hanma stood next to you, obediently, not knowing if it was because he didn't want to know anything more about your punishments or because of the ice cream, Tetta gave up easily, crossing his arms and mumbling here and there, but accepted the ice cream, after everything he had endured today, a refreshing snack wouldn't hurt, he needed to cool his mind to recalculate his plans and make sure you never found out again about the things he was planning.
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kryptid-writes · 9 months
Text
Chapter 4 - A Winchester Welcome
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Y/N finds herself in a bunker with three unfamiliar men that are determined to help her. 
(1.9k)
I stir to the sound of unfamiliar voices, sounding muffled and far away. 
“You must know something, I mean, why would he just take some regular girl?” A man with a gruff voice says.
“I’ve heard nothing of it. She’s not on the list of prophets and she doesn’t seem to have any connections to Heaven or Hell,” another man replies, his voice low, gravelly, and unusually monotone. 
“So what? He just abducted her for fun?”
“I wouldn’t put it past him,” a third man pitched in, his voice slightly softer than the others.
My eyes flutter open, the light falling on my sensitive pupils. I quickly come to the realization that I am no longer in the house that Lucifer had dragged me to. I’m slumped over in a chair sat at a long wooden table in what looks to be some sort of underground shelter or bunker. 
The foundation is made of steel, layed with brick, and supported by concrete pillars. Hundreds of books and weird artifacts displayed on shelves line every wall, illuminated by the soft warm glow of overhead lights. 
I must consider my options quickly. Who knows how long it will take for the three men across the room to notice that I am no longer asleep. If I've learned anything recently, it's that the world is a lot more frightening than I've ever known before and nobody can be trusted. 
I have to find a way out and fast. Running clearly hasn’t worked out for me, so that only leaves me one option: I have to fight my way out of here. I scan the room around me looking for anything to defend myself with. My eyes land on a sharp letter opener laying on the table in front of me on a stack of scattered papers and books. It’s not ideal, but it will have to do. I swipe it quickly and hold it at arm's length in front of me as I quietly rise from my seat. 
This catches their attention, stopping their conversation dead in its tracks. For a second there’s silence, it hangs uncomfortably in the air until the tallest man finally speaks up.
“Hey, it’s okay. We’re not gonna hurt you,” he says in a gentle, soothing voice, that in any other circumstance would have put me at ease. 
He has long flowing locks of brown hair tucked behind his ears and a blue flannel that hugs his tall, muscular build. He’s well over six feet tall, not someone that I could easily take in a fight, he’d most likely snap me in half without breaking a sweat. But something about him is soft and caring. 
He takes a hesitant step towards me and raises his hands to show he means no harm.
“Stay away from me you demonic fucks!” I yell, swinging the letter opener and slowly backing away towards the open hallway behind me. Truthfully I have no clue what the layout of this building is. For all I know, this hall could lead me even deeper into this nightmare of a situation, but staying in this room trapped with three mysterious men is not an option.
“We’re not demons, we’re here to help you. I’m Sam and this is my brother Dean Winchester,” he gestures between him and the other man in flannel. 
Dean puts on a fake smile and gives a half hearted wave. 
My eyes shift to the man in a trenchcoat behind them, standing silently with an intense gaze.
Dean catches this and gives him a subtle nudge to the shoulder. 
The man looks confused and annoyed at first, then clears his throat. “I am Castiel. Angel of the Lord,” he states flatly.
“Yeah? Well I've had enough of you twisted angels for a lifetime. So, if you'll excuse me, I’ll be taking my leave!” My voice quivers, but my face stays strong and stoic. I take a step back towards the nearest hallway, readying myself to make an escape.
Sam seems to take pity on me, clearly seen in his big brown puppy dog eyes.
 Dean and Castiel on the other hand, look rather annoyed.
“You don't want to do that,” Dean warns.
“Yeah, and why’s that?” I huff, narrowing my eyes at him.
“Lucifer seems to have taken an interest in you and he will stop at nothing to find you. If there’s one thing I know about my brother, it’s that he’s stubbornly persistent,” the angel weighs in.
“We have this place sigilled to high Heaven. He won’t be able to get to you in here, but as soon as you leave those doors, we can’t protect you from him,” Dean says, crossing his arms.
“Why would you want to help me?” 
“It’s what we do,” he replies with a smile.
“I promise you, you’re safe here. You just have to trust us,” Sam says, approaching me carefully like I'm some wounded animal. 
I give a quick nod and reluctantly lower the letter opener, deciding to let my guard down, seeing as I don’t have many other options at the moment. 
Sam takes the blade from my hand and flashes me a relieved smile, placing it on the worn wooden table. He pulls out two chairs, the scrape of wood echoing around the large room. He sits on the chair to the right and pats the other, urging me to sit next to him. 
With caution I slide into the chair, never taking my eyes off him in fear this all may be a trap.
“What’s your name?” He asks kindly, gently placing his hand on mine in an act of sincerity. 
I can’t help but remember the feeling of Lucifer's hand over mine, the buzz of electricity that quivered through us. I shake off the memory, refocusing my attention on Sam.
Dean and Castiel leave the room, having a hushed conversation between the two.
“Y/N.”
“That’s a lovely name.” He pauses for a moment, thinking of what to say. “How are you holding up? I’m sure this is a lot to take in at once.” He feathers his hands through his hair, tucking a strand behind his ear.
“I’ve been better,” I reply bitterly.
He nods sympathetically. 
The room goes quiet as we both become lost in thought.
Dean returns holding three bottles of beer, Cas following not far behind. He places a bottle in front of me, popping off the cap with a pocket knife before taking his seat across the table.
 Cas looms awkwardly behind him, staring me down suspiciously, like a bomb that may go off at any moment.
Without a second thought, I grab the bottle, putting the cold glass rim up to my lips and chug. I close my eyes and feel the bubbly liquid flowing down my throat, leaving a warm sensation in its wake. I drink until the bottle’s completely empty, shaking it lightly to get every last drop. The alcohol eases my worries, reminding me of my days before the dreams started, before being kidnapped by the devil, before being injected by the mystery serum, before finding myself in a bunker with two men and their angel. The days, that in hindsight, I really took for granted. I open my eyes to see everyone staring at me intently. 
Sam looks surprised, eyebrows raised and mouth slightly ajar. 
Dean on the other hand smiles, clearly impressed. “So,” Dean says, trailing his eyes over my form. “Why is Lucifer so fixated on you?” He asks, kicking his feet up to rest on the table and taking a swig of his beer. 
Sam shoots him a disapproving look, but chooses not to say anything.
“I’m not sure actually.” I glance down at my hands, picking at the skin of my cuticles absentmindedly.
Sam silently hands me his beer.
 I nod appreciatively and take a sip, choosing to savor it this time. “I started having dreams of him about a month ago. Terrible, terrible dreams. Then he abducted me. I thought for sure he was going to kill me, but he seemed possessive and surprisingly affectionate towards me?” I say uncertain, not entirely sure if I believe the words coming out of my mouth.
The three men exchange glances between each other, somewhere between confusion and skepticism. 
“Affection?” Dean asks, raising his brow.
“Yeah, he kept calling me his beloved and assuring me everything was going to be okay,” I say the words like they’re sour in my mouth, leaving behind a bitter taste. 
Dean's face twists in disgust picturing it. “So that’s it? Did he do anything else?” Dean questions, his deep voice echoing off the walls.
“Yes,” I state in an angry tone. 
The boys lean in, waiting for me to say more, but I choose not to elaborate further. I’m not too keen on sharing the most traumatic event I've ever experienced with some strange men I just met.
“I’d like to go to my room, please.” I grab the bottle and take a long swig, tracing my eyes along the wall, purposefully looking anywhere besides them.
“Y/N,” Sam says in his soft voice, indirectly asking for more information.
“Please, Sam.” I give in, looking at his soft hazel eyes. 
He nods, then stands from the chair and escorts me to an empty bedroom down the hall. We walk in silence, only the sound of footsteps echoing through the hall. “Dean’s just one room over and my room is across the way.” He points to a room a few doors down across the hall. “We’ll be here if you need anything at all.” He places his large hand on my shoulder, giving a light, reassuring squeeze.
“Thanks.” I close the door behind me, letting out a long breath I didn’t even know I was holding in. Looking around, the room is neatly cleaned. Mostly barren besides a bed, a nightstand with a small lamp, and a leather trunk at the foot of the bed. Despite the place feeling void of human touch, I still feel more comfortable here than in Lucifer's abode.
 I enter the small connected bathroom and shrug off my dirty clothes, turning on the shower. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Despite the hours of sleep I've gotten recently without much say in the matter, my eyes have light purple bags under them like I've been awake for days. My hair’s a mess, strands going every which way and little knots forming at the ends. I run my fingers through, slowly working through the tangles until it looked somewhat presentable.
I step into the shower and the hot water feels incredible. It temporarily melts away the memories of the day, the tension easing out of my muscles. I lather my hair with the small bottle of lavender shampoo in the nook of the shower, and wash all the grime from my body with the tiny bar of soap. Getting clean has never felt so good in all my life.  I close my eyes and stand under the stream until the warm water runs cold, the drops feeling like little needles hitting my skin.
After drying off and brushing my teeth, I slip into bed, only dressed in my underwear, as I don’t have any clean clothes to change into. My body relaxes knowing that I’m safe from Lucifer in this bunker, at least for the time being, and that’s good enough for me. For a long while I sit awake, staring at the ceiling, my mind running so fast yet feeling so empty, but eventually exhaustion sets in and sleep claims me once more.
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