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cloudtransprncy · 4 months ago

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One Night Only - Directors Cut

Jennie Kim X Male Reader | 8k words

One night. That’s all you ever get. By morning, she’ll be gone. You’ll tell yourself this was the last time. You’ll both know it’s not.

AN: Ya’ll might remember this if you followed me last year. Spent the last few weeks reworking it—call it the director’s cut. Also Jennie is still my ult and so her coming back into the light is great.

Consequence. The word sits heavy in your mind as you watch the city from your hotel window. Thirty floors below, New York keeps moving. Never stops.

You flick ash from your cigarette. Every choice has weight. You know this. You called her anyway.

Jennie's mouth is on yours, soft and demanding at once. She tastes like cherry lip gloss and expensive gin, sweet and sharp. Her full lips part against yours, tongue sliding against your bottom lip. Her fingers pull at your hair, just rough enough to send shivers down your spine. Between kisses she breathes, "This is stupid," but her body presses closer, breasts pushing against your chest, hips finding yours.

Commitment. You've spent years avoiding that word. Being tied down always felt wrong. You need movement, new cities, different faces. Maybe that's why things fell apart—she saw what you couldn't admit. You'd always choose the road over staying still.

Her skin burns under your hands, smooth and impossibly soft. When you slide your palm down the curve of her waist to the flare of her hip, she sighs against your neck, her breath hot on your skin. "I've missed this," she says quietly, like she's admitting something she shouldn't. You back her against the wall, pinning her with your body. She arches into you, head tilting back in invitation. You feel her pulse jump beneath your lips when you kiss her throat, right at that spot that always makes her grip your shoulders tighter.

The hotel room is all clean lines and empty space. King bed with white sheets. Bathroom with too many mirrors. Mini-fridge you've already raided. View of the city that probably costs extra. Your record label covers it, so you don't care.

As a kid, you'd search for Virgo in the night sky. Stars were constant when nothing else was. Jennie's like that. No matter how far you go, you always circle back to her.

In the half-dark, her eyes catch the light from outside. She's always seen through you, always known the parts you try to hide from everyone else.

---

She'll come. She always does.

You know she's with someone else now—an actor with a jawline made for billboards. In her world of flashbulbs and red carpets, he makes sense. But you were there first, and somehow, you're still not gone.

It's been a year since you ended things, if you can call it an ending. When you call, she answers. When she texts, you drop everything. Some connections don't break clean.

Stop. Go. Stop. Go.

A day between Chicago and Toronto shows up in your tour schedule. When you hear she's in New York for some event, changing your plans feels inevitable.

At sunset, you text her from your hotel room. The message is simple: Here for the night. Room 3045.

She replies with just a question mark. Your conversations have become this—shorthand that only works because you share history.

"I'm in the city for one night," you say when you call her. The silence on her end isn't hesitation; it's calculation. Background noise filters through the phone—glasses clinking, people talking.

"I got a room, for me and you" you add. "One night only." You hang up knowing she'll decide whether to come. You also know what that decision will be.

The knock comes at 12:17. Three quick taps.

When you open the door, your breath catches in your throat. Jennie leans against the frame, champagne glass dangling between her fingers, but it's her body that has your full attention. Her black dress hugs every curve like it was painted on, stopping mid-thigh to reveal legs that seem endless. The material stretches tight across her hips, then tapers at her waist before swelling to accommodate her breasts. The neckline dips just low enough to make your mouth go dry.

"Started without me?" you nod toward her drink, trying to sound casual while your pulse hammers in your ears.

"Needed something to get me here," she says, her lips curving into that smile that's haunted you for months. Her eyes are dark and knowing, lined with perfect black wings that make them look even more dangerous.

Jennie walks in like she owns the place, hips swaying with each step. Those knee-high socks hug her calves, leading up to a thin garter belt that disappears beneath her dress—a promise of what waits underneath. Her skin glows warm and golden against the black fabric. Her dark hair tumbles in loose waves past her shoulders, the kind of perfectly tousled look that makes your fingers itch to grab it.

Her perfume wraps around you—roses with something darker underneath, expensive and intoxicating. The scent that's followed you to hotel rooms across the country, lingering on your sheets and clothes long after she's gone.

She finishes her drink and sets the glass down with deliberate slowness. Her red-painted nails catch the light as her hand moves to your chest. "We shouldn't keep doing this," she says, but her fingers are already working your shirt buttons, knuckles brushing against your skin with each one. Her touch leaves heat trails down your torso. "It's not fair."

"When has anything been fair?" you ask. Her mouth curves into the smile that's always meant trouble.

"Never," she agrees, pressing her hand against your chest. "So we might as well take what we can get."

When she kisses you, it feels like she's taking something back, something she left with you months ago. Tonight, in this room, she's not the girl from magazine covers or someone's girlfriend. She's yours again, temporarily.

"It's been a while," she whispers against your mouth.

"Too long," you admit.

The door clicks shut behind her. You have until sunrise.

Something electric sparks between you the moment the door clicks shut. The air feels different - charged with memory and want. Your bodies remember each other before your minds can catch up.

You're on the couch in minutes, her weight settling into your lap like she belongs there. This kiss is different from the ones you remember - hungrier, more desperate. Her tongue slides against yours, and you taste gin and desire. Her body presses against yours, soft in all the places you've missed.

Your hands find her curves through the thin fabric of her dress. You squeeze her ass, pulling her closer until there's nothing between you but clothing. She moans into your mouth when you press your hardness against her. You can feel her heat even through layers of fabric.

Jennie breaks the kiss, a thin strand of saliva connecting your lips for a second before it breaks. Her eyes are dark pools reflecting the city lights outside. They hold yours with an intensity that makes your throat tight.

"I've missed this, Owen," she whispers. Her voice is rough at the edges. She grinds against you, slow and deliberate, the friction making your breath catch. Her fingers tighten in your hair, pulling you back to her mouth. This kiss is deeper, messier, with teeth and tongue and need.

Your hands slide under her dress, finding warm skin. The sound she makes when you touch her bare thighs shoots straight to your groin. You push the fabric higher, revealing more of her, inch by inch. Her breathing quickens as her hips roll against yours. Her nipples are hard points pressing through the fabric, rubbing against your chest.

She lifts her arms as you pull the dress over her head. You toss it aside, forgotten before it hits the floor.

Moonlight spills through the windows, painting her skin silver. She's all smooth curves and shadows in the half-light. Her body is a map you once knew by heart - the slight curve of her waist, the fullness of her breasts, the dip of her collarbone. You take it all in again, relearning her.

Your hands can't stay still. You need to touch every inch of her, remind yourself that she's real. Her skin is impossibly soft under your fingertips, warm and alive. Each touch makes her shift against you, seeking more pressure, more contact.

The sounds she makes are better than any song you've written. Small gasps when you squeeze her thighs. A sharp intake of breath when your thumb grazes her nipple. Low hums of pleasure when you find a spot she likes. Each sound builds on the last, creating a rhythm that guides your hands.

You need to taste her. Starting at her collarbone, you press your lips to her skin. Salt and sweetness and expensive perfume fill your senses. She sighs, her head falling back to give you better access. You work your way across her shoulder, down her arm, learning the texture of her skin with your mouth.

When you reach her breast, you feel her whole body tense in anticipation. The skin here is softer, more delicate. You circle her nipple with your tongue, feeling it harden further. Your hand finds her other breast, thumb rolling over the stiff peak.

"Oh my god," she moans when you take her nipple into your mouth. Her back arches, pushing more of her into your face. The taste of her skin goes straight to your head like strong liquor. Her chest rises and falls rapidly with each breath.

Your free hand slides down her stomach, fingers spread wide to feel as much of her as possible. You trace the edge of her panties, feeling the lace against your fingertips. She rocks against your hand, seeking more pressure. You cup her between her legs, feeling the heat and dampness through the thin fabric. Jennie gasps, her thighs trembling as you press your palm firmly against her covered pussy.

"Fuck," she breathes, grinding down on your hand. Her fingers tighten in your hair, pulling hard enough to make your scalp tingle. The slight pain only makes you harder.

You move to her neck, dragging your teeth along the sensitive skin below her ear. When you bite down - not hard enough to mark, but enough to make her feel it - she whimpers, her whole body shuddering. Your thumb makes slow circles against her covered clit while your teeth work at her neck, finding the spots that make her grip your shoulders.

"I forgot how good you feel," you say against her skin, your voice rough with wanting.

"I want to feel you too," she says, eyes locked on yours. Her pupils are blown wide with desire. Her hand traces up your arm, across your shoulder, around to your back. Her nails dig into your skin, leaving trails of sensation. She tugs at your shirt, impatient now. You let her pull it over your head.

Her hands are everywhere at once, exploring your chest, your shoulders, your back. Her touch starts gentle but quickly turns hungry. She leans down to kiss your neck, her lips hot against your pulse point. Her teeth graze your skin, just hard enough to make you hiss.

As her mouth works its way down your chest, a thought flickers through your mind - does she do this with him? Does she make these same sounds, move in these same ways? The thought knifes through the pleasure for a split second before her touch pulls you back.

Nothing exists outside this room. Not her boyfriend. Not your tour. Just her hands on your skin and her breath in your ear.

"Fuck! I need your dick in my mouth," Jennie says, her voice thick with desire. She slides from your lap in one fluid motion, her body moving with practiced grace. She settles between your legs, her knees pressed against the hotel carpet, thighs spread slightly apart. Her hair falls forward, framing her face as she looks up at you through her lashes.

In the half-light, she's a vision – lips parted and swollen from kissing, chest flushed and rising with quick breaths, her breasts full and nipples still hard from your attention. The garter and stockings against her bare skin create a contrast that makes your mouth go dry.

She runs her hands up your thighs, fingers pressing into your muscles. Her red nails stand out against your skin as she hooks her fingers into the waistband of your sweatpants. There's something almost reverential in how she tugs them down – slowly at first, then with growing urgency. Her eyes never leave yours, even as she licks her lower lip in anticipation.

The fabric slides past your hips, and your cock springs free, hard and aching. A small smile plays at the corner of her mouth as she takes you in. She leans closer, her breath warm against your sensitive skin. When she finally looks up at you, her eyes are dark pools of hunger and something deeper – a look that's always been reserved just for you.

"You can have it tonight," you say, your voice rough as her hands wrap around your cock.

"All of it?" Jennie asks with a smile that's pure trouble. Her eyes don't leave yours. You nod, unable to form words.

She leans closer, parts her lips, and lets a strand of spit fall onto the tip. The warm wetness makes you twitch. She uses her fingers to spread it down your length, coating you. Her hand starts moving in slow strokes that make your breath catch.

Jennie sweeps her hair to one side, giving you a clear view. She doesn't break eye contact as she moves closer. Her breath hits you first, warm against sensitive skin. Then her tongue, wet and soft, circles the head of your cock. Your hands grip the couch cushions.

When she takes you into her mouth, the heat is shocking. Her lips stretch around you as she slides down, taking you deeper than you expected. Her tongue works against the underside, finding spots that make your thighs tense. The wet sounds fill the quiet room.

She pulls back, only keeping the tip in her mouth. Her tongue swirls around it, teasing the sensitive spot just underneath. Then she moves down again, a little deeper this time. The rhythm is maddening – not enough to get you there, just enough to keep you desperate for more.

Jennie pulls off completely, her hand still working you in slow strokes. She looks up, studying your reaction. Her free hand moves to your balls, cupping them gently, then rolling them between her fingers. The touch is unexpectedly tender compared to the hunger in her eyes.

"You like that?" she asks, knowing the answer. Her thumb traces circles at the base of your cock while her other hand continues its exploration. "You always did."

She leans down and runs her tongue from base to tip in one long, wet stroke. Then does it again on the underside, where you're most sensitive. Your hips lift off the couch involuntarily. She smiles at your reaction, clearly enjoying the power she has over you.

Jennie takes her time, alternating between her mouth and her hands. Sometimes she focuses just on the head, sucking gently while her hand works the shaft. Other times she takes you deep, then pulls back to circle the tip with her tongue. There's no pattern to follow, nothing to prepare you for what comes next.

Her hand slides lower, massaging your balls again before moving even further back. The unexpected pressure makes your whole body tense. She watches your reaction with dark, knowing eyes.

"Hold my hair," she says, pulling off for a moment. She grabs your hands and places them on either side of her head. "I want you to watch."

With your hands holding her hair back, you have a perfect view of her face, of her lips as they stretch around you again. She takes you deeper this time, her eyes watering slightly at the corners. The sight alone nearly pushes you over the edge.

She pulls off but keeps stroking you with her hand, tight and slick with spit. With her hair pulled back, you can see everything – her flushed cheeks, her bare shoulders, the tops of her breasts rising and falling with each breath. She looks like something from a dream you've had too many times.

"You just can't stay away, can you?" she says, her voice low and teasing. Her hand never stops moving on you. "Always calling me back. Always wanting one more night."

She takes you back into her mouth, just the tip, sucking hard before releasing you with a pop.

"You think about this when you're with other girls?" She speeds up her strokes, twisting her wrist in a way that makes your vision blur. "Bet you do. Bet none of them do it like I do."

Her words hit something deep inside you – a truth you don't want to admit. You tighten your grip on her hair, pulling just enough to make her eyes flash. She smiles, knowing she's struck a nerve.

"That's why you keep coming back," she continues, dropping her head to lick a slow circle around the base of your cock. She moves lower, taking one of your balls into her mouth, sucking gently while her hand keeps working your shaft. The dual sensation makes your legs shake.

When she looks up again, there's challenge in her eyes. "Tell me I'm wrong."

Before you can answer, she takes you deep into her mouth again, all the way until you hit the back of her throat. She holds there, swallowing around you, her eyes never leaving yours. The sensation is overwhelming – wet heat and pressure and the sight of her taking all of you.

"Fuck," is all you can manage, and she hums in satisfaction around you.

Jennie works you with perfect focus. Sometimes she takes you deep, her nose nearly touching your stomach, staying there until she needs to breathe. Other times she pulls back to use her hand with her mouth, twisting her wrist in a way that makes spots dance behind your eyes.

Every few strokes she pulls off completely, gathering more spit, making everything wetter, messier. Saliva coats your cock and her chin now, catching the dim light. It should be gross but it's the hottest thing you've ever seen.

Time stretches and blurs. It could be minutes or hours. There's just Jennie's mouth, her hands, the heat building at the base of your spine.

She changes her approach, focusing just on the head, sucking harder while her hand works the shaft in quick, tight strokes. The new sensation makes your leg muscles jump. You feel yourself getting close.

"Fuck, Jennie, I'm—" you try to warn her, reaching to pull her head back. You want to make this last, to feel more of her tonight.

She slaps your hand away, hard enough to sting.

"You're giving this to me now," she says, voice raspy from having you in her throat. "And you're giving me more later." Her tone leaves no room for argument.

Jennie doubles down, moving with new determination. One hand squeezes the base while her mouth works the rest. Her other hand slides between your legs, fingernails lightly scratching your inner thigh. The unexpected touch makes you gasp.

She takes you deeper again, moaning around you like she's enjoying this as much as you are. The vibration, the suction, the sight of her – it all becomes too much.

The orgasm hits you like a punch. Your vision blurs at the edges as waves of pleasure roll through you. Jennie doesn't pull away, keeping perfect suction as you come. She swallows around you, the motion extending your pleasure until you're gripping her shoulders to stay upright.

She keeps going until you're too sensitive, until you have to gently push at her shoulders. Only then does she finally release you, looking up with satisfaction in her eyes. A small drop of white clings to her bottom lip before her tongue darts out to catch it.

She reaches for your discarded shirt and wipes her mouth and hands, casual as if she'd just finished a meal. The sight of her using your clothes like this only adds to the intimacy.

Jennie rises to her feet in one fluid motion, her body unfolding before you. She's petite but perfectly proportioned - slim waist, delicate shoulders, toned legs that seem to go on forever despite her height. Standing there in just her knee-high socks and garter, her small, perky breasts catch the dim light. Her skin has a golden glow against the darkness of the room.

She steps between your legs, looking down at you with hooded eyes. Her slender fingers reach for your chin, tilting your face up to meet hers. The gesture is possessive, almost commanding. She leans down, her straight dark hair falling forward to frame both your faces, creating a private world. Her lips find yours, softer now but still hungry. You taste yourself on her tongue, salt and skin.

"I'm not done with you," she whispers against your lips. "You brought me here. We're gonna make the most of it." Her fingertips trace your jawline before she steps back, grabbing your hand to pull you toward the bed.

As you follow her across the room, the city sounds filter through the windows – car horns, distant music, the constant hum of life that never stops. The soft lighting catches on her skin, giving it a warm glow that makes you want to touch her all over again.

Jennie moves onto the bed with natural grace. The curve of her spine draws your eye down to where her waist narrows before flaring into her hips. The small black thong she still wears cuts across her skin, the thin fabric disappearing between her cheeks in a way that makes your mouth go dry.

She positions herself in the center of the bed, her movements deliberate and unhurried. She folds her legs into a 'W' shape, showcasing their length despite her petite frame. The knee-high socks create a striking contrast against her bare thighs. The entire pose is an invitation you could never refuse.

Her hands begin to move across her own body, touching herself with slow confidence. She traces circles around her small breasts, fingers dancing across her skin with a self-assurance that's hypnotic to watch. In the dim light, every movement feels like it's meant just for you.

You notice how different she looks now compared to when she arrived at your door. Her carefully applied makeup is smudged around her eyes. Her hair, once smooth and perfect, is wild from your hands. She looks beautifully undone, more real somehow, and even more stunning for it.

She runs a finger across her lips, still swollen from taking you in her mouth. Then trails it down her neck and over her chest, drawing your eye along the path.

"Come here," she says, her voice low but commanding. She rolls onto her back, her body a landscape of curves and shadows in the half-light.

Though still wearing her thong, the thin black fabric does little to hide what's underneath. As you move closer to the bed, she hooks her thumbs into the waistband and slides it down her legs with deliberate slowness. The last barrier between you disappears as she kicks it aside.

With the same unhurried confidence, Jennie reaches down and uses her fingers to part herself. The gesture is both vulnerable and bold – showing you exactly what you've been missing all these months. Even in the dim light, you can see how wet she is, glistening with want.

You climb onto the bed, feeling the expensive sheets against your palms. The fabric is cool and smooth, a stark contrast to the heat building between you. The mattress gives slightly under your weight as you move between her legs.

Jennie is breathtaking beneath you. Her skin has a slight sheen in the low light, catching the glow from the bedside lamp. Her dark hair fans out against the white pillows, framing a face that's haunted your dreams for months. Her chest rises and falls with quickening breaths, her small breasts topped with hardened nipples that beg for your touch.

But you're not rushing this. Not after all these months apart.

You start at her ankles, where the knee-high socks still cling to her calves. Your lips press against the delicate bone there, feeling her pulse beneath the skin. She watches you through half-lidded eyes as you work your way higher, placing open-mouthed kisses up her calf.

When you reach the top of her sock, you peel it down slowly, revealing more of her skin inch by inch. The newly exposed flesh gets special attention – your lips, your tongue, even the gentle scrape of teeth that makes her shiver.

"What are you doing?" she asks, but there's no impatience in her voice, just wonder.

"Appreciating the view," you murmur against her knee. "Been thinking about this body for months."

You move to her other leg, giving it the same treatment – slow, deliberate kisses that make her skin prickle with goosebumps. Your hands slide up her thighs as your mouth follows, feeling the muscles tense and relax under your touch.

Her inner thighs are softer, more sensitive. When your tongue traces the crease where leg meets hip, she gasps, her fingers flexing against the sheets. The scent of her arousal is stronger here, making your mouth water.

You detour, moving up to kiss her stomach, the dip of her navel, the subtle ridges of her ribs. Each breath she takes makes her abdomen rise and fall beneath your lips. You work your way to her breasts, taking your time with each one – circling the nipple with your tongue before sucking it into your mouth, feeling it harden further.

"Owen," she sighs, arching into your touch.

Your hands never stop moving, exploring every inch of her like you're memorizing her by touch alone. The curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, the softness of her sides – all of it perfect, all of it Jennie.

You make your way back down, leaving a trail of kisses from her sternum to her stomach. Her breathing quickens as you move lower, anticipation making her shift restlessly beneath you. When you reach the neat strip of dark hair between her legs, you pause, looking up to meet her eyes.

"You're fucking beautiful," you say, your voice rougher than intended.

Her eyes soften for just a moment before that familiar challenge returns. "Are you going to stare all night, or are you going to do something about it?"

You answer by settling between her legs, pushing her thighs wider. You can't help but stare at the view before you. There's something almost reverent in how you look at her – taking in every detail, every curve and shadow. Her thighs part further, an invitation that needs no words. Between her legs, you notice she's not completely bare – a neat, dark landing strip of hair points down like an arrow, the contrast of it against her skin making your mouth water.

The scent of her hits you first – warm and musky and distinctly Jennie. You breathe her in, letting it flood your senses and cloud your thoughts. Nothing exists but this bed, this woman, this moment.

You lower your head slowly, maintaining eye contact until the last possible second. The first broad stroke of your tongue makes her gasp. You take your time, exploring her with long, flat licks that cover her entirely. Her taste is familiar yet new – sweet and tangy and addictive. You could drown here and die happy.

"Fuck," she breathes, her hips already lifting slightly to meet your mouth.

You switch to softer, more focused touches, tracing her folds with the tip of your tongue. Each pass draws different sounds from her – soft sighs that gradually build to more urgent moans. You map her with your mouth, relearning what makes her breath catch, what makes her thighs shake.

When you find her clit, you circle it slowly, teasingly, not giving her the direct pressure you know she craves. Her fingers find your hair, tightening in frustration.

"Don't tease me," she warns, but there's no real threat in her voice – just desire strained to its breaking point.

You smile against her before giving in, wrapping your lips around her clit and sucking gently. The reaction is immediate – her back arches off the bed, a strangled curse falling from her lips.

Your free hand slides up her body, finding the toned plane of her stomach. You press down firmly, holding her in place as your mouth works against her. The contrast of your hand on her abs while your tongue explores her most sensitive areas makes her writhe beneath you.

She's getting wetter, her arousal coating your chin as you work. You move your tongue in circles, then switch to quick flicks across her clit that make her thighs tremble. Each change in pressure or rhythm pulls new sounds from her throat.

"Oh god, right there," she gasps when you find a particularly sensitive spot.

You slip a finger inside her, feeling her heat clench around you immediately. She's impossibly tight and wet, her body welcoming the intrusion. You curl your finger to find that spot that always drove her crazy. When you find it, her whole body jerks like she's been shocked.

"Right there," she gasps. "Don't stop."

You add a second finger, stretching her gently while continuing to work her clit with your mouth. The combination makes her hips buck wildly against your face. Her hands tighten in your hair, pulling almost painfully.

With each thrust of your fingers, you quicken the tempo, driving deeper into her. Her muscles clench around you rhythmically, like she's trying to pull you further in. Your tongue never stops its assault on her clit, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention.

"Owen," she moans, her voice breaking. "I'm so close."

You pull back just enough to look up at her, your fingers still working inside her. "You still think about this when you're with him?" The question slips out before you can stop it. Your thumb replaces your tongue, circling her clit as you watch her face.

She glares down at you, but her body betrays her, clenching around your fingers. "You're such a dick."

"But you're here anyway," you say, curling your fingers against that spot that makes her whole body jerk. "In my bed, not his."

Her breath catches. "Shut up."

You lower your head again, sucking her clit between your lips while adding a third finger. The stretch makes her gasp, her back arching. You can feel her getting closer – her thighs tensing, her breathing becoming irregular. Her entire body is flushed with heat, a thin sheen of sweat making her skin glow in the dim light.

You establish a relentless rhythm – fingers pumping while your tongue works her clit. The wet sounds of your movements fill the room, mixing with her increasingly desperate moans.

Just as she's about to peak, you ease back, slowing down just enough to keep her on the edge.

"Tell me you missed this," you say against her inner thigh, your breath hot on her wet skin.

"Don't stop," she pleads, hips lifting to chase your mouth.

You stay just out of reach. "Tell me no one does this like I do."

Her hands tighten in your hair, trying to force you back down. "I hate you," she says, but there's no conviction in it.

"No, you don't." You circle her entrance with your fingers, teasing but not pushing in. "Say it, Jennie."

She fights it for a moment, pride warring with desire. Then breaks. "No one does it like you do. Now please—" her voice cracks with need, "please don't stop."

The desperation in her voice sends heat through your entire body. You give her what she wants, diving back in with renewed hunger. Your tongue circles her clit rapidly while your fingers press firmly against that sweet spot inside her. The dual sensations push her toward the edge fast.

Her legs wrap around your head, thighs clamping against your ears as her body tenses. Your free hand reaches up to find her breast, pinching her nipple between your fingers. The added stimulation makes her cry out, her voice cracking with pleasure.

"Owen," she warns, her voice tight and strained. "I'm gonna—"

"Come for me," you command, increasing the pressure, the speed, giving her exactly what she needs.

Her breathing turns ragged, her moans more frantic. The muscles in her stomach tense under your hand as her body coils tight, ready to snap. Her inner walls clench rhythmically around your fingers, the first tremors of her orgasm beginning.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh—" Her words dissolve into a broken cry as it hits her. Her back arches high off the bed, her body going rigid. Her thighs shake violently around your head as waves of pleasure crash through her.

"Oh my God!" The words tear from her throat as her fingers pull painfully at your hair. Her body convulses beneath your mouth, wave after wave of pleasure washing over her. "You're so good at that, Owen."

She bites her lower lip hard, her neck straining as her hips jerk uncontrollably against your face. You don't let up, working her through the peak, extending her pleasure until she's gasping and writhing from the intensity.

The aftershocks ripple through her body like tremors, her skin flushed and damp with sweat. Only when she weakly pushes at your head, too sensitive to take any more, do you finally ease back. You place one last gentle kiss against her before resting your cheek on her inner thigh, looking up at her wrecked expression.

Her chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath, her eyes closed, lips parted. She looks utterly spent, flushed and beautiful in her satisfaction.

After a moment, Jennie gathers herself, her breathing slowly returning to normal. She looks down at you, her gaze dropping to your obvious arousal. Without a word, she reaches forward and spits on it, her saliva glistening as she begins to stroke you. You groan at the contact, your body responding instantly to her touch. You don't let up, working her through the orgasm, only easing the pressure when her hand pushes weakly against your head, oversensitive.

You place one last gentle kiss against her before resting your cheek on her inner thigh, looking up at her flushed face. Her chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath, her eyes closed, lips parted. She looks wrecked in the best possible way.

After a moment, Jennie gathers herself, her breathing slowly returning to normal. She looks up at you, a predatory gleam replacing the post-orgasm haze in her eyes. Without warning, she reaches for your cock and spits on it, her saliva mixing with the wetness still coating her lips from going down on you earlier.

"Now," she says, voice raspy and demanding, "I'm going to fuck you."

She doesn't wait for your response, just straddles your hips and positions herself above you. Her thighs flex as she hovers, teasing you with the heat of her center just inches away from where you need it.

"Tell me how bad you want this," she demands, one hand flat against your chest for balance.

"Just get on my dick already," you growl, grabbing her hips to pull her down.

She resists, maintaining control. "Say please," she taunts, her eyes challenging you.

You nearly laugh. "Fuck you."

"That's the idea," she says with a wicked smile, then finally sinks down in one swift movement, taking you to the hilt.

"Jesus fucking Christ," you hiss as her heat surrounds you. She's impossibly tight after her orgasm, still pulsing slightly from the aftershocks.

"You're so fucking big," she gasps, adjusting to the stretch. There's no sweetness in her voice – just raw appreciation for how you fill her.

Jennie starts to move, not with gentle rises and falls but with demanding, forceful motions. Her thighs flex powerfully as she lifts herself almost completely off before slamming back down. Each drop makes a slapping sound that fills the room, punctuated by her sharp gasps.

The sight of her riding you is mesmerizing. Her small breasts bounce with each movement, nipples hard and dark against her golden skin. Her stomach muscles visibly tighten with each rise and fall, showing off the definition in her abs that she works so hard for. Her hair, now completely wild from your hands, whips around her shoulders as she moves.

"Touch my tits," she commands, grabbing your hands and placing them on her chest.

You squeeze roughly, pinching her nipples the way you remember she likes. Her head falls back, exposing the elegant column of her throat, a string of curses falling from her lips.

"Fucking hell, your cock feels so good," she says, grinding down hard. "Tell me you've missed this pussy."

"Every fucking day," you admit, thrusting up to meet her movements. The force of it nearly bounces her off you, but she adjusts her balance, her strong thighs gripping your sides.

She leans forward, her hands braced on your chest. The new angle lets her grind her clit against your pubic bone with each thrust. Her nails dig into your skin, leaving crescent marks that burn. Her face hovers above yours, her hair creating a curtain around you both. Sweat beads along her hairline, one drop sliding down her temple to her jaw.

"No one fucks me like you do," she admits, the words sounding torn from her. "No one."

With a surge of need, you move between her thighs, pressing her into the mattress. Her legs wrap around your waist, drawing you closer. Your eyes lock as you drive into her, taking control of the pace.

"Fuck, I missed this tight pussy," you growl, watching her eyes flash at your words.

"Shut up and fuck me harder," she snaps back, digging her heels into your lower back.

You slam into her, setting a brutal pace that has the headboard cracking against the wall. Each thrust jolts her body up the bed, her hair splaying across the pillows like spilled ink. Her small breasts bounce with the impact, nipples hard and begging for attention.

Your hands move to her waist, fingers nearly meeting around her small frame. The contrast of your large hands against her tiny waist makes your head spin. You can feel her hip bones under your thumbs, the delicate architecture of her body beneath your palms.

"Like that? This how you want it?" Your voice is rough, almost unrecognizable with need.

"Yes—don't fucking stop," she gasps, her nails raking down your back hard enough to leave welts.

You lean down, capturing her mouth in a bruising kiss. Your tongues battle for dominance as your bodies slam together. The taste of her—sweet with a hint of salt from her sweat—fills your senses. You break away to trail bites down her neck, leaving marks that will remind her of this night long after you're gone.

She arches into you, offering more of herself. You take advantage, moving to her shoulder, then her arm, leaving a trail of bites and kisses along her skin. The salt of her sweat makes your head spin. When you reach the sensitive skin of her inner arm, she lets out a surprised gasp that turns into a deep moan.

"Oh fuck, don't stop," she pants as you run your tongue along the delicate skin of her armpit, tasting the most primal part of her.

In this position, you can see everything—her face contorting with each thrust, the way her stomach muscles tighten when you hit deep, how her lips part on silent screams when you find the perfect angle. Her hair sticks to her temples with sweat, dark strands clinging to her flushed skin.

Sweat makes your bodies slide together, the hotel room filling with the obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin. You grip her thigh, pushing it higher, opening her wider. The position stretches her leg up toward her chest, showing off the flexibility from her years of dance training.

"Harder," she demands, her voice breaking as you comply. "Fucking wreck me."

You reach down, gripping her jaw, forcing her to look at you as you pound into her. Her eyes are wild, pupils blown with arousal. "This what you came here for? This what you needed?"

Her breathing changes, becoming more ragged. You recognize the signs—she's close again. You adjust your position slightly, hitting that spot inside her that you know drives her wild.

"There!" she cries out, her nails digging crescents into your shoulders.

You maintain the angle, the rhythm, watching her face as pleasure builds. Her eyes are squeezed shut, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Her body tenses beneath you, on the edge but not quite there.

"Let go," you urge, your thumb finding her clit. "Come for me again."

She shakes her head. "Not yet—not without you."

Something snaps in you at her words. Without warning, you pull out completely and flip her over in one rough motion. She gasps, surprised by the sudden movement as you manhandle her onto her hands and knees. Your hand lands hard on her ass, leaving a bright red handprint on her skin.

"Fuck!" she cries out, more in arousal than pain.

You grab a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back as you position yourself behind her. Sweat drips down your chest, landing on her back as you line yourself up. You can hear her panting, waiting, her thighs trembling slightly in anticipation.

"This what you want?" you growl against her ear, your chest pressed to her back, cock teasing her entrance.

"Yes," she hisses. "Give it to me."

You slam into her without further warning, burying yourself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. The sound she makes is primal—half scream, half moan. Her arms nearly buckle under the force, but you hold her up with your grip on her hair.

"Fuck!" she cries out, her fingers clawing at the sheets.

You establish a punishing rhythm, each thrust making her entire body jerk forward. Her hair is wrapped tight around your fist like a leash, forcing her back to arch at a severe angle. Sweat makes your bodies slide together, your skin slapping against hers with obscene wet sounds. The musky scent of sex fills the air, heavy and intoxicating.

"Look at you taking it," you say, giving her ass another sharp slap that leaves a fresh handprint. "Always said you were made for this."

She looks back over her shoulder, her face a perfect picture of pleasure-pain, mascara smudged at the corners of her eyes. "Fuck you," she pants, but pushes back harder against you, contradicting her words.

The sight of her is overwhelming – her narrow waist flaring out to perfectly rounded hips, the elegant curve of her spine dipping then rising, her hair tangled in your fist. From this angle, you can see everything – the way her back hollows out, how her ass bounces against your hips, the glistening evidence of her arousal coating you both.

You lean forward, running your free hand up her side to roughly grab her breast. The position pushes you deeper, making her gasp. Your fingers find her nipple, pinching hard as you maintain your relentless pace.

"Oh god," she moans, her arms shaking from supporting her weight. "Don't stop."

Her body is covered in a fine sheen of sweat, making her skin glow in the dim light. You can see the muscles in her back shifting beneath her skin with each impact, the way her shoulder blades move as she braces against your thrusts.

"Owen," she warns, voice strained with need. "I'm so close."

Her words push you closer to the edge. You increase your pace, chasing both her pleasure and your own. Each thrust now has purpose, driving deeper, harder. You can feel the pressure building at the base of your spine, your control slipping with every sound she makes.

"I'm close too," you admit, rhythm becoming erratic. "I'm gonna cum."

Her body tenses beneath you, muscles tightening as she approaches her peak. You can feel it building—the way she clenches around you, the trembling in her thighs, her increasingly desperate sounds.

"Oh my God, Owen!" she cries out, her voice breaking on your name. "Fill me up!"

Her orgasm crashes through her—you feel it in the way her body convulses, in how she rhythmically tightens around you, in the broken sounds that escape her throat. The sensation of her pulsing around you pushes you over the edge.

Your release hits with an intensity that whites out your vision—powerful, overwhelming, unstoppable. You empty yourself inside her, every pulse accompanied by a wave of pleasure so intense it borders on pain. Her body milks you, drawing out every last sensation until you're both trembling from the force of it.

As the intensity fades, you collapse beside her on the bed, pulling her close against you. Your arm wraps around her waist as you press gentle kisses to her neck and shoulder. Her body still trembles with small aftershocks, her breathing gradually slowing to normal.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The only sounds in the room are your labored breathing and the distant city noise filtering through the windows. Sweat cools on your skin, making you shiver slightly. Despite the roughness of what just happened, she turns toward you with unexpected tenderness, her small hand coming up to cup your cheek.

She presses her forehead against yours, eyes closed, just breathing you in. A small, almost inaudible snort escapes her as she tries to catch her breath – a startlingly human sound that cuts through the haze of post-sex euphoria. It makes her seem more real somehow, more Jennie than the polished celebrity the world knows.

Her chest still rises and falls rapidly, her heartbeat a quick rhythm you can feel where your bodies press together. Her fingers trace idle patterns on your skin, moving from your chest to your shoulder and back again. It's these quiet moments that always feel more dangerous than the sex – this gentle intimacy that makes you think of what could have been.

"Shit," she finally whispers, a small laugh bubbling up. She looks slightly dazed, her makeup completely ruined, hair a tangled mess. "I forgot how good we are at that."

You brush a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. The gesture is too tender for what this is supposed to be, but you can't help yourself. "Some things you don't forget."

She looks into your eyes and you see a complex mix of satisfaction and something deeper—a longing that mirrors your own. Her hair sticks to her face in damp strands, her skin flushed and glowing in the dim light. Even like this—especially like this—she's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

As she lies in your arms, her breathing gradually steadying, you can't help but think about what might have been between you in another life—one where you could stay instead of always leaving. One where "one night only" wasn't all you ever had.

---

Hours later, once you’re sure she’s asleep, you slip out of the bed. The sheets make a soft sound as you untangle yourself from her limbs. She doesn't stir.

The hotel room feels different at 3 AM. Quieter. The luxury that seemed impressive earlier now feels hollow, just expensive emptiness. You find your sweatpants on the floor where she pulled them off you hours ago.

The balcony door slides open with a whisper. Thirty floors up, the city spreads out like someone spilled light across black velvet. You light a cigarette, cupping your hand against the wind even though there's no one here to see the brief flare of your lighter.

Inside, Jennie sleeps. Her small body barely disturbs the white sheets. In the dim light filtering from the bathroom, you can see the marks you left on her neck, her shoulders. Evidence that you were here. That this happened.

She belongs to someone else now. The thought should bother you more than it does. Maybe you're just used to it - this pattern of coming together briefly, then separating again. Maybe you've convinced yourself it's better this way.

You take a deep drag, feeling the burn in your lungs. It's cold out here in just sweatpants, but the chill feels necessary after the heat of her body against yours for hours.

You've never been good at staying. It's not a point of pride, just a fact, like your height or the sound of your voice. Commitment feels like drowning to you, always has. You've tried to explain this to her before. She said she understood, but the way she looked at you afterward told a different story.

Below, taxis crawl along streets like yellow insects. People spill out of late-night bars, laughing too loud. The city that never sleeps. You'll be gone from it tomorrow. Another show, another hotel room indistinguishable from this one.

You wonder if her boyfriend knows where she is tonight. If he senses something when she slips back into their shared life tomorrow. If he can somehow smell you on her skin despite the shower she'll take before going home.

The cigarette burns down to your fingers. You flick it over the edge, watching its orange tip tumble into darkness.

Jennie knows you better than anyone. This is the thought that keeps you up at night in cities whose names you sometimes forget. She knows your body, your sounds, the things that make you come undone. Worse, she knows the parts of yourself you try to hide from everyone else.

A melody forms in your head. Something slow and hazy, like smoke curling off a cigarette. Words follow naturally - about being in town just for one night. About needing her. About the room you got for just the two of you.

You mouth the words silently, testing how they feel:

I'm in town for one night,

one night only

I came around to put it down, for one night only

Your fans will think it's just another song about sex. They won't know about the way Jennie looked at you when she came. How her body felt like coming home. How you're already planning when you can see her again, even as you tell yourself this was the last time.

Just one night

Got a room for me and you, for one night only

You wanna ride for a lifetime, this is one night only

The song takes shape in your mind, already feeling like a hit. Your producer will love it. Your label will push it. No one will know it's about her. No one except Jennie, if she ever hears it.

The city is turning blue at the edges when you finally go back inside. Morning approaching. Soon you'll have to leave for the airport, for the next city, the next crowd.

Jennie hasn't moved. You slide in beside her, your skin cold from the night air. She makes a small sound in her sleep and shifts toward your body heat, instinctively seeking you out. Her hand finds your chest, rests over your heart.

You wonder what she'd say if you asked her to come with you to Toronto. You won't ask. You both know the routine by now.

One night only. It's never enough. It's all you can handle.

END.

#cloudtrnsprncy #malereader #smut #kpop smut #cloudtsmut #jennie kim #jennie #male reader x jennie #Spotify

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woantohae · 4 months ago

Text

Nothing's gonna stop us now || (Void x reader x Sentry)

Summary: Y/N is pulled into the Void by the dark entity that takes over Bob. The team prepares to go after her, while Y/N and Void seem to get a little closer. But at the same time, the past and traumas can be revived.

Author's note: I'm counting down the days until Thunderbolts* comes out, I'm so excited and I need more and more new trailers and teasers!!✨️ This movie will definitely surprise us.

On the other hand, this is a continuation of the Thunderbolts series, based on scenes from the new teaser that came out. Here we finally explore the Void.

Hope you like it! 💌

Everything was dark.

Y/N was stranded in complete darkness, unable to see anything that would indicate where she might be. It's cold, empty and void. She thinks it might be one of her many nightmares. Usually, darkness surrounded her and took her back to her worst memories of everything she had to endure.

Her heart was beating hard, but she was strong and fearless on the outside; she didn't want to look defenseless. She hopes the team can find her, but the girl's sure it will take a while, because she herself didn't know where she was, to begin with. After a few seconds, she begins to hear footsteps getting closer and closer to her, and feels a presence behind her. Suddenly her vision clears and she seems to appear in front of the door of a laboratory. She swallows hard as she remembers what it is and her hair stands on end.

"A lot of memories, huh?" he asks behind her back.

Y/N falls silent and hears a mocking laugh from beside her. Void stares at her with his body turned towards her, putting his arms behind his back.

"It must have been difficult for little Y/N to be experimented on for her..." he approaches her ear to whisper "abilities"

Y/N shakes her head, while Void smirks. Inside the girl feels nauseous and a cold that suddenly envelops her.

"Do you want to destabilize me? Is that your purpose with us?" She tries to sound firm, but feels her voice shake a little. "What do you want?"

Void stands in front of her and suddenly the girl feels his dark gaze piercing her soul. He hardens his gaze, raising his hand and caressing her cheek, watching as Y/N slightly moves away from him.

"We're not so different. You and I," he answers as he begins to walk around her, as if she were his prey . "I've noticed since Bob met you all the pain that consumes you from the inside. Your past that condemns you, even though you move forward. Even if avoid your fears."

Y/N licks her lips. She decides that it's pointless to use her powers for now, since he can easily use them against her, so she decides to play along.

"What do you gain from all this?" she asks. Void stops in front of her again and smiles coldly at her again.

"A companion," he replies. "Someone who will help me, accompany me, and... share the same desires as me."

"What would those wishes be? If we're not supposed to be so different, like you said" she asks.

Void answers her seriously, while Y/N hears the door open and notices a person in a chair with her hands and feet tied. Long black hair covers the person's face, but she knows who it is.

"Having total control of our lives" he says in the girl's ear, while he is behind her "But first we must face our fears"

Y/N is alarmed as soon as she feels Void gently push her into the room and face one of her greatest fears.

Being seen as a monster.

She turns to Void, but he disappears leaving her completely alone with her past. After that, she begins to pound on the door with all her might. She uses her powers to try to find a way out or make one to escape from there, but it's impossible.

She decides that the most reasonable thing to do—and the only thing she can do now—is to face her past. So letting out a sigh and trying to calm her breathing, she turns around finding herself trapped in the chair.

Reliving all the pain she remembers as if she never managed to escape.

If she could escape and defeat it once, she could do it again. Her heart was still racing after being able to face such a memory that tormented her.

She had fought off a few more before Void appeared at her side again, grinning from ear to ear. It was true that he enjoyed the situation, because he fed off of people's fear. But even with a dark soul, deep in his heart, Void felt a bit sorry for the girl.

Void was not in the habit of obsessing over people. He wanted to see them suffer and fall into the void of their own fears, thus being able to grow stronger with each fearful soul, advancing further until achieving his goal: having total control of Bob's body.

"I see you've been able to get through all this," he announces. "You should be proud of yourself."

"How much longer will you keep me here?" she asks softly.

Void raises an eyebrow.

"You don't like my company?" Void pouts and sighs in mock pain. "And here I thought we were beginning to be friends."

Y/N smirks and doesn't look away this time.

"If you didn't want to destroy me mentally, maybe I'd give you a chance," she admits, then shrugs, "I'm very friendly. Especially to those I care about"

Void turns his back and a smile curves his lips, thinking about how interesting he finds the girl, even though he shouldn't. It's as if an invisible magnetic force is trying to draw him to her and wants to explore all her fears and pains in order to—perhaps—take them away from her. That's ridiculous even thinking about it, he thinks to himself.

"Your friends are here," he announces, and a hint of hope and reassurance spreads through Y/N's chest. "But it won't be easy for them to find you."

He vanishes in the corners of the dark. And although Y/N didn't really crave his company, she seemed to need it now, immersed in loneliness. And after a few seconds, Y/N's surroundings begin to transform into a place she knows very well. A place where she felt safe, or rather a person made her feel safe.

Dieter. An old friend.

Void disappears, leaving her alone in the room filled with clothes, suits, and fabrics scattered everywhere. She feels her eyes water with tears as she sees that everything is just as the boy had arranged it when he was alive.

"No," she murmurs shaking her head.

A chill runs down her spine as she feels someone breathing near her neck, so she quickly turns around, finding nothing but a copy of the suit she is wearing. The battle suit and the green crown that Dieter made for her. But it's all covered in blood.

Suddenly, she feels someone's arms pull and imprison her without her being able to move. She struggles, entering into desperation.

"You killed me" they whisper in her ear, before they throw her to the floor and thousands of fabrics begin to tie her body so that she does not escape easily.

If them were metal, she would have freed herself already. In front of her appears the blond —Dieter— who accompanied her when she needed him the most. Then, her sister Wanda and Pietro appear. But the three of them have a horrible and putrid appearance, as if they had come out of the grave.

"It's your fault" Wanda whispers in a creepy voice.

Y/N shakes her head repeatedly, wanting to run away from the place. She can't take it anymore.

"No, no, no. I didn't...." she whispers.

Dieter takes it upon himself to bring his dirty, wounded hands up to Y/N's neck and begin to choke her.

Void watches all of this from the darkness of the room and the scenario he creates for her. He should be enjoying this, but he can't quite do it. However, the dark entity sees the desperation in the girl's soul and can't help but feel something stir inside him.

He doesn't like this feeling. Because it's new for him.

Why?

"Please" she begs crying, tears falling down her cheeks "I'm sorry. Please.... i didn't do it. It wasn't my fault"

Void clenches his jaw and stares intently at the scene before his eyes and thinks that it's too much, so he decides to stop it, and is shocked by the decision he has just made.

For the first time ever.

What was going on with him?

Void feels Sentry starting to fight him, so he must get away from the place immediately and take care of it —more like him. Not without giving the girl one last look.

...

Y/N sits on the ground and catches her breath, moving as far away from what was once the nightmare as possible. Suddenly, she feels arms around her and screams in fear trying to free herself.

"Hey, hey. It's me. Bucky" says the voice.

Y/N turns to find the black haired man besides her and the notices the rest of the team with faces relieved to find her, but as if they had been recently traumatized too. She touches his arms and feels that he is real, so she lets her friend hug her.

"We came for you" says Yelena besides her on her knees.

Y/N smiles gratefully at her and the others.

As if regaining her memory, she looks around and tries to find a sign of Void, but he's not there. And she doesn't feel his presence either. But she is surprised to see Bob in a gold and blue suit, with a slightly more confident posture.

"Bob?" she asks.

He walks over to her and kneels down beside her.

"He won't hurt you anymore," he promises in a confident voice.

Y/N frowns and shakes her head, not quite understanding.

"I don't understand. Where is he? Will he come back? Why....?" she asks.

Bob takes her hand to try to calm her down.

"We took care of him while he had you prisoner of your traumas" John answers behind Bucky's back "Well, Bob took care of him"

Y/N looks at the blue-eyed man and he tells her with his gaze that it's true.

"Each one of us had to go through the same thing, Y/N" Ava points out softly in her voice "But we're okay now. Now that we're together"

"As a team" Yelena says.

"As a family" Alexei corrects.

A small smile forms on her lips.

Then her eyes travel to Bob who is still holding her hand. A look of guilt paints his face.

"I'm sorry for what I put you through. What he put you through" he says sincerely. "I promise you that I will control it."

The girl nods with her head, finally shaking her hand with his, and understanding that it is not his fault. She still doesn't know who Bob really is, or what Void wanted of her — with her— or if they are the same person. But one thing she was sure of for now.

She had a team that would be there for her, and help her get through this when she never had anyone to do it before.

Perhaps, a family?

No, they were still very far from it.

But that was enough for now.

....

And Void was also far away, watching her. In the dark, the void.

Waiting. For her.

And longing to be able to meet her again.

Be close to her again.

Be with her.

Part IV

#fanfic #fluff #angst #marvel #bob reynolds x reader #thunderbolts #sentry x reader #sentry masterlist #the void masterlist #the void x reader

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missaengg · 5 months ago

Text

A Bittersweet Reunion

Pairing: Caleb x f!reader Tags: nsfw, mdni, smut, porn with plot, porn with feelings, developing relationship, light angst Word Count: 4.9k Because standing before you is a face you never thought you’d see ever again. Standing before you, dressed in his colonel’s uniform with an apple in his gloved hand, is Caleb, who’s supposed to be dead. The same Caleb you watched die a year ago. The same Caleb you mourned for months, still mourned deep in your heart even though it might appear to the world you’ve moved on. ao3 link here.

Your eyes snap open abruptly, blinking to clear the haze blurring your vision as they adjust to the dim light, a ceiling you don’t recognize coming into view. Dazed, you sit up rapidly, a wave of dizziness overcoming you from the sudden change in elevation.

Your brain attempts to clear the fog, trying to remember how you came to be on this couch, in this room. The last thing you remember, you were on a mission, tracking down a potential lead about the Aether core not too far from Linkon City. It was supposed to be a simple scouting mission to verify the lead, but a few minutes after your arrival, you were ambushed from behind, your consciousness turning black. The next thing you know waking up in this strange location.

You reach for your holster, cursing under your breath when you find it empty.

The realization you’re unarmed slams the precariousness of your situation into you, the high alert of potential danger returning clarity back to your muddled brain. It’s only now that you notice the blanket draped over you, that your body rests on a black, leather couch. The leather feels smooth under your hands, an attestment to its high level of quality, which fits the caliber of what appears to be a penthouse living room. Though, it’s too dark to distinguish much more than the outline of the sparse furniture inside save for the brief flashes of lightning bursting through the wall-length windows.

Your eyes dart left and right as you try to regain your bearings, searching for a clue as to where you are or who might’ve attacked you.

“You’re awake.”

A deep voice cuts through the silence. Somewhere in the back of your head, you have a nagging sensation that you recognize this voice. There’s a sense of familiarity as though you’ve heard it many times before. A voice that you’ve missed ardently for the past year, but it couldn’t be. It’s impossible.

The long tail of a heavy, black coat and a pair of pristine knee-high, leather boots sweep into your vision. Your eyes follow the intruder’s form up, your heart wrenching when they settle on his face. Because standing before you is a face you never thought you’d see ever again. Standing before you, dressed in his colonel’s uniform with an apple in his gloved hand, is Caleb, who’s supposed to be dead. The same Caleb you watched die a year ago. The same Caleb you mourned for months, still mourned deep in your heart even though it might appear to the world you’ve moved on.

“You’re alive?” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them.

Caleb meets your gaze, a flicker of something akin to regret crossing his galaxy-colored purple eyes. After a momentary pause, he answers, “I am.”

He provides no explanation. No apology. He provides nothing, but silence, and it hangs heavily in the air, the only two occupants of the room frozen in place. One frozen from guilt. The other from shock.

You break the silence first, hesitantly reaching for his face, your fingers gingerly tracing the curve of his cheek. “Is it really you?”

Caleb nods, leaning into your touch and placing his hand over yours. “It’s me… I’m back.” He nuzzles your palm causing you to gasp and lay your hand flush against his face.

You can feel the warmth of his cheek on your palm, the pressure of his large hand covering yours. The warmth spreads across your hand and down your arm, proof that the Caleb before you isn’t a dream. That he’s real and alive and in front of you.

But you’ve had this dream so many times before only to wake up, your hand grasping nothing that you don’t trust what your senses are telling you. “I’m not dreaming? You’re real?”

Caleb chuckles, and you feel his facial muscles shift and his amusement vibrate on your fingers. “I’m as real as I’ll ever be, Pipsqueak.”

You close your eyes, wondering if you dare allow yourself to believe this is reality, that he won’t disappear when you open them again.

“Hey.” Caleb’s voice pulls you out of your reverie, and you feel his hand cradle your chin, tilting it towards him. “It’s really me. I’m really here.”

Holding your breath, you open your eyes one at a time, still skeptical as to whether this is just another dream, but when your vision clears, it’s filled with Caleb’s gentle smile. Tears spring to your eyes. “Caleb…” You lurch forward, throwing your arms around his shoulders. “I missed you. I missed you so much.”

Caleb returns your embrace, patting your back in soothing circles, the same way he did when you were children. “I know. I missed you too.”

It’s only now with his arms around you that you can admit to yourself this isn’t a fleeting illusion, that he’s actually here in the flesh. Hugging you.

That he’s been alive for the past year and didn’t tell you.

The relief you feel shifts into a seething rage that courses through your veins like fire. You shove him away, roughly, clenching your hands into fists and slamming them into his shoulders. Once. Twice. Three times before you feel any semblance of satisfaction. “You’re alive, and you didn’t tell me?!” You hit him again, each contact of your fist with his torso echoing your frustration and grief. “Why? Why didn’t you say anything?!”

Caleb simply stands there, doing nothing to block your assault as if he knows he deserves every ounce of your ire. He allows you to pummel him, over and over again until you stop of your own volition, too exhausted to continue.

“I couldn’t,” he replies when you finally settle, casting his gaze away from you to the floor. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Sorry?!” you snarl, disbelief raising the volume of your voice with each word you spit out. “Sorry doesn’t cut it, Caleb. You let me think you were dead for a year. A year!” You punch him one more time. Hard.

“I know.”

“I mourned you for an entire year, Caleb. Why? Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice cracks as it trails off, your unshed tears adding a hoarseness to the otherwise clear timbre of your voice.

“I’m sorry…”

You slump back onto the couch, your spent fists dropping listlessly into your lap. “Where…where have you been all this time? Why couldn’t you tell me you were alive? Why couldn’t you contact me?” The questions come quickly as your fingers twist together with so much force, they turn white. “Why?”

“I’ll explain everything. I promise.”

You stare at your childhood friend who refuses to look you in the eye while rolling that stupid apple in his hands. You want to keep demanding him for answers, anything to explain himself even if they’re half-hearted lies, but seeing him alive triggers the memory of the explosion that killed him. Even a year later, you can still recall the scene so vividly. You can still feel the raging heat burning your skin. The eruptive force knocking you off your feet. The acrid smoke stinging your nose. The despair as you discovered the necklace you gifted him through your blurry vision and your ringing ears.

No one could’ve survived a blast of that magnitude. No one. But somehow Caleb survived, and if Caleb had been alive after all this time, then it’s possible he might not be the only survivor.

“Grandma,” you whisper, your eyes widening with possibility, a hope you haven’t felt in a long time blooming in your heart. “If you’re alive, does that mean…Is she…?”

“No,” Caleb answers curtly, his kind eyes turning cold. “She’s dead.”

Your face twists. A part of you knew that it was a slim possibility, but the resulting devastation is the same, slashing the delicate hope you dared feel to pieces. “How did you…survive?”

Guilt ripples below Caleb’s stony expression. His silence creates a suffocating tension that hangs palpably in the air, so long a horrible thought pops into your head. One so awful it kills you to even consider it. One you can’t even begin to entertain, let alone fathom.

“Were you– Did you–” cause the explosion? You want to ask, but the rest of your question withers away in your throat because the idea of Caleb being responsible for Grandma’s death is too horrific for you to voice out loud.

Caleb doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t have to. The pained expression he wears on his face says everything.

“No…Caleb, tell me that’s not true,” you demand, searching his face for even a hint that you’re wrong. Dead wrong. “Tell me you didn’t– Tell me I’m mistaken, that I don't know what I’m accusing you of.”

Caleb flinches at the sharp edge in your voice. “It had to be done.”

“I don’t understand.” You lean forward, desperate to know what he’s thinking, desperate to make this all make sense even if in some twisted way. “She took us in and raised us when we had nowhere else to go. How could you?”

“Pipsqueak, I…” Caleb runs a tired hand over his face, over the bags under his eyes and his haggard, sunken cheeks. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“How can you say that? Of course you had a choice,” you shout, vehemently shaking your head and bolting upright onto your knees. “How could you murder the woman who gave us a home?” You’re so incensed you almost don’t notice the way Caleb clenches his fists and grits his teeth, but you don’t care. You don’t care if he’s agitated. You need answers, answers only he can give. “Caleb, answer me.”

“Because she hurt us!” he explodes before softening. “Because…she hurt you. She had to pay for her crimes.”

“Caleb, she saved us.”

“She experimented on us.”

“And then she had a change of heart,” you argue.

“It doesn’t matter. She’s just as culpable as the other scientists,” Caleb says with a finality. “She hurt us – hurt you – and for that she had to pay.”

“No, Caleb.” You press your lips together, surveying the man barely holding himself together in front of you. A man you barely recognize anymore. “She saw what they were doing to us and broke us out. You know that.”

Caleb laughs harshly, his laughter devoid of any warmth, ringing hollow in the cold, dark room. “She didn’t.”

“What?”

“The organization decided that we’d be less stressed in a home environment so they tasked her with raising us. It was just another means to gather data for their experiments.”

“That…” That you didn’t know. Deep creases form in your brow as you process this new revelation, but deep down you know it doesn’t matter. Not anymore, now that she’s gone. “It might’ve started that way, but she never went back. She took us away and hid. She made it right.”

You startle when Caleb ruffles your hair the way he used to in the days before he “died”, a ghost of a rueful grin on his lips. He takes a seat on the black marble coffee table, looking down at the apple in his hand as he muses on old, painful memories. “You were too young to remember, but I remember everything. I remember how they kept us locked up. How they poked and prodded us. How they ignored our screams.” He levels his gaze with yours. “I remember how you’d cling to me after they were done. How you’d cry yourself to sleep in my arms. How powerless I was to stop it – stop them. I remember it all.”

A storm rages in the depths of his gaze, one so turbulent it causes your breath to hitch in your throat. “Caleb…”

“But I’m not powerless anymore.” Caleb’s eyes narrow into slits. “Not anymore.”

Buried deep beneath his fury, you catch a glimpse of the scared, little boy he must’ve been back then. The same hurt, little boy who bravely protected you the best he could with no one there to comfort him. You reach for him, slowly, but your hand falters at the last moment. “This isn’t you. This isn’t the Caleb I know.”

You silently plead with him to deny everything he’s just said. To say he hasn’t changed. That he’s still the same Caleb, the same childhood friend you’ve always known.

Caleb smirks, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards, but his eyes are blank. Emotionless. Dead.

“Caleb...?”

“Did you honestly think I’d always be the same kind-hearted boy from your childhood?” he asks cruelly as he lits the apple to his mouth and takes a bite, his canines glinting as they sink into the fruit. A streak of lightning hurtles through the night sky behind him, bathing him in an ominous glow.

You watch in muted horror as he chews methodically, taking his time to grind the white flesh between his teeth and swallow.

“I’m not the Caleb you knew anymore,” he says remorsefully. “I changed the moment I started my revenge.”

“...Revenge?”

“For what they did to you,” Caleb growls, slamming the apple down on the table and spraying flecks of juice over its polished surface. “The ones who experimented on us. Ever. I’m going to destroy them piece by piece from the inside out until there’s nothing left. So they can’t harm us – harm you – ever again.”

You yearn to tell him that he doesn’t have to, that you don’t need revenge. That you only wish for him to be back in your life, but the steely resolve engulfing him gives you pause because you can sense that nothing you say will change his mind. Nothing you say will stop him. “Is that what you’ve been doing all this time?” you ask instead.

Caleb nods.

“All by yourself?”

He nods again.

Something inside you breaks to know that he’s been on his own, alone, consumed by anger, pain, and hate. You reach for him again, but this time you cradle his head in your arms, nestling it into your shoulder. “You don’t have to do this alone. I can fight with you.”

Caleb stirs, his fingers clutching the hem of your shirt like a child clutching someone for comfort. “I want…I want to keep you in a world where it’s just the two of us. I want that more than anything,” he begins, quietly, his voice muffled by your body. “But until everything is resolved, I need to make sure you’re safe and sound. I need to know you’re out of harm’s way.”

You pull back, placing both of your hands on his shoulders, looking him square in the eyes. “I’m not the same young girl from back then. I can handle myself. I’m a Hunter, I fight wanderers for fuck’s sake.”

The corners of Caleb’s mouth quirk upwards into a tiny, wry grin, the first genuine smile breaking through his frigid exterior. “I never said you couldn’t, Pipsqueak.”

“Then why?”

Caleb cups your cheek, stroking it with his thumb. Despite the leather glove, the warmth of his hand somehow manages to reach you, sinking below the surface and stoking a bittersweet nostalgia. “Because…” His voice trembles. “...it would kill me if something were to happen to you.”

His eyes waver with fear, regret, and…longing. A wistful yearning that you know all too well, one you’ve suppressed time and time again. Your head tilts before you process what you’re doing, your lips seeking his if only to satisfy your desire to touch him, desire laced with your own anguish and need.

“Squeaks…” Caleb stops you before your lips meet. “Don’t… Don’t tempt me.”

“I’m not,” you snap, jerking back, the realization of what you almost did and his rejection burning on your cheeks. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I–”

But you’re interrupted when Caleb grazes your collarbone, the intimate nature of his touch furthering the scorching blush spreading on your face. His finger hooks under the silver chain around your neck and pulls, exposing the small apple charm and nameplate with the words “When U Come Back” inscribed in the metal from where it hides under your shirt.

His breath hitches, eyeing the necklace in his hand. “You’ve been wearing this all this time?”

Your heart twinges when you see the charms glittering on his palm, remembering all the nights you clutched it to your heart as you cried yourself to sleep. The way you felt it pressed against your sternum when you laid a hand over your chest every time you missed him, multiple times a day.

“It was the only thing I had left…of you.”

Caleb curls his fingers around the pendants, taking care not to tug the chain lest he hurts you. He closes his eyes and bites his lip, a shudder-like groan rising from deep within and ripping through his throat. “Do you know how difficult it was for me? To have to hold myself back while seeing you everyday? I know what I feel is wrong. I know you only see me as an older brother. But I’ve always held myself back and endured. Day, after day, after day. It was suffocating.” Caleb opens his eyes, staring at you imploringly. He breathes heavily as if each labored breath is a battle to restrain himself. “So don’t make this harder for me, Squeaks, cause I don’t know how much I can hold back anymore.”

You bring your hands to the sides of his face, leaning forward and resting your forehead against his, your faces so close, the tips of your noses brush together. “Then don’t. Don’t hold back anymore,” you whisper. “I never thought of you as my brother, Caleb. I want this. I want you.”

Caleb draws in a sharp breath, and then his arms are circling your waist, pulling you into his lap. His lips find their way to yours, moving with an urgency that matches your own, a frantic need to consume him in his entirety.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he husks, pulling away just enough to speak, his ragged breath a wisp of heat on your lips. He sweeps his thumb tenderly along your bottom lip, a wanton heat flooding his hooded eyes.

You forget how to breathe. The lust in his eyes holds you captive, sending your stomach aflutter. “Me too,” you murmur.

A quiver runs down Caleb’s tense body, and then his lips are on yours once more, holding you tight as though you might disappear if he lets go, his large hands pressing firmly on your back as they roam. Neither of you break the kiss, not even to breathe, so consumed by the hunger to feel one another after being apart for so long, as if you couldn’t get enough of one another. Because you couldn’t. Not after a year of missing him, wishing you could hold him in your arms, dreaming of his touch.

Caleb’s breath mingles with yours, his tongue darting to the slight part between your lips, demanding entrance. You accede, and his tongue slips in, entwining with your own. You can taste the remnants of the apple he ate just moments before lingering on his tongue adding a sweetness to the dizzying onslaught of passionate kisses you share.

All your senses are filled with Caleb. Moaning, your fingers dig into the stiff fabric of his coat along his broad back, reeling from the scent of his cologne, the warmth of his embrace, the tickle of his teeth nibbling your lip, his heady pants puffing in your ear. But it’s not enough, not even close to being enough.

You want more.

His lips relinquish their hold and travel down the curve of your neck, a trail of fleeting, feathery kisses left behind in their descent. Waves of pleasure radiate from each epicenter, tingling down your spine and pooling into an unsatiated arousal.

A surprised gasp darts out from between your swollen lips when his teeth graze over where your heartbeat pulses as your hips twitch, your body now painfully aware of just how even the simplest of his touch is driving you to the brink of insanity. How even the most gentle of his caresses are igniting a fire you can’t extinguish on your own. “I want…I want to feel you.”

Caleb growls, a guttural sound filled with his desire, evidence of his crumbling resolve. Reluctantly, he pulls away from your neck, fumbling in his haste to remove his crisp, yet cumbersome officer’s coat. He discards the heavy fabric to the push carpet, and once he’s free, you waste no time reaching for the buttons of his shirt, slipping each confining circle through their tethers as fast as your fingers can allow. His bare torso comes into view, bit by bit, each reveal quickening your pulse until your heart hammers in your chest.

Caleb loosens his tie, but before he can finish pulling it off over his head, your mouth is on him, tracing every rise and crevice of his muscles with your tongue, with your lips, and with your teeth.

“Shit, Pipsqueak,” he rasps, somehow managing to toss his tie aside while your mouth distracts him.

A strained ache pulses beneath the surface that fuels your desire, emboldening you to leave a dark, red bruise wherever your mouth lands.

“Squeaks, slow down,” Caleb hisses, pushing you back gently, but you cling to him, steadfast, refusing to quit your torment.

“No,” you mumble against his flushed skin, continuing your ravagement much to his detriment. “I just got you back…I want…I want you…”

Caleb mutters a near inaudible ‘fuck’, and then springs into action, hauling you to your feet. Soon, the two of you are a tangle of limbs and fabric in an attempt to separate flesh from cloth. Tugging your shirt over your head. Yanking his shirt over his shoulders. Unclasping bras. Unbuttoning pants. Unbuckling belts. One by one, they too join the discarded clothing on the floor, cast aside without a second thought.

Your lips locked together, Caleb falls back on the couch, and you fall with him, your legs tucked, straddling his thighs. A hand on your lower back, his other slides to your breast, kneading the soft flesh and thumbing your pert nipple intent on eliciting a sweet little moan.

You give him what he wants. You moan, a throaty, sultry, breathless moan.

Caleb buries his face in between your naked breasts, planting reverent kiss after kiss along the swell. He catches a nipple between his teeth, flicking it with the tip of his tongue and rolling it in his mouth.

Your fingers twist into his hair, your body humming from delight. A particularly naughty nip drives you to gasp his name and arch your back, your throbbing sex grinding down into his pelvis and dragging along the length of his clothed erection, the thin fabric of his briefs one of the last two barriers separating you from him.

“Caleb,” you whimper, a wordless plea begging him to make you his, to claim you as his own.

Caleb presses one last kiss to the divet between your breasts. “I won’t be able to stop myself if we continue,” he pants, his voice strained with restraint. Do you still want this? Want me? His unspoken question quivers in his probing gaze.

“Caleb, I want you.” Holding his gaze, you sit up on your knees and hook your thumbs over the waistband of your underwear, dragging it down your thighs, over your knees, and off your ankles. You toss the thin item of clothing aside. Your answer to his question. “Don’t make me wait any longer. Please.”

Caleb releases a long, drawn-out groan, what little resolve he has left crumbling. He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, caressing the side of your face as he commits every detail of you to his memory. “God, you’re beautiful.”

He kisses you again, sweetly, tenderly. His hand glides down the side of your body, grazing the plush of your thigh with the pads of his fingers, coming between your legs and running through your folds. As he does, he violently twitches, feeling how ready you are for him, how your slick arousal coats his fingers.

A shaky whimper escapes you when Caleb finds his way to your clit, stroking the sensitive bud in sloppy circles. Shockwaves of pleasure rip through your lower abdomen, leaving you squirming, mewling, whispering his name and biting back moans.

“You’re driving me crazy,” Caleb murmurs into your ear. “The way you sing for me.”

His voice reverberates in your ear, husky and low, a spine-tingling thrill throbbing in your sex, your need for him growing too painful for you to ignore. Dizzy with desire, you reach for his briefs, intent on removing the last obstacle keeping you from him. “I want to feel you…feel you inside me.”

Caleb curses, lifting his hips so you can pull his underwear down past his hips and his thighs, kicking it off once you reach his knees. He grasps the sides of your hips, simultaneously guiding you down onto him as he thrusts up to enter you. You sink down his length, gasping as your warmth encases him and his cock drags on your walls.

“Caleb,” you cry out, reeling from how he’s stretching you with his girth. You feel yourself clench around him, hearing Caleb grunt as your walls flutter to accommodate his size.

“Shit, you feel…feel so good.” Caleb rakes his teeth over the crest of your shoulder, his chest heaving in and out, his passion getting the best of him. “Fuck.”

Tightening his grip, he rocks you against him, his movements controlled, slow. Your lips meet, stealing the breath out of each other’s mouths, coming together and parting, building into a heady whirlwind. As your kisses grow more fervent, so too do Caleb’s thrusts. Your hands fall forwards, bracing themselves on the back of the couch. Your legs hinge at the knees, rising and sinking onto Caleb to match his urgent rhythm.

This – Caleb’s body joined with yours, his fingertips digging into your skin, his lips claiming yours – is everything you’d ever wanted, better than everything you’d ever dreamed.

Better than all the times you spent touching yourself imagining him inside you, claiming all the intimate parts of yourself you wanted to save for him. Better than dreaming of how it’d feel to be in his arms, kissing him, being kissed by him. How he’d whisper your name and stroke your hair. How he’d hold you tight and never let you go.

Breaking the kiss, you throw your head back, the unmistakable tightening of the coil pulling your muscles taut. Caleb plants his lips on the side of your neck, sucking down, collecting the taste of your skin on his tongue. He bucks into you at a relentless pace, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix with each deep thrust. You can barely keep up with how fast he’s going, how quickly he has you riding his lap.

“Caleb,” you mewl, your eyes closed, your mouth parted. “Caleb, Caleb, Caleb…” You ardently whisper his name over and over again.

“Say my name,” Caleb mumbles. “Say it again.”

“Caleb…” you whimper.

The coil is tense with pressure, on the cusp of snapping free.

“Tell me you love me,” Caleb pleads, his breath wisping on your skin.

“I love you.” You brush your lips on his brow. “I love you.” On the pink glow dusting his cheeks. “I love you.” On the tip of his nose. “I love you.”

Caleb tilts his head up seeking you, and you rest your forehead on his, your lips mere inches away from one another, your breaths mixing together, drinking each other in.

Caleb’s hips snap into you, hard, and then you feel it, the coil springing free, releasing all the pent up tension it was holding. All the words you’ve wanted to say to one another over the years. All the repressed emotions. All the happy memories and the shared joy. All the grief and anguish and pain. All of it culminating into a burst of ecstasy roiling through your quaking body.

You passionately cry out his name, tremors coursing up and down your body. Caleb continues rolling your hips together with his, your rapture pushing him further over the brink, but when your walls pulsate around his length, he catapults over the edge, slamming you down onto his lap as he floods you with his own euphoric bliss.

Foreheads pressed together, Caleb whispers “I love you” before closing the distance between your lips, savoring how you taste, how you feel. He gently shifts your bodies, still joined together as one, until you’re both lying on the couch, wrapped in each other’s arms.

You snuggle into his firm chest, relishing how perfectly your bodies seem to fit together, how your head seems to tuck effortlessly under his chin. Your eyes flutter closed. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat in your ears lulls you into a state of drowsiness.

You feel safe. At home. Protected. Cherished. Loved.

As the hazy tendrils of sleep tug on your consciousness, it faintly occurs to you that you didn’t ask him how you came to be here in this penthouse suite with him. But you push the thought from your mind. Right now, you’re just happy to have him back. Right now, you want nothing more than to stay in his arms.

Tomorrow. You can ask him tomorrow.

But for now, all you want is to hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the warmth of his embrace.

For now, all you need is him.

The answers can come tomorrow.

Taglist: @william-rex

#missaengg writes #caleb #caleb x you #caleb x reader #love and deepspace caleb #caleb love and deepspace #lnds caleb #lads caleb #caleb smut #love and deepspace smut #lads smut #lnds smut #love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love and deepspace fanfic #lads fanfic #lnds fanfic

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ninetailedfoxmanchi · 3 months ago

Text

Mafia! BTS - You Work Late Together

A/N: This is part 2 of the "You're their assistant series". Part 1: Mafia! BTS - You Get a Job as Their Assistant

Warnings: profanity, mentions of sexual harassment

MASTERLIST

You've worked for the company for about a month now. You thought it would be hard getting used to the job but a week in and you realized it wasn't so bad. Once you learned where everything was and how to manage your boss's schedule it was like riding a bike. Besides, the pay was more than generous, which is why you bought yourself a very special black dress that you had had your eye on for some time now but couldn't really afford. You took the opportunity when your friend invited you and the rest of the girls out to a birthday dinner to wear it. You were already in front of your building when you received a phone call from the company. "Come on, not today," you sighed to yourself but answered anyways. There was an emergency at the company and there was no one who knew the job better than you by now.

Jin

As if the traffic weren't a s sufficient enough of a disaster, your heels made it impossible for you to hurry. You finally reached your desk when you heard voices coming from your boss's office. The door was left open. You came closer and waited.

"Fix this," said your boss in a voice you had rarely heard from him before; it was dark and raspy as if there was a razor in his throat. "Or losing your job will be the least of your concerns come morning."

You stared at the two people who you'd only seen coming in and out of Mr Kim's office but had never directly spoken to. One was the head of IT and the other worked in the legal department. Your boss towered over the first as he spoke the words that made your stomach churn. Mr Kim was always calm and composed no matter what the emergency or issue. You had never met anyone who was more polite or soft-spoken than him and yet for a moment you wondered whether he was only like that to you.

"Out," he almost growled as he glared at the legal expert as well. The two employees bowed their heads and scrammed past you. One was fuming and the other threw you a sympathetic look.

Jin's eyes snapped to you like the lash of a whip. Your mouth dropped as you tried to find something to say but your thoughts were nothing but an empty mess. For a moment, you considered that he will do the same to you as he did to the IT guy and the legal professional. His frown fell, however, realizing it's you and his lips parted at the sight of you outfit. Just as you had never seen him in anything other than a suit, he had never seen you in an evening dress. Your boss, in turn, wore a pair of tailored linen trousers and a loose shirt that looked just as good on him as any suit.

"You, um... You called for me?" you said after a moment. Your heart was beating madly as you waited for him to fire you or worse - grill you for your mistakes and incompetence and then fire you.

"I'm glad you could make it, Ms Y/N," said your boss instead, his voice shifting towards its usual self. His shoulders lost some of the tension as did his frown. Jin gestured at the seats in front of his desk.

"I'm afraid your boyfriend will have to do without you tonight," he said as you both took a seat, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "I'm in desperate need for someone with a sharp brain and the rest of my employees clearly have none."

"Boyfriend?" you asked confused, your eyebrows raised. Heat rushed to your cheeks although you couldn't tell whether it was from the idea that you weren't single or whether because one of the smartest men you had ever met just praised your cleverness.

Your boss glanced at your stunning dress and you blushed even deeper. Apparently, you looked dressed for a date.

"I was just meeting my friends," you explained and fixed the top of your sleeve. Your boss's gaze burned through your eyes as something shifted in his handsome features. The cut of his silken shirt revealed the outline of his chest that made your breath hitch in your throat. Since the day you started work in this company, you have been doing everything in your power not to think about your boss, but in moments like this you couldn't help but feel your stomach flutter beneath his gaze.

"So, what happened?" you cleared your throat and changed the subject. A dark shadow returned to your boss's face but now you knew it wasn't directed at you. There was a problem with a merger of one of the office's most important sub-companies. There was a breach of classified financial information enabled by a series of mistakes by the IT security department. Some documents needed to be refiled, meetings scheduled and the damage assessed with contingency plans drafted.

"Right," you sighed and got up, smoothing down your dress. You finally realized why your boss was so livid at his team. "I'll get started right away." You made for your desk when Jin called you back.

"Use my computer," he ordered and got up from his leather office chair. "I'll be faster if we work together." He opened a drawer and pulled out his laptop.

You hesitated for a moment before you sat down in your boss's chair, feeling completely out of place. He took a seat on the sofa and began typing away. You battled the tasks together one by one and the hours passed faster than you thought. After 2 a.m not even the coffee helped anymore. Your neck gave a quiet crack when you stretched your arms above your head before you leaned back in the massive chair.

Your boss was looking at you when you opened your eyes.

"Sorry," you said quickly, for a moment forgetting you were technically at work although it was closer to the morning than it was to the evening.

"I should be the one apologizing to you, Ms Y/N," said Jin and closed his laptop. He poured two glasses of whiskey from the ornate crystal bottle that always stood on the end table. He offered you one of them.

At first you hesitated but the world did seem to pause at this hour and allow for your worth ethic to go out the window for a moment. You got up and came around the desk. "Thank you."

"To containing this emergency," you said and clinked your glass against your boss's.

"To..." he paused and measured your eyes, "More nights spent together."

You smiled as your heart jumped. "With all due respect, if they're like tonight, I truly hope not," you laughed but still took a small sip of your drink. The whiskey was smooth with no bite at all.

"No," he agreed, a beautiful smile crowning his lips that made butterflies flutter around your stomach. "A dinner perhaps," he suggested, his voice as gentle as silk. "To make up for a Saturday night spent at the office."

You watched Jin, taken back by his proposal. A part of you wanted to say yes immediately and yet a whole other was being rational and cautious.

You shook your head a little, "I don't think that's a very good idea."

Jin's smile disappeared but his eyes remained soft and watchful. You allowed him to see how much you wanted to say yes but you couldn't. He was your boss and it would complicate everything. Although the contract you signed didn't prohibit coworker relationships, you knew how complicated things could get. Besides, Jin was a powerful man. If he wanted to, he could make sure you never get a job anywhere else and that part of him scared you.

Jin studied you. "I can put it into the contract."

"Sorry?" you stared at him.

"That I can't hurt you," he explained and took a sip of whiskey, "As you employer. I figured it might be a concern for you."

You tried to read him. "So you've done this before?" Your stomach dropped and you slapped yourself mentally when you realized you were probably just another girl and he already had a plan for these kinds of situations.

"No," he stated clearly, drawing your eyes back to him. "But I've been thinking about you." His soft and deep voice gave you goosebumps as your mind became a mess you couldn't detangle. "As I'm sure you know."

"I..." you cleared your throat as the gap between you and your boss seemed to grow smaller. Thinking about you branded into you mind and you couldn't believe your ears.

"I wouldn't presume..."

"You should," assured Jin with such confidence that it made your eyes lock with his. A breath hitched in your throat as you stared up at him, finally seeing the look in his eyes for what it was; and it was one he always reserved just for you.

Namjoon

You were fidgeting when your taxi took you to the office. A large black car was already parked in front of the main door. The driver got out and opened the back door. Your boss got out of the car and buttoned his suit jacket, a look so somber on his face that you didn't want to leave your taxi.

His eyes narrowed at you when he noticed your presence. You took a deep breath and reached for the handle but Mr Kim had already opened the door for you.

"Thank you," you breathed as you got out and smoothed down your dress. Your heart was beating harshly against your throat as you waited for him to give you the news that you were the one causing the emergency by misplacing some documents or something.

"Thank you for coming," he said instead. His tense posture relaxed some as you walked into the building together.

"I see I've interrupted your plans," said your boss in the elevator. Its back wall was a mirror where your reflection reminded you of the dinner you were supposed to attend.

You ran a hand through your hair. "It's okay," you said although you couldn't hide the weight in your voice. The older you got the more difficult it was for your friends to find the time to meet up.

"I mean, it's not okay, but... it's my job," you explained and clutched to your evening handbag. You could feel his eyes on you and you met them. He didn't look away and neither could you. Your stomach fluttered and your knees went weak.

"Anyways, what happened?" you asked as the elevator finally opened and you headed for your boss's office. If it were your fault, you were sure Mr Kim wouldn't have bothered even letting you come into the building with him.

Your boss was about to explain when you reached the conference room next to his office. There was Lee from the legal department and two of his colleagues and Choi from the PR branch. You looked at your boss, whose pace slowed down. A shadow was cast over his handsome features. His eyebrows furrowed into a dark frown and his tongue was in the corner of his cheek - a habit you've learned to recognize whenever your boss was angry or frustrated.

A silence feel among the employees no matter how high their positions when Mr Kim walked into the office. Soon they became a scrambling mess of mumbling excuses and tried to blame one another for the PR crisis that involved a breach of information caused by the legal team.

You couldn't do much but wait for the meeting to be over as you took in every bit of information. You didn't even want to think about what it would be like if your boss were staring you down and grilling you like he did your now former colleagues.

"Get out," said Namjoon coldly. His voice was quiet but so authoritative that it sent shivers down your spine as you watched the guys grow silent.

"If you don't fix this," warned Namjoon as he got up from his chair and buttoned his suit jacket. He didn't say a word more, only glared at Lee until he had no choice but to look down although you knew him to be one of the most arrogant people in the company.

"Out," said Namjoon when the group didn't dare move. They scrambled out in a hurry.

Your boss's cold gaze slowly turned to you. He only watched you for a few moments although it seemed like hours before his tense body relaxed with an exhale.

"Come on, we've got work to do, Ms Y/N," he spoke at last, resigned to the mess that was made.

You followed him into his office where the long and tedious task of mending the damage extended far into the late night. You had to come up with a strategy to help contain the information, select a team to oversee the projects in place, build a plan to deal with the press... There was no end to the work.

By 4 a.m, you were curled up in one of the armchairs in front of your boss's desk, your bare feet resting in the pair seat. Namjoon had his sleeves rolled to his elbows and his hair was messy from running his hand through it so many times. You were leaning your head against your palm, your eyes threatening to close over and over again as you reread the statement for the press and made some final corrections. Only when you reached for your coffee cup you noticed that your boss was watching you. His razor-sharp eyes had softened; you couldn't tell whether it was from the lack of sleep or if it was something else.

"Maybe we should call it a night," you suggested quietly. You didn't have an ounce of energy left and it showed even in your voice.

Namjoon nodded. "I'll give you a ride home."

"It's okay," you said as you hid a yawn behind your hand in search of your black heels, "I'll just call a taxi or something."

You put on your shoes when your boss handed you your handbag.

"No," he decided and there was no room for arguing.

Namjoon had his own driver. Sometimes that was your friend Lucas, but most of the time it was a man you had simply come to know as Yun. At first, you thought it was strange that your boss didn't drive himself but you wouldn't dare ask why.

You sat in the back seat with your boss. Although you had just spent the night in close proximity of one another, the car ride seemed more intimate than that.

"So," said Namjoon, his voice deep and quiet with tiredness, as he found your eyes, "Who did I steal you away from tonight?"

The idea that his tone suggested sent a blush to your cheeks. You smiled and shook your head. "No one," you said, "I was supposed to meet my friends for a birthday dinner thing."

Namjoon stared at you, his eyes suddenly awake with thousands of thoughts. "It's your birthday?"

"No," you smiled reassuringly when you saw a shadow of guilt cross his face. "My friend's."

He nodded slightly. You leaned back in your seat as the driver took you to the other side of the city. It was fast when you took the subway but it took longer by car, especially with all the construction and the road blockages.

You were only going to rest your eyes for a moment but quickly lost the battle. You couldn't see it but Namjoon had his gaze on you the entire time as you slept. When the car stopped in front of your apartment building, your boss gently caressed your cheek. You frowned and opened your eyes. The fragrance from Namjoon's wrist gave you goosebumps.

"Sorry," you said and sat up whilst the driver went to get your door.

"It's okay," said your boss, almost whispering. There was a warmth in his eyes that he had never shown to anyone else but you.

Yoongi

There was no way you would make it to the office in less than an hour if you took a taxi. The city was a complete mess as everyone migrated towards the center for shows, concerts and dinners on a Saturday night. You only took a taxi to the nearest subway station before you hurried downstairs and caught the first train that would take you right to the company's door. Still, the subway was packed as well. You had to stand, which you didn't mind, but you did mind when a man decided to stand right behind you. At first you thought it was a coincidence. He seemed like an ordinary guy; he wore a nice polo shirt and a pair of jeans. But soon, you could feel his breath on your neck as he came closer and closer, pressing himself to you. You slipped away from him and made your way closer to the exit, losing him in the crowd.

You got off at your station and tried not to think about the guy. Somehow you could still feel his gaze on you. He followed you to the street where you finally noticed him. You hurried towards the office and managed to get inside before he could follow you into the building. He remained standing outside. There was a smile on his lips that gave you the chills.

You quickly hurried for the elevator, your stomach in knots and your mind a mess. You went to your desk and put away your handbag.

"Good, you're here," said your boss but you didn't hear him over the noise in your mind.

A loud gasp escaped your lungs when you finally noticed Yoonigi beside you. Your body only relaxed when you saw it was just your boss.

A dark frown fell onto his eyes. "What's wrong?" asked Yoongi. You looked as pale as a ghost.

"Nothing, sorry," you shook your head, "My thoughts were somewhere else."

Yoongi studied you, his lips parted and his eyebrows in a permanent frown. You licked your dry lips and forced your heartbeat to calm down.

"What happened?" you cleared your throat, eager to distract yourself.

You could tell by the look on your boss's face that he wasn't content with your silence, but he let it go, especially when he noticed your stunning outfit. His gaze grazed down all the way to your black heels before it returned to your face.

"I, um... I didn't have the time to change," you apologized and crossed your arms over your chest. Yoongi nodded as he cleared his throat, gesturing you to his office.

Apparently, there was a cyberattack on the company and important information was leaked. Whilst the IT team was already hard at work, there still needed to be people notified, contingency plans to be made if the information reached the media, documents to go over and just about a dozen other things.

Instead of working separately, you both worked together in your boss's office. It was no use going back and forth every five minutes to discuss something. You picked a spot on the sofa and began tackling mountains of documents, which needed to be revised. Before you set for the office, you even had a bit hope that you would catch the dessert part of your friend's dinner but it wasn't happening. Hours went by before you even made it through half of the workload. By 3 a.m you were leaning your head against your arm, your legs curled up on the sofa as you read through the final stack.

Some documents slipped from your hands and made your boss to look up. You fell asleep. He made his way over to you and picked up the papers. He placed them on the coffee table but his attention was on you. Yoongi gently caressed your cheek and brushed your hair behind your ear.

"Y/N, wake up," he spoke softly, his thumb stroking your cheek, "I'll take you home."

"Hm?" you asked, leaning into the warm palm. Realization hit you and your eyes blinked open. You sat up quickly, doing your best to hold back a gasp.

"I'm sorry," you shook your head quickly, not even remembering when you fell asleep.

"It's okay," said Yoongi gently. His voice was raspy from tiredness but there was a softness in his eyes that made your stomach full of butterflies.

You went to grab your handbag before you headed downstairs together.

"It's going to be okay," you said as the elevator slowly took you to the ground floor. Yoongi found your eyes. His gaze shifted as he took in every last detail of your face.

"I know," he said quietly but he was grateful. You nodded and gave a small smile. Although you struggled to deny it, you couldn't help but let your heart flutter whenever you heard Yoongi's voice. There was something about how he was always so calm and in control that attracted you so much to him.

The elevator door opened with a chime and you headed out. You stopped on your tracks out of the sudden, your legs as heavy as lead.

"Oh my god, he's still here," you gasped and grabbed your boss's hand. Yoongi's features flashed with surprise as he frowned and looked down at your hand holding his. You pulled him to the side, hiding behind a solid wall among countless of glass ones.

You shut your eyes tightly for a moment as your stomach dropped and you thought you were going to be sick. Your skin was crawling with fever.

"What's going on?" demanded Yoongi. You looked down at your fingers balled around his hand.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," you said quickly and released him. Your face grew burning hot as you peeked from behind the wall. The young man who harassed you on the subway was sitting on one of the benches just outside the office, showing his back to the entrance.

"Y/N," your boss finally drew your attention back to him. Your hands were shaking as you tried to think of something.

"I- We- We should call the police," you suggested, your mind a mess. "O-Or Lucas, he's your bodyguard, right?"

"Why? What's going on?" asked Yoongi. He glanced behind the wall just enough to see a guy now pacing outside before you pulled him back.

"Who's that?" demanded your boss.

"Some psycho who followed me from the subway," you explained quickly and took a glimpse of him before hiding behind the wall again. "I can't believe this, it's been like six, seven hours." You clutched your hand to your chest as anxiety gripped at your lungs.

"What?" asked Yoongi. His frown grew even deeper and darker. Something shifted in his pitch black eyes that you had never seen before. Thoughts stormed behind his irises and he realized why you were behaving strangely when you first got to the office.

"I'm calling the police, this is insane," you concluded and grabbed the phone from your purse.

"Don't," ordered your boss. "I'll take care of this."

"What? No, you can't! What if he's dangerous or something?" you hurried and grabbed Yoongi's hand again.

"He's not dangerous," said Yoongi as he watched your fingers wrapped around his much larger hand.

"How do you know?" you shook your head.

"Because I am." His eyes met yours for just a moment as his dark quiet words sent shivers down your spine. Although you had only worked for him for a month, you knew your boss's wasn't just an ordinary businessman. He was far too young to have built such a fortune on his own and to have others respect him like they did.

You watched as Yoongi walked outside, not a hint of hesitation in his step. The guy from the subway turned around when the front door opened, expecting to see you there. The horrifying smile dropped from his lips at the sight of your boss. They were talking but you couldn't hear them. The guy's shoulders tensed around his neck like that of a trapped animal. Suddenly he launched forward and threw his fist but missed miserably. Yoongi pulled his hands out of his pockets in less than an instant. His fists flew into the man's face like a flash of lightning, again and again and again, as if he had done this a thousand times. He was in complete control of his body and the guy's.

The man staggered, holding his jaw in his hands as blood sprouted from his cupped hands. You gasped as you saw his face mashed from just a few hits. He somehow picked himself up and scrammed like rat. Your boss watched him disappear into the shadows before his gaze fell to the floor. He slowly turned to you, finding your big eyes staring at him. Yoongi's lips were parted slight as he waited for you to come outside.

"Why did you do that?" you whispered as you came to him. "I could have called the police." Your gaze dropped to Yoongi's bruised hands and you noticed he was wearing brass knuckles on one of them. You looked up at him astounded.

"If you had called the police, they wouldn't have kept you safe," said Yoongi, his voice deep and quiet as he towered over you. "Now, you're safe."

Hoseok

You clutched to your purse as the elevator took you up countless of floors. You were bouncing your knees. If you managed to solve this crisis quickly, maybe you could still make it to some of your friend's birthday dinner.

The elevator bell chimed and you made your way to your desk but the office door was propped open and there were people talking. You opened the door and looked inside. There was your coworker from the legal branch of the company and another even higher up the chain from the IT sector. The latter was explaining something to your boss, whose arms were crossed over his broad chest and his eyebrows hung in a deep frown that made you want to turn on your heel and go home. Just as you were about to return to your desk instead, his dark eyes flashed at you.

"Good, you're here," said Mr Jung. "Finally, someone with a brain," he glared at his other two employees and threw a stack of papers on his desk. An invisible blush crept to your cheeks at a compliment from someone as demanding as Jung Hoseok.

"You can go," he dismissed the other two coldly. They looked down in shame and headed towards you as you were still waiting by the door. "And Han," said Mr Jung at his legal expert. She turned around wide-eyed. "I don't want to see you here Monday morning."

"But sir-" she tried to protest and apologize but your boss gave her a look so dark you couldn't help but feel sorry for the woman. Your colleagues left and you came in and closed the door behind you. Mr Jung sat down and gathered the stack of documents. When he looked up, his current of thoughts was interrupted by your outfit. His dark eyes fixed on your stunning black dress.

"What happened?" you asked, trying to get the work started as soon as possible.

"You need to retype and edit this," said your boss and handed you a stack of documents. You took it instinctively yet as realization hit you frowned.

"Retype it?" you shook your head; there must have been fifty pages. "Shouldn't there be a digital version that we can edit?"

Mr Jung watched your eyes and for the first time since you started working at the company, you noticed how tired he looked. Suddenly you realized it wasn't only your Saturday night that was ruined but his as well.

"There was, but it's gone," said Mr Jung and stood up. "I need you to do this," he almost asked, which was another first. You were so taken back by the gentleness of his voice that you could only nod. You turned around to go to your computer when he called you back.

"Use my desk, you're going to be here for a while," he said and grabbed a laptop from one of the drawers. "And remind me to get you a different chair." He sat down on his office sofa and fired up his laptop as you stared at him puzzled.

You wondered how he knew that your desk chair, although aesthetically very pleasing, was terribly uncomfortable after a few hours of work. You had to stretch your neck several times just to make it through the day.

You sat down in your boss's leather chair, feeling utterly bizarre taking a seat at his desk. You started working on transcribing the text, however, and left out the marked places which needed to be edited later. An hour went by and then another and soon you realized you weren't going to see your friends not even for a minute.

Resigned, you got up. "I'm getting some coffee, do you want some?" you asked your boss although your tone was much more casual than normally; probably since it was in the middle of the night.

Mr Jung looked up from his laptop. "Thank you," he agreed and reached for his wallet.

"It's okay, I've got the company card," you offered a small smile which he returned to your surprise.

You went to the 24/7 cafe which was just down the street from your office. You grabbed two extra strong iced Americanos and left the barista a tip, if nothing else, as a gesture of solidarity that you both had to work that night.

"What's such a pretty lady doing alone at night?" asked a man the moment you returned to the street. A sharp gasp caught in the back of your throat as you jumped around and came face to face with the stranger.

"Please leave me alone," you said as politely as you could and hurried towards the office but he had no intention of leaving you alone.

"Where are you going? You should keep me company," the guy insisted and grabbed your wrist. You managed to slip and away and ran to your office that was just around the corner. You let yourself in with the keycard and the door locked behind you. The man staggered outside, clearly drunk.

You fixed your dress in the elevator as tears forced into your eyes. This was far from the first time a man harassed you on the street and you doubted it was the last time. You managed to calm down by the time you reached the executive floor although your mind couldn't return fully to the task at hand.

"Here," you placed one of the drinks on the coffee table in front of your boss. He thanked you as you put the other one on your desk and threw the paper tray away.

A loud gasp escaped your lips when you turned around and came face to face with Hoseok. His mouth was parted slightly and his eyebrows hung in a formidable frown. His perfume filled your nostrils, which was a welcome distraction from the hard liquor on that stranger's breath.

"What happened?" asked your boss, standing barely a foot away from you. You stared at him frozen.

"Nothing," you said quickly. He took your hand and your face turned pink until you looked down at the dirty handprint smeared around your wrist.

"Oh, that's so disgusting," you whispered to yourself as your stomach churned with revulsion. "This guy... He followed me to the building... It's fine, nothing happened," you explained as you grabbed some wet antibacterial wipes from your purse.

Hoseok's eyes burned through you as he watched you wipe another man's touch off your hand. His shoulders tensed and his right hand balled into a fist as it became clear to him just how much he cares about you.

You sat back down at your boss's desk when you noticed the tension of his body language. Once your gaze met his, his eyes shifted and he went back to work but something made you feel like the matter wasn't closed at all. The look on your boss's face gave you goosebumps and made your knees go soft.

Jimin

The traffic had taken you forever to get to the office. You must have cursed yourself half a dozen times for not just taking the subway instead of a taxi. But as you got out of the car, you came face to face with none other than your boss.

"I thought I was late," you breathed but your boss only stared at you. His dark frown dropped to your stunning black dress before it hesitantly returned to your face.

"I was going to a dinner... I didn't have the time to change - they said it's an emergency," you explained as blush rose to your cheeks.

Jimin nodded, his body tensing beneath his dark shirt. "Come, there're people to fire and a merger to fix," he said darkly and opened the door of the building for you. You stared at him wide-eyed but he couldn't have been more serious.

"What exactly happened?" you asked carefully as you cleared your throat. Although the elevator was fast, there were still thirty more floors to go. Your boss's perfume mixed with yours, creating an ambiance of musky notes that made goosebumps rise on your arms.

Your heart fluttered when he looked at you and for a split second your boss's eyes fell to your lips. He returned his gaze to the door and explained. There has been a massive breach of information which lead to an important merger to nearly fall through.

You had never seen your boss as livid as that evening. He was so furious that he was already calm. The people responsible for the disaster were already waiting in the conference room by the time the two of you reached the executive floor. Your stomach churned as you imagined half a dozen people getting fired but your boss wanted you in the conference room with him.

The crowd fell silent when you entered. Once Jimin sat down and you to his right, they began explaining everything that had happened and how it happened. Soon everyone was putting the blame on others until there was nothing but a mess of buzzing excuses. You noticed the look on your boss's face grow darker by the second. His eyebrows fell hard on his hard gaze and his shoulders were as tight as a bow. His eyes found yours and you both knew this meeting was pointless.

"Enough," he said. Although his voice was quiet, the room fell silent in an instant and all eyes turned to him.

"Come Monday morning, you don't work here anymore," announced your boss as he stood up and you followed. The employees faces fell. None of them seemed to be expecting it as they were all in high positions. "Now get the fuck out," he ordered in a voice so cold it gave you shivers.

Everyone scrammed except for an older man who you knew all too well. He was the head of the legal department and he always harassed you and the girls whenever you had lunch at the company's cafeteria.

"Mr Park," he said patronizingly, "Surely you can't mean-, we can fix-"

"No, Baek," said your boss, glaring down his employee, "You are going to fix this and you are going to make sure something like this doesn't happen to my company again..."

Mr Baek's tiny eyes flickered behind his glasses as your boss controlled his anger.

"Or I'm going to kill you with my bare hands," growled Jimin through gritted teeth. "Now get the fuck out of my face."

You watched as the man couldn't grasp what was happening. His face filled with fear soon enough and he scrammed through the door like the rest of them.

Jimin cursed under his breath a ran a hand through his hair. He turned around, his face changing all expression. His dark glare softened and his frown loosened.

"Come, there's still a lot of work to do."

You sat up camp in your boss's office, him at his desk and you in one of the armchairs. There were emails to be written, reports to be filed and information contained, but most importantly, you had to save the merger.

After working for hours, you couldn't help but look at Jimin. He was focused on some documents when his eyes found yours.

"What is it, Ms Y/N?" he asked, not ungently. The expression on his face softened each time he looked at you, making your skin prickle with heat.

"I'm glad you fired Baek," you confessed. Something came over you. Perhaps it was the late - or better yet early - hour or just the way Jimin made you feel safe despite it all.

He waited.

"He was always harassing the girls," you explained, not including yourself in the equation. A dark look obscured Jimin's eyes as his eyebrows fell into a frown.

"Why didn't you say anything before?" he asked, trying to be as gentle as possible although his anger was getting the worst of him.

"I wasn't sure that I could," you gave a small smile although in truth you wanted to cry. In every single one of your jobs, there were always men who thought they could take advantage of women and harass them. They could do so without consequences because the institution did nothing to prevent it. If you said something, you suddenly wasn't a team player anymore. The fact that one of such men just got fired before your eyes, even if not for that reason, made you feel slightly better about the world.

"Why not?" asked your boss. You shrugged your shoulders. Shallow tears filled your eyes but you didn't let them come close to falling. Jimin got up and took the armchair beside you. You looked at him surprised.

"If you'd told me, I wouldn't have just fired him, Ms Y/N," said your boss. You licked your dry lips as you studied his deep brown eyes and wondered if he was being genuine

"I thought I made it clear from the start," said Jimin as if he could hear your thoughts. His eyes dug deep into your soul and made your heart grow light. Words eluded him but not actions. He sat up in his chair and took your hand. You watched him as he leaned down and gently kissed the inside of your palm.

No matter how hard you tried to fight them, the tears forced back into your eyes. Jimin held your hand gently in his. A storm gathered behind his dark irises, but one not meant for you. For you, there was only adoration.

Taehyung

The traffic was insane. It was Saturday night and everyone was either going to a concert, a dinner, to the club or to the opera. You could barely convince your taxi driver to take you to the very heart of the city where the company was. He agreed to take you for extra money and you coincided, putting your company card to good use.

Your heart was beating madly as you waited for the elevator to reach the top. They didn't tell you what the emergency was over the phone and a part of you couldn't help but overthink that it was you who made a terrible mistake. You were dealing with important documents and even more important people every day.

Finally, the elevator opened and you immediately came face to face with a group of colleagues some from the legal departments, others from IT and cyber-security. None said a word but you could tell by the looks on their faces that nothing good had happened. One of them even pushed past you into the elevator and began to slam his hand at the button aggressively. You frowned at him but didn't bother getting into an argument.

Your boss's office had the lights on and the door was cracked open. Your heart in your throat and your palms clammy, you made your way to the office. You gently pushed the door open. Kim Taehyung was leaning his long arms against his desk, a glass of whiskey next to his hand. He could feel your gaze on him and looked up like the strike of a whip. The cold hard look in his eyes began to shatter as he took in your appearance.

"Is everything okay?" you asked carefully, not even knowing whether you really wanted to hear the answer. You clutched to your evening handbag and waited by the door.

By the look of your boss, he must have been one of those who went to the opera tonight. He wore a classic tuxedo but his bow tie was undone, his black jacket hanging over the armchair and the sleeves of his shirt rolled almost to his elbows.

"Come in, Ms Y/N," said your boss and stood up straight. He finished the contents of his crystal glass and gestured for you to take a seat. You did as he asked but when his eyes returned to you, a frown gathered on his face once again.

"What's wrong?" he asked just as you prepared yourself to be fired.

"I'm sorry?" you blurted, your eyes wide and your eyebrows raised.

"Were you somewhere important when you got the call?" your boss asked you as he measured your features. You stared him bewildered.

"I-I, no," you stuttered, caught completely by surprise.

"What is it then?" Taehyung insisted. His eyes were piercing you to the soul.

"I thought I was getting fired," you said at last although your statement sounded more like a question. Your boss stared at you.

"They told you you were getting fired?" he frowned even deeper as he took a seat at his desk.

"No, but I just presumed..." you shook your head and gestured towards the elevator. "I saw the cyber-security guys and they looked like... When I got the call, they said there was some sort of emergency, so..."

"You're not getting fired, Ms Y/N," said your boss. "I'm not firing the only competent person we've hired in years. I've called you to help me mend this crisis."

A soft blush crept to your cheeks at the compliment. Your chest lightened and you could finally think straight.

"I see," you licked your dry lips.

Your boss filled you in the disastrous leak of financial information caused by the IT department's negligence and in part to the legal team. The leak had to be contained as best as possible, which included preparing a statement for the press, calming down the partners involved and ensuring the minimal amount of consequences caused by this disaster.

You worked in his office together. It was much easier than shouting from one room to the other or even calling one another every few minutes. Taehyung was at his desk and you with a laptop on the sofa. You had taken off your heels, knowing full well you wouldn't leave for hours.

"Maybe you should do an interview," you suggested when you reached the part with the PR crisis.

Your boss rose his eyes to you, "I don't do interviews."

"I know, but this isn't wouldn't be a PR stunt or something, and I don't think a statement will be enough to calm down the press," you reasoned. "And it wouldn't be with just anyone. It should be with someone that has a lot of credibility."

Taehyung considered it. "Do you have anyone in mind?"

"Maybe Phia Park," you thought. She was one of the most prominent journalists at the national newspaper.

Your boss stood up and joined you on the sofa. He leaned against the headrest and closed his eyes. You hadn't noticed it before but up close you could tell he was dead tired.

"Alright," he nodded, his eyes still shut. "But I don't know how you're planning on getting through to her."

"I have her number!" you beamed, making Taehyung open his eyes. He sat up and leaned his arm along the headrest as he turned to you.

"I used to work with her for a little while," you explained. Even if it was just a part-time job during college, you did have Phia Park's contact.

"She's not as impressive as she looks," you leaned in and smiled, "But she does have a pretty good standing in the media."

"I'd say it's not easy for anyone to look impressive next to you," said your boss quietly, his gaze branded into you. Your eyes locked as a sharp breath hitched in your throat and your cheeks grew red.

"I don't know about that," you shook your head a little and smiled.

"I do," said Taehyung and the look in his eyes made sure you knew it too.

Jungkook

You got to the office as soon as you could but apparently it wasn't soon enough.

"What took you so long?" snapped your boss when you showed up in his office. He looked up from the documents scattered on his desk, a deep frown on his face. His eyes suddenly glided down your body and his breathing paused as his mouth parted slightly.

"I came as soon as I could," you protested, nearly out of breath from hurrying in heels out of all things. Clearly your evening wasn't the only one getting interrupted as you saw Jungkook in a pair of elegant black trousers and a crisp white shirt. His sleeves were rolled up almost to his elbows and exposed his tattoos whilst his suit jacket hung over one of the armchairs. Then you remembered his schedule - it was the banquet night.

"What happened?" you asked and came closer to the desk. There were so many documents you didn't even know where to look first but you surely recognized some of them.

Your boss briefed you on a major investor threatening to pull out of a deal on the grounds of some issues found in the contracts. The meeting was tomorrow followed by a classic Sunday lunch as you well-knew - you scheduled it. You didn't know how much help you would be, though, but you did as Mr Jeon asked. Each of you grabbed a stack of papers and a marker. He sat in his leather office chair and you settled on the sofa.

A part of you secretly hoped it was a minor crisis that would be solved in an hour at the latest and you could attend the dinner but the files in front of you were endless.

After an hour and hardly any work done you couldn't help but take off your heels. You massaged your sore feet with one hand and highlighted the text with the other. A pair of dark eyes fixed on you but when you looked at your boss, he simply leaned back in his chair and started working through another file.

Several hours and cups of coffee later you could barely see the letters anymore, much less read the sentences comprehensively. There were more than a dozen issues you and your boss found in the contracts that the legal team didn't notice.

"Why does this one look like it was made it AI?" you mumbled, now sitting on the floor and leaning your forearms against the coffee table. You looked at Jungkook, whose eyes were already following you. What you said actually made sense although at the same time the idea of his employees, particularly the legal branch, not doing their job properly filled your boss with rage that he managed to contain in his eyes for the time being.

You checked your wristwatch. It was coming on three in the morning.

"Somewhere you need to be?" asked your boss in a voice that was a mixture tiredness and curiosity. If you didn't know better, you could swear there was a hint of jealousy there too.

"Yes, seven hours ago," you said and leaned back against the foot of the sofa. You were done with your stack and he was revising what he had already read through.

Your eyes were soft and tired when you looked at your boss. He was tired as well no matter how much he tried to lead by example.

"Let me push the meeting - dinner maybe," you suggested and drew your boss's attention to you. He put down the documents. His gaze consumed you and made your heart beat faster but you were too tired to fight it.

"No," he said without blinking. He must have been the most stubborn man you have ever met.

You sighed and got up. You picked up your heels in one hand and the documents in the other before you walked to his desk where you set down the papers next to his.

"Am I allowed to go now?"

Jungkook stared at you, the wall in his dark eyes slowly breaking down. "Yes."

You nodded. You grabbed your purse and made for the door.

"Y/N," called your boss, making you turn around. There was a look on his face you had never seen before, a softness. "Thank you."

For a moment, you couldn't so much as breathe and your body grew weak all over. You stared at your boss and savored the gratitude in his words as well as his eyes.

"Of course," you smiled.

266 notes · View notes

lush-escape · 6 days ago

Text

This is Me Trying

Part 3

pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

a/n: I'm trying out a new formatting bc I'm old I think and the other format looks too smushed together. Anyway leave your thoughts, opinions, prayers ♡

prev: part 2

next: part 4

In an instant he's gone. Just as quickly as he showed up, Jason's tall imposing figure is leaving the kitchen like nothing ever happened. Like he didn't just knock some creep out with one sharp punch to the back of the head. There's a tingling in your stomach that you blame on the alcohol.

“W-wait!” You call out as you finally catch your bearings. You mindlessly step over the slumped body at your feet to chase after Jason. You need to say something to him after helping you out. Right?

His long legs carry him quickly through the house and you catch sight of his back down the hall. There are stares and whispers, some snickering, but your tunnel vision keeps you moving towards Jason.

“Wait! Jason!” You try again only to be met with silence. Damn him.

You push through the crowd, drink still in hand. You follow behind him until you're outside. The cold night air hits you and sends goosebumps down your arms. Jason's already down the stairs of the empty front porch. What the fuck.

“Jason!” Your tone is sharp. You're getting annoyed now after being brushed off so rudely. You're trying to say ‘thank you’, dammit, and he's making it impossible!

Again you're met with nothing.

That's it.

Your red solo cup meets the back of Jason's head and finally he stops. For a second you're relieved until the situation catches up to your foggy brain. You just threw a cup at a stranger’s head. Stranger? Acquaintance? You never even got the chance to properly introduce yourself. You're not even sure if he knows your name.

The small amount of liquid courage in your stomach gives you the strength, the audacity, to audibly sigh in relief.

“Finally,” you breathe out. You take one step at a time down the stairs until you're standing behind Jason.

“I'm trying to say ‘thank you',” your hands are on your hips, curled into defiant fists.

Silence.

You're half tempted to curse because, what is this guy's fucking problem? Didn't your friend say he was nice?

“For what?” You finally hear his rough voice speak out. He's crossing his arms and turning to face you now. Your stomach flutters again and you almost giggle at the scowl he's giving you. Right. He's pretty. So much so that your knees feel a little bit like Jell-O.

You're speechless for a split second. From the way his eyes narrow or the way he's playing dumb - you're not sure which is the cause yet. You blink twice before answering.

“F-for the kitchen..? Punching that creep for me?” You're almost questioning him and his memory. Did he forget? Is it not a big deal to him? He stares unblinking at you.

“S'not a big deal…” he mutters gruffly and oh how that nonchalance makes your skin tingle.

“I mean… it kind of is. Who knows what was in that drink he was trying to force feed me.” You scoff at the recollection. “I don't know a lot of people who would just- punch someone like that for being an asshole.”

Jason raises one dark eyebrow, “Sounds like a you problem.”

“Huh?”

“Find better people to know.” Because that clears everything up. You catch an eye roll that makes you narrow your own eyes in return.

“Stop hanging out with shitty people who won't put guys like that in their place. Simple.”

Except it's not.

“Right…” you respond a bit indignantly. “Because that's so easy to do in Gotham.” Your eyes roll and you cross your arms over your chest, almost mimicking Jason's own stance. You swear you see his lips quirk upwards. But just like before it's gone as quickly as it appears, making you question yourself.

“It is. Stop being friends with shitty people.” Jason remarks like it's as simple as snapping your fingers.

“I'm not friends with shitty people!” The offense you take to his retort mixes with defiance, your defenses up.

“Is that why you're so surprised about being defended? Protected? That's called being a decent person-”

“I'm just trying to say thank you! Jesus Christ.”

Jason snorts.

It's light and a little airy, bright and bubbly and it catches you off guard. It completely throws you and your attitude for a loop and you're not sure how to respond. So you don't. Instead you stare, and blink.

“You know, it's not polite to speak his name with such vitriol." There's a cocky smirk on his face now. Part of you wants to squish it off his face, the other part of you goes a bit boneless.

“What, you Catholic or something?” Now it's your turn to roll your eyes.

“Yeah,”

“Oh-” you say as you straighten. A small wave of guilt rolls through your chest before he's laughing again.

“I'm fucking with you.” You click your teeth at him. He's infuriating.

“I mean, I am. Non practicing though.”

“You-”

“Are an ass?” He finishes. The smug lopsided smile is still on his face. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

“I was going to say you're impossible, but that works too.”

There's a moment of silence between the two of you. Cars drive down the street, slow and careful of the party goers, the party still plays on in the house.

“Sorry…” you finally mutter and Jason tilts his head. “For-” there's an embarrassed warmth to your cheeks, “-throwing the cup at you.”

He nods once in understanding, slow and calm. “Don't worry about it. Not the worst thing that's been thrown at me.” He mutters the last part and now you're dying to know what's worse than a plastic cup full of cheap alcohol and juice.

You're starting to sober up in the cold air, being wrapped up in conversation with Jason, and you remember that your friend is still upstairs with Dick. Who was your ride. It's definitely going to be a long night.

“Anyway,” all of your attitude deflates, “thank you. Again. I know it was-” you begin before he can cut you off, “-’the decent thing to do’, but thank you.”

This time Jason doesn't snark back, he doesn't narrow his eyes, doesn't tell you to get new friends. Instead his shoulders lose their tension and he hums in quiet acknowledgement. He lets the silence settle before he clears his throat.

“Do you uh, want a lift home? Dick, he-” his cheeks turn a little pink as his eyes dart to the side, “He tends to… take a while. If you uh.. catch my drift.” he clears his throat again and you realize what he's talking about.

“Oh…. Oh. Ew.” you grimace at the thought. Part of you is jealous of your friend, the other part doesn't want to think about that right now. Not in front of Jason, Dick's brother.

Jason is snorting at your reaction.

“Yeah. Ew.” He agrees.

You shake your head with a scrunch of your nose before you answer. “Um, it's okay. You really don't have to.”

“C'mon, I'm offering. I wouldn't offer if I didn't want to.”

“I dunno…” you trail off playfully, a crooked smile tugs at your lips. “My parents always said don't get in stranger's cars.”

“It's a bike, not a car. Loophole.” Jason shrugs.

“That’s fair. They never said "don't get on stranger's motorcycles”.”

Jason gestures for you to follow him before he's turning around to walk towards his bike. Heavy boots hit the pavement of the sidewalk and, with a giddy feeling in your stomach, your steps follow behind him.

“Ever been on one?” He asks as you text your friend that you've found a ride home.

“Hm? No. Not once.” You smile at him which earns a teasing shake of his head.

As Jason goes over basic backpacking instructions he does his best to fit his helmet to your head.

“Didn't bring an extra,” his voice is deep as he concentrates on tightening the helmet without hurting you. “This'll keep ya safe for now.”

“What about you?”

He thinks it's cute how you're concerned about him. “I'll be alright.” He places a large palm on the top of the helmet and you feel like a kid. You huff and roll your eyes behind the dark visor.

He doesn't mention how hot he thinks your look in his helmet.

With a curt nod he settles himself onto his bike and starts the engine. He's trying to get over the twisting in his gut, the tight feeling in his chest every time you make eye contact with him. He already tried brushing you off, being rude from the second he met you earlier that night at the race, but there was something about you that drew him in.

You feel reckless in a way. Accepting a ride on a motorcycle from a stranger. Yet Jason had an air about him, something that told you that you could trust him.

Your apartment building was quiet when you arrived. Only a few lights were on but other than that the street was dead quiet. Jason parks his bike right at the front of the entrance. He wouldn't even let you take his helmet off once you climbed off the bike, insisting he did it himself.

“Thanks for the ride,” Your voice comes out quiet on the empty street as if you're afraid that if you talk too loudly you'd wake the neighborhood. Jason simply nods.

“Again. Bare minimum.”

You don't even try to argue this time, instead smiling. There's an awkward pause.

“I'll see you around?”

“More’n likely.” He responds. With a warm hum you walk to the front of your building's lobby but it's still eerily silent. You turn your head to look at Jason over your shoulder and he's sitting on his bike, watching, and you realize he's waiting for you to get inside safely.

“Bare minimum?”

“Bare minimum.” He calls back and you can hear the smile on his voice despite not being able to see it with his helmet on. Your stomach flutters like a giddy little girl again.

taglist: @theendofthematerialgworl

#jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #lizzy writes

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etherealrin · 5 months ago

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๋࣭ ⭑ four letters.

there is only one thing in the world that can terrify the emperor known as michael kaiser. it contains four letters. it’s a word, an idea, a symbol—some might even call it the crux of humanity. yet kaiser tries to scoff and dismiss it when it becomes inevitably mentioned; no, it wasn’t real, it was just a product of fairy tales. ironically, it’s also the one thing he yearns for above all else, placed before his ambition towards football. perhaps it’s because he’s lived so long devoid of it. he doesn’t know what form it should take, what it should feel like, nor where it might come from.

kaiser’s aware that there’s something missing at his core, something stolen from him so many years ago that he doubts if he ever had it to begin with. but when he thinks about those four letters, which he knows is the answer, all he’s met with is an icy chill. it’s the cold gusts of wind which blew through the cracks the walls that haunted his nights spent in hell on earth. it’s the numbness of his limbs and heart after being beat again and again for a crime he never committed. it’s the emptiness of a house he had never considered his home, lifeless although two people lived in it. it’s the sharp sting of broken glass shards littered on the dusty floor, which cut at his feet as he walked shakily towards the front door, leaving but never able to escape. it’s the sleepless nights that a younger kaiser had spent tossing and turning, staring into the dark sky, vowing to himself that the day michael kaiser became a human, he would find those four letters.

beneath the cocky facade and confidence, kaiser is frozen petrified. he’s scared what he’s chasing after is his blue rose; something that doesn’t exist naturally, something impossible for him to obtain. despite standing for making the unimaginable a reality, kaiser isn’t so sure about this one. he’s been conditioned to believe he wasn’t worthy, that he was a consequence, since the day he was born. more than anything, kaiser’s scared that his shitty excuse for a father was right—that no one would ever truly love him.

love; the greatest curse. something that kaiser had only dreamed of. he needs as much as he fears it.

so it’s music to his ears: a whole damn symphony, and so much more than pure ecstasy when those four letters tumble out of your lips. it’s only your warmth that can melt away his frost; it’s only you who can see and love him for everything and nothing. those four letters, once an idea incomprehensible to him, weren’t horrifying anymore. they stop feeling frigid, stop invoking memories he wishes he could erase. when kaiser thinks about the four letters spelling “l-o-v-e” now, he doesn’t see the scared little boy staining a soccer ball with his endless tears; he sees the boy that you love, one that’s braved through every trial and hardship possible, one that turned dreams into reality.

a/n: word vomit again who else cheered! kaiser backstory actually makes more than a few tears fall from my eyes icl…came to me at 12 am i really should have gone to sleep

masterlist.

#he just needs a hug #ness doesn’t count sorry #male manipulator core but its okay because kaiser bbg #kaiser x reader #michael kaiser #kaiser blue lock #blue lock #kaiser x you #blue lock michael kaiser #blue lock angst #michael kaiser x reader #blue lock x you #bllk x reader #bllk x you #blue lock x reader #想 ; tiff thinks too much #王 ; kaiser x reader

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slimybeth69 · 6 months ago

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Touch: Part 2

Din x f!reader 18+ MDNI

Summary: The Mandalorian thinks you're an incredible artist and he just loves your doodles so much that he couldn't stop himself from doing what he does. He makes up for it though.

a/n: I know so very little about the Star Wars universe. I dunno shit about fuck when it comes to planets and ships and how things work. You'll see what I mean in later chapters, but I'm just warning you that I make a bunch of shit up, and am probably entirely incorrect about some of the things I may talk about in this chapter or upcoming chapters. I'M SORRY. I JUST LOVE THAT HELMETED MAN AND HIS GREEN CHILD, OK???

unbeta'd, poorly proofread because of my AHDH

Mando was gone when you woke up the next morning. Bed empty. Left you wondering if it was all a dream. He’s gone.

With your notebook.

It’s gone too. Nowhere to be found. At your own expense, you tore the ship apart looking for it but you can’t find it anywhere. The child loved this game. He helped massively.

Maker.

What is he doing with it? Why does he still have it?

You think you know the answers to all those questions but you’re still freaking out a little. Mostly because he has it.

Really it’s because now you’re stuck with nothing to do besides stare at the child. Which you’re currently doing. Just staring at him. And his big eyes and ears. Little robe. Where’d he get that little robe? You should make him a new one. Ask Mando to buy fabric and sew him a new one.

He’s so cute. You pick him up and carry him outside so you can lay in the warm sun together. He does, for a while. Snuggles beside you and then moves to your head and plays with your hair. You make him a flower crown.

You don’t know where you are. You stopped asking Mando. Stopped caring, mostly when he made you stay with the ship. He brought you everything you needed. You had to stay with the child. Something about a fire and the ship being at risk if the kids left alone for too long. You don’t know. You didn’t care then but now you’re bored. And your mind is wandering.

The kid just stares back at you.

“I know. I’m bored too.” You say to the child, he responds in little baby coos and warbles. He looks at something on the ground by his feet and picks it up. He inspects it for a long time and then looks between you and the object in his clawed fingers. Then he holds it up to you to take from him. You do, and you inspect it as well.

It’s a dead bug.

“Thank you...so much .” You gently set the dead bug down next to you. The child goes searching for more; he thinks you love your gift. You must want more. So he goes to find you as many as he can. You end up with a little pile of dead bugs and leaves and pebbles next to you.

You think you love the child and that's weird to you. Because it's a baby and you don’t normally like babies. But he’s not like any baby you’ve ever met before and you think about what’ll happen when Mando doesn’t need you anymore. It actually knocks the air out of your lungs.

Impossible.

Unthinkable.

You didn’t really plan for this. To get attached to the child.

It just happened one day. Now it’s your child. You’d do just about anything for the lil’ green squirt.

But he’s also not your child. He’s Mando’s. Don’t forget that. It’s his kid.

Mando was gone for two days before you saw him again. When he did return the child was already asleep. But you were still outside looking up at the stars around the fire.

“I told you not to–” A voice rings out in the darkness and you nearly fall into the fire. You move so fast you almost stumble right into it trying to get away from the voice behind you but there’s a strong hand on your shoulder and stops you from moving.

“What the-” You place a hand over your heart and pant softly. “Why!?” You shout, pushing his hand away. “Always! With the shaking me and scaring me in the dark!” You snap.

“I still didn’t shake you.” His helmet is tilted down to look at you. “Do you need me to define the word shake to you?”

All you can do is blink at him.

“Where is my notebook!?” You point a finger at him accusingly and attempt to leer at him. “I thought you’d put it back when you were done.” You say with contempt because you really did think he was going to put it away.

But really, if you’re going to be honest with yourself, the last two nights have been you laying in his bed thinking about what he’s doing with your notebook. And you’re doing the same thing he you hope he’s doing. And you can smell him on his sheets. It’s his natural muskiness and it’s amazing. You fall asleep when you’re done cradling them to your face just to try and be close to him. And he wasn’t even the one who made you come that night together. You did it yourself! You cannot stop thinking about it though. Not at all. It’s the only thing you’ve thought about besides keeping the child alive.

“I took it with me. I also told you not to be outside after dark when I’m not here.” He said it sternly, like he did when you made mistakes.

You could hit him. Maker, you could. You think about how the beskar would feel on your dainty- has never seen any sort of forced punch– fist. Also, he’s got a lot of weapons in there. And the Amban on his back. So you decide that in his best interest, you shouldn’t hit him.

“Well, it’s a good thing you're here, isn’t it?” You snip at him. He shakes his head.

Mando stares at you for a long time. Saying nothing like always. Maker please, make him speak.

“I got you something.” He says quietly from behind the modulator.

What was that Maker? Huh? What’s a notebook? I’ve never seen a–

“You what?” You ask, stunned. Because he’s barely said a total of twenty non mean words to you this whole time before two nights ago and now he’s getting you gifts? As in something you didn’t tell him you needed and he got it with credits you gave him for it? You know, because he doesn’t let you go anywhere.

“Here.” He says, pulling something out from underneath his cape, maybe stuffed into a pocket or a bag, you dunno, but he pulls out another notebook. Not your notebook. But another one. A new one. There's a new charcoal for you as well.

You take it from his outstretched hand and stare at it for a long time. You’re the silent one now.

“Do you like it?” Mando asks after a few quiet moments. You nod, unable to really find the words for how you feel about it. He watches you, looking at your gift and stands by the fire with you.

“Thank you.” You finally look up at him. He’s got his head tilted down at you still.

“You’re welcome.” Said so simply like he didn’t just make the last two days so lonely and bori– Hold on one Maker loving minute.

“Where's my other notebook though!?” You ask suddenly. There is no alarm in your voice, just curiosity, because now you kind of like the idea of him carrying it on him while he travels without you.

Mando’s head turns away from you, like he’s observing your guys’ surroundings so intently.

“Mando.” You drop your head to look at him through your lashes.

He doesn’t say anything, he’s staring up now and then points his finger up to the sky.

“Do you see that star-” He starts.

You groan in frustration, closing your eyes and putting your forehead in your hand.

“Did you lose it?” You ask after a minute. “I won’t really be that upset if–”

“I didn’t lose it.” He’s offended. “I can keep things safe.” He responds quickly. You blink at him. “I keep the child safe. You.” He motions to you with an up and down gesture.

“First– give me some credit for keeping the child safe.” You’re still looking up at him. “Did you know that he jumped into that river over there–” You point behind you. “Did it two times. He cannot swim. I had to go in after he started floating downstream! I’m here with him all the time. Every waking and sleeping second. I’m not saying you don’t keep us safe.” You hold your hands up. “I don’t really know what you do when you leave us here in these fields or deserts. I really dunno, but I’m sure it is keeping us both very safe. Second– You still have the doodles then?” He nods at you. “Can I have them back please?” He shakes his head from side to side.

Oh Maker ! Is this what I get for doodling? Is this my punishment?

“I’d like to keep it.” Garbled modulated voice from underneath the helmet says so casually. Like he didn’t steal it out of your bag. Like you let him give it a test run to see if he’d like it and now he does and wants to keep it. “That's why I got you the new one.” He’s trying to justify it, funny.

You look at him with disdain.

“I’ve upset you?” He asks curiously. “You’re…”

“I’m just really disappointed in you.” You shake your head at him. You��re not as disappointed in him as you’re saying, you’re just saying that because he’s just being really cute right now but you’re not gonna let him know that. “What do you want it for so bad anyway? Gonna rub the charcoal all off it the way you’ve probably been touching it.” You snap at him.

“I looked at it while I was gone.” He says. “I thought of you.”

Okay . He can keep the notebook. He can have it. Because he was thinking about you while he was gone and you wonder what else he was doing while he was thinking of you, looking at it.

He finally sits down next to the fire with you, not close but he sits, and lets out a loud sigh as he leans against the log behind him.

“Did you have a rough day?” You ask quietly. He shrugs and picks at something on his beskar. When he does that it reminds you of the child.

“The child got all these dead bugs and gave them to me the other day. Like all the dead bugs he could find. He didn’t try to eat them or anything. Just gave them to me like they were a gift.” You chuckle nervously.

“I hope you like mine more than his.” He looks over at you.

“It’s a close one. I won’t lie.” You smirk at him and wonder if he’s smirking back at you.

“So, can you ever take it off?” You motion towards his helmet. He touches it gently with his fingers. “You kept it on in the complete darkness the other night.”

“I can. No one can see my face though.” He explains carefully. “I kept it on to see you. I like to look at you sometimes.”

“Wh-what?” It’s like the breath got knocked out of you.

“My religion. It’s a part of the creed I was sworn into.” He explains the helmet.

“ Sometimes ?” You raise an eyebrow. “You’ve done it before?”

He looks away from you.

“I’m ashamed of it. But yes. I can’t help it.” He’s still looking away from you, into the woods on the far side of the field and you wonder what he can see over there that you can’t.

You think for a long time, a lot of different thoughts running through your head.

“What happens if someone were to see you?” You ask, changing the subject because you decide you’re not mad about it. Mando looks back at you.

“I wouldn’t be able to put it back on.” He explains. “I’d be banned from my creed.”

Oh. That’s serious. You don’t know as much about Mandalore as you thought you did.

“And that would make you upset?” You’re curious and he’s chatty.

“I’d be…” He trails off again. “ Disappointed .”

You know he’d be more than disappointed but that’s the word he chose, so, you roll with it.

“Then let's not have that happen. No one likes a disappointed Mando.” You tease, reaching out and he lets you touch your foot to his with a gentle tap. He doesn’t pull away, not even after he sees what you’re doing.

“Especially you. What’s the ship look like?” He tilts his head down as if he was looking at you through his eyelashes.

“Clean. Surprisingly.” You snap. “ Someone took my only form of distraction so I actually had to do something today to not die of boredom.” You explain sassily.

“So I should keep the new one too then?” He teases you.

“Please Maker no.” You grip the notebook to your chest. “I need it.”

Then he snorts or laughs or something. But it is the sound of air being exhaled at force through his nose and it's loud enough to register in the modulator. Your head snaps over to him. “Did I just make you laugh?” You’re stunned.

It's been so long since you’ve spoken to someone who wasn’t green or Mando himself that you’ve completely forgotten how to talk to people apparently, because you can’t think of another time in your entire life that you’ve asked someone if you’ve made them laugh.

Okay. It’s not common that the person you're trying to make laugh has a helmet and face visor on, but still. What a weird question to ask.

“Maybe.”

Now we're back to the short simple responses and you have an idea. A scary one, but an idea.

“Would you like to know what I did while you were gone? Besides, swimming after the child and cleaning and being bored?”

The reason you’re nervous is because you don’t know how he’s going to react. At all. He could hate what you’re about to tell him, he’s so particular and he can be a little abrasive sometimes, so yeah, kinda nervous.

“I would.” He’s still looking at you.

Okay, he’s on the hook and now we just have to reel him in. You lean one elbow on the log behind you and turn to him.

“I slept in your bed.” You say it quickly to see how he reacts.

He doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak.

“Do you– you sleep on the floor when I’m not here?” He asks, shocked.

Now you’ve completely forgotten what else you were going to say because you could have been sleeping there the whole time? And you’ve been sleeping on the paper thin mat instead when the bed has been empty.

You blink at him.

“Don’t do that anymore. Use my bed when I’m gone.”

You keep blinking at him.

“You didn’t think to tell me that?” You’ve been distracted from your original point.

“I thought it was obvious.”

This makes your eye twitch softly.

“Okay.” Because it wasn’t really obvious. He’s yelled at you every day he’s been here except for the night. So why would he want you in his bed?

“Is that all? Was that supposed to make me laugh?” He asks. You stare at him.

“No. It wasn’t. But now I’m mad and I don’t want to tell you anymore.”

“Tell me.” He says it softly but the modulator messes it all up and you don’t get his real softness. You might never get it. Probably won't.

“I touched myself thinking about you touching yourself looking at my notebook.” It comes out way less sensual and sexy than you had planned on saying it but it does the job. He gasps softly but loud enough to register.

“You did?” His voice changed immediately to being filled with awe and excitement rather than just sounding like he was putting up with you.

You nod at him, softening slightly because you like when he talks to you this way. Nicely and sweetly.

“D-did it g-get..” He pauses. “Did it get wet?”

You nod.

“Maker.” He sighs. You can’t help but smirk.

“How many times? Please tell me.” He’s leaned in, apprehensive of what you have to say.

“Four.” You sigh at him. “Twice a night. I couldn’t sleep unt-”

“Would you do it again for me tonight?” He interrupts you. “Twice. Please.”

“Okay.”

You barely have time to think about what’s going to happen before Mando is up on his feet, holding his hand out to you. You stare up at him for a moment, not recognizing the gesture especially from him. You place your hand in his eventually and he pulls you to your feet. Then, he holds your hand as you begin to walk inside.

“Are there rules about..” You trail off as you get to the ship's entrance. You stop walking. “Are you not allowed to, you know, touch me like that?” You ask as he turns to see why you’ve stopped.

“No.” He says quietly now that you’re both within earshot of the child again.

“So why don’t you help me tonight?” You ask hesitantly unsure of how he’ll react. He takes a step towards you so fast you take a step back in fear but he pulls you into him gently.

“You’d let me? Really?” He asks, surprised, like you weren’t just splayed out at his request a couple nights ago.

Yes?” You say confused. “Why do you think I said yes the other night?” Mando doesn’t speak. For so long. Again with the silence Maker.

“I don’t know.”

“You’re impossible. Do you know that?” You ask, rolling your eyes at him.

“I’ll help.” He says, taking a step backward onto the ramp of the ship. “I can do more than help, too. If you’d let me.”

“Let you? Like I don’t want it either.” You chuckle to yourself.

“You really thought about it? About me?” He asks in a hushed whisper as you walk into the ship and you place your new gift in a cupboard high enough that the child can't reach. Once you’re fully into the hull he shuts everything up. You’re starting to undress, Mando has disappeared somehow, he was just in front of you, and you turned to check on the child and now he’s gone. The ship goes completely dark, just like the other night and you’re plunged into the void once again.

“Mando.” You whisper into the abyss. “Mando I don’t like wh-” But you feel his hands.

You didn’t even hear him walk to you, only feeling his hands on your waist. Mando slips two fingers behind the button of your pants and then with his thumb, pops it open. You can’t even comprehend how he did that before his touch is gone again.

“Do you have to keep the beskar on all the time?” You whisper. He’s disappeared from touching you so you start to unbutton the front of your shirt. But then his un-gloved hands move yours away.

“Do you think I sleep in it?” He teases from behind the modulator.

“Yeah, kinda.” You respond honestly because why would you not think that? You’ve never even seen Mandos' wrist or ankle. To you, his beskar may as well be a part of him. Something he physically cannot remove.

He does the laugh again.

“Do you want me to take it off?” He asks after a moment of silence. He’s undoing your buttons so slowly.

“If you take it off, am I– am I allowed to touch you?” He doesn’t respond but he’s finally got all your buttons undone and now he’s sliding his hands where your shirt opens in the middle and he’s sliding the flat of his palm across the skin just below your breasts. He groans softly.

“You want to t-touch me?” He asks, like he cannot believe that you’d want to do that.

“Yes!” It’s louder than you intended. You put your hands over your mouth because the child is close by. “Yes. You don’t want to just touch each other?” You whisper now.

“No.” He says quickly. “I me– I mean yes. But I want to watch you too. I like doing that. You’re very– v-very… You know how you like to be touched. I want you to show me.” The raspiness of his modulated voice is making your knees weak.

“Okay.” Is all you can come up with; it’s your favorite word apparently. You wonder if Mando can sense that all the thoughts in your brain just leave when he says things like that to you.

You hear the soft metal clicks of something being set on the floor beside you and now, your heart is racing. He’s a real person under his armor and cape and helmet and you’re about to touch him. Standing in the dark waiting for Mando to disarm himself for you. Your heart is pounding out of your chest, you’re sure that Mando can hear it or he probably had a sensor for it in his helmet, since it’s so useful to him all the damn time.

“Touch.” He whispers. You hesitantly reach your hands into the darkness and your fingers brush up against the hottest skin you’ve ever touched. It’s like he’s being incubated inside the beskar. So warm. So… strong . His skin is soft on your fingertips but he’s got muscles under there. You can feel them. You press into him, making sure he’s real because this has got to be a dream.

“Wow.” You manage to whisper in awe into the dark. You’re impressed with how he feels behind your hands, yes, so impressed it’s making your legs tingle again. It’s also nice to feel another person against you again. He’s so inviting now that his armor is off. Now that he’s exposed it’s like a different person is standing in front of you.

You press the flat of your palm against his sides, feeling his ribcage against your hands. Fingers still pressed tightly against his flesh so you can feel him.

He’s breathing heavily and you’re so close you can hear him under the modulator.

“You want to keep that on?” You ask, looking up to where the breathing is coming from. He says nothing. “It’s okay if you do, I just wanna make sure you’re comfortable.” You snake your hands around his waist and run them up the length of his back and he’s got even more rock hard muscles back there, Maker, how? He’s like one big rock hard bag of muscles and it’s incredible to feel his strength under your hands this way.

“I’d prefer to see you.”

You’re pressing your own naked body against his now, the hard peak of your breasts press against him and you feel him shiver against you.

“I like looking at you.” He rasps quietly. His hands touch you. Really touch you. His flat palms are running down your sides. He started up under your arm and is slowly dragging his hands down your waist and sides. Mapping you out. Taking in every inch of you.

“I like when you touch me.” You whisper. When you speak, he presses the tips of each finger into your flesh and gropes you gently.

Maker, the strength behind his touch is almost debilitating. It’s incredible and you feel bad for anyone he’s ever put his hands on in any way that isn’t this because he’s holding back for you. You can feel it, in the tenseness of his arms as your hands now explore his forearms and biceps and triceps. Mando is so tense he’s almost shaking. Like he’s desperately holding back from just grabbing you, tossing you on the bed and not listening or watching you like before.

You’re obsessed with it, the way he’s breathing while he’s touching and exploring your body. It’s staggered and sometimes, when his hands will roam across your ass or your breasts, he’ll gasp softly like he was surprised. You wish on everything that was good, Maker, that he’d just take the helmet off. You’d do anything to just feel the warmth of his mouth where his hands are right now.

Mando takes both of his hands and lifts you right below your bottom, and lifts so your feet are just barely touching the floor. You have to hold onto his shoulders to keep from falling and your whole body presses into him for support. Mando sighs softly into your ear from behind the modulator before he starts to walk you backwards. You're on just the tips of your toes and you let him guide you to his bed.

It's not much better than the mat. But it's off the floor and has a little more padding. And the blankets, oh Maker, the blankets are so soft. You’ve slept in them naked the past two nights because they’re the most beautiful feeling on your skin while you twist and turn in your sleep.

Now, Mando is laying you down on top of them. As he lays you down, he kicks either one of your knees open with his so he can kneel between them, he’s still leaning you back, moving one hand to behind your neck so you don’t fall.

“I like this better than the doodles .” He says as you finally lay back, his hand slides from behind your neck and over your collar bone slowly. He snakes it around your fleshy mound and between your breasts, still pressed flat against you. “S-so much better.” It’s a sigh through the modulator but you can tell he’s watching his hand trail down between your breasts and over your stomach.

“You can look whenever you want.” You tell him breathlessly as his hand moves across your stomach. His index finger traces over your bellybutton so lightly it almost tickles but this is too erotic to be laughing and squirming from tickles. You are squirming but it’s because he’s still tracing over your belly button but his other hand has found where your thigh meets your hip. Now he’s touching you so close to where you want to be touched but his fingers trace across your lower stomach and he sighs again.

“Do you mean it?” His raspy modulator makes you jump because he’s been quiet for so long. You forgot what you said, it's been so long. He’s been teasing you with his fingers like this for what feels like twenty minutes.

“Mean what?” You sigh as the back of his hand grazes over your slit. You’re already soaked. If you could think about anything besides how fucking hot this was, you’d be a little embarassed getting to excited for someone who hasn’t even kissed you.

“I can look whenever?” Mando rests the back of his hand against you and pushes his middle finger into your slit. “Because I would like to. I’d look all the time.” His finger is pushing against your clit gently and it’s sending blaster beams through you.

“Yes. I m-meant it.” You gasp softly into the dark. The heat of his hand feels like it’s going to burn right through you.

Mando flips his hand around and cups your sex and pushes. The pressure from your own fold and his hand make you moan softly. Now he massages you, slowly and you assume he watches as he makes you squirm again. You suppress another moan as he increases his pressure and almost pushes you back a little, his massaging getting a little fast.

“I like watching you try and hold back.” His raspy voice behind the modulator scares you again in the dark after a bout of silence and slow crescendoed increases in his speed of his rubbing. Then he pulls his hands away. You snap your knees up to trap him so he can’t leave and you feel his naked body against your inner thighs and it makes you sigh softly because he is so warm and so inviting as his hands find your legs. He’s gripping you.

“Don’t leave.” You whine, squeezing him tighter between your legs. You hear him chuckle, a real chuckle and his hands relax and he slides them up to your middle.

“How could I? You’ve ensnared me.” And then his hands slide up your waist and you can feel him leaning over you. “I won’t leave. Not now.” He whispers to you, his hands now just under your breasts. “I have to touch you.” Mando’s hands slide across your fleshy mounds and he gropes them gently in his palms. Squeezing them. “P-perfect.’

“Don’t stop.” You reach up and place your hands on top of his and make him squeeze them harder. “F-feels so good, Mando.” One of your nipples slips between his fingers and he pinches it unknowingly as he gropes and massages. He’s following your lead, feeling the pressure you put on his hands and he mirrors it. “Sss- so- oh shit, Mando.”

Mando has pressed his erection against your slit, but not inside. You feel the length of him pressed between your legs.

“Fuck.” He groans through the modulator. “You’re s-so wet already.” The cold metal of the helmet is on your shoulder. “Fuck.” He moves now, slowly and his entire length moves between your folds, the ridges and veins of him moving against your clit. Your hands are still holding his to your chest. “You’re exquisite.” He rasps into your ear quietly.

“O-oh M-maker.” You moan softly but he pulls away from you, his entire body jerks back.

“No.” He exhales loudly. “I want to watch you, first.” Like he just remembered that’s what you came here for originally.

You’re a mess below him and before he can even finish speaking your hands are in between your legs. You’re working yourself in every way you can for him, if he wants to watch you’re going to give him a show.

Quickly and easily you have two fingers inside you curling and uncurling against your wetness and your other hand is spinning tight circles around your clit. It’s so sensitive it’s not going to take long to get you there. You hear him moan softly in the darkness and his hand holds on to one of your knees that are still resting by his side.

“Yes, oh y-yes. Little one, d-does that feel good?” He coos down to you. You hear him speak and your fingers are working faster. They’re trying hard to make him want to touch you again.

“Yes, so g-good.” You moan, the circles getting tighter as he continues to speak down to you.

“Keep going, little one. I’ve been thinking about the sounds you make when you do it.” He grips your knee a little tighter and with the other hand pushes your legs open a little further. “S-so lovely.”

And then you give him what he’s been waiting for. It starts in your toes this time and you curl them, pressing your feet hard into the bed as your hips lift– either to let him see better or because the feeling is just so fucking good that it’s making you levitate– and he sighs loudly.

The wetness between your legs and your little choked sobs of bliss are the only sounds in the ship as you come with him kneeling before you. Mando’s grip on your knees tightens as your fingers continue to move around your clit and curl inside of you. He’s listening and watching and you love it. It makes you come harder.

“Mando.” You whimper softly. You wish you could see him. “Fuck.” It’s a strained through another gasp of pleasure.

“Can I touch it?” He asks so politely. You nod, panting and letting your head fall back again after looking up into the darkness for him.

Mando’s fingers leave one of your knees and he’s at your entrance. He’s pushing two fingers into you gently and then he pulls away. He does it several more times before you realize what he’s doing.

“You taste so good.” He whispers but the rasp of his modulator is gone and it’s just a man speaking to you now in the dark. Your heart almost explodes in your chest because it’s exactly what you imagined it would sound like. You try to keep your composure. Then you feel his hands on the back of your thighs and the warm breath – oh Maker it’s so warm– your lower stomach.

Mando is kissing you. He’s trailing kisses along your stomach and stops at your belly button. He kisses it gently and trails his tongue around the outside of it like he had earlier with his fingers. You’re trembling, biting your lip and clenching your fists to your sides because this is the most incredible non orgasm feeling you’ve ever felt and Mando is the one doing it to you.

His tongue traces your belly button as his hands trail up the back of your thighs and find the bend in your knee. He pushes your legs up gently and the tip of his tongue dips into your belly button for just a moment before he’s planting kisses down your stomach.

“Much b-better than just w-w-watching, huuh?” You stumble out as he bites and nips at the skin on your inner thighs.

“If I can make you do what you did, yes.” Then his mouth is on you. Theres no hesitation, no teasing. Just his lips pressed against your slit and he’s parting you with his tongue.

“Oh.” You weren’t expecting it. Everything’s had such a big build up that you were expecting this to go on until the sun came up but he’s licking and lapping at your still sensitive clit.

“You,” He whispers against your slit. “-taste incredible.”

“Can I touch your hair?” You pant. Your hands have been searching for something to hold onto and grasp and tug at in pleasure but you’ve been too nervous to touch him anywhere since he took his helmet off.

Mando is quiet for a long time and he’s stopped licking you. He’s still holding your knees up to your chest.

“It’s okay if I can’t, I just wanted-” You start rambling nervously into the dark because you’re scared he’s gonna back away and tell you to go sleep on your mat on the floor.

“I think that’d be okay.” He says after so painstakingly long. You sigh and let your head fall back again in relief.

Tentatively you reach for him, unsure of where he is in the dark. Your hand brushes his shoulder and you rest your fingers against him and trail them up his neck. His hair is thick and coarse and you just know it’s dark hair. You can feel it in your soul as your fingers curl in it.

As your fingers find their grip, he goes back to licking you. He has no real meaning behind his movements with his tongue. You’re semi disappointed but you come to realize that he’s exploring. Mando wants to know every inch of you and he’s taking his time.

His hair feels so good between your fingers. You pull and tug on it gently every time he presses the flat of his tongue against you and slides upwards. He’s licking you like you are his sweet treat, his dessert.

“I like that.” He says suddenly. You’ve been laying on your back, you moved one of your feet to his shoulder and have his hands tangled in hair still. He’s been lapping at you leisurely for an unknown amount of time. You haven't complained at all, it’s heavenly, Maker, heavenly.

“What?” You ask breathlessly. You care what he likes but you wish he would keep his mouth on you. You never want him to stop. It’s incredible how thorough he is with his tongue.

“Your hands. In my hair.” He’s back to your middle now but there’s meaning behind his movements now, like your voice ignited something in him, maybe, you don’t care. You let your head fall back and your grip tightens in his hair again and you push him against you gently, letting him know you need him there.

Mando loves it, he lets you know he loves it by increasing those perfect circles around your clit and then he moans. That moan sends vibrations through you that you didn’t know were possible. They’re head spinning.

This is when he decides it’s a good time to add two fingers into the mix. He pushes his ring and middle fingers into you while his tongue swirls quickly. Instead of curling his fingers, he angles them upwards slightly and then pulls them back out and drags the pads of them along the spot inside you.

You arch your back and tug at his hair harder because this is the best feeling, this right here. You’ve never been able to make yourself feel this way. You didn’t even think pleasure like this way possible.

“Mando.” You whimper quietly.

“Din.” He moans against you. You’re so confused because what’s a Din? Why is he saying that.

“What?” You ask in bliss filled confusion. “What did you say?” You lift your head to look up at him but it’s still dark and you can’t see.

“Say Din. It’s my name.” His tongue is back on you and your head falls back and you can’t even be excited that he’s just told you his name because his fingers, Maker, his fingers.

They’re thrusting into you; hard enough to make you shake every time he drives them forward and his tongue hasn’t stopped moving in just the perfect way.

“Din.” You whimper and clench your eyes shut. Your fingers are gripped so tightly in his hair you’re sure you’ll still have some in between your knuckles when he’s done. “Din. P-please don’t stop.” You have to whisper but you’re holding back a moan that would wake the child and you’re just so desperate for release that you’d die from frustration if the child did wake up.

Din’s fingers move faster, he knows, he’s so ready to feel you come on him that he’s panting against your clit as he laps at you.

“Ohh Din.” It’s drawn out in a long moan whisper as you feel it wash over you. This time it’s radiating out of you from your middle and your hips start to rock against his mouth– they’ve been still this whole time– but this orgasm makes you pitch and reel against him because it’s just so fucking good. It’s mind numbing. One hand leaves his hair because you need to cover your mouth and nose to stop from moaning.

Din doesn’t stop, he keeps going as your walls contract and restrict against his fingers. It’s making him work harder and his tongue is lashing against you because the feeling of you gushing against his hand is a new feeling to both of you.

“Fuck, Din.” You whimper as the sensation now becomes too much. You twitch with every touch of his tongue and your legs clamp around his head in disapproval of his touch.

Din doesn’t move for a couple seconds and then, from muffled between your legs you hear him.

“You’ve ensnared me… again.” You laugh because you really have. You open your legs and he leans up and kisses along your stomach. “Can I do what we did the other night?” He asks impatiently.

“You don’t want my help?” You inquire knowingly. He says nothing back but you hear him, hear his fist on himself and then he’s stealing your wetness to do it.

“N-no.” He grunts out softly. “No, lay back. P-please. Lay back.”

You do. But you feel weird about it. Like does he not want you to touch him? He seemed excited when you said you wanted to touch him earlier but he’s being different now. You lay there, legs still bent at the knee and spread around Din’s body.

He slips his hands between your legs to take more of your wetness.

“Th-th-this is what I-I thought about.” He groans out quietly but the modulation is back. “I want to w-watch and-and I–” But he cuts himself off and you hear him moan quietly. Then he’s leaning over you again, you feel his hand rest beside your head. You reach up and wrap your hand around his wrist gently while he comes on your belly. “So good. It’s so good, Little one.” And then he’s resting the cool metal of the helmet against your shoulder. He rests there for a while, letting you keep your hand on his wrist.

You grab his hand when he pulls away and bring the tips of his fingers to your lips and kiss them softly.

“Let me next time.” You whisper and slip one of his fingers into your mouth and swirl your tongue around it gently. “Can you see this?” You ask with the tip of his finger between his lips. He says nothing but you can hear his modulated breathing still.

“Yes.” He says softly. “Let me clean you up.” He says, but he doesn’t pull his hand away.

“Feed it to me.” You say, licking the tops of his fingers gently.

“Wh-what?” He stutters at your question.

“Let me taste you, feed it to me.” Your tongue and lips are still teasing his fingers and with his other hand you feel him swirl two fingers in the pool he shot into your belly button. He brings them to your mouth and you move your mouth to those fingers instead. He moves his saliva coated fingers down to your stomach and picks up more of himself on that hand and puts them into your mouth when you pull away from his other hand. He does that until there’s nothing left. Neither of you say anything the entire time. You just do it. When his searching fingers can find no more you feel him sit back.

“You like that?” He asked quietly in the dark.

“Only yours.” You whisper back, laying with your hands behind your head. “You can clean me up now.” You tease. He eases himself off the bed and you also start to ease yourself off the bed but you feel him stop.

“What are you doing?” He asks softly.

“I’m going to go back to my bed,” You say because why wouldn’t you? The bed he has isn’t very big and it’s also not very comfortable besides the sheets.

“Why?” He asks. “You don’t want to sleep here?”

“With you?” You ask suspiciously. He says nothing in the darkness. It’s quiet for so long. Then a damp cool cloth on your belly is wiping you down, getting everything he spread out across you in his search for more to put into your mouth. Dips the rag into your belly button. You’re waiting for him to respond. “Mando?” He pulls away from you.

“I said call me Din.” He rasps from the darkness.

You had almost forgotten but really, you were too scared. What if it was just only while you had your clothes formality.

“Din, you wanna share the bed?” You inquire nervously. More silence.

“I– I could sleep on the mat.” It sounds like a question but it isn’t. He sounds a little disappointed.

“No, you sleep on the bed. I’m gonna sleep on the mat.” You nod your head into the dark and go to get your nightgown.

“Not share?” He grabs you by the upper arm as you try to pass him.

“No. Not share. It’s too small.” You look up and wonder if he’s looking down at you. He releases your arm and you go back to your mat. It’s cool down here now and you feel refreshed. It’s hot underneath Mand- Din. It’s hot. He’s a hot man,

You get yourself tucked into bed and wonder if he’ll be there in the morning when you wake up or if you’ll be in the stars once more. You’ve been in this same field for four whole days. It’s starting to look boring. You need a change of scenery. So does the child. He didn’t make a whole sound th-. You sit up suddenly

“Din!” You exclaim quietly. You hear something bang against metal and he groans. “Sorry.”

“What?” He grumbles, no raspy modulation.

“The kid! I haven't heard him once since we turned the lights off, is he in the bassinet?” You’re sweating now and every good feeling you’ve had inside of you just two minutes ago is gone. You hear him bang again on something metal and then he’s at the bassinet.

“Shit. I have to get my hel-” He shuffles back to where he came from, you hear him, no metal banging this time and then the light comes on and you’re blinded .

What was once a void, a terrible darkness you didn’t think was possible is ripped from you and then you are plunged into the brightest lights you’ve ever seen. You raise your hand, trying to shield them from the light above you but you’re not concerned with that. You stumble to your feet and look into the empty orb.

“No.” You mutter and look around. “Nonononononononoo.” You whine, the sweat starts to bead in the center of your back. “Where is he? The ship’s not that big, where could he be?” You look at Mando for the first time since the lights came on. He’s got his helmet and just black pants. You stare at him for a long time, forgetting what you were so worked up over because he doesn’t look like your doodles. He’s muscular, yes very but there is a softness your doodles are lacking. He’s got shape and curves and valleys to his body and it’s beautiful.

The child.

“Fuck!” You exclaim. “We would have heard the door? Right?” You start to search, every little crevice and door or cupboard you can think of. He’s nowhere.

“He’s still in here.” Din says, looking around much more carefully and less destructive as you are.

“How do you know? He’s so small Din, what if something happ-” But he shoots his head over at you in a way that steals the words from your mouth.

“Don’t. He’s still here. I just know.” Then he goes back to looking.

You two look everywhere for what feels like way too long and finally Din calls to you.

“I’ve got him.”

You’re on your hands and knees almost inside the engine of the ship, a place you have no reason being because you don’t know what goes on inside, just that there was a space big enough for the child to climb through.

You relax. You can breathe. He’s got the child. Everything is right in the world.

Making your way back to the room, you wipe off your hands and knees and fix your messy hair because you’ve just been on the floor, crawling around on your hands and knees like an animal. When the child sees you, he reaches for you and you take him gently from Din’s arms.

“Where were you? Huh? Scared me half to death thinking I lost you.” You cradle him close to you. “Where was-” Din is looking your way with your brand new notebook in his hands. All the pages have been torn apart or chewed on. “How did you even get up there?” You look down at the child who is already sleepily blinking up at you. “How do you do stuff like that?” You rub his forehead with your index finger and he closes his eyes slowly.

“I’ll get you another one. Two.” Din tosses the notebook back into the cupboard. “Sorry.”

“You didn’t put him in that cupboard… did you ?” You tease quietly now that the kid’s back to sleep. You go to put him in his bassinet but Din stops you.

“Sleep in the bed. With him. Don’t let him sneak around like that again tonight. I’ll sleep on the mat.” Before you can protest he's got his hands on your shoulders, guiding you to the bed. “Please. I feel bad you’ve been sleeping on the floor. I’ll get you a better mat.”

So you crawl into bed and Din goes to turn the light out. The sheets are so soft. You place the child beside you and curl your body around his. You’ll feel if he decides he wants another paper snack or a midnight stroll around the ship.

“How do you sleep down here?” Din says with almost no expression from your place on the floor.

You chuckle and snuggle into the child.

Tag list (I'm putting anyone who showed me love and interest in this story, tell me to fuck off and I'll remove you if you'd like) @glitterymanboy @pedrospookie @thereaperisabitch @furiousmushroom

I'll also add whoever wants me to add them!

<- Part 1 Masterlist Part 3 ->

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #long reads #din djarin x female reader #din smut #Mando smut #I don't know what the razor Crest looks like in these first couple chapters #pedro pascal characters #smut #fanfic #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #mando x you

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allurearia · 8 months ago

Text

"Am I dreaming again?"

Where Satoru Gojo finds out your actually alive.

Satoru Gojo x reader!! Fluff angsty?

As the heavy silence of the night pressed down on the empty street, Gojo Satoru stood frozen, the world shifting around him as he took in the impossible sight before him. You—alive, breathing, standing in front of him like a ghost. For months, he’d held on to the memory of you. He had replayed every moment of that last battle, picking apart every second to find the exact point what had gone wrong and where he’d lost you. You’d slipped away, your cursed energy vanishing, and with it, the one person he’d let himself believe would always be there with him.

In the stillness, he blinks, swallowing hard as if you’ll disappear if he dares to look away. His voice, usually so humorous and confident, now trembles with vulnerability as he whispers, “Tell me... am I dreaming again?”

Your face is etched with an expression he can’t quite read, not even his six eyes helping to decipher. a mix of sorrow, relief, and a touch of fear he guesses. You take a hesitant step toward him, and he doesn’t move. The usually unfazed “strongest” is at a complete loss. Every nerve in his body is screaming that he should run to you, hold you, demand answers, but he’s paralyzed by the fear that if he reaches out, you’ll fade into nothingness like all the other times you haunted him.

“No, Satoru.” Your voice is barely a whisper, but it breaks through the air like a bullet. “I’m real. I didn’t want you to see me like this, not yet. But… I couldn’t stay away anymore.”

His breath hitches, and he takes a shaky step forward, drinking in every detail of your face, your body, your eyes, the scars that now mar your skin, scars that weren’t there before, ones he wasn’t there to protect you from. “You left me.” His voice is quiet, edged with a pain he hadn’t let himself feel until now. “You left me, and you didn’t give me a chance to save you.”

Your gaze drops, and the guilt is evident in the way your shoulders hunch, a weight pressing down on you that he can see, even in the dim light. “I thought… I thought I was doing the right thing, Satoru,” you murmur, words filled with regret. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

The silence between you stretches.

Gojo clenches his fists, trying to steady his breathing. The urge to wrap you in his arms, to reassure himself that you’re really here, battles against the flood of emotions he’s barely containing. But the need to understand, to grasp why you vanished from his life without a word, pushes him to stay rooted in place, his fingers digging into his palms. “You thought leaving me in the dark was the right thing?” he asks, voice thick with bitterness. “You thought letting me believe you were dead was what? Noble? Better for me?”

You flinch, but you don’t look away. Instead, you meet his gaze, and the weight of your regret is clear in your eyes. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that. I thought I could handle it on my own, Satoru. I thought… if I disappeared, if I faced it by myself, you’d be safe.”

“Safe?” he repeats, his voice cracking. “Do you know what it’s been like? Every single night… I closed my eyes and I saw you. I felt you slip away, and there’s nothing I can do. You were gone.”

Your throat tightens, and you force yourself to stay strong, even as tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “I know. I know it wasn’t fair to you. But the alternative… I couldn’t bear the thought of you getting hurt because of me.”

He takes another step closer, and this time his hands tremble as he reaches for you, hesitating as if he’s afraid you’ll vanish. “So, what? You thought I’d be fine thinking you were dead?” His words are harsh, laced with anger and pain, but underneath it all is a desperation that twists his usually cheerful demeanor. “I’d have followed you to the ends of the earth, but you didn’t give me the chance.”

Your hand instinctively rises to his cheek, fingers brushing against the cool skin that now feels warm and alive beneath your touch. He closes his eyes,sighing and leaning into the familiar feeling, letting himself fall into this brief, fragile moment where he doesn’t have to pretend to be strong.

“Satoru… I’m sorry. I wanted to protect you.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but he hears every word, feels every bit of pain you’ve carried, and his anger begins to waver, replaced by an overwhelming sadness.

His hands wrap around yours, holding on as if you’re his lifeline, something distinct in a world that’s felt far too empty without you. “Don’t you get it?” he murmurs, voice breaking. “There’s no protecting me from this… from losing you. I don’t want a world where you’re not here.”

For a moment, neither of you speak, each word shared heavier than the last. He pulls you into his arms, crushing you against him as if he can hold you tight enough to erase the months of separation, the long, endless nights of wondering what he could have done differently, what could have happened that was different.

And for the first time since you left, Gojo Satoru lets his guard down entirely. He lets the hurt and the grief seep through his infinity, wrapping his arms around you so tightly it almost hurts, but you don’t pull away. He buries his face in your shoulder, taking in your scent, feeling your warmth, grounding himself in your presence as if afraid you’ll slip away again.

“I missed you,” he whispers against your skin, the words muffled. “More than you’ll ever know.”

You hold him just as tightly, threading your fingers through his hair, grounding him as he shudders in your arms. “I missed you too, Satoru. Every day. Every single day.”

After a long silence, he pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes wet with unshed tears, his mask forgotten long on the ground “Promise me,” he whispers, his voice thick with desperation, “Promise me you won’t ever leave me like that again.”

You hesitate, guilt tugging at you, but as you look into his eyes, you know there’s no way you could ever leave him again. Not like that. Not now the love he’s laid bare before you. “I promise,” you say, cupping his face, brushing away a tear with your thumb. “I’m not going anywhere, Satoru. Not anymore.”

The faintest hint of a smile crosses his lips, fragile but genuine, as he rests his forehead against yours. His voice is soft, a murmur meant only for you. “Good. Because if this is a dream, I don’t ever want to wake up.”

As dawn approaches, casting the first light of the day, Gojo breathes in deeply, savoring the feeling of you here, alive, real. And for the first time in months, he feels whole

Divider creds to the lovely @sseuda

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jjk x reader

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writingdevil · 2 months ago

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Lovely writing you have here! Can you write something with Contrarian and Cold? They seem like polar opposites but have a common interest in finding interesting things to do (and screwing with the Narrator but he's not around in your ficlets) so seeing them interact with each other would be fun :D

(Yeah! I love them! They're such a funny and chaotic duo and I love seeing anything with them. Anyway, enjoy!)

Although Contrarian welcomed mischief and surprises, he found that it wasn't actually that fun when he wasn't aware of what was happening around him.

Restless wasn't a word that Contrarian ever thought that he'd be associated with, but in the weeks that they've gained their own bodies, he found that he couldn't sit still at all, with no way to satisfy him.

They were all figuring this new situation out, but it felt like everyone was figuring it out much faster than Contrarian. Sure, getting your own freedom was fun and all, but that also meant that they were responsible for themselves now, and Contrarian wasn't sure how to feel about that.

Hero said that he was just overwhelmed with all the new changes, but that couldn't be right. Contrarian didn't get overwhelmed, he got excited at things! It was just a nervous sort of excitement, one where he wasn't sure how to deal with it.

Contrarian would walk around their house, trying to find something fun to do, but all he would see were these birds that were actually figuring themselves out, becoming entirely new people that Contrarian was both happy and nervous for.

Yesterday, he walked into a room with Paranoid focused solely on preening Hero's wings, with the other too content and sleepy to notice him. Contrarian's not sure if he's ever seen either of them that happy before.

Then today, he looked out his window to see Smitten and Hunted coming back from a walk, laughing and looking more peaceful and happy than they ever were before.

Everytime he saw it, Contrarian had the urge to walk away, to get away from these weird, domestic scenes that were now taking place.

It wasn't that he wasn't happy for them, it was just-weird to see. It was weird to see voices that he's known forever, suddenly start to change, and not in a bad way.

Change used to be such a bad thing for them back in the cabins-the fear of being faced with something more monstrous than the last. Of course, Contrarian always voiced the opinion of simply walking away from it all, getting as far away from the danger as possible, no matter how fruitless that choice tended to be in the end.

But now they were free, and choices were good again, because there wasn't a horror to run from anymore. That was supposed to be a good thing, but it for some reason filled Contrarian with worry.

So he just kept wandering around, trying to either pass the time or find someone to annoy. But every second that Contrarian was alone, he was accompanied with nothing but silence.

He hated that. He hated silence and boredom and having to actually think about himself for once. So he did what he does best-he ran away from the problem.

He avoided everyone in the house, attempting to find the most secluded and forgotten room to hole up in, until he eventually found the kitchen, finding it empty by some miracle.

He had wanted to try and ignore his problems by eating, but he stopped at the sight of a figure already standing there, large wings wrapped around them.

All Contrarian had to do was shiver at the temperature, and he knew who it was.

"Cold! Sorry! Didn't see you there. What are you-uh-doing?"

Contrarian chuckled nervously to try and fill the awkward silence, and then Cold shifted his wings just enough so that his eyes were shining through the dark feathers, and he did not look pleased.

"I'm trying to avoid people, but that seems like an impossible task," Cold said, and Contrarian couldn't help but giggle at the other in amusement. "Why not just stay in your room, then? Nobody would bother you in there."

Cold rolled his eyes as if the answer was obvious. "Why should I stay in my room? There's nothing interesting in there, and I spend more than enough time sleeping in that room."

Contrarian felt like there was something deeper in Cold's tone, but it was hard to tell with the other.

Contrarian hadn't spent a lot of time with Cold, but he always saw him just popping up here and there, and Contrarian just assumed that he was always coming back from doing some weird shit in the woods.

Cold lowered his wings down past his shoulders once he realised Contrarian wasn't leaving. "I wanted to do something, but I don't know what," Cold said with a sigh, glancing around the kitchen.

Contrarian chuckled, but there was no amusement in the sound. He walked closer to the other and leaned against a counter. "That makes two of us," he mumbled, and Cold arched a brow curiously.

"Oh? Is the clown actually bored? When there's a million ways he could be annoying people?" Contrarian groaned in embarrassment as Cold teased him, tilting his head up to the ceiling as he thought.

He wasn't sure if it was a good idea to vent to Cold of all people. He had a pretty good guess as to what Cold would consider 'advice', so instead he threw the question back at him.

"Well why are you bored? Or, at least, being weird in a not-Cold way?" he asked, and watched in surprise as Cold averted his eyes.

"I'm not bored," Cold replied quietly, "everything's just-a lot more than I was expecting, and I don't know where to begin to try and feel something."

"Like the choices are overwhelming you?" Cold shrugged. "It's more like I'm not sure what will truly satisfy me, not like how all the others are figuring it out, seemingly far easier than me." Contrarian could just about sense a hint of bitterness in Cold's voice, and although he said didn't want to vent to the other, it still felt wrong to leave a flockmate feeling lonely and confused.

"I'm kinda confused as well," he said, bouncing up and down on his feet for something to do. He could feel Cold's eyes on him like frost sticking to his skin and turning it blue, but he kept a smile on his face as he said, "This whole freedom and agency thing is hard to wrap my head around."

"Why?" Cold asked, no trace of anything teasing or mocking to be heard, which calmed Contrarian down slightly.

"Because everything's changing, and it's not bad for once, and there's no annoying guy in our head telling us what to do. Sure, those are all good things, but what if-" Contrarian paused, taking a moment to look around the kitchen, until his eyes eventually fell onto a fork on the counter, and he grabbed it, holding it up for Cold to see.

"What if I wanted to try and juggle forks in the air because it could be fun? If we were in the cabin, everyone would tell me 'No Contrarian, that's so dangerous and anyways, we have this big, scary princess to focus on,' so then I have to do it."

"But there's no danger to ignore and no Narrator to defy," Cold said, piecing the dilemma together much quicker than Contrarian would have liked. Cold even sounded intrigued by it.

Contrarian stopped bouncing, and nodded with a bittersweet smile on his face. "The change is good, don't get me wrong. But-" Contrarian stopped, taking a moment to look out the window, hearing some of the others laugh, and just feel how happy they must be now.

"-But it's hard to feel like a contrarian nowadays."

Cold hummed lowly, and then neither of them spoke for the next few minutes, simply sitting in their confusion.

Cold wasn't sure what to try and feel anymore, and Contrarian wasn't sure how to feel like him anymore.

He heard Cold sigh, and when Contrarian looked up, he found the other staring at the fork in his hand curiously.

"Do you think you'd be better at juggling forks with or without your eyesight?" Cold asked, and Contrarian's entire body stopped in that moment, all brainpower focused on processing that question.

"What?" he blurted out with a laugh, noticing how Cold's wings had now completely unwrapped from his body, and he seemed to straighten up to his full height as his attention was solely on the fork.

"I don't think you'd be that good of a juggler to begin with," Cold said, and Contrarian's jaw dropped at the audacity. "You don't strike me as someone with good hand coordination."

"Excuse you, sir!" Contrarian exclaimed in playful outrage, a giddy smile already taking over his face. "I'll have you know that I have excellent hand coordination! You wouldn't be able to throw a blade out of a window as well as I could. In fact-" Contrarian slammed the fork back onto the counter, making sure the pointy ends were dug deep enough into the surface, and then marched off, gesturing for Cold to follow.

"C'mon!" he exclaimed with a newfound determination. "I'll show you how good I am at juggling-with knives, just to prove it to you. Hero tried to hide them all from me, but he can't stop my chaos forever. Let's go!"

Cold followed him without another word, but Contrarian did catch the hint of a smile on his face as they walked off together.

Maybe they don't have to get used to these changes right away or as quickly as the others, but maybe they just need someone else to make the process less daunting, and that was enough for them.

#slay the princess #stories #my writing #stp #stp voices #voice of the cold #voice of the contrarian #stp dark comedy #stp cold #stp contrarian #I tried to do how their friendship would start but I don't know how good it is #Tell me why I struggled so much with this #writing request

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ihni · 5 months ago

Text

Starry-eyed under starry skies

For @weird-an <3

~~~~

“It’s my birthday today,” Steve said, apropos of nothing, swirling his can of soda around and listening to the carbonation fizzle. He could see his breath in front of him, like a cloud of white against the blackness of the January sky.

“Really?” Billy said from his spot next to Steve on the back porch of the Harrington house. He emerged from the thick knitted scarf that he’d wrapped around his neck just long enough to look pointedly over his shoulder at the decidedly empty house. “Then why aren’t there a hundred shitfaced people and a keg in there?”

Steve shrugged, and then couldn’t help but grin at the way Billy immediately buried himself back into the scarf so that it covered both his mouth and (adorably red) nose.

Billy noticed Steve’s grin – because he had an uncanny ability to notice the little things – and narrowed his eyes at him. “What?”

Instead of answering, Steve raised one eyebrow. “You sure you have enough layers, there?”

It was Billy’s second winter in Hawkins, but this time around he’d prepared with tons of second-hand winter clothes which he layered on top of each other, uncaring of how they looked together as long as they kept him warm, claiming that he didn’t care that they didn’t match, because ‘he could make anything look good’.

And it wasn’t like he didn’t have a point (although Steve secretly thought he looked more cute than good), but perhaps getting possessed by an otherworldly creature who liked it cold also had something to do with Billy’s current fashion choices.

Case in point; “Shut up,” Billy said and looked away, like he always did when something touched a little too close to home. Then he deflected, like he also always did; “Why aren’t you throwing a party if it’s your birthday?”

And Steve dropped it, like he always did. “I am. You’re here, aren’t you?”

“Some party,” Billy muttered. “A guy who don’t drink and a guy who can’t smoke.”

After what happened at Starcourt in the summer, Steve had stopped drinking, finding that he didn’t appreciate the loss of control as much as he used to after being drugged and beaten by the Russians. And Billy, well. He only got out of the hospital in November, and the doctors had expressively forbidden him from both drinking and smoking – or, as Billy said, ‘everything fun’ – for at least a year. The two of them had bonded over that, as well as a thousand other things (monsters being one) in the last couple of months, and now they were here. The two of them. Alone in Steve’s backyard.

“I’ve hosted a lot of parties in my day,” Steve said, taking a deep breath of cold air that burned his lungs. He tilted his head back and looked up at the stars, impossibly far from Hawkins, Indiana. “This is better.”

“This?” Billy said, sounding almost incredulous. “Being out in the cold and the dark and watching the sky is better than booze and girls and music?”

And. “Yeah,” Steve said simply, feeling the truth of it in his chest, like released tension.

“How?” It wasn’t said disbelievingly, though, but it sounded as if Billy really wanted to know.

The words slipped out of Steve before he could stop them. “Because you’re here.”

He hadn’t meant to say it; not now, and not out loud. But there was something about the two of them here – next to each other, nursing sodas of all things, braving the cold because Steve wanted to look at the stars – that made the truth so easy to speak. And there was no confusion, no barely-hidden panic like with the Russian truth serum. It was just Steve, and Billy, and the starry sky.

At his words, though, Billy let out a breath as if he’d been punched. His eyes widened, and if he hadn’t been hiding behind three layers of wrapped-up scarf, Steve was sure that he’d see his mouth fall open.

“You …” he said, and shook his head a little before looking away. “You can’t just say shit like that, Harrington.” Always Harrington, when he was uncomfortable.

“Why not?” Steve asked, feeling brave for once. “It’s just the two of us here.”

The moment stretched out between them, and he could hear Billy as he swallowed hard … and after a second or so too long, Steve gave a little shrug, trying not to feel disappointed as he added, in a too-obvious attempt to break the tension, “Besides, it’s my birthday. I can do whatever I want.”

Billy huffed, and Steve expected him to jump on the opportunity to steer the conversation back to safer grounds … But he didn’t. Instead, he dug into the pocket of his (eyesore of a) winter jacket and pulled out a misshapen, badly wrapped little bundle, and half-shoved it into Steve’s chest.

“Here,” he muttered. “For you.” And then, in a lower voice, “Happy birthday or whatever.”

A thrill of something warm shot through Steve as he took the little present from Billy’s mitten-covered hand. He glanced over at Billy, eyebrows raised in question – “You knew it was my birthday?” – and watched Billy shrug and not meet his eye.

He’d gotten presents from others earlier in the day – from his parents, from Robin, even from Dustin – but this felt different. None-too-gently tearing the paper open with stiff fingers, he let out a little laugh when he saw what was inside.

“I saw it and thought of you,” Billy said, and Steve looked up fast enough to catch him watch Steve with something like fondness, before he averted his eyes yet again.

It was a little Care Bear plush, light yellow in color and with the image of a cupcake on its belly. The cupcake held a single birthday candle, and the bear had a plastic heart-shaped nose, which Steve couldn’t help pushing at with a finger.

The bear was soft to the touch, and Steve suddenly felt soft, too. “He’s cute.”

A beat; two. Then, “Yeah. That’s what made me think of you.”

Steve’s head shot up in surprise, and this time Billy didn’t look away. His face was red – could be because of the cold, but it could also be something else – and he straightened up and worked the scarf bundle down with his chin so that Steve could see him properly. “It’s nothing, just a stupid bear. But I, uh.” His eyes flicked to the side for a second, but then he looked back, as if determined to see this through. Whatever this was. “I have something else for you, too.”

Steve waited – for what, he didn’t know, but he didn’t want to risk saying the wrong thing and dispelling the crisp feeling in the air between them – and watched as Billy drew himself up and took a deep breath. His breath came out in a cloud, too, and for a second Steve imagined the cloud sticking to Billy’s lashes and freezing there, like tiny crystals, glittering like snow. How would it look, and how would they feel when melting against Steve’s skin?

“Close your eyes,” Billy said, and Steve did, because right now Steve couldn’t deny Billy anything.

Holding the little bear in one hand and the soda can in the other, Steve stood there with his eyes closed. The darkness became all-enveloping, the cold became sharper, and all the little sounds around them – the creak of the branches in the woods in front of them, the electric hum of the outdoor lamp behind them, the distant sound of a car driving down a street – became all that he could hear.

And then. Warm lips pressing against his, a cold nose touching his cheek; there for a heartbeat, two – and then gone. He opened his eyes and found that Billy was right there, not gone at all, just having drawn back an inch or two. His blue eyes were open wide and shiny, the porch lights reflecting in them like the brightest stars in the sky. Billy swallowed and licked his lips before saying, hoarsely, “Happy birthday, Steve.”

Steve, not Harrington, despite being uncomfortable, despite being visibly terrified.

And wasn’t that the best birthday present Steve had ever gotten? Hell. Closing that one or two inches of distance to kiss Billy again was the easiest thing Steve had ever done.

~~~~

(Also works, quite incidentally really, for the @harringrovewinterbingo, square C3, prompt "Starry sky, starry-eyed".)

#happy birthday dear #harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #ihni writes #hwb2025

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r-memberme · 3 months ago

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a reason to move | k.m

⎯⎯“Even the cruelest nights end,” he murmurs, fingers tracing absent patterns along your arm. His touch is warm, a quiet tether to something beyond the emptiness. “You are allowed to wait for the dawn.”

warnings: depression

The room is dark. The kind of dark that feels alive, stretching from the corners like creeping ivy, winding its way into your chest, your limbs, your mind. The curtains have been drawn for days, filtering the world into nothing but a muted, grey haze. Dust floats in the stagnant air, catching in the weak slant of light that dares to intrude. Everything smells like stillness—like sleep and sorrow and the quiet decay of time slipping by unnoticed.

The sheets beneath you are tangled, twisted around your legs in a mess of forgotten movement. You can’t remember the last time you smoothed them out, the last time you cared to. It doesn’t matter. Nothing does, not really. The weight of your own existence presses into the mattress, heavy, immovable. Even breathing feels like a laborious task—something you do only because your body refuses to give in to the numbness swallowing you whole.

And then there’s Klaus.

He stands in the doorway, a silhouette against the dim light of the hall, arms crossed, gaze unreadable. He has been here before, watching from the threshold, gauging when to step in. He knows you too well to force anything. He’s seen you in every state imaginable—fierce, laughing, infuriated, exhausted—but this, this quiet unraveling, makes something tighten in his chest. He hates it, hates the way you shrink under the weight of something he cannot fight for you.

"Love," he murmurs, voice softer than you expected. "How long do you plan on staying buried?"

The words float in the silence, gentle yet pressing, like fingers trailing over an old wound. You don’t answer. It takes too much effort. Even turning your head to look at him feels impossible. You stare at the ceiling instead, at the cracks in the plaster, tracing their jagged lines like they hold some kind of answer.

Klaus exhales slowly, a sound full of something between frustration and understanding. Then, after a moment, he moves. The bed dips under his weight as he settles beside you, his presence a contrast to the cold stillness of the room. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just sits there, close but not intrusive, a steady, solid presence.

You can feel him watching you, feel the quiet way his eyes trace over your form—the sluggish rise and fall of your breath, the way your fingers are curled into the fabric of the sheets like an anchor. But he doesn’t push, doesn’t try to drag you from the depths before you’re ready.

Instead, Klaus simply reaches out, his hand finding yours where it lies limp on the bed. His fingers brush over your knuckles, slow, tentative. A silent reminder that he is here. That you are not alone, no matter how much the darkness might try to convince you otherwise.

And somehow, that touch—warm, grounding—feels like the first breath after drowning.

༊*·˚

The first thing he does is pull the curtains back. Not all the way—just enough for a sliver of daylight to break through the gloom, spilling onto the floor in a soft, golden streak. It is a quiet, unspoken compromise. He does not flood the room with brightness, does not force you to face the world all at once. Instead, he lets the light exist in the space with you, a hesitant guest in the suffocating darkness.

You flinch slightly at the shift, at the way the air seems to change with the presence of something other than shadows. It’s too much, and yet, not enough. A whisper of warmth against the cold numbness pressing in on you.

Then, Klaus disappears. You hear him moving beyond the doorway, the soft rustle of fabric, the faint sound of water running. He is gone just long enough for you to wonder if he will come back, but of course, he does.

When he returns, it is with a damp cloth in hand. Without a word, he sits beside you once more, his movements slow and deliberate. The mattress dips, his weight grounding you in the present.

You make a weak noise of protest as he presses the cloth to your forehead, cool against the feverish heat of your skin. It isn’t just sweat clinging to you—it’s exhaustion, fatigue, the residue of too many days spent drowning in your own mind.

"There we are," Klaus murmurs, brushing a stray hair back from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear. His touch is careful, reverent, as though afraid you might break beneath it.

You don’t answer. But the coolness feels nice, easing some of the discomfort coiled tightly within you.

His fingers linger for a moment, tracing over your temple with a tenderness you don’t have the strength to acknowledge. Then, he shifts, reaching for something else.

"Drink," he coaxes, bringing a glass of water to your lips. "Just a little."

You stare at it, at the way the condensation beads along the rim, the way his fingers wrap securely around the glass as if he knows you will refuse.

It is ridiculous how something as simple as lifting your head feels like climbing a mountain, how the idea of doing anything at all feels insurmountable. But Klaus does not rush you. He does not sigh in frustration or give you ultimatums. He simply waits, patient as ever, holding the glass steady.

After a long moment, you part your lips.

He tips the glass just enough for a sip, cool water slipping past your lips, running down your throat.

Just one sip.

But it is something.

And in a world where everything feels like too much or too little, something is enough.

༊*·˚

Klaus is not one for soft words or empty reassurances. He has never been the type to offer placating lies, never the sort to whisper false promises just to make the world feel easier to bear. No, he is all action, all quiet devotion, the kind that lingers in the smallest of gestures—the kind that does not demand recognition but offers itself freely.

He combs through your hair with careful fingers, untangling the strands with a patience that seems at odds with the chaos so often stitched into his being. His touch is slow, methodical, fingertips dragging lightly over your scalp, over the nape of your neck. There is something soothing about the way he does it, something steadying, as if he is grounding you through touch alone.

The blankets are a tangled mess around you, twisted from restless nights and too many hours spent lost in the haze of exhaustion. Klaus smooths them out without a word, tucking them back around you as if you are something fragile, something worth protecting. His knuckles ghost over your cheek in a barely-there caress, tracing the shape of you with a reverence that you are not sure you deserve. But he does it anyway. He commits you to memory, as if to remind you that you are here, that you exist.

He stays.

When you don’t feel like speaking, he doesn’t push. He does not fill the silence with questions or expectations. He does not try to fix what cannot be so easily mended.

But he understands that silence can be heavy, that it can press in like a weight upon the chest, suffocating and relentless. And so, when it stretches too long, he fills it—not with demands, but with the sound of his own voice, low and steady, a lull in the storm.

He speaks of the absurdity of the world, of its strange, fickle ways. He tells you about books he has read, words that have lingered in his mind long after the pages were closed. He weaves stories of art and music, of things that once made your eyes light up. There is no expectation for you to respond, no pressure for you to feign interest. He simply reminds you of what exists beyond this room, of what still waits for you beyond the fog.

And then, his voice softens, something distant creeping into the edges of it.

He tells you of the places he’s been, of the centuries he has walked, of the storms he has survived. He speaks of time, of how it wears down even the strongest of things, of how even he has felt the weight of it press against his ribs.

“Even the cruelest nights end,” he murmurs, fingers tracing absent patterns along your arm. His touch is warm, a quiet tether to something beyond the emptiness. “You are allowed to wait for the dawn.”

The words settle deep, pressing into the marrow of you.

And for the first time in a long while, you almost believe him.

༊*·˚

Here’s a much longer and deeper version, filled with more details, emotions, and the weight of the moment:

You don’t know when you sit up.

Maybe it’s when he suggests a bath, his voice carrying that particular lilt of mockery he so often wields as a weapon against your stubbornness. He leans against the bedpost, arms crossed, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips as he drawls, “You’re positively tragic, love. Even Romeo would think you’re overdoing it.”

You glare at him. It’s weak, half-hearted, but it’s something. And Klaus, ever the perceptive one, catches it instantly.

Or maybe it’s when he presses a warm cup of tea into your hands, the ceramic smooth against your skin, the steam curling softly into the cold air of the room. He doesn’t just give it to you and leave—no, his own hands wrap around yours, steadying them when they tremble ever so slightly. His fingers are warm, his grip firm but careful, as if grounding you in something tangible.

“Just a sip,” he coaxes, his voice softer now. “You needn’t do anything else.”

The warmth seeps into you, into your fingers, into your palms, spreading up your arms like something alive. It’s just tea. Just a simple thing. And yet, the weight of it, the care in the gesture, makes your throat feel tight.

Or maybe, just maybe, it’s the way he looks at you.

Not with pity. Not with impatience.

But with quiet understanding.

As if he’s been here, too. As if he knows what it is to feel lost within yourself, to wake up and find that the world has shifted just slightly beyond your grasp. As if he, too, has fought against that crushing, inescapable sense of nothingness.

You wonder, briefly, if he remembers what it was like to claw his way back.

"Come," he says finally, shifting closer. He doesn’t reach for you, doesn’t demand. He merely offers his hand, palm up, waiting. "Walk with me. Just to the window."

It’s stupid.

The window is only a few feet away. Just a few steps. Nothing, really. And yet—to you, it is an entire world’s distance. A chasm impossible to cross.

Your breath catches. You hesitate.

Klaus waits.

And yet—

You take his hand.

His fingers tighten around yours, firm and unwavering.

And that, somehow, is enough for now.

thank you to anon for this req! <3 I hope it brings you comfort <3

taglist: @ohapple @myworldrightnow@deactiveblogx@witch-of-letters@xtwistedchaosx@liataylorsversion@pardonmydelayyy

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helsgcddess · 5 months ago

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LOVED THE ROSALIE DRABBLE! Can I request ❛ enemies make the best lovers, you know. ❜ with anakin maybe?

— STARFIRE & SHADOW *

pairing: dark!anakin skywalker/force sensitive!reader

word count: 1.2k

a/n — this was such a delicious prompt to work with dhsjsk!! set during ROTS right before mustafar (aka peak darkside!anakin but make it pre-crispy because (gestures at the aesthetic). "I" is his former padawan who's been harboring Feelings this whole time, and honestly? the tension just wrote itself. completely ignoring whatever parts of canon i want because who's gonna stop me??

The Force rippled through the Temple like a stone dropped in still water, each wave darker than the last. I'd felt disturbances before—we all had—but this was different. This felt like watching a star collapse in slow motion, beautiful and terrifying and impossible to stop.

My footsteps echoed off ancient walls as I tried to maintain some semblance of calm. The younglings I passed were wide-eyed, huddled in corners, their force signatures flickering like candles in a storm. The Masters moved with urgent purpose, their usual serenity fractured by something that felt too much like fear.

But it wasn't their fear that made my heart race. It was the absolute void where my Master's force signature should have been. Anakin had always been a supernova in the Force—bright, powerful, impossible to ignore. Now there was nothing. Just emptiness where that familiar warmth should be.

"Where are you?" I whispered, reaching out again through our bond. The silence that answered felt wrong on a molecular level, like gravity suddenly deciding to work sideways.

Strong arms wrapped around me from behind, pulling me into shadow. I barely managed to suppress a cry of surprise as I was drawn behind one of the massive Temple pillars.

"Shhhh, little witch," Anakin's voice brushed against my ear, dark honey and deadly intent. The nickname that had once been affectionate now held an edge that made me shiver.

I spun to face him the moment his arms released me, and the words I'd prepared died in my throat. He was still beautiful—he'd always be beautiful—but something was fundamentally wrong. The blue eyes I knew better than my own were ringed in gold, like a solar eclipse made flesh.

"What—what happened?" I searched his face for some sign of the man I knew, the Master who'd taught me everything about the Force and nothing about how to stop loving him. "Anakin..." His name felt dangerous on my tongue as he cocked his head, watching me with predatory patience. "What did Palpatine tell you?" I hissed out the name.

"He's not the problem." My name was a caress on his lips as he moved closer, backing me against the pillar with the kind of grace that reminded me he'd always been more nexus of power than man. "It's the Jedi," he snarled the word like it tasted of poison. "The Jedi are the problem."

My heart thundered against my ribs as the darkness I'd felt earlier crystallized around us. "You can't mean that," I whispered, but the words sounded hollow even to me.

"Supernova..." I reached for him through the Force, desperate to find some trace of the light that had defined him. Instead, I found an abyss staring back, intimate and inviting and terrifying. It was the same darkness that had whispered to me in my dreams, promising power and freedom and everything the Code forbade. "I can't... who are you?"

"I'm exactly who I've always been," he said, voice low and dangerous as he closed the last bit of distance between us. One hand came up to trace my cheek, and I fought not to lean into the touch. "Just... unleashed. No more Council, no more rules." His fingers were fever-warm against my skin. "No more pretending we don't feel this."

"You're talking about betraying everything we swore to protect," I managed, even as the darkness inside me stirred, recognizing its match in him. The Force swirled around us like a gathering storm, electric and inevitable.

"The Order betrayed us first," he growled, but his touch remained gentle as it traced down my jaw to my throat. "They fear what they can't control. That's why they separated us, why they tried to make us deny what we are to each other." His lips curved into a smile that was all predator. "Enemies make the best lovers, you know. All that passion, that fire..."

I could feel the heat of him now, the intoxicating pull of his force signature finally unveiled. Where once there had been blinding light, now there was something darker, magnetic. It called to the shadows I'd spent years pretending didn't exist. "Anakin," I breathed, half warning, half plea.

His fingers tangled in my hair, tilting my head back. "Join me," he murmured, eyes molten gold and ancient night. "Rule with me. No more hiding, no more denying what you want." His other hand settled on my hip, anchoring me to the moment. "I've felt your darkness calling to mine. Let it free."

The air between us felt charged, heavy with power and possibility. I knew I should push him away, should run and warn the others of what he'd become. But as his lips hovered just above mine, I realized I'd been falling toward this moment since the day he became my Master. Every lesson, every shared laugh, every lingering touch had been leading here, to this choice between duty and desire.

"There's no going back from this," I whispered against his mouth, feeling the last threads of my resistance beginning to fray.

His answering smile was triumphant as the darkness wrapped around us like a lover's embrace. "Good," he breathed, and when he finally kissed me, it felt like watching that star collapse all over again—beautiful and terrifying and impossible to stop.

The Code shattered between our lips, and I found I didn't mourn its loss at all. His kiss was nothing like I'd imagined during those long nights of meditation—it was better, harder, an assertion of power that made my knees weak. One of his hands fisted in my hair while the other gripped my hip, pulling me flush against him.

"I've wanted this," he growled against my mouth, "for so long." His teeth grazed my lower lip, and I gasped. The sound seemed to ignite something in him, and suddenly I was being lifted, pressed harder against the pillar. "Wanted you."

"Master," I whispered, the title now carrying a completely different weight. His response was a dark chuckle that sent heat spiraling through me.

"Say it again," he commanded, trailing burning kisses down my throat. The hand at my hip slid lower, gripping my thigh. "Let me hear how much you want this."

The Force surged around us, dark and wild, amplifying every sensation. His power wrapped around me, intoxicating as Coruscanti wine, twice as dangerous. I could feel his satisfaction through our bond as my fingers clutched at his shoulders, his back, anywhere I could reach.

"You're mine now," he murmured against my pulse point, and I felt the words like brands on my skin. "Say it."

"Yours," I breathed, arching into him as his teeth found that sensitive spot below my ear. "Always have been."

His answering growl held all the darkness of the power he'd embraced, and I knew I was lost. The galaxy could burn, the Order could fall, and I would watch it all from his side, wrapped in shadow and starfire.

#anakin skywalker #anakin x reader #dark!anakin #anakin imagine #star wars #star wars imagine #star wars anakin #dark!anakin x reader #writing ;;

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milswrites · 1 year ago

Text

The world belongs to dreamers

~ Rhysand X Reader

Summary: Whilst struggling to cope with the loss of his mother and sister, you show Rhysand what it means to dream once more.

Warnings: Serious angst (loss of family) but a fluffy/hopeful ending?

“There you are, I’ve been looking for you.”

You spoke the words softly, afraid to startle the young High Lord as you slowly approached him from behind. Rhysand providing you with no sign of acknowledgement as you came to sit beside him on the roof of the Town House.

Rather, the males expression remained as cold as stone. His empty violet eyes free from the shackles of human emotion as Rhysand icily stared off into the vast oblivion of the night sky.

You were sat beside a broken man.

One who had lost everything; everyone. He was a male who had nothing left to live for and yet that was exactly what was expected of him - to continue living. The sweet kiss of death being a mercy that Rhysand would not be allowed to receive, not whilst he had his duty to the court.

It was impossible to know what to say in the face of grief and you were certain that whatever meagre words of comfort you could provide Rhysand would fall deaf upon his ears. Besides, what was there to say that hadn’t already been spoken?

And so you offered him the only thing you could think of; your company. A silent companion in Rhysand's time of need. You wouldn't allow yourself to be the one to lure him into a false state of happiness with empty hope and useless reassurances. You would be a grounding presence, an open ear. Silently shouldering your friend’s burden to help carry the weight of his sorrows alongside him.

It took an hour for Rhysand to notice you, a seconds glance in your direction accompanied by grunt of acknowledgement before he cast his chilling gaze back to the stars. Then another hour of silence was needed before he could find the words to speak to you and when he finally did, it was difficult to ignore the way your heart shattered at the rawness of his vulnerability.

"They're really gone, aren't they?"

It was a question with only one answer, yet it was one you couldn't speak. Rhysand needn't hear the truth because he had already seen it. Your friend having witnessed the unthinkable, having seen things that no son - no brother - should ever have to see.

Rhysand's brows knitted together at your failure to answer him, turning his violet eyes back to the stars in defeat. A low growl rumbling in his chest as he finally allowed his festering anger to consume him, the darkness which plagued his splintered soul breaking free from its constraints.

"It should have been me" he hissed, a bitter mask of fury marring his handsome features. Rhysand's usually bright eyes now dark and unforgiving. Despite the fact his wings were hidden, you didn’t fail to notice the daunting presence of shadows which commanded your attention in their absence.

All you could do was helplessly shake your head in disagreement, tears beginning to sting your eyes as you pathetically replied, "You don't mean that Rhys, not really."

An empty laugh escaped from his lips, the rolling of his eyes a stab to your heart as he retorted, "My mother is dead. My sister is dead. My Father. . . Are you going to stand there idly and foolishly believe that everything is ok? There's nothing left for me now but ruins. I have no one.”

“You have me” you answer, pained eyes meeting Rhysand’s own lost ones, a hurt whimper leaving your mouth before you continued, “And Cassian, Azriel, Mor. Rhys you’re never alone, not as long as you have us.”

His shaky sigh and wavering shadows gave you the confidence to continue, “This isn’t what she’d want Rhys. What they’d want. Feel, allow yourself that. But don’t allow your emotions to destroy you.”

The violet glow began to return to his eyes, the anger now seeping away as a heart wrenching wave of devastation took its place.

Rhysand’s hollow voice replied, “But we’ll never know what she wanted because of him. We’ll never know what she could have become or what she might have offered the world. Every night I look to the stars and all I can think is that it’s a sight she will never be able to see again, all because it was stolen from her, and it’s not fair.”

“It never is” you comfort, coming to rest a soothing hand on the males shoulder causing his rising tide of shadows to finally dissipate, “Rhys she needn’t look to the stars anymore because she is one. They’re up there, your family, watching over you, all you have to do is look up.”

“And what if they don’t like what they see. What if they look down and only see the broken High Lord and his broken court” Rhysand consciously asked, spitting the cursed words out as he cast his eyes to the glowing city before him.

“Is that what you see?” You questioned, wondering how Rhysand could look down upon the illuminated streets and see anything but hope, “a broken court?”

“All that’s left after the war are crumbling foundations and hollow people” he bitterly scoffed, failing to see the embers which still remained.

“Foundations can be rebuilt. . . Rhys I look at you and I fail to see how our future could be anything other than bright. Build a court of dreamers Rhys, build it from hope.” You encouraged, fighting the desire to drop to your knees and beg for the future you knew only the male had the power to deliver.

“I don’t think I know how to dream anymore” he quietly spoke, words releasing as a whisper, Rhysand afraid that his lack of dreaming made him unworthy of being your High Lord.

“You really see no future for your court?” You ask, probing eyes searching his thoughtful expression for answers.

“I used to. . . Before all this. But I’ve never had to dream of a future without my sister” he gulped, pearlescent tears beginning to run down his gaunt cheeks.

You lifted a comforting hand, gentle thumbs working to brush away each tear as they came, a sad smile taking its place on your lips as you spoke, “You really think she won’t be there Rhys? Your family will never leave you, they’ll always be right here,” your hand moves to rest against his chest, delicate fingers pressing right above the steady beating of his heart, “carry them with you and they’ll never be far away.”

“And the dreams?” He presses, seeking more reassurance from you, “when will they return?”

“You never stop dreaming Rhys, not whilst there’s still hope. . . Take a breath” you order, entwining both your hands with his own as Rhysand did as you asked and drew in a deep breath, “Then just close your eyes and dream.”

“Dream? Just like that?” He nervously queries, not quite believing in your unusual methods, yet fearing he’d break the spell by opening his eyes.

“Think of everything you’ve ever wanted to change about this court, about your life. Every stupid rule you’ve never liked, every choice of your fathers you’ve disagreed with. The world is yours to mould now, every wish, every dream, they’re yours to chase after. Dreams are the foundations for our future Rhys, you just have to have the courage to make them a reality. All you have to do is believe in yourself.”

“And do you?” Rhysand asked, opening his calm violet eyes to look deeply into your own, “. . . Believe in me.”

“The world is full of dreamers Rhys, but there's only one I’d choose to follow" you answer honestly, your reply bringing a small smile to the new High Lord's lips.

"And if I tell you I dream of building this future together, what then?" he asks hopefully, his steady gaze overflowing with anticipation of your response.

"Then who am I to deny you of your wishes? You just let me know when you're ready to start."

You grin at the familiar face smiling back at you, the face of your High Lord, of your friend. Failing to quell the fluttering which grew in your stomach as Rhysand answered you, "I think we've already started Darling, my first dream just came true."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Notes: Every time I write Rhysand I always say it’s going to be smut next and it’s always angst… anyways, smut next time?

Big thank you to @illyrianbitch and @sarawritestories for their help with this one, they saved me from describing Rhysand’s eyes like aubergines 😬

#acotar #fanfic #acotar imagine #sarah j maas #a court of thorns and roses #rhysand angst #rhysand x reader #rhysand imagine #rhysand fanfic #rhysand acotar #rhysand

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thisgirlnamedblusy · 10 months ago

Note

Colud you write about possessive Donna?? Maybe they have sex, Donna's mind is messed up and she ends up being too rough with the reader.She sees that reader is crying, so she stops and comforts her. Donna feels guilty and tries to do everything to make reader feel better. Seeing her love like this makes her feel terrible and she also ends up crying but reader tells her nothing is wrong because she only felt like it was too much.

Yesss!!!! Thank you for your request!!!! I hope you like it and sorry about the language mistakes!!!! :)))

PS: To the anon who sent me a request on Sunday, yk, the request about a village girl with a scar. I made a mistake and deleted it form my inbox without meaning to. I'm so sorry... Could you please send it to me again??? Thank you and again, sorry about the mistake :(

I want you to be mine

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut, Minors DNI, fluff, insecurities, Donna's POV, Donna being Donna

Word count: 6,367

Summary: I don't want you to leave me...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Requests are open!!! I'm waiting yours!!! I love you all!!! :))

“How could you think I would love someone like you? Just look at you, you're a monster,” you said, in an empty, dark room, only lit by your presence.

“You told me you loved me,” I answered, reaching out, moving my hand, trying to touch you, to make that illusion disappear. My voice sounded distorted, barely audible. Tears tried unsuccessfully to run down my cheeks.

“I will never love you, Donna, never…” you whispered, walking away from my attempts to find you, to reach you…

It was impossible, your legs walked gracefully on that black floor, mine seemed to be sunk in quicksand.

“(Y/N), please,” I begged, you didn't hear me. You kept walking, moving away from me. “(Y/N), (Y/N)!”

Darkness loomed over me.

“No... No...” I sighed, moving around in bed, opening my only eye to see that the same darkness surrounded me, but it was no longer the same. The sound of the wood creaking, my body soaked in sweat covered by soft sheets... I was at home.

I sat up trying to control my nervous breathing, the involuntary tremors of my body due to that horrible nightmare. I had woken up and the sound of your deep breathing served as a balm for my ears. You hadn't left. You were there, as always.

Since I met you I haven't stopped thinking of a thousand and one ways to lose you. You came to my house by chance, you walked along paths you shouldn't have, you dared to enter the forest, to fight the illusions that formed in your mind, and what for? To sell me your fabrics, to try to do business with me, with someone like me.

No one had come close in years, and I can't blame them for that. I, Donna Beneviento, village Lord and the very image of terror itself was too dangerous for any fool who dare to bother me. The difference was, you were not a fool.

A smile, a hot one, the lack of trembling from your body when I opened the door… No, you were nothing like I had seen before, you were different. I only needed to look at you to know that. You were a normal, ordinary girl, with a normal, ordinary job, what could possibly be going on in the head of a girl like you to want to meet someone like me?

I still don't know the answer to that question, to the question of why you came the next day, why you did it again. Day after day, your smile came to my door. Smiles that came from your lips, glances that came from those beautiful, perfect eyes. It was like looking into a distorted mirror, as if you were the beauty the Black Gods took from me.

It might seem like a bad joke, that you were a stupid, daring woman who only played with my fragile feelings. I only had to show you my true face, remove my black veil from my head and be honest with you, show you what kind of horrible creature you were smiling at. It didn't change, damn it, that smile didn't change, your steps walked close to me, your hands brushed mine, settled on my waist, you kissed me.

A dream, an illusion that my disturbed mind had created… That was what you were for me those first days. The habit of seeing you wake up, of seeing you rest by my side, sleep, read, chat, make love... Everything was enough to calm my nerves, so, no matter how much I pinched myself and closed my eyes, you would still be there, with me, making my loneliness disappear.

For you every day was good, they all made you smile; everything I did, every word I said seemed to have the same effect on you as your mere presence on me.

But I’m not a woman like you, I’m not normal, I’m fear itself, a Lord, a crazy, unhinged person, a sick one. You knew it… And… Even so, even so, you stayed with me.

Those problems disappeared with just a sigh from your lips, with one of your incredible smiles. It's a shame that life was always cruel to me, that the voices in my head gave me nightmares, made me scream, made me want to hurt you.

Despite everything, your warm body continued sleeping as if nothing had happened, as if you hadn't snuck into my mind again, to torture me.

I sighed, passing my hand over my sweaty forehead, shaking my head, denying to myself that it had only been a bad dream.

For the moment it is…

Those threats were constant, and little by little I learned to live without them, but always, at the least expected moment, those horrible voices came back, harassing me, warning me of dangers that I shouldn't know existed.

Little by little, after caressing your face, I got out of bed. You growled annoyed, surely because I was interrupting a beautiful dream, one in which I was what you wanted, and not… A monster.

I walked slowly through the dark hallways. I walked to take a shower, to get rid of that terrifying sweat due to a not-so-distant future, of my fears.

Not even the hot water could make me forget those eyes, the smile that was no longer on your face, those words of hate and disgust, the way you walked away from me. Like a statue, I remembered each one of those images as the water went down, while in front of me, I could only see your face, your face of hate.

“Donna?” a voice asked, your voice, behind the curtains. I, waking from a waking dream, from the constant repetition of your words of rejection, blinked and cleared my throat to fake a smile.

“Come in, tesoro,” I said softly, drawing back the curtains. Yes, it had been a nightmare, your smile was adorning your face again as you yawned adorably. “Did I wake you up?”

“No, well, yes, but it doesn't matter... It was time to get up,” you said shaking your head, kissing me quickly, giving me your lips again.

Enjoy it while you can…

“Taci,” I answered abruptly with a growl, I responded to the voice that snuck into my happiest moment, when you were so close to me, when I felt like you hadn't left, that I could enjoy you one more day, just one more day…

“Sorry?” you asked confused, with a frown but without losing your smile. “Did you say something, darling?”

“No,” I said coldly, dryly, denying myself my own demons, the voices that wanted to separate me from you.

You nodded distrustfully, knowing I was lying. You always know everything.

“Mm, okay…” you said, dragging out your words, studying my gaze, lifting my chin so you could see my lie better. “Do you mind if I join you?”

I shook my head, my eye being blessed by your hands undressing you, by your perfect body in front of me, by those little gifts that brightened my lonely life and that I didn't know when they would end.

“Uhh, it's hot,” you said amused when you entered the shower, washing away the sleep that was visible on your tired face, letting the water run over your body in a way you knew that drove me crazy.

But it wasn't the time. Your voice, your horrible words, your silent walk away from me were still present in my mind, they would always be present.

You sighed from the pleasure of that comforting shower and my body moved on its own, fearful like my thoughts, sick like my mind. My arms went around your waist, pulling you until you were leaning against me, until the water was rhythmically running down our naked bodies and my head was resting on your shoulder.

You laughed, as always, you returned those caresses by running your hands through mine, closing your eyes to enjoy that moment, maybe the last one.

Remember it, she will leave soon…

The voices came back, but I bit my tongue. I was ashamed of having those problems, of you seeing me as what I am, a sick, disturbed and dangerous crazy woman, a crazy woman madly in love with you.

“Do you know what I dreamed about?” you asked, letting my hands rock your body, preventing you from seeing my sad smile, my desire to shout at those voices to shut up.

“No,” I sighed, closing my eye to feel you better, to never forget the soft, miraculous touch of your skin.

You laughed, sighing too, moving away from me so you could shower, so my grip could release you, I didn't know for how long.

“It turns out I was in the village, I think, I don't know, and that I suddenly had super powers, can you imagine? Me,” you started to tell me. I smiled subtly. I loved to hear you ramble. “I could fly, run very, very fast... I could even make flowers grow as I went.”

“It was a funny dream, then,” I commented, helping you to soap your silky hair, feeling it between my fingers.

“Yes, of course it was,” you said as you nodded, sighing relaxed by my touch, by the way my hands worshipped, prayed to every part of your body. “They say that some dreams predict the future.”

My body tensed, my hands moved away from you and the tremors became part of my life again, distorting a romantic moment as I shook my head.

“No, that's not true,” I hissed, squinting, with your back turned, unable to see the anger in my gaze.

“No? Well, I think that...” you answered, turning around, surely alerted by the dangerous tone of my voice. “Donna.”

I looked at you and pretended to relax, looking away from you. Under the water, you walked towards me, studying me cautiously. I shook my head, not really knowing why. No, I didn't want that future to be the right one. I didn't want to, I couldn't lose you.

“Hey, my love, are you okay?” you asked in a sweet voice, taking my trembling hand, looking for the answer in my elusive gaze.

“Sto bene,” I whispered, lying, lying to you, like I always do. I'm terrified of you seeing my problems, of you knowing what kind of monster you sleep with at night.

“No, Donna, you're not okay… You're shaking,” you said with concern, protecting my hand between yours, squeezing it tightly. “Did you have a nightmare?”

“I said…” I muttered through my teeth, taking my hand away from yours. “… I'm fine.”

“Okay, okay,” you said a bit scared by my abrupt reaction, but avoiding by all means to lose that smile.

You're scaring her again, she'll leave, you'll see…

“I'm going to make breakfast,” I said, getting out of the shower before my irrational anger took it out on you, before my true attitude made that horrible dream come true.

“Hey, Donna, honey,” you said, putting a hand on my wrist, calmer, accustomed to my lies or maybe pretending to be compassionate to abandon me later. I was unable to know. “You know I love you very much, right?”

I nodded uncertainly, letting your lips rest on mine again, relaxing my spirit, but unable to silence my demons.

“I, I love you too,” I whispered, before covering myself with a towel, before disappearing, before your compassionate gaze stabbed my heart.

Luckily, cooking was always a good way to distract myself, cooking for you, making you happy with something as simple as a coffee, a piece of bread and some oil. You always loved the little things in life.

I always loved you, even if I didn't know it until I saw you for the first time. Always you, only you.

“Are you feeling better?” you asked in the middle of that silent breakfast, with a cautious but understanding, compassionate tone. I didn't want your pity, I wanted you.

“I already told you I was fine, (Y/N),” I said, with an involuntary dark tone, looking at you over my coffee cup. You shrugged, amused.

She's laughing at you, Donna, you should grab some scissors and…

“Well, that's why I'm asking you, if you're fine, being better is better than being fine, right? If you're fine I'm not asking if you're fine, but if you're better…” you rambled, leaving me confused, forcing me to frown and blink for not having understood you.

“Um… What?” I asked, a smile relaxing my face, with your fun attitude always relaxing my fears, my doubts. Gods, (Y/N), how much I love you.

“Oh, um… Well, I've already forgotten what I said,” you joked, winking at me.

I smiled, shy at your suggestive and carefree gestures.

“I'm not surprised,” I said, equally amused, thus achieving a moment of soft laughter between the two of us, one of those that reminded me you were here with me, that you hadn't left, and that you wouldn't leave.

Are you sure about that, Donna?

“Anyway…” you sighed, wiping yourself with a napkin. “Do you need something from the Duke? I had thought about going to the village.”

All my senses were immediately on alert. No, you could, you shouldn't leave my house.

“Are you going out?” I asked, leaving my cup abruptly on the table. You didn't get scared. You just looked at me and nodded.

“Yes, well…” you murmured, tapping your fingers on the table, as if you knew what my reaction was going to be.

“The Duke will come in two days, why do you want to go?” I asked again, confused, furious inside, struggling to keep that anger from being evident, without success, my hands were shaking again.

You simply shrugged, forcing a smile.

“I feel like getting some air, the weather is giving me a break that I want to take advantage of and I also want to see…” you whispered disinterestedly, serving yourself some more coffee.

I exploded, getting up and looking at you with hatred, with one that I didn't feel, that my disturbed mind forced me to feel.

“Who are you going to see?!” I screamed, clenching my fists tightly, imagining a thousand romantic scenarios in which I wasn't the protagonist. You wiped your beautiful smile from your face, frowning with an unpleasant gesture.

“I’m going to see my parents…” you said with a cautious tone, with a frightened look, with a terror that only I was able to see in your eyes. “What's wrong with you?”

“No, no… I don't want you to go out, you have to, you have to stay here,” I said in a dark voice, shaking my head, pressing my lips together, letting my worries scare you away again. You, visibly fed up with my behavior, stood up too, shaking your head.

“Not again. Listen to me, Donna, you're not my owner, okay? You can't stop me from leaving your house, I'm not your slave!” you said furiously, fed up with my possessiveness, with an uncontrollable, unhinged person, like me.

I stayed silent, regretful, confused and hurt by your screams, by the lack of that smile of yours that gave me life. You rolled your eyes and took a deep breath, slowly approaching, placing a risky hand on my cheek.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to talk to you like that,” you whispered in a calmer tone, forgiving my mistakes again, something I didn't deserve, I didn't deserve you, (Y/N). “I just want, I want to go out and get some fresh air, see my parents for a while and buy some things for us. I didn't mean to make you nervous, or yell at you, forgive me.”

“Non fa niente,” I sighed, managing to calm down thanks to your touch, to your tangible presence, to confirm again that you weren't part of my mind, that you were next to me and that, if you left, it would only be my fault.

“Oh, that's new, what does it mean?” you asked curiously, with that smile adorning your beauty again, taking out a small notebook that you always carried with you. “Non fa…”

“Niente,” I finished while you wrote down concentrated, smiling satisfied. “It means: never mind.”

“Okay…” you whispered, putting the notebook away again and stealing a kiss from me, a delicious, soft one, one that forgave the things I was unable to forgive myself. “Soon I'll be bilingual, you'll see.”

I laughed amused, shaking my head and playing with your hands, letting the air out of my lungs along with my absurd worries.

“I'm sorry, (Y/N),” I apologized, kissing the back of your hand. You made a funny gesture, downplaying it and moving away from me.

“Bah, everything's okay,” you sighed, letting me gently grab your waist. “Besides, I'll be back before you know it, why don't you work on your dolls in the meantime?”

I nodded, noticing the cold emptiness of your body moving away from mine, the bitterness of a goodbye kiss that I didn't know if it really was areal one.

Say goodbye, stupid Donna…

I didn't say anything, I didn't silence my mind, I simply saw you wink at me before leaving our house, engraving that image in my head so I would never forget it. Maybe I should follow your advice and work on my dolls. Maybe that way I would silence the screams of my madness.

The workshop gave me peace, tranquility… Giving life to lifeless pieces of porcelain had been my whole life, a method to forget the loneliness that you destroyed, that I wanted to destroy.

That newly made doll seemed satisfied with the dress I sewed for her, with the touch-ups I made on that cold material. I lost track of time, I even stopped worrying, at least for a moment.

“Well, benvenuta,” I whispered amused, touching up the hair of that new doll, ready to be sold after having made me forget for a moment that you weren't home.

“Silly, silly Donna,” that inert doll shrieked, causing me to almost fall off the chair. No, she couldn't be talking. I didn't give her the gift of life. It couldn't be possible. “Do you know where (Y/N) is?”

I, scared, but with a cool head, nodded.

“She's in the village,” I said, looking around carefully. Angie wasn't there, she couldn't have spoken. It was that stupid doll.

“Are you sure?” that doll asked. My head didn't speak. The voices had disappeared, now they had materialized in the porcelain. “I don't think so…”

“You can't talk,” I said whispering, scared by my own madness, by projecting my insecurities in a ridiculous and involuntary dialogue.

“(Y/N) won't come back, she has abandoned you,” the doll sang, with a sinister laugh, mocking, laughing at me without any kind of compassion. “You're ugly and stupid, Donna, and (Y/N) can't stand you…”

“Taci,” I growled, shaking that doll angrily. “Taci, taci!”

“You're angry because it's true,” she continued singing, I even thought I saw her face move. “Nobody loves you, Donna, you're pathetic, an ugly and insane monster, and (Y/N) knows it, she will abandon you, you'll be alone again…”

“No… No…” I denied, putting my hands on my temples, while that sinister doll laughed, she didn't stop laughing. “Basta, basta…”

“Brutta, stupida, pazza,” she continued mocking. “You're pathetic, an ugly monster, a submissive fool, a disgusting naive, (Y/N) hates you…”

“Silenzio…” I hissed furiously, grabbing the doll again, which didn't stop laughing, saying those horrible things. “Silenzio!”

With all my strength, I threw that doll to the floor, breaking it into a thousand pieces, silencing it with my madness, silencing for a while those horrible voices, which I knew would return.

“Cazzo, cazzo!” I repeated furiously, kicking the chair, pulling my hair, trying not to look at that innocent doll destroyed by my madness.

I don't want, I didn't want, I will never want you to end up like that, because of me.

“Hey, hey, hey!” a shrill, different voice approached me, along with small, cautious steps, Angie. “Oh, Donna we have a problem! Quick, quick Donna, call an ambulance, this doll is injured!” she joked, playing with the pieces of porcelain.

“Angie…” I sighed in relief, placing the chair back and falling into it, burying my head in my arms, crying inconsolably. “I can't take it anymore…”

“Donna, you fool, why did you kill my partner?” the puppet asked, my only friend, companion, the only one until you came.

“Angie… Do you, do you think (Y/N) is going to abandon me?” I asked, a bit calmer, with my puppet comically resting her hand on my back.

“What? Bullshit, why would she do that?” she said, shaking her head. “The silly girl loves you.”

“Does she love me?” I asked confused, slowly stopping crying, controlling the shaking of my hands.

“If she didn't love you, she wouldn't have to put up with you,” Angie said without any kind of tact, as always. Angie was part of me, an irrational but different part. “Especially if you go around killing dolls…”

“I'm getting worse… This, this night I have a dream where she abandoned me and…” I stammered, explaining the reason for my anger, for my worries.

“Don't pay attention to dreams,” the puppet advised, climbing onto my lap and hugging me tenderly. “Don't cry, my Donna…”

“I can't help it,” I said, wiping my tears. “I can't stop thinking that at any moment...”

“You're not going to fix anything by complaining and breaking everything in your path, you'll scare her even more,” Angie said, in a softer voice, jumping on the table.

“So what can I do? I, I don't want to lose her,” I asked, a bit desperate, quite a lot, in fact.

“Start by marking your territory,” she said, making me frown. “Animals do it, you know? And it works for them.”

“Stop talking, Angie, I'm not in the mood for your nonsense,” I sighed, shaking my head. Of course, expecting a good advice from the doll was my lowest point.

“It's not nonsense. Do you know what your problem is?” she asked in a cocky tone.

“That I'm horrible? That I'm crazy?” I asked, ironically, pretending to be joking about those horrible truths.

The puppet shook her head, sitting on the table and swinging her legs comically.

“No, silly, your problem is that you are a cute and sweet teddy bear,” the doll explained, confusing me even more. “You are a clingy cheesy woman.”

“So what if I am? I love her and I want to make her feel comfortable,” I protested, crossing my arms.

“No, wrong answer, you get no prize,” the doll joked, putting a finger on my nose, which I pushed away furiously.

“If you are not going to help me…” I threatened, extending one of my hands. The doll put hers in a gesture of defeat and shook her head again.

“I know what you do at night,” she said out of the blue, leaving me petrified and dead with embarrassment.

“What?!” I screamed furiously. “Have you been spying on us?!”

“No, silly, I don't need to, you're me, remember?” Angie defended herself, with a haughty tone. “It’s disgusting.”

“Okay, that's enough, get out,” I said tiredly, sighing and making signs to the puppet, who, of course, didn't obey.

“Will you stop acting like an idiot and listen to me?” Angie said, putting her hands on my shoulders. I was starting to lose patience. “(Y/N) give me a kiss, let me hug and cuddle you, how much I love you… Yes, that's it, slowly, make me yours, amore mio…”

“Stop making fun of me!” I screamed shaking my head, getting up again, wanting to slam my faithful Angie into the floor.

“You're too soft, Donna, submissive. How do you expect to make clear that she’s yours? With kisses and cuddles?” the doll said, not scared by my behavior. I was her, she was me.

“What are you implying?” I asked calmer, curious about what she was thinking and what I wasn't able to guess.

“I'm implying that…” Angie said, with a more serious tone. “…That you must show her who she belongs to. Stop being the whiny submissive Donna who melts down because of the disgusting things (Y/N) does to you. You have to assert yourself, Donna, dominate her in bed so you can dominate her day by day, do you understand?”

“You spend too much time with the girls,” I whispered, smiling nervously at those words, at that idea the voices in my head welcomed with pleasure.

“It’s up to you, but it works for them...” Angie said, getting down from the table, leaving me pensive, confused, and determined to listen to her.

“Hey, Angie,” I said, interrupting the doll's path, wanting to leave me alone. She turned to listen to me, as always. “Did you give me that advice? Or was it me?”

The doll shrugged.

“It's my advice, silly, but... What makes you think it wasn't you?” she said before leaving, surrounded by pieces of porcelain and with a thousand questions in my head.

Time passed slowly, too slowly. Angie's advice traveled through my head, my voices approved, my disturbed mind seemed to want to make me feel like doing it, to dominate you, to show you that you were mine, to never let you go, ever again.

“Hello, ciao, hola, bonjour,” you hummed when you opened the door, carrying several bags, walking towards my stoic figure, kissing me almost without me realizing it. I wasn't thinking about you, I was thinking about the things I wanted to do to you. “I'm here.”

“I see it,” I said with a fake smile, helping you put the bags on the floor. You sighed and wiped your sweaty forehead, pointing at those new acquisitions.

“I think this is everything we needed, oh, and my parents say they want to have dinner with you, you know, to see if you're not the murderous monster they talk about in the village... Oh, and you have to do something about that fat bastard, every day his prices are higher and... Donna, are you listening to me?” you said with your always funny voice, frowning when you saw my serious expression, the darkness in my gaze.

I simply nodded, without moving, without expressing anything, only the desire to fulfill my duty, to make you mine.

“Are you okay?” you asked again, approaching nervously, resting your hand on my cheek, with that calmer, less brilliant smile.

I reacted to your soft touch, pushing you roughly against the wall of the hall, making the old clock that made me see time was actually passing and I wasn't living in a dream, tremble.

“What are you doing?” you asked strangely, with my arms preventing you from moving, from protesting. I was determined and not even your smile could stop me.

“Shut up,” I said abruptly, throwing myself at your lips, kissing them fiercely, without giving you time to speak, to react, to complain.

You didn't play along at first, but don't take long to relax, to return my kisses, to hug me with your hands, pulling me, raising the temperature.

“Okay, okay… I'll shut up,” you said amused, letting my mouth travel over your skin, letting my hands unbutton your dress, let them get through the cracks I created, let them feel your breasts in a wild way, completely different.

You looked at me surprised, but you didn't put up any resistance, you let me squeeze, bite, enjoy your body, enjoy your sudden defenselessness, your inability to escape from my clutches.

“Donna…” you gasped, hanging from my neck, kissing me, trying to compensate my lustful touch with kisses you had already thought about, that you knew where to give.

Maybe you were trying to subdue me, maybe you were trying to me to be the stupid and submissive Donna again. No, I wouldn't be.

Show her who he belongs to, make her yours until she faints…

The voices in my head stopped being sinister screams to become a velvety and careful voices, praising my roughness, my wild acts, my wet kisses that made your skin shine as it slowly became exposed.

The swinging of our hips joined that wild dance, those erratic hands, those touches, those kisses, those hurried and almost desperate caresses. My hand sank into your dress, my teeth caught your nipples, without hurting you, but without letting them escape. Passion and lust had dominated my actions, my words, my desire to possess you was greater the desire of loving you.

I knew that was a bad sign, but I didn't care.

Your hands traveled to my dress, to its buttons, one, two, just two. My mischievous hand, scratching the skin of your thigh, suddenly rose to yours squeezing it, pushing it away forcefully.

It wasn't about me, (Y/N), it was about you. That time you would let it be me, I wouldn't let you fool me with your ability to love, with the experience that tormented me.

No, amore mio, you had to be mine.

You insisted between moans of protest, you complained because you couldn't touch me, because your hands couldn't conquer my skin and mine were free to do so. You moaned nervously when my hand went up your leg again, when I pushed aside your underwear to make my way into your wetness, slightly separating your legs. I opened my eye and looked at you. I checked your reaction, your lascivious gaze penetrating mine.

If she looks at you, she'll catch you again...

The voices were right, I couldn't, I can't stand that smile, the only thing that could make me reflect and be more affectionate, be the same woman who conquered you, who loved you and showered you with praise.

But no, that wasn't making love. It was a test, an act of possession, a reminder for you to never forget who you belonged to.

“Turn around and bend over,” I ordered with a sinister, neutral tone, without showing the passion, the lust, the moisture that had already settled between my legs.

You couldn't see me weak. I didn't want you to see me weak.

You looked at me curiously with that horrible smile. It seemed like you didn't want to obey, but my disturbed mind acted before my heart, grabbing you by the shoulders and forcing you to fulfill my wish.

“I said, turn around,” I hissed threateningly, losing my mind, pulling your hair in an unpleasant way, causing you to hiss in pain.

“Have you been drinking?” you asked amused, earning another tug for that infamous accusation, for thinking that my attitude was only due to an excessive intake of wine. No, you were my motivation, my alcohol, my drug, you were my addiction, and I would make you mine.

“Chiudi il becco…” I whispered even more dangerously, lifting your dress, standing behind you, letting your hair go to grab your already moved underwear, to pull it down abruptly while my hand was impregnated with your wetness, while I felt your desire, your throbbing core wanting to be conquered.

“Don…” you sighed, interrupted by my abruptness, by my madness, by my two fingers penetrating your entrance, curling them quickly, stimulating your clit to close your mouth, just as I asked you. “…Na!”

It wasn't a scream, nor a moan. I didn't care to know either, I just wanted to continue, to feel your wetness on my fingers, your hips moving, your body shaking with pleasure, with fear, with knowing that you were mine.

I smiled wickedly, without you seeing me, grabbing your buttocks, spanking them when your moans diminished. I wanted to hear you scream my name, to say that you were mine, I wanted every last villager to hear it as well as every last one of those mocking dolls in the basement.

“Say it, (Y/N)…” I whispered, letting my hand move to your rhythm, but playing with you, stopping, continuing faster, slower, not letting you relax, making you pay attention to everything I did.

“What…? What do you want me to say?” you asked in a strange tone, panting from my movements, from my spanking, from my nails digging deeper and deeper into your skin.

“Sei mia…” I hissed, increasing the speed of my fingers, letting them slide through your wetness, roughly, getting a little closer, grabbing your neck from behind, lifting it.

You gasped in fear. I wish I could have seen your face.

“Do, Donna… Wa, wait…” you moaned exhausted, supporting yourself by bringing your hands to mine, trying to they to not squeeze your perfect neck.

“Say it!” I shouted furiously, forcing you to lean even more. “Say it, cazzo!”

“I'm… I'm…” you stammered, with a broken voice, a voice that made me frown, that told me something was wrong. “I'm yours, Donna.”

And then I felt it, I felt something wet falling on my hand, something salty, a tear. Soon my senses returned, sanity made its way into my dangerous lust to make me see what was happening. I had seen horrible things throughout my life but never something like this, never something that could make even the Black Gods lament, something that only meant pity, sadness, something horrible.

(Y/N), you were crying.

I was paralyzed, horrified when the voices in my head let me hear your laments, your sobs. I had never seen you cry, I had never seen the slightest sign of sadness on your face, on your body. I had never seen tears run down your beautiful skin, contaminating it, because of me.

“Gods...” I murmured when I realized what I was doing, how abrupt I had been, that following this advice was much worse than losing you. I was making you suffer, hurting you.

My mind was so disturbed, so sick that it was not able to tell me that you would never abandon me, that your smile always adorned your face because you were where you wanted to be, next to me, because you loved me, because I made you happy, because I took care of you.

I should have realized it before. I should have realized the only thing that could make you leave was me.

“Donna,” you sighed, among sobs, relaxing when I pulled out of you to pull my hair again, to growl angrily at what I had caused: the greatest misfortune in the world, making you cry.

“(Y/N), I'm, I'm sorry…” I stammered, unable to speak clearly, moving away from you to avoid the temptation to continue, to hurt you even more. “I'm sorry!”

Now you've really screwed it up, stupida…

“No, no, it's not my fault… It's not my fault!” I shouted nervously, arguing with my demons again, approaching you, putting a hand on your back, horrified to see your face covered in tears. “(Y/N)… Don’t, don't cry…”

“Donna…” you sighed again, turning around, cupping my face in your hands, a scared face, an eye that refused to see your tears, to acknowledge that they were caused by my madness.

“I'm sorry…” I stammered, grabbing my hair again, pulling away abruptly. “Please, forgive me.”

I caressed you, I wiped those awful tears from your face. I searched, without success, for a way to comfort you, to console you, to ask for forgiveness for that mistake, knowing that you would never do it, you would never forgive me.

My caresses were soft but trembling, your gaze was still sad, I couldn't fully decipher it, your body let itself be comforted, caressed, but it was too late.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” I yelled, humiliating myself, kneeling before you, grabbing your legs, letting my tears finally come out of the darkness of my heart, soaking your dress desecrated with my shame, with my regret.

“What are you doing? Let me go, Donna,” you said abruptly, frowning, changing that sad face to one of anger and bewilderment, pushing me away from you. “That's enough, honey.”

Honey? I must have been dreaming. I didn't deserve for you to call me that way.

I cried harder, crawling like a vermin on the floor, leaning my back against a wall and burying my horrible face in my knees.

“I'm sorry…” I sobbed, shaking my head, letting you, unexpectedly, rest your hand on my knee, sitting next to me in silence. “I, I've tried to avoid it but, but I can't…”

“You can't? What can't you do, Donna?” you asked softly, agitated but horribly understanding.

“I, I don't want you to leave, to abandon me… I… I was, I was jealous of… Everything and I wanted, I wanted to dominate you so… So…” I stammered with my voice completely distorted by my pathetic crying.

“Shh, don't cry…” you said softly, leaning my head to rest on your shoulder.

“Sono stupida…” I protested, hitting the floor with my fists, letting myself to be invaded by your scent, by your skin on mine. “I wanted, I wanted… I wanted to make you mine and I've… I've made you cry… I'm a monster.”

Your answer was not the one I expected. A subtle laugh came out of your lips, along with a look of astonishment.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you said, relaxing your body, and your tone of voice. “Are you saying that because I was crying?”

I nodded, confused by your change in attitude.

“Donna, I think you're wrong,” you said, holding back your laughter, something that made me turn away angrily.

“Do you find it funny?” I protested, shaking my head, mouth agape.

“Yes, because… I was actually crying from the pleasure you were giving me,” you explained, embarrassed, leaving me stunned, unable to respond. “I will never abandon you, my love, you know I love you with all my soul.”

“Ma, ma, ma…” I said nervously, completely lost.

“I’m yours, and I will always be yours…” you said, kissing me on the lips, with that amazing smile returning to your face. “By the way… How about you keep doing the same thing to me? I really like your wild side, Donna…”

#donna beneviento #donna beneviento x reader #re8 donna #re8 village #oneshot #requests

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delulu-is-the-soluluh · 10 months ago

Text

Scars of Flames and Wind | Chap 3

Chap 2

A Dark!Rowaelin x afab!Reader

(Temporary) Summary: Aelin and Y/N shared a deep bond since childhood, growing up together in the royal courts of Terrasen as their innocent crushes hinted at a future romance. However, the invasion of Adarlan shattered their world. Aelin was forced to become Celaena, while Y/N stayed behind, joining the rebellion and becoming their most lethal spy, never ceasing to look for the princess. That is until she accidentally meets with a famous assassin who’s eyes she knows for so long.

Warnings: Stalking, death, Sam Cortland, Yn is revealed to be morally dark gray and twisted (surprise :D); Time jumps. I changed one thing or two for the sake of the plot. Had to divide in two parts, sorry :D

Chapter 3 l As time goes by; part one

YN went back to the small apartment she shared with Ren whenever she was in Adarlan, gloom and sadness weighing heavily on her as she replayed her earlier encounter while the sun began to rise. Her heart was heavy because of Aelin's choice, bittersweet from having a proper goodbye. She could still taste her on her lips, feel her in her hands and her faint jasmine scent lingered over the lavender soap. Tears began to fall as YN promised herself she would never forget. Now that she knew who Aelin truly was, she vowed to do everything in her power to take her away from the Guild. She would use every favor she had to bring her back into her arms.

As she reached the apartment, expecting it to be empty since Ren was out of town, she was surprised to find Aedion seated on the sofa in a relaxed pose, arms open with a wide smile. “Miss me, Rocky?” he said.

She was shocked to see him there, as he was supposed to be up North at the Staghorn. She let out a breathy laugh, rolling her eyes as tears continued to fall. She hugged him, saying, “I hate when you call me that. What are you doing here?”

“And I love it when you hate it. I need to report the rebellion somethings, I’m going back north tonight.” he replied, giving her a bear hug. When he heard her sniffles, he frowned, looking at her face. “Why are you crying? Did you miss me that much?” he tried to joke, though his tone was filled with concern.

YN looked at him, vulnerable in her eyes, trying to speak but failing. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and said, “I found her.”

Aedion kept a confused look. “Found her? Found who...?” Then his eyes widened in realization. “Impossible... she’s... dead, she fell into the river.”

“She’s alive, Aedion,” YN said, pulling away from his embrace to show him the dagger. Aedion looked at it, confused, and she opened the hilt with shaking hands, revealing the necklaces inside. Aedion’s breath hitched as he looked up at her.

“She’s alive, and she’s Celaena Sardothien.” Her voice broke as fat tears began to drop. Aedion's face crumbled, and his eyes teared up.

She told him everything. About Archer’s group, about Hunter and Louis deciding about Nicky, what she had done, and how she found her. As she was putting on the radiant sun necklace, she said, “I don’t know if she’s scared of the Guild coming after us or scared to reclaim the throne because of her life, but I tried,” she said in a desperate tone. “I tried to convince her, I said I’d pay her debt, that she could be with us as Aelin or Celaena, but she was adamant...”

Aedion was quiet, trying to process all the information as tears fell. After a moment of silence, YN sat on the sofa, sighing, and put her hands on her head.

“What now? Are we just going to sit here and continue as if nothing happened?” Aedion asked, anger rising in his voice.

“I’ll help her,” YN quickly answered. “I have my ways to take her away from that life, favors that I need to call in...” She took a deep breath. “She’s coming back to Terrassen with us. No matter the name she chooses.”

Aedion stood quiet. A few moments passed until he came to sit by her side. “Are you going to tell this to the Lords?”

“Absolutely not. They will find a way to blame her, accuse her of treason because of her work here... and Darrow will pull some shit about ‘forgetting her kingdom’ or ‘abandoning us.’” YN gave a dry laugh. “As if an eight-year-old could have known that fucking asshole would abuse her like that.”

Aedion grabbed her hand to ground them both as his agitation grew. Arobynn Hamel—a name that’s for certain on his kill list.

“Let’s just keep this between us, okay? At least for now,” YN said softly, looking into his eyes. Aedion nodded and kissed her temple, knowing how long and how deeply she loved her cousin.

Yn pov:

It’s been months since that night at the inn, and I’ve been working non-stop, scraping together every coin to pay off her debt and keep track of Celaena. She didn’t ask for help—she’d probably hate me for interfering—but I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. I’ve had to be careful, though. I can’t afford to be caught by the Guild, and giving them money directly is out of the question. So, I’ve had to get creative. Every job I take, every coin I earn, it’s all for her—even if she never knows.

The first bit of news I heard about her came through the usual gossip in my line of work: Celaena Sardothien freed two hundred slaves at Skull’s Bay with another assassin, Sam Cortland, ruining Captain Rolfe’s plans. The last I heard, she was with the Silent Assassins. I confirmed it through a contact in Xandria who sent me a usual report, mentioning a new face at an inn, and Celaena’s silence over the summer only solidified it.

Two hundred lives. Freed by her. I couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride. I hope she realizes that if she can do that, she can do anything. Like leaving that life behind for good.

But the irony isn’t lost on me. While she’s out there saving lives, I’ve been deepening my ties with the Underworld. I’ve taken on more work as a rental spy, keeping it hidden from Aedion. He wouldn’t approve, not of this side of me that I’ve kept secret—the side that takes lives for the sake of the cause. I’ve been doing this for over a year now, telling myself that all the money, all the books I’ve bought, all the information and favors, it’s for Terrasen, but since Aelin’s life has been at risk, I’ve gone even further, become even crueler.

Sometimes, my work involves clients like Farran Rouke, Ioan Jayne’s Second. Farran has his own side operations that Jayne knows nothing about, and he’s always looking for someone to spy or eliminate targets that can threaten his plan to dominate the Underworld of crime. He once told me that's why he sometimes chooses me for his more delicate tasks—because of my ruthlessness, sharp mind, and ability to blend into society unnoticed. We've developed a... partnership, of sorts. His targets serve as my experiments, and he compensates me handsomely for my “creativity”.

Right now, I’m working for Rouke, keeping an eye on the harlot at The Vaults. I discovered Jayne’s plan—he suspects that Farran is onto him and intends to drug him with Gloriella and torture him. I reported this to Farran, who then assigned me to watch over the harlot Jayne is using to set the trap.

As a wrestling match raged in the ring, Jayne locked himself in a cheap bedroom with the harlot. I was about to leave when I spotted her—Celaena. My heart almost stopped. I didn’t know she was back. Farlan had gone for more spidersilk, and Ansel hadn’t answered my last letter. But there she was, signaling with a nod toward the man who’d just won the match. I didn’t recognize him, and I had no idea what connection he had to her.

I followed them through the streets, dread curling in my gut as I watched them argue. They were close—too close. I kept tailing them until they reached a large apartment above a warehouse. I couldn’t stop myself; I climbed to the nearest rooftop,uncaring if I looked like a stalker, so I could keep hidden but having a clear vision of a kitchen half lit by moonlight. Peering towards the kitchen window, I watched as they continued to argue. My heart pounded in my throat when I realized they were living together.

She’d left the Guild—for him. He was enough. Not me.

Betrayal flared in my chest, as my eyes filled with tears when he started kissing her. Kissing my.. something shattered inside me while I silently cried my way back home, the autumn sea air refreshing the burning sensation that those necklaces brought.

Days later:

I used to relive that night at the inn in my dreams, waking each time with a renewed sense of purpose. But now, those dreams are tainted, more often twisting into that cursed kitchen, where I'm forced to watch him kiss her and bitterness takes place in my chest.

It didn't take much to find out who he was, since spying on them has become easier—which worries me because of their lack of protection with so many enemies around. They must be out of money and desperately needing a target for him to participate in clandestine fights at The Vaults.

I’m well aware that I shouldn’t be angry at Sam Cortland. Apparently, he doesn’t know a thing about who she really is or her past but how he helped her back in Skull Bay, proved him to be a man of values and true to his.. feelings towards her. One that seemed to be mutual and enough for her to leave all behind.

But anger has been stronger than my reason. And yet, it’s still not enough to make me throw away the dagger or the necklace she gave me. I’ve tried.

And it was so stupid of me for keeping my distance, for hiding away to no get caught by Arobynn, all to protect Celaena’s wishes—only for her to come back from the Red Desert and leave that fucking Guild without a second thought for a harlot’s son.

Now, as I make my way to Rouke's manor, the reality of how futile my efforts have been settled in. Everything I’ve done, every coin I’ve earned, it all feels meaningless in the face of her decision. Yet, here I am, collecting blood money once again, wondering if I’m becoming the very thing I despised—all while she’s moved on, leaving me to grapple with the consequences of my choices. Perhaps I’m losing my grip on my own morals. Have I ever had it?.

I was about to knock on Rouke’s office door when I froze to hear voices inside. He was arrogant enough to leave his house unguarded, so I stood close to listen.

“So, about the trap-offer and getting Cortland dead, I’ll charge you a little more than money. A minor, tiny favor of your pet: killing Joan out of my way and if she do a great job I'll capture her.” Rouke’s voice says, casual as ever. “Maybe even having a little entertainment with her.”

My blood runs cold as I listen to Arobynn voice slices through the air, cold and commanding.

“That’s out of the question. I want her back alive and in one piece. But I’ll speak to her first and If she doesn't change her mind, we will follow the plan.”

Rouke's laughter follows, dark and mocking. “It's quite amusing to see this side of you... Always so composed, so serious. Amazing what a little love quarrel can do, isn't it?”

The sound of chairs scraping against the floor jolts me into action. My heart races as I press myself closer to the wall, trying to steady my trembling hands.

“Careful with your next steps, Hammel,” Rouke warns, his voice turning deadly. “Or I’ll revoke our deal and handle things my way” A tense silence fills the room, stretching out until the calmer, deliberate footsteps of Arobynn finally break it.

I take a few quick steps back, pretending I’ve just arrived. The door swings open, and Arobynn steps out, his cold eyes locking with mine for a moment before he nods and walks past me. So close and yet so far from slitting his throat. I swallow my rage, forcing a nonchalant expression onto my face as I step into Rouke’s office.

“Ah, Sierra,” Rouke greets me with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. Sierra. A name I’ve chosen for these kinds of jobs—an alias that conceals my identity “always a delight to see you, even with that mask” he stepped aside so I could enter the room. "Sorry for this minor inconvenience, but I was just reminding myself how not to kill our allies.” He says as a joke while mentioning with his hands for me to take the seat in front of his desk. As I took the seat, Rouke opened a drawer and placed on the table a heavy sack full of coins.

“Two thousand gold coins for your excellent work with that harlot of Jayne, the body was unrecognizable under that sewage. It's good to see that your“anatomy classes” have borne fruits.”

A sick smile took over his face. I felt the bitter bile rise as I remembered the victim's body. I did this 'work' by taking out on that harlot all the hurt I felt from nights ago. But as the disgust for him mixed with my own, I realized I was turning into someone I despised—a creature without control, a monster of my own making.

“I know you work on a contract basis and prefer to complete your assignments away from others, but I have a proposal—no, a gift!” He says leaning back into his chair. “An exclusive, in-person 'method masterclass' with my next target. As a token of my gratitude for your impeccable work over the past year, and with my impending rise to power, I'd like you in my inner circle as my spy. I assure you, money won’t be a problem neither will your security. What do you say?”

My mind went silent for a moment. The stark realization of my choices hitting me like a stone in my head “I have to refuse. I have another assignment scheduled out of town and my distaste for formal agreements.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, come on! Still clinging to that mindset? You're talented, I’ll give you that, but in our world, people like us don’t stay hardened for long. It’s only a matter of time before a client grows dissatisfied and ruins your reputation—or worse, reports you.” Rouke leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with ambition, his voice dripping with venom. “Is that all you want? You're already a spy... why stay stuck in the same position when you could be my future second-in-command?”

My stomach churned, but I kept my face impassive, voice steady. “I appreciate the offer, but I prefer to keep working on my own and control over my choices. I have no interest in climbing any higher on your ladder, especially if it means compromising my principles or becoming entangled in your web.”

“Principles? in our line of work? He laughs, a cold, mocking sound. “ You wounded me, Sierra. I thought we were birds of a feather. I might start to think that you’re running away from me.”

I forced a smirk under my mask and crossed my legs ‘I’m not running away; it’s a favor I owe. I prefer to honor my commitments with my clients.’

He nodded, his expression thoughtful “What a shame.. we would make a wonderful duo in this world.” He got up towards the door and took the sack from the table as I went to him shortly after. “That’s what I like about you. This unyielding loyalty to your work. Admirable, really.” He opened the door as I stood in front of him, outside his office. “And that’s what is going to kill you.”

A sour taste came in my mouth. He hands me the money, and I nod goodbye and I leave. The coins feel dirty in my hands, and disgust churns in my stomach.

I head home, mind now racing as I try to think of a way to warn Celaena without getting caught. Was he planning to report her as vengeance for choosing Sam? I sighed as I walked through the door, and locked it, putting the sack in the drawer near it.

“Yn?” Fuck. Ren is here. He came from the bathroom, hair wet from the bath and clean clothes “What made you go out so early? I was waiting for at least a coffee brewed for me.” He joked while drying his hair with a towel.

I rolled my eyes as I took my boots off. “Has anyone ever told you that you are presumptuous?” I placed them near the door and went to hug him. While Aedion was like a brother, Ren was my closest friend. He helped with my training and whenever I was in Terrasen he offered a place to stay and a couple of books and education that survived the fire. “How have you been?”

“I’m doing okay,” he says, pulling away from the embrace “Been sober for six months now.”

“Ren, that is amazing! I’m so proud of you!” I say, genuinely pleased for him. He has been battling opioid addiction for a couple of years now. Watching him fight and now hearing that he’s managed to stay sober for this long—it’s nothing short of incredible.

I hesitate for a moment before asking, “Have you seen Aedion? How’s everything going in Terrasen?”

Ren’s expression shifts to one of concern. “Actually, I’m here to pick you up. Aedion has been called by the king for reports on the ‘siege’ in Suria. We need to get back before Darrow starts thinking he’s the one running things.”

I stared at him confused. “Out of the blue like that?” Since I’m Aedion’s right hand, I’m used to moving between Adarlan and the North depending on where he needs me. Whenever I’m here in Adarlan, it’s usually because Aedion is stationed in the North, and vice versa.

Ren sighed as he went to the kitchen “Sorscha said last letter that the king wants him near because of the growing wave of murders of some bourgeois with contact with the nobility. He thinks it's only a matter of time for someone to commit a treason.” Ren bit a chunk of bread as said with his mouth full “The king is madder each day. You should take a bath and pack your things, we’re leaving at noon.”

“What?” I turned quickly from the bathroom door. “Wait a minute, you came with him? That is dangerous, what if someone saw him with you?”

“Relax, it was too early for someone to see us! By the way, what were you doing for being out so early?” He shouted from the living room, as I opened the bathtub tab.

“What? A girl can’t snoop around, sometimes?” Sighing, I say, “I’m going to take a bath and I’ll tell the rest.” As soon as I closed the door, fear hit me like a tidal wave as I leaned onto the sink. I’ll never be able to tell her about the fake offer Sam is going to get, I’m not going to be here to help her. All that I did for nothing. Money will not help if she get reported, and I don’t know if I have a pending favor to charge.

I started to hyperventilate as dread consumed me. There’s nothing that I can do. Only hope Celaena realizes it’s a trap before it’s too late.

These past two months here at Staghorn have been challenging, to say the least. Darrow has been breathing down my neck, questioning where all my money is coming from and why I have such extensive knowledge of politics and anatomy but not a single new ally. I’ve had to roll my eyes and keep pushing forward—studying, training with Bane and Ren in the harsh winter, and building my trust with the army. I couldn’t even send a letter to Aedion while he’s at the castle, fearing it would raise suspicion. Sorscha has sent reports, but nothing that really grabbed my attention. I need to know what happened after I left.

It was a cold morning at the Murtaugh House. I stayed with Ren to brainstorm new ideas to advance and invest further in the Rebellion. As I was having breakfast in the kitchen, one of the few housekeepers handed me a letter. I thanked her, setting my coffee on the table as she left. But when I opened the letter to read Aedion’s handwriting form the most horrendous phrase:

“She’s in Endovier.”

It happened. Sam is dead, and she’s fallen into the trap. Arobynn reported her. I barely made it to the bathroom before I lost my breakfast. I knew what Endovier was, what happened there, and what’s in store for her. I tried not to collapse as the bile rose in my throat. There’s nothing I can do to save her now. No amount of money or favors will change that. Defying the Adarlan crown is too risky—no one from here will be sent there. I need to come up with a plan, something, anything. But all that came up was the bitter taste of my bile and my own despair.

I’ve found myself standing in a shadowy forest, the trees towering high above, their leaves whispering secrets I couldn’t quite grasp in the middle of the night. It couldn’t be Oalkwood but more like an ancient version of the forest: Full of magic and mysteries and tiny yellow orbs looking through the bushes. The air was thick with an otherworldly energy, as I walked through the trees and branches with only the moonlight to guide me when I felt a presence behind me.

I turned slowly, and there, half-hidden by the shadows, was a strangely familiar figure—a female fae, tall and regal, dressed in white with long bright hair but face blurred by mist. I walked toward her as if there was something pulling me to her. “Who are you?” I whispered, trying to get a glimpse of her face.

“Someone you were once supposed to know” the woman’s voice echoed, steady but with a hint of regret. “Our families are bound by more than just history and blood YN.. there are some ties that come with unseen threads.”

“How do you know who I am? What are you trying to say?”

“Aelin Galathynius is trapped in Endovier and she needs to be freed” the figure continued, stepping closer, though her features remained hidden. “You’re the only one who can help her. The only one who can set this in motion.”

My heart quickened as shock and confusion filled my chest. “How..? How do you know about this?”

The female paused, her presence growing stronger, more tangible, as if the very air around her pulsed with ancient power. “I know because I’ve been watching you, guiding you. You are an Ashryver blood and the last daughter of Montserrat lineage. That connection ties you to her in ways you cannot yet comprehend. I have chosen you, for your path and hers were always meant to intertwine but now, more than ever, they’ve become tangled in this time.”

I shook my head, trying to make sense of her words, but the weight of them pressed down on me, overwhelming and undeniable. “Why?” I said softly, too immersed in her presence and its meaning “Why me? How am I supposed to do this? I don’t even know where to begin to help her.”

“You were never meant to walk this road alone,” she said softly, her voice now filled with both sadness and resolve. “You will find allies, those who believe in the legacy of our families. Trust in the power that flows through your veins, and remember: true strength isn’t found in the absence of anger, but in mastering it. Let your loyalty guide you, but never let it blind you to the part you must take. The time has come for you to step into your destiny and bring honor to your lineage, Y/N Montserrat.”

Never, in my life have I used that name. I knew my origins, the geomancer that ruled over a forgotten land that was once full of life, rich soil and vast vegetation. It always felt more like a legend. A meek justification for the indescribable.

Before I could respond, the figure began to fade, the mist swallowing her form. Panic gripped me as I reached out, desperate to keep her there, to understand more, but she was already slipping away.

“No! Wait! How do I free her, How-” I cried, but her final words cut mine and echoed in the void as the dream began to dissolve.

“You will free her. And only then will the true fight begin.”

I woke with a start in my bed, panting and sweating with my heart pounding and the woman’s words lingering in the air like a command I could not ignore.

It took months to actually come up with a sustainable plan, no matter how many times the voice of that female lingered in my head as a reminder of my time running out. Months of cryptic letters to Ansel—who finally responded to my letter, telling me what happened during the summer and how she survived by Celaena’s pure kindness, giving two pending favors—and small visits to Aedion in Adarlan to discuss how we would approach the king.

I hated to play the long game, to waste more precious time when she was at Endovier. My deliberate optimizing faltered by the thought of the place, my only certainty of being that voice: ‘You will free her’. Of course she didn’t tell me how or who she was and it was my madness to actually listen to her. Even greater madness is the scheme we would put into action.

The king knew my existence and “work” for The Bane by Aedion’s reports, but never saw me personally. I don’t think he even knows my name. While he was “Wolf of the North”,“Adarlan’s General” or.. a name that I never agreed on, I’ve never cared for a pompous title. Not going to care right now. Hopefully he did not create one for me, he was terrible at it.

Aedion had already filled the King’s head through the months with fake information and rumors about someone in his inner circle planning on destroying him and that even though he had the guards and a well trusted captain, he needed someone from the shadows, someone who didn’t have morals or values.

He mentioned that he had one of those at The Bane and would send one to his place to stay for the Litha, the summer solstice festivities, to prove his point if it was his ‘majesty’s’ liking and emphasized that I would need to wear a mask since I was borrowed, and revealing my face would endanger our espionage in the underworld.

Somehow, this convinced the king, and he agreed to let Aedion come back to the North, so I would work directly for the crown.

My part was to spend my days infiltrating under his knowledge as a member of a guest court, giving him some information about a traitor and his head. And then, with Aedion back to fetch me up, he would suggest hiring an assassin for the court. And how to choose “such a vile creature” without opposition from the court for “having someone so dangerous” into the castle?

A Championship. WIth the most dangerous assassins having to complete tasks precarious enough that the elimination would be by death. The prize being ‘the last man standing’ and having all your crimes absolved by dispatching the kingdom’s enemies. Which gives the people a false sense of safety and entertainment and sponsorships to the court.

It wasn’t the cleanest job, since I had to kill a scapegoat: A lordling that was in fact planning something but it was a simple hustle to pay his debts on gambling. I will have to embellish a little more but nothing I can’t handle. And I couldn’t personally suggest Celaena or else it would be obvious. So I will have to convince someone to suggest her by talking about her.

So she could compete and win. Have her crimes forgiven and then be free.

A leap of faith. Lunacy. But the only thing we could come up with that didn’t endanger the rebellion, our true loyalty or my identity.

As I packed my belongings, I thought about a couple of targets for this: Lord Perrington, since he was old and losing his influence. Lord Rompier desperately wanted to fall into the king's graces. A good choice if he doesn’t sell his daughter up to marriage next season.

Or the princeling who eats like a lady. Heard a lot of things about this one and his liking for hedonistic gatherings from Aedion.

The only thing that makes me reconsider him is, apparently, the Captain Westfall of the Guard is always by his side. One more reason to convince the king.

Maybe all I need is to give a little wine to the libertine. He’ll listen.

Author's note: So, I think I got the wattpad writers' curse, bc I simply flunked my whole last semester bc the college didn't notify the system my grades, tried for the whole week to find a solution to get my degree but it didn't work, so now I have to pay for more 6 months all over again, and I want to unalive myself for I'm poor. But hey, I'm okay (I cried for two days) but updates might come slow since I have to get more income. Ily <3

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@throneofsapphics @acourtofbatboydreams

#throne of glass x y/n #aelin x reader #aelin x y/n #poly!rowaelin x y/n #sjm books #tog fic #aelin x you #poly!rowaelin x reader #rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin

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