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twoplayergaymers · 7 months ago

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A Sign of Affection—

❋ deaf! Bakugo x Fem Interpreter! Reader

❋ Interpreting for Dynamight: How Hard Could It Be?

❋ 5.9k words

❋ A note before reading: Bakugo is being portrayed as little ‘d’ deaf, this is very important. You can learn more about the difference between deaf and Deaf here! This is also ASL cause that’s what I know.

Part 2

Katsuki Bakugo would never admit it, but he was losing his hearing. He had been for a while now, his explosive quirk might save lives but it was doing nothing good for his ears. He doesn’t admit this, not necessarily because he’s ashamed, but because he refuses to let anyone think he’s anything less than the strongest. Only a select few know, and even fewer are allowed close enough to notice his hearing aids.

You’re one of them.

Working as his interpreter wasn’t something you’d planned for when you first joined his agency. At the time, you thought you’d just be handling the occasional public statement, but it became clear quickly that your role was going to become far more personal when his hearing aids were damaged in his most recent mission. They’re malfunctioning, sounds become high pitched whirs in his ear, so he takes them out.

The silence was oppressive, his ears ringing as he stomped back into his agency headquarters after the mission. His team was talking but to him it sounded like they were underwater. His eyes rapidly dart between faces, trying to lip read, though he hasn’t relied solely on that in years. Fuck, everyone’s talking so fast. He clenched his fists, irritation bubbling under his skin, until finally he barked out, “Shut up!” His voice sounded off even to himself, somehow louder and harsher without his aids.

The room immediately falls silent, his team looking back at him with the same wide eyes and panicked expressions as always. He thinks they’d get used to his brashness by now, guess not. There’s a pregnant pause as Bakugo takes a breath, closing his eyes momentarily before uttering “Someone call an interpreter, I can’t understand you assholes-“ he stops for a second, his face falls in thought before he speaks again “get.. get the one from the press conferences”

“Which one?” Someone from the team utters, slowly this time. “You know which one. The one who actually knows what the hell she’s doing. The… uh…” He faltered for a moment, his scowl deepening. “The one with the— the pretty one. Dammit just call her!”

He doesn’t elaborate further because the truth is, he knows exactly who you are. He’s seen you at every press conference and public statement for the agency, standing slightly to the side of where everyone gathered, interpreting for the news. He wouldn’t admit it— not even to himself but he’d find himself distracted by you often. He was captivated by your hands and facial expression. He could tell you were passionate about your work, hell he might even respect you a little.

His team doesn’t question his words. They just nod in understanding and someone leaves to do just that. He huffs, hoping you get there quickly so he might actually know what’s going on.

“He… what?!” Your voice raises as the voice over the phone relays the message. Dynamight requested you? You couldn’t wrap your head around why he’d even need an interpreter, but you’re not turning down the opportunity. The cup of tea you were drinking abandoned on the counter as you rush into your bedroom to change into your interpreting ‘uniform.’

Fuck. You needed to do laundry. Your clothes are piled in the corner of the room. In your defense, you weren’t supposed to work again until next week. You dig through your closet and dresser drawers hoping to find something suitable for interpreting. Your eyes fall on a black long sleeve, it’s a few years old and you’ve definitely gained a little weight since the last time you’d worn it. It’ll have to do. You throw it on along with some slacks. it shows more shoulder than anything. it’s a little tighter than you’d like it to be, clinging to your body in a way you’d rather it not. At least not for your place of work.

You smooth your hands over your clothes a few times looking in the mirror, sucking your teeth before grabbing your bag and keys and heading out the door. Like you said, it’d have to do. The agency is only 15 minutes from your apartment, which is why you’d so enthusiastically taken the job. That and the fact that it’s his agency. You’d admired dynamight for a long time but honestly the thought of working so closely with him was terrifying.

You arrive and the nice receptionist tells you exactly which room to go to. you give her a warm smile. She returns it, her manicured nails moving rapidly over the keyboard as you shuffle away to the conference room.

You lightly rap on the door twice before pushing it open. “Hi, sorry to interrupt, but I’m the—” The words catch in your throat as the room falls silent, all eyes turning to you. You’re used to this. You’re used to people watching you—it comes with the job of being an interpreter. But you’re not used to him. Your gaze collides with his, and your breath stumbles. “…interpreter,” you finish, the word slipping out softer than you intended.

His eyes are striking, sharp and burning, there’s nothing warm about the way he looks at you. It’s intense, unflinching, and terrifying.

You can’t tell if your heart is racing because his gaze is so intimidating or because you realize, that it’s beautiful, too. Damn it. Focus. You break the staring contest you were apparently having to briefly look at the floor. His gaze felt critical and now you’re second guessing every choice you made before you walked into the office. You shake your head and look up again. “I’m the interpreter” you say, more confident this time.

“About time” he barks out, his tone as critical as his gaze. Your eyes lock with his for the second time. “You just gonna stand there or are you gonna come here and do your damn job?” You let in a sharp breath as you instinctively straighten your spine. “Right.. right sorry” you murmur. Only, what is your job? You still have no idea why you’re even here. Whatever it doesn’t matter.

You step more into the room, positioning yourself where you can see everyone and nod, beginning to interpret. His eyes are still on you, you don’t think they ever left but instead you focus on the various voices around you. Brows furrowed, you shake your head. “Excuse me.” You mutter. The voices continue, loud, scattered, interrupting each other. “Excuse me!” You say louder this time, stopping the conversation as their heads turn to acknowledge you. “Please speak one at a time! A meeting this big should really have more than one interpreter..” you mumble the last part but the others in the room nod in understanding and do as you ask. The conversation resumes, slower and more uniform.

Bakugo doesn’t look away, even as the others start speaking again. You catch snippets of conversation, words like recovery, damaged hearing aids, and villain tactics, but your focus keeps dragging back to him. It’s not just the intensity of his presence—it’s the way he watches you like he’s dissecting every move you make.

Bakugo watches you intensely, his gaze devouring you whole. The way the loose strands of hair are framing your face, how your brows lift with expression, the gloss on your lips, your bare shoulders. Your skin looks so soft and— damnit. He’s not even paying attention.

He barely even knows sign anyway. He’d taught himself to finger spell and after watching you for so long picked up on some of the more common signs. Having you here was more productive. It was less time consuming then writing back and forth and maybe he’d learn something and maybe he’d get to know you. He blinks a few times, snapping himself from the thought. The incoherent voices around him halt and there’s several gazes on him. Someone probably asked a question.

Someone asked a question and he was too busy looking at your stupid fucking shoulders. Who even wears something like that to work anyway? He’s never seen you wear anything like that before and-

“Sir?” A member of his team utters. They’re awaiting his response. He locks eyes with you again, raising his hands to his body.

SLOW. MY SIGN BAD.

He signs to you. S-P-E-L-L.

You feel your eyes instantly widen, you force your face to fall neutral again. You’re interpreting for him? His aids got damaged?

You bend your index finger into a hook shape and tap it twice on your ear. The sign for hearing aid. You spell it out for him, before spelling out fix.

YES, NO, WHICH?

He scoffs, looking back at his team. “I’ve got too much shit to do to sit around and wait for ‘em to get fixed. Why do you think she’s even here?” He says, clearly annoyed at the question. He’s got that scowl on is face and it gives you chills.

The meeting continues, much to your dismay. You’re struggling, trying to take out the key points of what you’re overhearing and interpret to someone who barely knows sign. He’s not helping at all, staring at you with the same critical eyes and blank expression. Is he even understanding you? You try not to let the frustration show on your face.

The meeting is finally over to your relief. Your hands feel tired from so much fingerspelling. People start filtering out of the room. you roam over to where you left your bag, pulling out your water bottle and taking a few large sips trying to shake off the tension.

“Didn’t think signing was that exhausting,” a gruff voice says behind you.

You pause mid-sip, the familiar tone making you freeze. Slowly, you lower the bottle and turn, finding Bakugo standing a few steps away, arms crossed over his chest. His expression is unreadable. “You look like you’re about to explode.”

You huff, honestly not having the patience for this right now. “It’s hard to interpret when you barely know sign language, sir. I can’t tell if you understand anything I’m saying.” You say, your tone stern but still trying to remain respectful.

He stares at you for a beat, his expression unreadable, before he crosses his arms and leans against the wall, his voice low. “I understand more than you think. Just… just not all of it.”

You narrow your eyes, annoyed yet relieved that at least he can give you a little clarity. “Were you going to say anything? Or just let me waste my time and look stupid?” Your hand move rapidly, in frustration, in anger

“You don’t look stupid.” He states in a flat tone. “You’re good at it.” This shocks you a bit, dynamight isn’t known for giving compliments and somehow you feel like his gaze is even more intense than before.

“..was that a compliment?” You blink, caught off guard. “What’re you the deaf one now?” he smirks slightly before letting his rough demeanor take over once more “don’t get used to it” he fires back quickly.

You sigh, shaking your head slightly. “Thanks, I guess. But it doesn’t matter how good I am if you don’t understand” your eyes meet his once more. You sense something in them, if you didn’t know better you’d think it was almost something…apologetic?

His fist clench at his sides, not unnoticed by you and your demeanor softens despite your words. You’re not trying to make him feel bad, it’s probably more frustrating for him.

“I need you to communicate, sir. At least let me know when you understand or not, or I’m gonna keep making myself look like an idiot up there.” You smile slightly, trying to cut the tension you’d accidentally created.

He sucks his teeth “whatever, fine. I’ll tell you.” You give him a small smile in return, starting to gather your things. “Before you leave..” he breaks the silence, you look up at him curiously. He steps closer, lowering his voice. “You can’t tell anyone about my hearing. Got it?”

You feel your brows furrow. There’s a lot you could say back, but you value your job. “Excuse me sir.. but there’s nothing wrong with-“ “I said, you can’t tell anyone. No one else needs to know.” He cuts you off, his words are cold.

The finality in his voice makes it clear the subject isn’t up for debate. You purse your lips, biting back the response you want to give. Instead, you settle for a curt nod. “Understood.” Grabbing your bag and walking towards the door. “Have a good night sir.” Without waiting for a response, you close the door behind you, leaving him alone in the conference room.

Bakugo watches you leave, his hands tightening in his pockets. He’s not sure what it is about you, but something tells him this arrangement is going to be more complicated than he expected.

The hallway outside the conference room is quiet, but your mind isn’t. You replay the conversation in your head, trying to make sense of it. There was something about the way he spoke—about the way he looked at you—that stuck with you. Dynamight was hard to read, but his insistence on secrecy had been laced with something you couldn’t quite place. You shake your head. Not your problem, you tell yourself firmly. You’re just here to do your job, not to figure out Dynamight.

As the elevator doors slide open, you step inside, your thoughts still lingering on him. This isn’t going to be easy, is it? You reach the lobby, saying goodnight to the same kind receptionist from earlier and heading back home.

You’re lying in bed when your phone pings, it’s an email of your new interpreting schedule. With a heavy sigh, you turn onto your back, staring at the ceiling. Meeting your heroes wasn’t supposed to feel like this. You’d admired Dynamight from a distance, inspired by his drive, his unshakable determination, and his ability to save lives no matter the cost. But up close? He was…

You hesitate, feeling guilty for even thinking it. He wasn’t cruel, exactly. Just difficult. Closed off. And it wasn’t like he had asked for this to happen to him.

You close your eyes, willing yourself to sleep. It’s just work, you tell yourself. Do your job, keep your head down, and move on.

But as you drift off, a small thought lingers in the back of your mind. That brief flicker of something in his eyes during the meeting—something you hadn’t expected from a man so famously brash and unyielding.

Vulnerability?

You shove the thought away, but it lingers, a tiny thread pulling at the edges of your frustration. Maybe there was more to him than you realized.

For now, though, you had to focus on making it through tomorrow. One day at a time.

A week passes. The days become easier. You’ve become very friendly with the receptionist in the lobby. Her name was Talia. Your brief interaction turned into smaller friendly conversation. You looked forward to seeing her everyday.

Working with Dynamight is no walk in the park. He’s intense, stubborn, and unapologetically brash. But beneath the rough exterior, you’ve come to know a man who takes his job as a hero seriously, even if he pushes himself too hard to compensate for what you assume he perceives as a weakness.

He’s a little kinder now, at least in the way that Dynamight can be kind. He’s working with you, communicating the way you asked. The dynamic is fine. It works. You do your job, you talk to Talia for a little while and you leave.

Lunch with Talia quickly becomes your favorite part of the day. What started as quick chats at the receptionist desk has turned into full-blown lunch breaks in the small cafe near the agency. She’s easy to talk to—funny, warm, and refreshingly honest.

Today, as you sit across from her, picking at your sandwich, the conversation drifts to Dynamight.

“Is he still a pain?” Talia asks, smirking as she sips her iced coffee. You laugh softly. “I mean, yeah. But he’s… better. Not great, but better.” “‘Better’ for Dynamight is probably miraculous,” she quips, earning another laugh from you.

The smile quickly falls from your face as you stare down at your food, a more serious expression taking over. “God” you groan, your face falling into your hands. “I just don’t understand him. Like at all” “you’re not getting paid to understand Dynamight. If any of us were we’d all be broke.” She chuckles and takes another sip of her coffee.

“I know but it’s just like.. if you’re so ashamed to be..deaf…” you whisper the last part so no one may overhear “..that you don’t want anyone to know why the fuck would you ask for an interpreter? Do you know how hard it is to discreetly interpret in public? We have to make someone else stand next to him so it looks like I’m interpreting for them instead!”

“He’s not ashamed.” She says curtly, ignoring your other frustrations. “What?” Your head lifts from your hands to look at her, both shock and curiosity etched into your face. “I don’t understand” you shake your head.

“It’s not because he’s ashamed or anything. It’s… well, think about it. If the wrong people found out, villains would use it against him. They’d find ways to exploit it. That’s the last thing he wants.”

Oh. You hadn’t thought about it like that. You almost feel a little guilty for making him out to be such an ass in your mind. Almost, cause at the same time, he’s still cold and abrasive.

Your face must show how you’re feeling. Somehow it always does, It’s a curse in moments like this, but it’s also what makes you such a great interpreter. Talia’s hand fall on top of yours reassuringly.

“Hey..” she says gently. “..You’re great at what you do, y/n. Maybe you were wrong about that but it doesn’t change the fact that he is 100% making your job harder” You can’t help the small, weary laugh that escapes you. “You’re not wrong. He’s exhausting. Sometimes, I still don’t even know if he’s listening.”

Talia smirks, squeezing your hand. “Oh, he’s listening. He’s just a stubborn ass who doesn’t know how to show it. I mean, come on. Think about who we’re talking about.” Her words draw a reluctant smile from you. “Yeah, that sounds about right.” You mutter back

“You’ll get through to him,” she says confidently, letting go of your hand. “Trust me. If anyone can, it’s you. You’re here for a reason.” There’s a beat of silence before Talia leans in slightly, her tone dropping to something a little quieter, more serious. “You know, he doesn’t let anyone help him. Not really. He’s always been like that, even when I started here.”

You nod slowly, processing her words. It makes sense in a way. Although her words are reassuring,it still feels frustrating. You look at her, a flicker of doubt still lingering in your eyes. But her faith in you feels steady, unwavering. It’s comforting, even if you’re not sure you fully believe it yet.

“Thanks, Talia,” you say softly, and for the first time in what feels like days, you hold yourself a little higher.

The sharp sizzle of oil fills the air as Bakugo tosses another handful of vegetables into the pan. it’s a rhythm he knows well. But tonight, his focus is off. He scowls at the counter, eyeing the ridiculous amount of food piling up. Again. Every time lately, it’s the same thing. He swears he’s not doing it on purpose.

His mind drifts to you. To the way your hands move when you sign, fluidly.. beautifully. Your frustration barely hidden behind a polite smile. You’ve been busting your ass trying to keep up with him, and he’s done nothing but make your job harder.

Bakugo grips the edge of the counter, jaw tight. He knows you didn’t ask for this, didn’t ask to deal with his stubborn ass.

Before can even realize what he’s doing, he’s grabbing a spare container and loading it with the extra food, snapping the lid on tight. He tells himself he’s being practical. He’s not one to waste food.

When he hands it to you the next day, he barely looks you in the eye. “Made too much,” he says gruffly, shoving the container into your hands before walking away without waiting for a response.

He walks away so fast he almost, just almost misses the small smile that plays onto your lips. The smile that fills his mind for the rest of the day.

And that’s how it starts. The next day he’s shoving another container in your hands, claiming the same thing. Rushing away in the same way. You blink after him, utterly bewildered but secretly delighted. Because honestly? That food was incredible. Like, best you’ve ever had incredible.

By the third day, you’re half-expecting it, your hands reaching automatically as he shoves yet another container into them. It’s becoming a strange routine, one you don’t entirely understand but definitely don’t mind.

At lunch, you decide you can’t just keep taking these meals without saying anything. You owe him a thank you. So, with the container in hand, you find yourself heading up to his office.

You stand outside the office door, taking a shaky breath and light knocking. “Come in” his voice with its usual roughness grumbles from the opposite side of the door. You open it and shuffle in, giving an awkward smile.

“What?” He asked brashly, sounding more annoyed than usual. You feel his eyes scanning you from head to toe. You hold up the container. “I uhm.. I just” you clear your throat. “I just wanted to say thank you for the food lately, it’s so delicious, honestly I really appreciate it.” Your hands move as you speak.

FOOD, THANK YOU, DELICIOUS

You let your eyes wander while he speaks, you’ve never really been in his office. It’s a standard room, barely decorated and of course, tidy. His desk was positioned on the same wall as the door. So that’s how he knew you were knocking..“Uhm. I was wondering.. do you.. wanna eat together?”

LUNCH, EAT, TOGETHER?

You ask, trying to keep your voice steady

He stares at you blankly and just when you think he’s about to tell you to get lost, he shrugs. “Whatever, don’t make it weird” he nods his head in the direction of an extra chair on the other side of the room. You smile and drag the chair over to his desk.

That’s how it starts.

The next day, you’d ask to eat together again. Over the next few days, it becomes routine. Around lunch, you’d head up to his office with your container, and the two of you would sit and eat together. The conversation, at first seems sparse but becomes easier and easier, soon flowing naturally.

He asks about interpreting, your day, your annoying habit of over-explaining things when you’re nervous. And you learn things about him too. Like how he experiments with different recipes because cooking is one of the few things that lets him focus. Or how he prefers silence over small talk, but somehow doesn’t seem to mind when it’s you filling the quiet.

One day, mid-bite, he suddenly says, “Stop calling me Dynamight.” You blink, caught off guard. “I’m sorry?” Your hand forms a fist, rubbing it against your chest with raised brows, signing as you speak.

He glares at you, though it lacks its usual edge. “You’re not on the damn clock when we’re eating. Just call me Bakugo.” You hesitate, then nod, a small smile creeping onto your face. “Alright, Bakugo.”

Talia, however, notices this change almost immediately. Somehow when lunch time rolls around you’re nowhere to be found. She misses your time together.

“Girl, where the hell have you been?” She asks one evening as you pass her desk to go home. “What happened to our lunches? You cheating on me?” She smirks

You flush, “I’m sorry.. I’m sorry I haven’t been communicating” you facepalm. “I’ve been having lunch with Bakugo these past few days, to thank him for the meals and everything”

“Ohhh so it’s Bakugo now?” She tease, leaning forward on her desk. “Sooo when’s the wedding?” You groan, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “Talia!” “What? I need to know when I’m supposed to object, can’t have dynamight taking my girl” she giggles.

You roll your eyes but can’t help a small smile.

“It’s nothing, really. We’re coworkers having lunch.” You’re not lying, that’s exactly what it was. Even if deep down you maybe wanted it to be more. Talia smirks knowingly. “Uh-huh. Sure.” You sigh, shaking your head. “I’m serious! And I’m really sorry for ditching you. I promise—lunch together at the end of the week. Deal?”

She crosses her arms, pretending to consider it. “Hmm, I guess I can forgive you. But only if you bring the juicy details.” “Talia!” you groan again, but she just laughs as you wave goodbye, her teasing words echoing behind you.

You sit across from Talia in the same cafe as usual. Catching up for the first time in what seems like forever. You really do feel bad about ditching her, she’s the one great thing that’s come from taking this job.

“So,” she begins, resting her chin on her hand. “How’s lunch with Dynamight been? Does he chew with his mouth open or something?”

You roll your eyes, laughing softly. “He’s not bad, actually. Quiet. Focuses more on the food than talking, which honestly, I appreciate. Less pressure to fill the silence. But I do it anyway.. it’s like the words keep coming out… I can’t stop talking”

She gasps, throwing her hand on her chest mockingly “THE Dynamight? Quiet? I fear a may faint!”

You chuckle and playfully push hit her arm that’s still resting on the table. “Well, to be fair,” you say, grinning, “he mostly spends it making sure I’m eating, sooo.”

“Ohhh,” she drawls, raising her eyebrows. “So he’s looking out for you now, huh? Bet he’s making sure you’re eating all your vegetables too.” “I think he wants to make sure I’m enjoying it. He likes cooking and I know if I could cook well I’d probably do the same thing” you respond matter of factly.

“Sure,” Talia says, drawing the word out with an exaggerated smirk. “And you don’t think it’s because he has a little crush?” You roll your eyes again, fighting the warmth creeping up your neck. “He’s just being a decent coworker. That’s all.”

“Mmhmm,” she hums, clearly not convinced. “Let me know when the wedding invites go out. I’m definitely objecting. Even if I’m the maid of honor”

You snort, tossing a napkin at her. “Can we eat now, or are you just going to keep embarrassing me?”

Talia raises her hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll let you eat in peace…for now.”

Just as you’re about to dig into your food, your phone buzzes on the table. Without thinking, you pick it up, glancing at the unsaved number. The message reads:

“Where are you? It’s lunch. You’re not here.”

You blink, confused. “What the—” Talia hums in curiosity. “I just got a text but I don’t have this number saved” you turn your phone screen so she can see too. She narrows her eyes as she leans closer to read the message, then they widen. “Oh my god. That’s him. That’s Dynamight. Bakugo.”

Your stomach drop. “What? How would he even get my number?” Talia gives you a look. “Girl, I know you’re not that slow. He’s one of the top heroes in the country. If he wanted your number, he could definitely find it.”

“Well?” She nudges you. “Are you gonna text back or not?” “I.. what.. what do I even say??” You respond, growing more flustered. “How about, ‘Sorry, I ditched you for my real soulmate, Talia’?” she says with a smirk.

You try to just roll your eyes, but can’t help but let out a chuckle and type out a quick response.

“Sorry, I’m at lunch with a friend today. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The reply comes almost instantly.

“You could’ve told me.”

Your stomach drops again, and Talia laughs, leaning back in her chair. “Oooooo he’s mad. You’re in troubleeee” her grin only growing wider. “He probably misses his lunch buddy,” she adds with a mock pout. “So tragic.” you give her a glare.

Your groan, plopping down your phone and caging your head in your arms on the table. “Why is he even texting me? And why do I feel bad about this?”

Talia smirks, sipping her drink. “Because you’re catching feelings, babe. Don’t fight it.” You glare at her again over the rim of your hands, but she just laughs harder. You flip your phone over, trying to refocus on your lunch. However, you don’t really feel hungry anymore.

The next day feels…off. You can’t put your finger on it at first, but the energy in the room is different. When you arrive, Bakugo barely glances at you. There’s no gruff greeting, no container of food shoved into your hands with a muttered excuse about “making too much.”

By lunch, the tension feels suffocating. You glance at him a few times, hoping for some kind of acknowledgment, but he doesn’t even look in your direction. He eats alone in his office while you sit in the break room, absently picking at a salad you don’t even want.

You replay yesterday in your mind, Was it because I skipped lunch? Is he that mad about it?

But that doesn’t make sense. He’s Dynamight, not some clingy guy who cares about a missed meal. Still, you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve messed something up.

He doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t greet you. Doesn’t offer you food.

It’s petty, and he knows it. But he’s pissed—mostly at himself. Yesterday, he let his guard down, let you get under his skin. He shouldn’t have cared where you were or who you were with, but he did. And that pissed him off even more.

So today, he shuts it down. Keeps things professional. Cold.

He tells himself it’s better this way. Keeps you at arm’s length, avoids the growing distraction you’ve become. You’re his interpreter, not his friend. Not someone he should care about. By the time the day ends, he’s still mad. Mad at you for skipping lunch yesterday, mad at himself for caring, and mad that he can’t stop thinking about the way your face fell when he brushed you off.

The next day feels longer , the tension in the air weighing heavier with each passing hour. Bakugo barely acknowledges you, responding only when necessary and only about work. No snide remarks, no shared looks during meetings, and definitely no container of food shoved into your hands.

You try to brush it off, but the absence of his usual gruffness is almost worse than when he was barking at you. By the time lunch approaches you’ve convinced yourself you should just let it go. But as you gather your things, you glance toward his office door, slightly ajar. Before you can stop yourself, you’re knocking.

“Come in,” his voice calls, low and gruff as always.

You push the door open. He’s sitting at his desk, hunched over a stack of papers, his eyes darting around them rapidly, his attention fixed anywhere but on you.

“Sir,” you start, trying to keep your tone neutral, “is everything… okay? You’ve been—”

OK, YOU?

“Busy,” he cuts you off without looking up. He’s not even paying attention to what you’re saying.

You narrow your eyes and bang your hand on his desk twice to get his attention. His head snaps up at that. “Busy enough to ignore me?” His crimson eyes narrow. “I’m not ignoring you.”

“Wow! Could’ve fooled me,” you mutter under your breath, knowing he can’t hear it. Bakugo has read lips long enough to pick that up, even if you’re not signing. For a long moment, there’s silence. You expected him snap, have some witty remarks like usual. Instead his face falls.

“didn’t think you’d care,” he says finally, his voice quieter than you’ve ever heard it. Your eyes widen.“Care? I thought I did something wrong.. I-“ your hands stammer. “you didn’t.” He cuts you off again. “Didn’t wanna bother you. Figured you’d rather spend time with your friend or whatever”

His admission hits you hard, this…this is almost vulnerable? you’d never seen him like this. You knew this wasn’t easy for him to say.

“S-sir..” you stop. “Bakugo.. I didn’t mean to make you feel like that,” you say softly. “You’re not a bother.”

He mutters, incoherently, shifting in his seat a bit. You can tell he’s don’t talking and you take that as your cue to leave. You shake your hand in the air to get his attention again. “By the way,” you say, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I had lunch with my friend that day because I’d been ditching her for you. So… take what you will from that.”

You pause for a beat, your hands coming to a halt, your eyes meeting his, then turn on your heel and slip out the door without another word.

Later that evening, you linger longer than usual, pretending to be caught up in some last-minute paperwork. In reality, you’re waiting for the office to quiet down, for everyone else to leave. When you finally approach his door again, it’s shut, but you can hear faint movement inside.

You push it open a crack, peeking through, and your breath catches.

He’s standing in front of the mirror on the far wall, hands moving clumsily through a set of signs. His brows are furrowed, his jaw tight, frustration radiating off him in waves. He’s got that same notebook he was hunched over propped open on the desk beside him, glancing between the pages and his reflection.

“Fuck.” He mutters, shaking out his hands and trying again. You watch for a moment, something warm blooming in your chest. He hasn’t noticed you yet, and you almost feel bad for interrupting. Almost.

You shake you hand in the air to get his attention.

“You’re improving,” you say softly, your hands moving as you speak.

YOU, BETTER!

His eyes widen, caught completely off guard. For a split second, he looks ready to bark at you, but then his expression softens, just barely.

“Should’ve locked the damn door,” he grumbles, closing the notebook with a snap. You smile, stepping closer. “You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

His eyes meet yours, something lingering there and for once, there’s no anger, no irritation. Just honesty. “Yeah, I did.”

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. Instead, you settle for a small nod, the weight of the moment saying more than words ever could.

“Thanks,” you whisper after a beat, your palm faces you, fingers touching your chin before bringing your hand away from your face.

THANK YOU.

and this time, he doesn’t look away as a small, rare smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Katsuki Bakugo would never admit it, but he trusted you. And maybe—just maybe—he was starting to let you in.

This is soooo so long omg I’m sorry!! Also the sign is super basic bc he wouldn’t know.. I feel like I needed to say that lmaoo I hope anyone who reads this enjoyed!

Dedicating this to my luver @mimzyu and also @poemeater since Leigh encouraged me to start writing not too long ago <3

#shut up haley!#putting myself out there #and putting my deaf studies minor to work #i hope you like it #AHHHHHH #deaf Bakugo #my hero academia #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha x reader #bnha x reader

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rhyrhy · 4 months ago

Text

Full Throttle

“I hope I was worth your time”

꒰ Warnings:꒱ Sexual content, Name-calling & language , oral in a bar bathroom (so classy, I know), Reader is bitchy, Mentioned height difference, Vi has a tongue piercing, Pet names. Angsty-ish.

꒰ A/n: ꒱ HAPPY 400!! (Someone grab the confetti!) Rockstar!Vi oneshot since she won the poll. Aka: a run-in with a face you don’t recognize… until the next morning. Around 5k words

“There she is,” the familiar warm tone said the moment you stepped into the building. she sat, gold eyeshadow reflecting over her eyelids as they opened a bit more to take you in. Growing up together, and still stuck like glue, Mel waved you over to her booth.

The fresh scent of espresso and warm pastries wafted through the air of the café as your shoes clicked across the floor. You couldn’t help but think how much more comfortable these were than last night’s.

“Here I am,” you confirmed, leaning down to hug her side before sitting across from her. “God, I’m starving. Can I?” You reached for the croissant on her small plate.

She pushed it toward you, laughing. “Besides the hair, you look suspiciously well-rested for somebody who said they had a ‘crazy night’ and promised details.” She mused, tapping her finger on the table.

You leaned back on the red-cushioned booth. “Oh, trust me. It was crazy.” You nodded, still chewing, covering your mouth as you spoke. Not missing the anticipation in her tone.

Outside the large windows, the city continued to spring to life. The occasional beep of a yellow taxi horn and incessant chatter seemed to fade into the background as you began to describe your night, with the occasional interruption from Mel trying to get way too many details. You jokingly told her you’d record it for her next time, and she seemed way too intrigued by the idea. But her burst of laughter after reassured you she was joking as always, insisting that you needed to loosen up.

Then, suddenly, you noticed her brown eyes flicker to something past your shoulder. It didn’t catch your attention at first; she was always nosy and hyper-aware of her surroundings. But when her eyes narrowed and her head tilted slowly back to you, your eyebrow raised, and you nodded for her to speak, stopping your previous conversation.

“Now, this might be a longshot,” she squinted slightly, lips pressing together in thought. “But what color did you say her hair was again?”

“Black with, like, highlights. Why?” You blinked. “And who are—” You tilted your head in curiosity, following her gaze to the decorative wall behind you.

A tour poster was plastered across the bulletin board near the café entrance, glossy and bold, listing cities and dates beneath an unmistakable face. Messy undercut. Sharp jawline. A cocky expression even in still laminated print.

Vi. Your hometown was listed for the 22nd to the 26th. Today was the last day. “Holy shit.” You let out a breathy laugh, half in disbelief, half in realization.

Mel’s eyes widened as she studied your reaction. No way. That’s not—”

“Yeah…” You exhaled, shaking your head as a ridiculous, almost nervous laugh bubbled out. “That is her.”

“Details. Now. Right. Now,” Mel demanded, her eyes gleaming as she set her tea down with a clink. Hands clasped.

You rolled your eyes, but the smirk on your lips gave you away. “Oh, settle down.”

“Don’t tell me to settle down, tell me what happened!” She shook her head and leaned forward.

“Okay , okay!” You sighed, as you drummed your fingers against the table. “Well, You had just called me about being late when…”

── ── ☆ That night, ☆ ── ──

The moonlight cast shadows behind you, cool air drifting over your arms as the clacking of your heels echoed down the sidewalk. As the clock ticked and the moon rose, you realized you were definitely going to be later than intended. Not that you wanted to go anyway—loud music, your friends dragging you around the reserved VIP section, and way too many pictures to pose for. You knew you were being a negative Nancy about it—at least, that’s what Mel had said over the phone.

“Where are you? Everyone is already here.”

Mel’s voice was almost drowned out by the bass on the other line, the party clearly in full swing. You held the phone up to your ear, your clutch in your other hand. You knew you should’ve gotten up earlier, but those extra minutes of sleep had been way too tempting. It was a mutual friend’s 21st, so naturally, everyone wanted to dress up and go out. In your defense, though, this was all last minute.

“I’m a few blocks away. There was absolutely no parking.” You replied.

One truth and a lie. Whoops. There wasn’t any parking, but you were definitely farther than just a few blocks. Pushing a few strands of hair out of your face, you glanced down at the blue lettering of the GPS on your dim phone screen—still a few minutes until you arrived. Downtown was always like this, even while the city slept.

Mel kept talking, trying to explain something about a potential shortcut, but you could barely make out a word she was saying. You jerked the phone away from your ear every time she yelled when you asked her to repeat herself. As much as you loved her, she was definitely the time police between the two of you—sometimes helpful, other times just plain annoying.

The neon glow of different bars, shops, even that overpriced café Mel had been begging you to go to, cast vibrant hues against the pavement behind you as you clicked your way around another corner.

The light on the crosswalk was just barely counting down before you’d have to wait for God knows how long. You quickly hung up on Mel, telling her you’d call her back later.

Glancing around, you saw only distant cars on the opposite street, the environment eerily quiet.

The point of your red heel rested flat as you stepped past the traffic light pole, walking onto the rigid, faded lines of the crosswalk. Not to be snobby, but the city could definitely use a small revamp. Potholes, cracked sidewalks, and worn street lines seemed to go unnoticed in a place like this.

You glanced down at your phone, momentarily blinded by a strand of hair falling into your face, causing you to involuntarily pause for a moment. Just a few more minutes on the GPS. But before you could continue down—A rumbling sound. Fast. Way too close for comfort. Your breath caught as the gleam of a shiny dark vehicle reflected your figure in the middle of the crosswalk.

A muffled shout bled out from underneath the helmet of the individual guiding it down the street. Panic shot through you as you jerked back onto the sidewalk, just in time.

“What the hell!?” you shouted, your bag slipping from your hands and your phone clattering flat against the pavement.

The sound of skidding tires, the slam of brakes. The figure, clad in leather, barely stopped short of colliding with you. The bike skidded to a stop just a few feet away, the scent of burnt rubber lingering as the rider kicked down the stand. as she swung a leg over and straightened up, pulling off her helmet with a huff.

“Yeah, what the hell is right,” she shot back, tucking the helmet under her arm. “You got a death wish?”

“Excuse me?” Your head snapped up, eyes narrowing.

“You heard me,” she said, rolling her shoulders back like she was shaking off the near miss. “Crosswalks exist for a reason.”

You scoffed, dusting off your bag. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I inconvenience your little joyride?” Frowning at the scratches.

She huffed a dry laugh, finally giving you a once-over. one that started irritated but lingered just a second too long. “Yeah. And people cross the road when they see the walking man on the sign.” She pointed at the sign across from you, the little white figure glowing mockingly. “Not randomly whenever the hell they feel like it.”

“Are you serious right now?—” you deadpanned, exasperated. Then, with a saccharine smile, you added, “Thanks, officer. I’ll keep note of that.” You nodded, dripping with sarcasm.

Her eyes rolled, patience growing thinner as your fake smile made her blood boil. Her free hand gripped the leather of her jacket, resisting the urge to grab you by the collar and—

“Oh, ha-ha. You’re really a comedian, sweet cheeks.” She scoffed, stepping forward. Only a foot or two of space separated you now. God, you were prissy. Slightly taller, dressed in expensive, clean-knit clothing. Your eyes barely brushed over hers, dismissive. Plus the way you smelled—how could she even notice that at a time like this?

“Mm You liked that? Thanks, I’ll be here all night. Just gotta stay clear of idiots on death traps,” you jabbed, rolling your eyes like it was a competition—who could do it the most? Then, with a huff, you turned back to dust yourself off.

“Aww, you’re all worked up.” She remarked nonchalantly, watching your expression as you turned away from her. Prissy as hell, sure. But damn if you weren’t kinda (extremely) … cute. “And those ‘death traps’ are a hell of a lot more convenient than walking.”

“The conversation was over like five minutes ago,” you brushed her off, barely paying attention as you glanced at the WAIT sign. Sighing, already knowing you’d have to wait to cross again. “Have fun with that, though.”

“Conversation’s over?” She smirked, shifting her weight on her boots, clearly amused by your obvious desire to be done with her. “You just walkin’ around town for fun or something?” Her gaze flickered downward, taking in your jewelry, your makeup, your hair—all of it. She was obviously sizing you up, and you could tell.

“Stranger danger. Mind yours, lady.” You chuckled, waving her off with a well-polished nail.

“Oh, I’m definitely minding mine, sweetheart.” She shot back, ignoring the smirk threatening her poker face. Her gaze dropped to your nails, interest slipping through her snarky demeanor. “Got a hot date tonight or something?”

You sighed deeply, the heels on your feet turning to face her fully. “Unless you wanna cough up an apology, all this—” you gestured toward her mouth, referring to her talking “—needs to stop. Like, now. Thanks.”

Her smirk faltered, almost turning into a frown. You were bitchy, sure, and definitely stubborn. But now you weren’t backing down? She had to give you credit for that. “Apologize?” She mocked, tilting her head with an amused glint in her eyes. “Relax,, you survived. Besides, technically, you were in the way.”

“I looked before I crossed. You came out of thin air.” You huffed, eyes flickering over her jacket, her piercings, her tattoos—all in contrast to yourself. Then, catching yourself, you quickly looked back at her face. “Whatever. It’s fine.”

She noticed your gaze linger, noting how your eyes moved over her. She didn’t need a mirror to know how drastically different you two looked. But there you were, still talking to her. Leaning forward slightly, she wasn’t even sure why she was keeping this conversation going. “Then we’re done here.”

“Fantastic.” You sighed, arms crossed, waiting for the light to change. The “wait” sign glowing, taunting you.

This felt like a standoff—closed mouths but wandering minds. Raging thoughts that you pushed down, catching the way she kept glancing at your exposed legs just below the hem of your dress. Your usual defenses weren’t working on her. She’s … still here? Her attention had turned back to her phone, her lock screen flashing. Herself. Of course. It looked like she was… singing? Or maybe at some kind of concert—you couldn’t quite make it out before looking back across the street.

The crosswalk glowed: walk. Your eyes scanned the sign, feeling almost… disappointed? You shifted your weight, glancing at it, but didn’t move right away. Your feet felt molded to the pavement below your René Caovilla’s—shoes Mel had gifted you, seeming useless now. This wasn’t a game of freeze tag, but you were definitely stilled.

“Took long enough,” you muttered, trying to act like you hadn’t just hesitated to leave her side. You didn’t even know her, but the flutter in your gut made you not care in the moment.

You had to go through with it, of course you did. You promised to show your face tonight, got dressed, did your makeup. Your leg shifted, about to take that step—threatening to break the bubble that had built between you. The whole situation was bizarre. You were supposed to go to the party, look your best, do your thing. But something had kept you here. You shifted your weight, ready to take that step, only to be stopped by a familiar waft of perfume. The scent was stronger now. lingering in the air like a trail behind you. She was still there.

You glanced down at your phone, a full 30 minutes late now. Mel was going to murder you, but that concern seemed to fade when you looked back at Vi. She was on the phone, sighing as she hung up, seemingly about to leave. Something in you snapped, and you blurted out the words before you could stop them.

“I’ve changed my mind.”

She stopped, her leg coming back down from the curb. “About…?”

“I do want an apology. For you almost flattening me.” You added.

She rolled her eyes, about to shoot back with some sarcastic remark, but you interrupted her before she could.

“Not like that,” you said, cutting her off with a wave of your hand. You pointed across the street to the bar, “I want you to walk over there, and buy me a drink. That’s the apology I’m accepting.”

Vi blinked for a beat, caught off guard. Then, after a long pause, her voice returned, though this time it was softer.

“What?..I…” she opened her mouth to say more, then her gaze drifted over you and that outfit. “You always this prissy and bossy?” A slow smile curled on her lips.

“Maybe I enjoy it part-time,” you shot back, chin tilted just slightly upwards.

She huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she stubbed out her cigarette with the heel of her boot. “Charming,” she muttered, pushing off her bike. Then, with a heavy sigh, like she was pretending this was some great inconvenience. she finally gave in.

“Fine. One drink.”

One drink turned into three maybe four, this part is still fuzzy even when recounting to Mel. then Maybe it was the way you kept seeing her glance at your frame, maybe it was you tracing your fingers on the ends of her jacket sleeve, but Somehow, between biting comments and lingering glances, you’d both ended up here—pressed against the cool tile of the bar’s single-stall bathroom, Vi’s leather jacket hanging off one shoulder, your own clothes disheveled from her rushed hands. The smell of her was intoxicating, something woody, yet sweet. You couldn’t place it.

Her lips finding home along your collarbones.You let out a breathy laugh, fingers grazing over her exposed tattooed back. “Oh, so you do have an apology in you.” your eyes found hers, as they searched yours. Beyond just the color.

Vi smirked, lips just barely brushing yours. “Eh, I just wanted to shut you up.” her teeth tugging at it slightly as she’d mind wondered, wanting to feel those killer legs around her waist.

Your head leaned back further. “Oh really? I’m that bad?” Eyes fluttering closed when she nuzzled closer.

“Mmhm.” She grinned against your jaw, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss there. “Just insufferable, really. Extremely bitchy” She was mocking you, clear as day.

You hummed, nails dragging lightly down her back. “Huh. Seemed like you liked it a second ago.” you challenged.

Vi let out a low chuckle, hands slipping under the hem of your top. “I have bad taste.”

“Oh yeah?” Your grin widened. “Is that why you almost ran me over?”

She laughed, fingers pressing into your waist as she pulled you. “You gonna bring that up forever?”

“Maybe,” you teased, tilting your head as she kissed along your throat. “What, you can dish it but you can’t take it?”

Vi exhaled against your skin, then pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, eyes gleaming with amusement” “Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, voice dripping with mischief. “I can take a hell of a lot more than this.”

“Plus, That was your fault,” she muttered, her lips curving into a smirk. Her hands roamed, fingers gently tracing the dip of your hip, her thumb lightly tugging the ends of your dress. Every touch was like electricity, the tension building between you. “Should’ve paid more attention.” Her head dipped down, mouth slowly trailing along the column of your neck. She paused every now and again to bite, nibble, kiss, suck—trying to draw out that whimper she so desperately wanted to hear.

You hummed in approval, a laugh slipping out at her sudden movement. Her hands found the back of your thighs, pulling your legs around her waist. Your back pressed against the stall, hips now flush against hers as you held onto her. “Look at you, short stuff,” you teased, resting your forehead against hers. She let out a soft huff at your words, her hands gripping you tighter as she brought your body closer. Feeling you pressed against her like this, the weight of you, it was almost too much. That damn laugh, your breath against her face—she knew you were teasing her about the height difference.

“Yeah? Keep talkin’, see what happens.” Her voice was low, a quiet challenge that sent a shiver down your spine. Her hands roamed, leaving small chills in their wake.

“Ooo, you gonna get mad, huh?” you teased, pulling her face closer, needing to kiss her again. Your lips found hers, claiming them.

She let out a low moan at the way you took control, your words barely processing as her lips crashed back into yours. The kiss was rough, hungry. She wanted you. Needed you. Her hands gripped your thighs tighter, fingers digging into the flesh as she pushed you back against the stall wall, the sudden shift pressing her body even more against yours.

You gasped slightly, feeling the press of her pelvis against you, heat jolting through your core at the sound of her small moan. Tilting your head, you deepened the kiss, your tongue finding hers, the warm muscle pressing and teasing. Her tongue immediately met yours, her soft whimpers filling the small space as her body shivered. She pulled you flush against her, wanting to be as close as possible. She’d always been impatient, but right now, she was downright desperate for you. One hand stayed on your thigh, anchoring you, while the other skimmed along your hip, gripping hard as she ground herself against you.

She let out an amused hum at the sound of your moan. Hearing you like this, knowing she had this effect on you, was almost too much. It drove her wild. The feeling of your hand on her undercut, the way you teased her, it was almost enough to make her knees buckle. Her lips grazed your skin as they traveled down your neck, pausing to nip at your collarbone, leaving more marks in their wake. When a groan of disapproval came from her throat, you pulled back from her.

“Wait—” “What… what was your name?” You asked.

Ragged breathing, your vision coming back to you as you scanned over her features, your mind still foggy from the intensity of the moment. You both paused momentarily. Feet hitting the ground once more, The woman’s icy eyes widened. Then, she spoke up, not even knowing how you two had gotten this far without something as simple as a first name.

She grinned, running a hand through her dark hair. “It’s Vi.”

You arched a brow. “Vi…” you repeated. “That short for something? Veronica? Vanessa? Vivian?” You listed off name options, trying to match one to her face. It didn’t matter but you couldn’t help but tease her further.

Her smirk deepened, a single brow lifting as if to challenge you. “Violet,” she corrected, shaking her head with a quiet chuckle. “But honestly? I thought we were past names at this point.” Gesturing between you two.

You sighed dramatically, rolling your eyes. “Okay, smartass. Just figured I’d ask before we—”

She didn’t let you finish. Your words were practically swallowed as Vi’s lips crashed back into yours, her hands gripping your waist as she tugged you down slightly. The cold metal of her lip piercing pressed against your lips, the last remnants of your gloss transferring onto hers.

Your hands found the sides of her face, melting back into the moment.

“All those little noises for me?” she murmured, her voice barely audible. Her hands roamed, fingers tracing along the hem of your dress, teasing the soft skin beneath. She wanted to hear you moan again. To be the cause of it. To know that she was the one making you feel this way, the one who had you coming undone beneath her touch.

You laughed breathlessly, nodding. “Yes. For you.”

Just that simple confirmation sent a rush of possessive desire through her. Every moan, every shudder, every whimper—she wanted it all. Her lips attached to your neck again, marking and biting as they traveled across the sensitive skin. She found that spot again, nipping and sucking, drawing out more of those beautiful noises she craved. A soft moan escaped you as your body leaned into her, hands moving to tug her jacket off the rest of the way. A muffled chuckle spilled from her lips as she felt you push the leather from her shoulders. She let it drop down her arms, the fabric hitting the floor with a dull thud. She didn’t care where it landed—her focus was solely on you. Fingers curled beneath the hem of your dress, tugging it upwards. She needed more. Needed to feel more of your skin against hers.

Your arms lifted, inviting her to remove it. Her blue eyes darkened as she slowly pulled the fabric up, baring more of you. The dress joined the growing pile on the floor, leaving you more exposed, her hands tracing slow patterns along your sides.

She caught the motion of your fingers reaching for your shoes. “No, leave those,” she said, her voice laced with something thick

You paused before nodding, leaving the red heels on, and turned to tug at the hem of her black shirt instead.

“Mm, need this off, then.” Her breath hitched as your fingers gripped the fabric. She was more than happy to. Lifting her arms, she let you pull it over her head, her tank top soon joining the mess on the floor. A simple black sports bra covered her chest, the only thing she had on top now. trailing a hand down her toned torso. Tracing the lines of her skin. “Damn, you always this easy?”

her muscles tensing slightly beneath your touch. You could feel the outline of her abs, firm and defined. “Easy?” she chuckled, her hands sliding to your waist, pulling you flush against her.

“I’m anything but easy,” she murmured, lips finding yours in a kiss that was hungry. She smirked against your mouth before pulling back just enough to say, “Now, you gonna let me have you, or are you just here to run your mouth?”

You grinned, fingers toying with her spiked belt. “Mmm, got this far. Might as well.”

A low chuckle rumbled from her chest, her head tilting slightly as she watched you. The way you played with her belt sent heat pooling in her stomach.

“That’s what I thought,” she murmured before her lips were back on your skin, nipping at your throat as one hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head to expose more of your neck to her. The other hand dipped lower, fingers teasing at the fabric of your underwear. A small sound escaped your throat at the tug in your hair, your skin already littered with purples and reds from her mouth. Your fingers flexed as you lifted the belt from its clasp, undoing it. Her teeth grazed your skin as she smiled against your throat. at the way your hands fidgeted slightly, just as eager. She made no move to stop you, only pressing you further against the wall, her tattooed arms keeping you caged in place.

The pile on the floor was beginning to build, the heel of Vi’s boots pressing the fabrics into the flooring. Too focused on how your body felt against hers.

A bar bathroom. Of all places. The kind of place that would usually make your nose scrunch, your skin crawl. The lighting was too harsh, the walls too cold, the bass from the speakers outside rattling against the door. And yet… you didn’t care. Not with the way Vi was looking at you. Not with the way she touched you—like she didn’t give a damn about the setting either, like she’d have you anywhere if it meant having you at all.

It only grew especially more difficult when her mouth began to trail lower, each kiss leaving a burning imprint on your skin. Heavy-lidded eyes followed her movements, watching as her lips dragged a slow, heated path down your sternum. Your breath hitched, fingers threading into the messy strands of her black-and-red hair, nails grazing her scalp.

She made her way down your body, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses in her wake. she kissed down your sternum, her hands firm on your waist. She was all-consuming, her presence overwhelming in the best way. Your hands continued to thread into her short locs, nails grazing her scalp as she moved. as she felt the way your fingers flexed, your grip tightening when her nose grazed your hip bone. Her lips continued their path downward.

Her jeans-covered knees found themselves Kneeling in front of you, still caught between your legs, her eyes lifted to yours, Her hands recurled in the waistband of your underwear, fingers teasing the fabric.

“Let’s take these off,” black-painted fingernails, tugging the elastic slightly. Needing your approval before continuing.

You nodded, breathless. “Please.” Releasing the grip on her hair.

Widened eyes, as the thin damped fabric of your underwear dragged down the soft flesh of your thighs. her eyes roaming over your newly exposed skin. Not missing the way you were practically soaked. The shine only exposed further when her finger

Her middle and index moved to the undeniable pooling slick to act as lube as she glides over your now uncovered clit.

“Look at that…Tell me again how you’re ‘not into the whole edgy thing’?” She asked. Pierced Tounge darting out to kitten lick over your glistening folds.

“Shut up— mmng!” a small whine ripping out when her wet muscle was buried to taste bit of your growing arousal.

With a to bite your bottom to suppress a sudden moan. The space between your shoes only widens are you spread your legs for her further. the pads of her fingers creating circles sending jolts of pressure upward through your body. Eyes fluttering shut once more.

The bathroom echoed with the sounds of soft moans, whispered encouragements, and the wet, slick sounds of her finger pushing inside of your velvety walls. until her knuckle is practically coated. arching your back, off the cold graffitied wall.

“Mmfuuk Violet!” Your fingers knitted right back into her soft stands. Tugging at them. Eyes squeezed shut, at her gentle laps to your cunt. Mewing like a virgin, not remembering the last time you had time to even have a causal hookup like well—this.

Her frim hands grabbing the mound of your thigh to keep you still. Her nose brushing into your cunt. Once you are (somewhat) steady she slides index out then right back into you, bottoming out. Earning another wail from you when she curls it exactly where you can’t reach alone.

“S’good, huh? Yeah, I can tell.”

Just as Vi’s hands started to roam again, the sound of a toilet flushing from one of the stalls cut through the heated haze.

Both of you froze. Then slush of the water draining out made your eyes snap open. Oh my god, neither one of you checked if anyone else was in here. With a tilt of your head Your eyes slowly met hers, wide with realization. Vi blinked once. Then twice. The unmistakable creak of a stall door opening followed.

Vi exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down her face “so…That just ruined it, right?”

You swallowed hard, face burning of embarrassment “..Yeah.”

There was a beat of silence. A shuffling noise from the stall. You really didn’t want to turn around. The bathroom now extremely quiet, faint music from the bar, seeping under the door.

“My place?” you offered, already reaching for your dress.

Vi’s lips twitched. “Yeah. Think we kinda have to now.”

“ Hope you’re okay with a little backseat action.” She smirked, stepping back slightly as she grabbed her belt from the floor. “Because Ya know, you’ll have to get on my bike for that.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes. “Oh, so fun. Not dangerous at all.”heels clicking as you stepped closer. “I’m calling a car.”

Vi grinned, looping the belt back through her jeans. “Says the girl who was just half-naked in a bar bathroom.” She whispered.

You groaned, swatting at her shoulder as she laughed, slinging her jacket over her arm before leading you toward the exit.

You groaned, swatting at her shoulder, but she just laughed, reaching for your wrist and tugging you toward the exit. “C’mon, princess, let’s get outta here before we scar someone else for life.”

Behind you, the poor soul from the stall finally cleared their throat.

“Yeah,” a voice muttered. “Good call.” Vi snorted. You just buried your face in your hands as she dragged you toward the door.

The sun warmed your closed eyelids, pulling you from sleep. You shot up from your bed, hand instinctively drifting to the space next to you—only to be met with sheets.

Cold.

Of course she left. What were you thinking? That she’d stay? You didn’t even ask for her name until you were both half-undressed. With a disappointed sigh and slumped shoulders, you sat up, pushing your hair out of your face. Glancing over at the space next to you once more to confirm.

Yeah. Still empty.

Until you caught your reflection in something small, shiny. Silver rings, hers. When you finally got out of bed to toss them into your jewelry box, you figured at least you had a souvenir to remember her by. But as you approached your vanity, confusion twisted on your features. The cabinet was slightly open. And then you saw it. A number, written in red by one of your lipsticks on the corner of your mirror.

“Had to run, didn’t wanna wake Sleeping Beauty.

Figured I’d give you a reason to find me.

Call me, XXX-XX —Vi”

#x reader #vi x fem reader #vi arcane #vi x reader #vi fanfic #vi smut #vi angst #violet arcane #arcane smut #rhysoneshots #lesbian #arcane fanfic #arcane x reader #violet x reader #pit fighter vi #vi x y/n #vi x you #vi x female reader #vi arcane smut

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22ayla21 · 3 months ago

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Their Children, Their Treasures

How the men of Amphoreus spend time with their children.

Mydei is not the type to just sit and tell children how the world works. He shows them. He trains with his eldest son, but he doesn’t turn it into a tough workout — more of a game, testing his agility and reaction. He can throw him a wooden sword, forcing him to catch it, and then laughs when he proudly declares that he has become stronger. He takes his time with his daughter. Instead of combat training, he teaches her observation: he shows her how to read facial expressions, discern lies, understand when a person says one thing and means another.

Sometimes, when the night is quiet and the palace is asleep, Mydei takes the children for a walk. His son walks alongside him, trying not to show that he is a little nervous about the mysterious atmosphere. His daughter sits on his shoulders, clinging to his hair with her tiny hands. They walk, talk about something insignificant, look at the stars. For the children, this is an adventure, for him, a rare moment when he can simply enjoy their presence.

He has small rituals that are dear only to them. Every morning when he is home, he always plays with his daughter, letting her sit on his lap while he drinks his pomegranate juice. She chatters, sometimes incoherently, but he listens, answering in short phrases, because it is important for her to be heard. He has a special tradition with his eldest son - they arrange small competitions, who can tie a belt faster, who will be the first to notice something unusual around. These are not competitions in strength, but simply a test of attentiveness and ingenuity.

If one of the servants or courtiers looks at his children too appraisingly, he silently gives a look that makes the blood run cold. After that, no one dares to say anything unnecessary to the children. If a son comes to him with a question that is difficult to ask out loud, he never ridicules him. He does not say "you are still small", but calmly explains, because he knows that if not him, then someone else will give an answer, and it is not a fact that it is the right one. If his daughter gets tangled in ribbons or can't fasten her dress, he silently helps. His rough fingers can undo intricate knots with no less dexterity than they can handle a weapon.

The son has almost gotten used to the fact that his father rarely talks about his feelings. But he notices how he always puts his hand in front of him if someone comes too close, how he discreetly straightens his cloak, how he puts food in front of him first. And his daughter... She is his little princess, and he doesn't even try to hide it. He picks her up in his arms without saying a word if he sees that she is tired. If she plays with his hair or jewelry, he simply allows it silently. When she reaches out to him to take her, he never refuses. Mydei does not say loud words. But his children know that there is no one who will protect them more.

Silence at home? Not in their family. When Anaxa has free time, he organizes intellectual discussions, where each of his daughters tries to prove her point. Usually this develops into a heated argument, and he, sitting with a cup of tea, calmly observes and only occasionally throws out provocative questions, forcing them to think even deeper.

"Theory without practice is meaningless," says Anaxa, and his daughters immediately find a reason to prove this in practice. "Scientific disasters" regularly occur in the house: self-igniting mixtures, strange bubbling solutions or a device that was supposed to make life easier, but almost destroyed the kitchen.

Anaxa comes up with logical riddles that his daughters must solve using reasoning. Sometimes he does this on purpose in everyday life: he hides things, leaves encrypted notes or deliberately draws false conclusions to see if they will notice the mistake. If the evening is quiet, he sits in a chair, his daughters on either side of him, each with her own book. The elder reads serious literature, the younger something more daring and provocative, and Anaxa just smirks, seeing how their reading tastes reflect their personalities.

Despite all their intellectual development, they remain a family. Sometimes Anaxa allows his daughters to braid his hair (even if he pretends that he is not interested), sometimes he himself makes things for them that seem completely unrelated to science - beautiful jewelry or unusual objects that carry a hidden meaning.

Anaxa rarely speaks openly about his feelings, but if his daughters face difficulties, he is always there. When they achieve success, he simply looks at them with a barely noticeable smile and says: "I had no doubt. After all, you are my daughters."

When his first son was a baby, Phainon still hoped that his child would be calm, obedient, and perhaps even gentle. He imagined reading to him, teaching him high ideals… But as soon as the baby learned to crawl, the house turned into an arena of chaos. And then came the second. And now Phainon has two little whirlwinds that run around, fight each other with toy swords, and turn everything upside down.

Phainon may be a hero, but when his two sons jump on him from the couch with battle cries, he sincerely wonders if it is his destiny they are trying to overthrow. They use him as a living arena, clinging to his arms, tugging at his hair, and demanding that he play battles with them, which he invariably loses.

Phainon still reads them ancient Amphoraean legends, hoping to instill nobility and greatness of spirit in them. He sits with a book, telling stories about great heroes... and his sons listen with bated breath. And then one of them suddenly asks:

"Dad, if you were an evil god, would you lose to us?" Phainon exhales heavily.

Although he would never admit it, Phainon loves to tidy up their tousled hair. When they are little, he gently combs it, sometimes combing it with his hands. Later, when they grow up, he continues to do it mechanically, and when his sons begin to complain, he only smiles with a note of melancholy that they are growing up too fast.

When his sons begin training, he becomes a strict mentor. He teaches them to take blows, to think strategically, not to waste their strength. But if one of them hurts another or behaves dishonestly, his gaze becomes icy, telling them that they must be strong not for the sake of destruction, but for the sake of protection. And they remember this for the rest of their lives.

Despite the chaos, he loves it when his sons, tired of playing, crawl to him and fall asleep next to him. At such moments, he carefully covers them with a blanket, looks at their faces and says with a slight smile, almost in a whisper: “But I wanted a daughter…” But there is no disappointment in his voice – only warm affection. Phainon is a father who wanted a little princess, but in the end got two little whirlwinds who make his life chaotic, but happy. And even if they turn the house upside down, he would never trade them for anything in this world.

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr #hsr mydei #hsr anaxa #hsr phainon #mydei #mydeimos #mydei x reader #anaxagoras #anaxa #anaxa x reader #phainon #phainon x reader

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ducktoo · 4 months ago

Text

I know

IVE’s An Yujin x M!Reader

Note: welp....yall ask for part 2 and yall shall receive.

I was planning to post it earlier, but uni has started for me and I didn't have time to think about posting it (assignment due in wk3 already. Shocking.)

But yea, Cheeky blew up quite hard, and I'm happy that it did. I kept reading back to it and feeling delulu during these trying times.

You can check part 1 here! And hope you will enjoy this lighthearted sequel!

(Damn u yujin stop being so cute-)

You should’ve seen this coming.

No—everyone should’ve seen this coming.

It wasn’t just the members. Not just the managers, the stylists, or even the company staff. At this point, you were convinced that half the industry had figured it out before you did.

Ever since the Honey Incident (as Wonyoung dramatically dubbed it), Yujin had apparently decided that embarrassing you in public wasn’t enough. At first, it was harmless. Cute, even. She’d joke around, tease you about being too serious, drape herself over you in public like you were her personal couch, and demand your attention at all times.

Then it got worse.

Somehow, somewhere along the line, she had started treating you less like a bodyguard and more like her favourite person in the world.

Which led to this moment.

A moment you never expected. A moment where An Yujin, the ever-cheeky, ever-confident leader of IVE, was standing in front of you, blushing, in the practice room.

You had been assigned to keep watch while they rehearsed, standing by the door as the girls went over their choreography for the millionth time that day. It was routine at this point—watch them sweat, keep an eye out for potential threats (including a certain puppy), and occasionally stop Liz and Rei from sneaking off to buy bubble tea. The usual.

But today felt…off.

Not in a dangerous way. Not in a Yujin-is-being-annoying way (though she had tried to balance a water bottle on your head as you watched over them). This was something else.

You first noticed it when Yujin kept sneaking glances at you between dance breaks. Not her usual I’m about to mess with you glances. These were different—more hesitant, more…nervous. Which was…very out of character of her. Because An Yujin never get nervous around you.

"Alright, let’s wrap up here," their choreographer finally announced.

The members groaned in relief, collapsing onto the floor like a pile of exhausted puppies…well except for Yujin. Yujin was staring at you. Menacingly.

And before you could question it, she marched over.

"Hey," she said.

You narrowed your eyes. "...What's up, Yuu?"

She bit her lip, shifting on her feet. Her eyes were looking at anywhere but you. "So, uh…"

Weird.

She was acting weird.

Yujin never hesitated when speaking to you. Usually, she was all smug grins and playful insults. But now?

She looked like she was about to combust.

The rest of IVE noticed, because of course they did. They had enough of Yujin fiddling around in their dorm.

"Oh my god," Wonyoung mumbled from her spot on the floor. "It’s happening."

"What’s happening, unnie?" Leeseo whispered.

"She’s finally doing that," Rei deadpanned.

Liz let out a long, suffering sigh. "Took her long enough."

Gaeul rubbed her temples. "I don’t have the energy for this."

Meanwhile, you were still trying to process what was happening when Yujin squared her shoulders, sucked in a deep breath, and gave you her ultimatum.

"I LIKE YOU!"

Silence. The whole room froze. The whole world froze.

Your brain short-circuited.

"...Huh?"

Yujin, still bright red, clenched her fists. "I LIKE YOU, OKAY?!"

Her voice cracked slightly.

You blinked. "Excuse me?"

She groaned, running a hand through her already sweat-damp hair. "Do I really have to say it again?"

"Yes."

"Ugh." She took another deep breath. "I LIKE YOU. ROMANTICALLY. LIKE, IN A DATE-Y WAY. LIKE, I WANT TO HOLD HANDS AND STUFF!"

From the floor, Wonyoung gagged. "Unnie, please stop talking."

Liz groaned into her hands. "This is a nightmare."

Leeseo, innocently, started clapping. "Go, unnie! Be brave!"

Yujin shot them a glare before turning back to you. "So? What do you think?"

You stared at her. Then at the other members, who looked like they were witnessing a murder scene. Then back at her.

"...Are you serious?"

She nodded way too fast. "Dead serious."

You just stared.

Of all the things An Yujin could’ve done today or any other days—steal your sunglasses, challenge you to an arm-wrestling match, make up some dumb nickname for you—this was not on your bingo card.

But here she was.

The girl who spent the last few months making your life a constant struggle, the girl who clung to you like a koala and made sure everyone and their grandmother knew you were her bodyguard was now standing in front of you, blushing, waiting for an answer. But....

"...Absolutely not," you said flatly.

Yujin gasped. Genuinely gasped. Like you had just betrayed her.

"Rejected?! On my first attempt?!"

"You literally threw the truth bomb at me, Yujin—"

"This is a historic moment," she muttered, shaking her head. "An Yujin, turned down for the first time in her life… I don’t know how to recover from this…"

Gaeul threw a towel at her. "Please shut up."

"But—!"

"Just shut up."

Yujin groaned dramatically before turning back to you.

"...Okay, fine. First attempt failed," she admitted. Then her lips curled into a familiar, mischievous smirk. "Guess I’ll just have to try again."

Your stomach dropped. "What-"

She winked. "I don’t give up that easily, honey~"

The rest of IVE groaned in unison.

And that was the exact moment you realized you were screwed.

Yujin, apparently, had no concept of personal space. Everywhere you went, she was there. Not in a creepy way, but in a Yujin way—like a big, overgrown puppy that refused to leave your side.

"Good morning!!" she chirped, appearing out of nowhere and looping her arms around yours as soon as you entered the practice room.

You sighed. "Did you need to latch onto me the second you got here?"

"Yes," she said easily.

"Why?"

She just grinned. "Because I like you~"

"That’s not an answer."

"It is an answer."

"Not a good one, isn't it?"

"Well, too bad," she hummed, swinging your arm like you were best friends at a schoolyard. "You rejected me, so now you have to deal with the full force of my affection until you change your mind."

"You mean suffer?"

"Tomato, tomato, same thing."

From the other side of the room, Wonyoung threw her water bottle onto the floor dramatically. "She never did this before. Why now?"

Gaeul groaned into her hands. "I don't wanna see this anymore."

Leeseo, bless her innocent heart, was still cheering her leader on. "She’s so great!"

Meanwhile, Rei just stared at you with pity. "You brought this on yourself."

You sighed, but you didn’t shake Yujin off even when lunch time arrives. By that point, the entire company definitely knew about Yujin’s ridiculous pursuit.

You had been sitting in the break room, minding your own business, when she waltzed in with the confidence of someone who owned the place.

"Hey, babe, what do you want to eat?" she asked, loud enough for everyone to hear.

You ignored her. "Not hungry. And don't call me babe out aloud, Yujin."

"That’s not what I asked." She slid into the seat across from you, chin resting on her palm. "I can order whatever you want. Couple meals are on sale today~"

That kickstarted a chain of whispers in the room. You could feel the stares.

"Yujin," you said slowly. "Stop. Please."

She gasped dramatically. "Rejected again?! In public?!"

"Stop acting like this is new."

"It hurts every time," she whined, clutching her heart.

At the next table, two staff members were openly watching the exchange, barely trying to hide their amusement.

"Seriously, are they dating or not?" one whispered.

The other shook their head. "I dunno, but Yujin’s trying."

Yujin winked at them. "Oh, I will succeed."

You groaned and buried your face in your hands.

You eventually had grown used to the chaos. The teasing, the dramatic declarations, the smug little grins Yujin would shoot you whenever she found new ways to fluster you. You had come to expect her annoying antics—her constant presence, the way she’d grab your wrist and drag you places, how she’d miraculously find an excuse to be around you no matter where you were stationed.

So when it suddenly stopped, you found yourself unnerved. It felt…too quiet, was very apparent it the moment you arrived at the company building.

Normally, you wouldn’t even get to stand still before Yujin popped out of nowhere, throwing an arm around your shoulder like she had been waiting for you all morning. "Good morning, honey~!" she'd always say, far too enthusiastic for someone who had spent hours practicing the night before and always the responsible leader she is.

But today?

Nothing.

No surprise ambush. No unnecessary skin ship. No Yujin.

Which made your brows furrowed slightly as you walked toward IVE’s practice room. The usual noise from within—the sound of music, the members chatting, Wonyoung complaining about something—was still there. But the one bubbly voice that always stood out the most (unfortunately for you) was missing.

When you stepped inside, the members barely glanced at you, too busy stretching or scrolling through their phones during a break.

"Um….Where’s Yujin?" you asked, trying to sound neutral.

Gaeul sighed, tossing her towel over her shoulder. "Sick. She’s been in bed all day."

You frowned. Yujin? Sick? That never happened.

"She overworked herself again," Wonyoung added with an eye roll. "Serves her right for staying up late doing who-knows-what after practice."

Liz hummed. "Unnie said she was fine this morning, but the moment she tried to stand up, she almost collapsed."

You felt something tighten in your chest. Collapsed?

Before you could even process it, your feet were already moving toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Rei called out.

"Checking on her," you replied without hesitation.

From behind, you swore you heard Leeseo muttered, "Wow, oppa didn’t even deny it this time."

The dorm was quieter than usual.

Normally, when you entered, you were met with the sounds of the other members laughing, chatting, or bickering over something trivial. But today, it was almost eerily still, like the whole place was alive.

You tip-toed down the hall until you reached Yujin’s room. The door was slightly ajar, and when you peeked inside, you found her curled up in bed, swallowed by a mountain of blankets (and hoodies that Leeseo sprinkled on). Her hair was a mess, her usually sharp and playful eyes barely open, fever-flushed cheeks standing out against her pale skin.

She looked... small. Like a puppy, which unsettled you.

Yujin was always everywhere, loud, full of energy, always teasing, always finding ways to get under your skin. But now? She looked nothing like the person who had spent the last few months making your life infuriatingly interesting.

Her gaze shifted slightly when she noticed you, and a slow, tired smile curled on her lips.

"...You came," she mumbled, her voice hoarse and laced with sleep.

"Obviously," you replied, stepping closer. "Gaeul said you almost collapsed this morning."

She let out a weak chuckle. "Dramatic, aren’t they?"

You frowned. "That’s not funny, Yujin."

Before she could mutter another tired sound, you sat beside the bed and placed the back of your hand against her forehead. She was burning.

A lump formed in your throat.

She blinked up at you, dazed. "You never touch me first…*cough*"

You ignored the way your chest tightened at the poor girl. "Because you’re usually annoying. Now shut up and let me check your temperature."

Her lips twitched, like she wanted to say something smug, but she was too exhausted to put up a fight.

Your fingers brushed against her wrist, and she was so warm. The thought of her pushing herself this hard—until her body gave out—made something uneasy settle in your stomach.

"Have you even eaten?"

She shrugged lazily. "Didn’t feel like it."

You exhaled sharply, glancing at the small table by her bedside. There was an untouched bowl of porridge, now cold, sitting beside a bottle of unopened medicine and a cup of water.

Shaking your head, you grabbed the medicine and turned back to her. "Take this."

Yujin scrunched her nose. "Ugh, I hate that stuff."

"You hate a lot of things, but you still do them when necessary."

She groaned, flopping back onto her pillow. "Bossy."

"Annoying," you shot back.

She grinned weakly, reaching out with grabby hands. "Then feed me, my favourite bodyguard."

You narrowed your eyes. "You have hands."

She pouted dramatically, eyes twinkling with mischief despite her exhaustion. "But I’m weak and helpless right now. What if I pass out? Will you carry me princess-style to the hospital?"

You huffed. "Unbelievable."

Still, you remain on the edge of her bed, opening the bottle and holding out a spoonful of medicine.

Yujin blinked, looking genuinely surprised for once. "...Wait, you’re actually doing it?"

"Don’t make me change my mind," you muttered. "Now say ahh"

She hesitated for a second before leaning forward, parting her lips. As soon as the bitter medicine touched her tongue, her face scrunched up in absolute betrayal.

"EUGH! That’s disgusting!"

"You’ll live," you said flatly, handing her a glass of water.

She downed it quickly, still making exaggerated gagging noises.

You rolled your eyes. "Drama queen."

She flopped back against her pillow, letting out a deep sigh. "You really do care about me, huh?"

You tensed slightly. "Obviously. I'm meant to take care of you."

For once, she didn’t tease. Instead, she just stared at you, her usual playful confidence softening into something quieter.

"...Hey…" she murmured, fingers curling into her blanket. "I wasn’t joking, you know."

You swallowed. "About what?"

She smiled—small, genuine, and far too vulnerable for someone usually so full of herself. "Liking you."

Something inside you stirred—something that had been growing for a while now, something you refused to acknowledge until this moment.

You sighed, ignoring the way your heart leapt a mile for her. Ignoring the way the corner of your mouth curled up to a smile.

"I know."

And this time, you didn’t mind.

#kpop #ive yujin #izone yujin #ahn yujin x reader #an yujin #ahn yujin #ive fluff #ive x reader

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xoxolaw · 5 days ago

Note

Hiii congrats on your 500 follower (^з^)-☆

This is my request for you 500 followers event

Character - Go Hyuntak 🥋

Song - I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend by Hot Freaks ｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ

AU - Childhood friends, one-sided love

𐙚˙✧˖°🍮 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

+ 𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗜𝗖𝗘𝗗

in which Go Hyun-Tak’s been in love with her since age seven, but all she does is steal his hoodies and call him "bro."

+ 𝗚𝗢 𝗛𝗬𝗨𝗡-𝗧𝗔𝗞 𝗫 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥

fluff

Go Hyun-Tak had been in love with her since the third grade.

Not that she noticed.

Not when she made him pinky-promise to be her best friend forever after he shared his juice box. Not when she’d nap on his shoulder during field trips. Not when she still—still—stole his hoodie in high school and never gave it back.

Now she was seventeen, sprawled beside him on a patchy hill in the local park, legs tucked beneath her, sipping bubble tea while humming off-key to the playlist they made together. She was scrolling her phone like nothing mattered, occasionally shoving the straw toward him for a sip—like it was the most normal thing in the world to share drinks and air and heartbeats.

And Hyun-Tak let her.

Because he was weak.

Because she called him “Takie” in that lazy, syrupy way that made his brain short-circuit.

Because when she turned to him with those wide, guileless eyes and said, “I think I might like someone,” it felt like someone had hit pause on the whole damn universe.

He blinked. “Oh?”

She didn’t look up from her phone, just shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like she hadn’t just turned his world sideways with one sentence. “Yeah. It’s stupid.”

Hyun-Tak swallowed, throat dry. “It’s not stupid.”

“You don’t even know who it is.”

No, he thought bitterly, but I know who it’s not.

She adjusted her weight, curling slightly on her side, propping her head up with one arm. A blade of grass stuck in her hair. The oversized sleeves of his hoodie fell past her knuckles. Her eyes flicked to his—half-lidded, lazy, familiar—and she gave him that soft, conspiratorial smile. The kind that made him feel like they were the only two people in the world.

“You wanna know?”

He hesitated.

Everything in him screamed no.

But he nodded anyway. “Sure.”

She grinned, bashful in a way she almost never was. “Okay, but don’t laugh.”

“I won’t.”

“I mean it.”

“Promise.”

A beat passed. Two.

She buried her face in her sleeve for a second, groaning. “Ugh, now I feel dumb.”

“Hey.” His voice gentled without thinking. “It’s me. You never have to feel dumb with me.”

She peeked up at him again, and this time something in her expression shifted—just the tiniest bit. Something quieter. Something more unsure.

And then, just as she opened her mouth—

Her phone buzzed.

She glanced at the screen, thumb hovering.

“Hold on—it's him,” she said, without thinking. And just like that, the moment passed.

Hyun-Tak froze. Watched her face light up like a goddamn fireworks display.

And it gutted him.

He tried to look somewhere else. Anywhere else.

He ended up staring at the hem of his hoodie hanging off her wrist. It looked better on her than it ever did on him.

“You okay?” she asked after a moment, eyes still on the screen, smile tugging at her lips.

“Yeah,” he said softly, leaning back into the grass, eyes skyward. “I’m always okay.”

And he was.

That was the problem.

He was always okay. Always there. Always Takie—her safe place, her stand-in boyfriend for practice dances, her emergency contact, her ride home when it rained.

Everything but the one thing he wanted to be.

✮⋆˙

It was three days later when she brought it up again.

Same hill. Same park. A little windier this time, with leaves rustling in dry circles around their shoes. The sky was overcast, the kind of cloudy that made everything feel muted and slow—except for her, apparently, because she was pacing in front of the bench while Hyun-Tak sat, watching her unravel in real time.

“I swear to god, if he says one more thing about how I’m not like other girls, I’m gonna throw my phone into the lake.”

Hyun-Tak blinked up at her. “You don’t even like lakes.”

“That’s not the point, Takie,” she huffed, running both hands through her hair, tugging at the strands. “The point is he’s so—ugh—he’s so confusing! One minute he’s texting me like he’s interested, and the next he leaves me on read for an entire day. And when I ask what’s wrong, he just says ‘lol nothing.’ LOL NOTHING?! Who does that?”

Hyun-Tak bit the inside of his cheek, holding back a smile. Barely.

She spun on him. “Why are you smiling?”

“I’m not,” he said, all innocence, but his lips were clearly betraying him.

She pointed at him with a glare. “You totally are! I am losing my mind, and you're just sitting there with your little smug face like this is a rom-com and you're the side character getting popcorn.”

He held up both hands. “I swear I’m not enjoying this.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“…Okay, maybe a little,” he admitted, ducking as she flung a crumpled straw wrapper at him. It missed by a mile.

She flopped onto the bench beside him with a groan, letting her head fall dramatically onto his shoulder. “He’s such a jerk, Takie. Like—a real jerk. Not even in a hot way. Just a mildly emotionally unavailable but still somehow pretty way. Which is worse.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Just sat there, letting her vent, letting her rest her head against him like she always did when the world got too loud.

Then, quietly: “So… you’re done with him?”

She sighed into his hoodie. “I should be. But I’m not. I don’t know. It’s like—ugh—I think I just liked the idea of it, you know? Of someone liking me. Wanting me. Even if it’s… not real.”

His chest ached at that.

She didn’t see herself clearly. Never had.

Didn’t realize that everyone wanted her. That she was the kind of person who made playlists with her friends and remembered their birthdays and gave away her heart like she was born with too much of it.

“You are wanted,” he said quietly.

She pulled back a little, brows furrowing. “What?”

“You said you wanted someone to want you,” he repeated, more careful now. “But… you already are.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “By who?”

Hyun-Tak opened his mouth—then closed it.

Laughed under his breath.

“Just… in general,” he said instead. “You’re easy to want.”

A pause.

Then she slumped forward again, exhaling into his shoulder. “You always say the right thing. You suck.”

He smiled down at the top of her head.

If only you knew, he thought. If only you looked at me the way I look at you.

But instead, he just said, “Want me to go beat him up?”

She snorted. “You and what army?”

“Just me. I’m terrifying.”

She laughed for real this time. Loud, open-mouthed, free. Her nose scrunched in that way that made his stomach hurt.

And he swore—

For just a second, she looked at him a little too long.

Not enough. But longer than usual.

+ 𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗥'𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘 + 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

Hope this was enjoyable 🥲 cause I'm not sure

+ 𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

@keizvn @soobinbunnie5 @chaywkk @l5byrinth @inom17 @randomheyl @coffee-ii @mizxuqii @dna-black-and-blue @kyungjunnies @maxinehufflepuffprincess @deboizzzstay @coolasiangal123 @intoanothermind @satoru2716 @chenlegendj @changbinkisser

#fanfic #weak hero class two #weak hero x reader #weak hero webtoon #gotak x reader #gotak #go hyuntak x reader #go hyuntak

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eternallyhauntingthehouseoflove · 1 year ago

Note

Hey there👋👋 could you please do whatever love language of the bamboos are ??

LOVE LANGUAGE OF THE BATBOYS

A/N: terribly sorry I let this request collect dust. My interest in comics fell as life got hectic and whatever the hell. I won't go all Wattpad author on you.

Dick Grayson’s love language is words of affirmation. At the peak of his characterization, he is a man ravenous for praise and attention. A moment of peace, of relief, of sweetness.

Stunted, yet too grown for his own good—simultaneously. He will seek attention, showering you with gifts and compliments in hopes that you reciprocate. Holidays would read like a HallMark movie that would move suburban mothers to tears.

Dick is also the man to send romantic quotes stolen from Pinterest, and the occasional confusing poem of his own hand. His nerves would grind as he read the ‘’seen’’ stamp beneath his text, worried out of his mind that it didn't properly convey his emotions, his love.

“What, no reply yet? If you're that moved, you could always come kiss me.” He'd send the message, playing it off as a joke. But his stomach groaned with the familiar ache, that cold and empty feeling of uncertainty.

What if she doesn't like it? Will she still like me? Would I seem lame if I double texted? Am I bugging her?

The flames of self doubt would spread and eat at his mind until his phone pinged with a,” it's beautiful, babe. A hard read, but the intention was there.” And a flirtatious emoji paired with it.

Thus, the flames of doubt were stomped out, like they never existed. They liked the poem, and he would spend hours rereading it. Marveling and gushing because you liked it. Something he made.

Jason Todd's love language is acts of service. It's a loyalty thing for him.

Gift sharing could be manipulation; soft words could be lies, and he's too self-loathing to believe them anyway. Red Hood swallows his spare time, and his desire for touch swung on a pendulum—one side thirsting for it, the other side uncomfortable.

The thought of returning home to a nice and warm meal would make him melt into a puddle. Or finding his hero suit washed, and his gear cleaned and stored away.

It reignites a flame in his cold eyes, the domesticity calling forth an unclassified emotion that sent goosebumps blazing over his skin like wildfire, calling his arm hairs to attention.

Jason would return the favor. You would awake to find breakfast made, the aroma of bacon and eggs thick in the air, the sweetness of syrup carrying around the house. Scalding tea trickling into a pot, milk and sugar already on the table. Plates washed and set.

Jason would also do laundry and iron clothes. He gets those random bursts of energy (or adrenaline) and cleans the entire house spotless.

Baths would be drawn for you, and if he's feeling lavish, he'll add roses to the bubbles. The finest soaps would lather your skin, scented with the the best smelling perfumes—business was good, and it was a present. His calloused fingers would be overjoyed to massage your scalp (he hoped you'd do his next).

Tim Drake’s love language is quality time. Also, I would like to preface this section by admitting I haven't read much of Tim.

He would help you study. Textbooks adorning the wooden table after hours of quizzing. Coffee steaming in a mug, pens and highlighters scratching at paper. Kisses shared with each right answer.

He'd tease,” Oh, that was a hard one. A trick question.” A smirk, sweet as frosting would tug on his lips, then a warm kiss would swallow yours.” If I were as filthy minded as Jason, maybe I'd crack a joke.”

Tim’s gaze would find you, in the middle of whatever—washing dishes, doing laundry, exercising. They'd burst with amorous passion, like exploding stars, shimmering and twinkling in his irises.

When the sun kisses Gotham goodnight, and the moon assumes it duty, he'd find himself wishing he could be beside you. Not Batman, not Dick, certainly not Damian. That's not proof that he hates his colleagues or that his work is last on the list of priorities. It's just. . . you're higher.

“Hey, love,” he'd speak into the phone, after the voicemail prompted him.” I know you're likely sleep tonight. But I wanted to at least call and tell you to sleep safe and warm. And to save space for me.” A chuckle would roll of his tongue, the wailing of police sirens in the background.

Damian Wayne's love language is also quality time.

Time is precious to him. His mother’s presence was unreliable. He, his father, his siblings tango with dead every silvery night. Each misfortune in his family reminded him of that.

Robin is not what Dick thinks. It's not just bursting into hideouts and knocking the crap out of villains. The peril is real, as well as the potential for failure—and failure in their line of work means death.

Oracle was paralyzed in a second, one wrong move and her nerves were shot. Jason’s life was quite literally put on a clock, killed by time itself. When Damian was an assassin, it merely took seconds to end a life, one of emotion and desires and opinions—gone at the stroke of a blade.

Time matters.

Damian would try to spend all of it with you, doing anything. Attending museums, painting you, listening to your playlists. Finding the child he was depraved of for so long. Being an angsty teenager and loving it.

“This is considered fun?” A dark eyebrow of his would raise teasingly. There you sat, at a sport's game, the roaring crowd trembling the stadium and stabbing his ears. The golden beam of the sun roasting both you, and the overpriced popcorn tossing and gurgling in his stomach.

But, deep down, the liveliness of the crowd intrigued him. Even he'd find himself screaming along with the masses on their feet, yelling out praise or curse words.

Damian's jade irises would slide over to you, the sheer glee decorating your features. A painting. He'd see a masterpiece in you; how that expression would translate onto a canvas.

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hannie-berrie · 1 month ago

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MORE BAKU SMUT i loved ur last one i read it like a million times ngl

OMG IM SO HAPPY WOWOW 😭😭😭😭😭💕💕💕💖💖💖💖🫶🫶🫶🫶 So many people asked me for a part 2, so let’s get into it!

Warnings: unprotected sex

wc: 2.8K

Meet and Greet

Click here for part 1 (Courtside confessions)

18+ MINORS DNI

Hoomin, or Baku, as his friends insisted on calling him, stood at the entrance of your cozy apartment, sneakers spotless and hair suspiciously tidy. A smile tugged at his lips, but there was a stiffness to his posture that gave away the butterflies in his stomach.

You opened the door to your nervous and shaky boyfriend, and smiled softly.

"She's already here" you said, leading him inside. "Try not to flirt with my mom."

He scoffed, clearly flustered. "Please. I can��t help being a charm to mothers." He adjusted his shirt.

In the living room, your mother stood up from the floor cushion, warm but observant. Hoomin bowed deeply, his voice dropping into polite reverence.

"Nice to meet you, ma'am. I'm Hoomin. Thank you for having me."

Your mother analyzed him from head to toe. He was tall and confident, but there was a subtle shake in his tone, on the outside, he seemed much better than your previous boyfriends. You settled onto the floor around the low table, filled with steaming bowls of rice, kimchi, and bubbling jjigae, Hoomin practically salivating from the smell. He’s a foodie, but he couldn’t show that in front of his new step mother.

It was going well. He laughed at your mother's jokes, listened with genuine interest when she talked about growing up in Busan, and never once interrupted. He even took the second-to-last piece of bulgogi, a sign he had manners, but not the kind that made your mom think he was too shy to eat.

"So" your mother asked with a sly look, "how did you two meet?"

Before Hoomin could respond, a grind grew on your face and you answered, "He asks every girl if they’re lost on campus then collects their phone numbers, I got tricked too”

He coughed mid-chew, and his ears turned red “What? No! Nonono! That’s not what happened!” Hoomin hurriedly shook his hands at your mother to avoid misunderstanding.

You grinned, lips pressed against your spoon to hide your laugh. He leaned over and hit your knee slightly, telling you to quit embarrassing him.

Your mother noticed the interaction and hid her own smile behind her tea cup. There was something gentle about the boy.

He was practically made of charm and swagger, the typical popular college boy, but he was watching you like you were the only person in the room. His body angled toward yours unconsciously, his hand pushing the soup bowl closer to make sure it didn't tip and spills on you. And when you laughed, he seemed to light up a little.

After dinner, when Hoomin helped carry dishes to the sink without being asked, your mother leaned closer and whispered.

"He's got a big head, but a good heart. You chose well."

Night life was awakening and neon signs flickered to life. Hoomin and you walked side by side, hands brushing occasionally but not quite lacing fingers yet. It was that kind of night, a small breeze and good energy.

"Do you think your mom likes me?" Hoomin asked "you’re still thinking about that?"

Hoomin tucked his hands into his jacket’s pockets.

"She laughed at my jokes." He affirmed, proud of himself.

"She was laughing at you, not with you."

Hoomin stopped mid-step, one hand over his chest in mock betrayal. "Wow. Still bickering me. You wound me."

"You'll live" you said, smiling as you kept walking.

He jogged a step to catch up, slipping two fingers through the belt loop of your jeans just briefly, and his stupid jokes came back, they always do when he gets comfortable.

"If your mom likes me so much, she might want to adopt me, would that make us... siblings?!”

He looked at you with fake surprise on his face. “What the fuck min’ ” you laughed, his brain worked a little weird at times.

You looked up at him with that soft, thoughtful gaze that always made him feel like you were reading past his jokes, into something quieter. It settled him in a weird way. Made his usual energy take a breath.

You ended up at a little food stall on a corner, the kind with steamed buns and tteok skewers sizzling on a grill. Hoomin ordered for both of them, tossing in a hot drink you didn't ask for but he knew you liked. He paid with the kind of casualness that made it clear it wasn't about showing off. Just from habit.

You sat on a short stone ledge near the Han River, the soft sound of water running in the distance, the golden lights of the bridge glowing on the surface.

Hoomin was quiet and watching you like you were the only thing he couldn't joke his way out of.

Finally, you leaned your shoulder against his, and he let out a soft breath. He rested his chin briefly against the top of your head.

There was a rare feeling of calm in between the two of you, no bickering, no teasing, just quiet and something steady. There was this simple truth between you, you just liked being next to each other.

And in the middle of a busy city that never stopped moving, that quiet feeling was everything.

You were walking again, Hoomin's paper cup long empty, your fingers now wrapped around the sleeve of his hoodie instead of your drink.

The streets had quieted some, the crowds thinning as the night grew deeper.

Hoomin was telling a dramatic story, probably (most likely) exaggerated, about a teammate wiping out during practice, using wild hand gestures and sound effects. You laughed, trying to muffle it behind your hand, but he caught it and shot you a triumphant grin.

"Don't try to act like I'm not hilarious."

"You are hilarious" you said dryly. "In a very secondhand embarrassment sort of way."

"Tssst." He hissed. “Uncalled for.” He nudged your shoulder gently.

You grinned, face tilted toward the sky like you were catching a breeze.

You turned onto his block, the building ahead dark except for a warm light glowing from a window two floors up. Hoomin looked at you, the smile still on his lips but softer now, more tired around the edges.

He stopped just outside the entrance, letting the quiet settle around you.

"This is my house" he said, voice lower.

You didn't move. Your hand was still holding the edge of his hoodie sleeve, your fingers curled a little tighter.

"I know”

He glanced down, eyes tracing the line of your profile, the way your mouth pressed together like you were considering something too big to say.

You were still for a long moment.

Then you looked up, really looked, and he held your gaze. The teasing was gone now. It was just you, standing in the hush of night, the whole city stepping back to give a beat of stillness.

His voice, when it came, was soft. "You wanna come up? Just for a little."

You nodded once. "Okay."

Inside, the place didn't look at all like you expected.

Minimalist. Clean lines. Mostly neutrals. It wasn't sterile, just... simple. A few papers, probably his dad’s, layed around the dinning table. Hoomin’s basketball shoes sat tucked under a small bench by the door. It was almost quiet in a way she wasn't used to associating with him.

"I don’t know why I expected a bunch of your stuff laying around, did you clean knowing I’d come and visit?”

He looked sheepish, kicking off his shoes. "You thought I would be messy didn’t you? Too much stuff stresses me out."

You stepped further in, turning in a slow circle.

"It's kind of... peaceful."

You looked at him, as he leaned against the kitchen counter, watching you.

"You're not that chaotic” you said.

"No?"

"No" you murmured, stepping closer to the kitchen window. "Just... loud."

That pulled a small laugh from him.

"I should go soon.." she said, but your voice was too soft to mean it.

He didn't answer right away. Just looked at you staring through the window, with something close to wonder.

"You can stay a little longer" he said.

The city lights spilled in through the window, painting you in soft gold and electric blue. Hoomin hadn't turned on any lights. It felt like a choice, like he didn't want to break whatever this quiet thing between you was becoming.

His jaw was tense like he was trying to say something but didn't trust the words not to ruin it.

You looked back at him

Hoomin pushed himself off the counter, slow and steady, walking towards you without a word. His cocky grin was gone. There was nothing playful in his eyes now, only focus. Only you.

When he reached you, he didn't say a thing. You could finally see his gaze, the eyes he was giving you. They were so tender, so loving, like he had been admiring you like a painting.

He lifted his hand to your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing just under you eye, slow and warm.

You tilted into the touch, barely breathing.

And then he kissed you.

It was slow, and warm like he'd been waiting for the right moment and knew exactly when to take it. His lips pressed to yours just because it felt right. You breath hitched as you hands found his waist, gripping the bottom of his hoodie like you needed something to hold on to.

He deepened the kiss gradually, bringing you closer into his arms with each breath, One hand stayed at your cheek, the other drifting down to rest lightly at your hip, grounding you.

When you finally pulled apart, just barely, your lips still brushing, you opened your eyes to find him already looking at you, dark gaze softer now, but hungry.

Hoomin couldn’t speak a word, like the kiss had shut him up. You could catch the glow in his eyes with the little bit of light coming in from outside.

This time, your fingers slipped beneath the edge of his hoodie, skimming warm skin, and he sucked in a quiet breath against your mouth.

It wasn't about rushing anything, it was about being wrapped in the heat of the moment, your shared space almost breaking with the kind of tension that lingered on skin.

The kiss slowed again, but didn't lose its weight.

Your voice was barely audible, "I don't want to leave yet."

"Your mother will worry if I don’t bring you back home soon" his thumb stroke the curve of your lips. "But you can stay just a little more"

This time you leaned into a kiss first, no more words were spoken. It was just so softness of his hands brushing through your hair, tugging them aside.

You knew he wouldn’t initiate anything more, as much as he wanted to, there wasn’t much more time you could spend together before you’d need to go.

Your fingers lingered under his hoodie and shirt, finding their way down to his crotch, drawing circles.

He broke the kiss, almost panting, like your touch alone could get him to lose his breath.

“Shit don’t do that if you keep going I might lose it” his eyes were intense, like he was ready to take all of you the next second.

“You don’t have to hold back with me” your lips brushed his in a gentle but suggestive manner.

Hoomin hungrily kissed you again, wrapping an arm around your waist, leading you against the wall behind you. His desperate lips slid to your neck, letting out small noises as he sucked lightly the warm skin.

You instinctively raised your head up, giving him more space to kiss you all over. His kisses were breathy but full of promises. Promises to care for you before you have to go.

He fingers interlocked with yours as he let go of your neck. Still without a word, he guided you toward the living room. He threw this shirt somewhere on the carpet and layed you down princess-style on the couch and hovered you.

His eyes were glistening, watching your puffy lips from kissing, then looking down at your half covered chest. His lips pressed against each other, he felt like he shouldn’t look but fuck did he want to.

Hoomin pinned both of your hands up your head and slid your shirt off himself. And left kisses lower and lower till he reached the outline of your pants.

He could feel your body squirming under him and he looked up as you were already watching him.

His eyes furrowed, peace was fun but the hot feeling in between his legs was taking over slowly. He unbuttoned your jeans and slid them down just enough to see your pretty laced underwear set, wrapping you so well he thought he could lose it anytime soon.

He bit his lips and rested his forehead down against your pelvis like he needed a moment so he doesn’t go insane.

When his head lifted, his thumb brushed over your bud through your panties, getting small whines from you.

Maybe Hoomin was already fucked out, or maybe it was the late hour, but his mind was inevitably in the clouds.

His circles quickened and you couldn’t help your back arching, your leg kicking a little as he was drawing on your most sensitive spot.

“Fuck I’m so close Hmin’, so close-“

He smiled through his dizziness, eager to see your body tremble under his touch.

And with one last arch your mind went blank, the feeling of him wrapped your body into numbness. Time felt uncountable, seconds felt slower when it was just the both you alone, like this.

Hoomin tosses his pants away as he checked up on you. Half your face against the cushion under you, as your vision went back.

Seeing how Hoomin was also only in his underwear now, you let your hand slide on his thigh over you, his head rolled back like gravity had dropped from your touch alone.

“Urgh” his moans couldn’t be muffled, he was so loud you worried people could hear him outside.

“Babe.. don’t tease —fuck” his mouth dropped open when your hand slipped under his boxers, taking out his length and pumping him a few times. Stopping your boyfriend mid-breath.

His lips pressed against each other in a desperate attempt not to lose it. He hovered you, your chests nearly touching.

Watching you with a fond look, like there was only you in his world, he kissed you one more time and his length found its way in you.

His movements were slow but burning with affection. He kept his body above you with one hand and let his other glide your curves like he was unwrapping you like a present.

He detached your bra, taking it off smoothly through the more passionate make out he was giving you.

When you move your hips rhythmically his lips drops into an “o” and his eyes flutter with pure pleasure.

“You feel so good, I missed you” he says with a honey tone that you swear could melt you away.

The better he felt the more he’d praise you. His thrusts got quicker, a little harsher and deeper like his only goal to be buried in the furthers corners of you.

His lips slid down to your chest, nibbling on your nips with his tongue, sometimes slightly bitting to get a whine out of you.

And a knot in your stomach formed.

You didn’t have time to anticipate it, it grew and washed over you within seconds, your back arching upwards, bodies so close. Your head naturally threw back as you felt the heat in your core run through your body.

When your back comes back down, you could see Hoomin’s cornered smile, proud he had given you what you deserve. And his hips buckled into you, shaky.

He pulled out, not wanting to cum into you raw, gentle took hold of your hand and finished himself off, releasing over your wrist wrapped around him.

His moans were loud and clear, they had you close your legs together, almost shy. One thing’s clear, Hoomin wants you to know how good you make him feel and won’t hold back.

He dropped himself onto you, head on your chest again, feeling your heartbeat, your heat colliding together.

You gave yourselves a moment to catch your breath and he helped you up and cleaned you both.

“I hope your mom still think I’m a good man after this” Hoomin laughed

“She said you got a good heart.. and a big head”

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bunny-jpeg · 10 months ago

Note

bubble tea and mocha coffee george russell serving blueberry bars and sticky toffee pudding please

bakery menu

want to submit your own order? then hit up the menu, there is tons of items to choose from! i've even added new items recently so please, check it out! thank you to this lovely anon for sending this prompt, i have FINALLY gotten around to george russell (and i'm sorry)!! i hope you love this! thank you!

blueberry bars (“gonna make you a mamma and you're gonna make me a daddy.”) + sticky toffee pudding ("the only way this is ending is you getting pregnant.") + bubble tea (daddy kink) + mocha coffee (breeding kink) served by george russell (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, breeding kink, daddy kink, wife!reader, pregnancy

this started because george saw you with some kids. it was a collaboration between a child's hospital and formula one. while the kids got to meet some of the drivers, the kids took a liking to you after the excitement of meeting an formula driver worn off.

throughout the event, you had at least two or three of the kids following you close behind. george thought it was so sweet. you did so well with them! george had a dumb smile on his face as he watched you interact with them, he stayed close to you. but by the end of the event, they were more interested in mrs. russell's ability to draw cows and cats than the famous driver.

made his heart skip a little bit. but, it stirred something else in him beside joy that you were having a good time. a deep urge to his beautiful wife pregnant with his child.

you should've known something was up when george's hand lingered on your back for a little bit. and that his thumb hooked into the waistband on your skirt from the back near the tag. he also kept you close to him and kissed your face every so often.

when you drove back to your hotel room for the weekend, his hand was on your thigh as he drove the rental car. occasionally his hand around dip between your legs for a brief moment that made you laugh.

"george!"

"sorry, i just can't help myself tonight. i've been thinking." he said as he kept his eyes on the road, "we've been married for a few years now, and maybe it was time we... had a baby."

you felt your cheeks heat up as you replied, "really? i mean, i know we talked about it a little. but, i was worried about your career. being away from us."

george held onto your knee and gave you a quick smile, "don't worry. i'm just worried we'll miss our chance to have a child, so if you're ready... then i'm ready."

in the hotel room, george unwrapped you like a present and you felt warm all over. his careful hands against you as he undid the zipper of your skirt while you got off your blouse.

you then in turn helped him get out of his slacks while he undid his shirt. you soon kissed, left in nothing but your underwear. you whimpered against the kiss when he got you onto your back.

“gonna make you a mamma and you're gonna make me a daddy.” he said, his voice turned you on. you loved your husband's voice, but this edge of a promise that he'd get you pregnant made something curl in your gut. it was erotic and made you rub your thighs together.

he took off your bra and got his face in between your breasts and kissed at them. you groaned and got your fingers into his hair

"you taste so good." he groaned, "knowing that you're mine. my beautiful wife. about to be the mother of my children." he rubbed himself up against you and groaned, "the only way this is ending tonight is you getting pregnant."

you chuckled, "someone wants to be a daddy, huh." you gripped onto his hair further as he continued to pepper kisses along your soft breasts.

he made a small noise, "i like when you call me that." he helped you get him out of his briefs. with his cock freed, he quickly got off your panties. he licked his lips at the sight of his wife's pretty pussy.

he was gentle as he got one of the hotel pillows under your hips, allowing him to have a bit of leverage to get you at the right angle. he licked his lips once more. he slowly sank into you, mindful of every movement you made or didn't make. when he hit all the way to the base, he felt comfortable in the knowledge that he was inside of you.

your pussy felt like a dream as he started to move his hips. those pretty eyes of his gazed your body. it was heated on you, he was hungry. he said, "i love you."

you held onto him, your prince charming of a husband, "i love you." and smiled at him. the smile dropped when you felt the twist of pleasure in your gut at his movements.

"you're beautiful under me." he said, "you are so beautiful." he leaned in to kiss you on the lips and neck. feeling you squirm a little bit at how ticklish it felt.

"please, george. you're going to make me explode."

he chuckled and moved you a little bit to get a better angle. your legs on either side of his waist as he moved against you. his thrusts against you were steady, he made sure to get as deep as he could go.

the heat between you two was felt all over. your core throbbed at the feeling of being close to you. while his cock was painfully big, it was a good size to get a little stretch and deep it in all the right places. you whimpered a little bit and he held onto you a little tighter.

his heart pitter-pattered in his chest as he moved. he loved the feeling of you around him, being so intimate with you. it was romantic, if in a hot kind of way. eventually he took your hands in his and he pinned them down onto the soft covers.

you tightened your legs around his waist as you tried to meet his pace. it slowly picked up and he felt the heat across his cheeks. the sight of you, from that pretty mole on your stomach, to the lust in your eyes to the way your breasts moved when he moved against you.

he said, "beautiful."

"stop!" you whined but george only pushed you further into the bed. his pace picked up a little bit. he knew you weren't telling him to stop the sex, only the soft compliments. he knew you had a hard time accepting them.

"never. not for my wife." he said as he kissed you once more.

your face wound up as you felt the urge to climax. you felt your heart heavy in your chest as george's cock hit all the right places. you came around his cock with your hands on his shoulders once more. your short nails dug into the muscle of his arm as you arched your back.

your orgasm made his heart skip as he continued to move. his pace was a little rougher, but the blissed out expression you carried made it hard for him to go slower. the sight of you underneath him was just too much for him. his beautiful wife.

with a few more heavy strokes, he pushed himself up inside of you and finished. he let out a shudder as he kept himself balls deep inside of you. he made sure every last drop stuck to the deepest parts of you. he slowed to a stop and took you in his arms. his cock slipped out of you and he curled up against you on his side.

he peppered your face with kisses, "thank you, thank you."

you wrapped your arms around him and tangled your legs up with his. you beamed at one another, it felt nice. being so close. you two would make a perfect little family.

"you come here, eleanor. come to daddy." george was currently sitting on the grass behind the house you both owned. in front of him was his young daugther. eleanor russell was a little over one now and had been teetering on the edge

while it wasn't the easiest arrangement, with george often away for racing. but, even if he could spend a day or two with you, he always came back home anyway he could to see his two favourite girls.

it was a running joke now that he was the ultimate girl's dad. if people thought verstappen's car yapping was a lot. it was paled in comparison to how george spoke about you and your daughter.

the toddler tried to get up on her chubby little legs, but before she could tip over. george reached out and grabbed her gently. he helped her back onto her bum and said softly, "we'll get there." he smiled.

you were out for the day with some friends, and while george anticipated your return. he enjoyed sitting in the backyard with his daughter.

he chuckled down at the little girl and asked, "how would you feel about a little brother? if you're anything like your mother, you'll be a real monster to him." he picked up the little girl and smiled at her, "i know she's raising you to be a stubborn little thing. don't let anyone tell you that stubborn isn't a bad thing. you have the heart of a driver and the soul of the most wonderful in the world." he kissed his daughter on her chubby little cheek.

she just giggled. <3

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gdinthehouseee · 5 months ago

Text

Under the Weather: KWON JI-YONG x READER

summary: you wake up with a cold, so as soon as he notices, ji-yong wants to do nothing but take care of you.

word count: 900

tags: fluff: comfort, fever/general sickness

ao3 link

It’s early morning when you feel it—the sudden heavy weight of exhaustion pulling at you even though the day has just begun. Your head is pounding, and you feel a familiar tightness in your chest. You roll over, eyes still half-closed, not yet ready to face the day.

Ji-yong stirs beside you, shifting slightly as the morning light peeks through the curtains. He’s always the first one to rise, his energy almost always immediate, but today, he’s not quite as lively as usual. With a groan, he pushes himself up, stretching lazily before standing up and heading toward the bathroom.

You stay where you are, cocooned in the warmth of the blankets, but soon realize your body feels much too tired to do anything. As the minutes pass, you try to ignore the discomfort, willing yourself to fall back asleep—but it’s no use. You’re wide awake, but too tired to do anything about it.

He returns from the bathroom, towel hanging loosely from his waist as he moves around to get ready. The usual morning routine follows: brushing teeth, checking his phone, choosing an outfit. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, but when he glances over at the bed, he notices that you haven’t stirred since he got up. Something must be up.

He frowns, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. “Aein..? Is everything okay?” His voice is soft, but there’s an undeniable note of concern.

You blink up at him, struggling to focus. “Huh?”

“You’re still in bed? You’re usually up by now.” He presses the back of his hand against your forehead. “You’re burning up.”

You blink slowly, groaning softly as you try to sit up. “I think I’m just tired,” you mutter, voice heavy. You try to smile, but the effort feels too much. “I’ll be fine in a bit…”

Ji-yong doesn’t believe you for a second. Without saying anything more, he gently presses you back into the pillows, covering you up again with the blankets. “Stay right here. I’m going to take care of you.”

You hear him moving around the apartment, but you can’t bring yourself to open your eyes just yet. You hear the kitchen faucet running, and the sound of something bubbling on the stove. You think he’s making something, maybe soup—you can’t tell. The air smells warm and comforting.

A few minutes later, he returns with a tray of warm tea and a bowl of soup, setting it down beside you on the bed. You look up at him through half-lidded eyes as he smiles softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’re still burning up,” he murmurs, the worry in his voice barely hidden.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you say, your voice thick with drowsiness. “I’m okay.”

“You’re not okay,” Ji-yong replies, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “But I’ll make you feel better. Drink up.”

You let him feed you spoonfuls of soup, unable to protest. The warmth soothes you, but Ji-yong isn’t done yet. He presses a cool hand to your forehead before brushing some damp strands of hair away from your face.

“My poor girl,” he whispers softly, his voice laced with tenderness. “I hate seeing you like this.”

You close your eyes, grateful for his presence. The gentle rhythm of his movements is enough to make you feel cared for—protected. His care isn’t just physical; you feel it in the way he speaks to you, in the way he holds you.

After a while, he climbs into bed beside you, slipping under the covers and pulling you into his arms. You’re still too tired to say much, but you snuggle closer to him, resting your head against his chest. Ji-yong gently runs his fingers through your hair, occasionally pressing light kisses to your forehead.

“You’ll feel better soon,” he whispers, his voice soft and calming. “Just sleep, okay?”

“Mhm,” you respond faintly, too comfortable to argue. His heartbeat is steady beneath your ear, and it lulls you to sleep.

But just before you slip under completely, your delirium starts to take over. You mumble, barely aware of what you're saying. “You’re so pretty, you know that?”

Ji-yong chuckles softly, his fingers pausing in your hair as he smiles down at you. “Pretty? What else?” He teases, leaning in closer.

“You’re... always so nice to me,” you ramble, voice thick with exhaustion. “Taking care of me like this... I don’t deserve you. You’re perfect... just perfect... How do you always know what to do... always so sweet, I love you...” Your words blur together, but he listens, a soft smile never leaving his face.

“And you... you’re my man, my pretty boy.” You continue, eyes fluttering as you drift in and out of sleep. “I’m so lucky... you're too good to me... my favorite person...”

You let out a soft sigh, and your words trail off as your breath evens out, completely falling asleep mid-sentence.

Ji-yong finds it impossible not to smile at how adorable you are, even in your delirious state. He brushes a loose strand of hair from your face and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“You’re too cute when you’re like this,” he whispers, his heart swelling with affection. He pulls you closer, savoring the warmth of your body against his. “Sleep, my love. I’ve got you.”

taglist: @thanosscrossmain @maskedcrawford @mirahyun @riddlerloveb0t

#kwon jiyong #kwon jiyong x reader #gdragon #gdragon x reader #bigbang #bigbang x reader #kpop #fluff #hurt/comfort #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #kpop x reader

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distantdarlings · 1 year ago

Text

SHEER HEAT // t. nott

RATING: R / 3.1K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Gender-Neutral Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* After a month of Theo and his friends picking on you, you finally decide to stand up for yourself. It just doesn’t go exactly how you were planning.

+ WARNINGS - Gender-Neutral reader, Theo is picking on reader, language, kissing, kissing without permission, tension, not fully proofread (please lmk if I missed anything!)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Shameless - NAYM

- - -

The sky outside grew golden with the early morning sun. The rays of liquid gemstone shone across the windowsill, casting waves of reflection across the stone floor and your shoes. You tilted your foot back and forth and marveled at how the polished leather glistened.

There was a soft sweater across your shoulders and a small coffee cup in the corner of your desk with a sugar spoon, wandlessly swirling about the liquid.

Technically, beverages and food were not allowed in the classrooms, but Professor Flitwick was partial to you and didn’t mind if you sipped on a coffee or tea every once in a while.

Despite the early morning and your desire to be back in bed, you couldn’t help but feel the warm, content feeling spreading across your chest. You were grateful to be at Hogwarts, surrounded by your friends and—

“HELLO, TESORO!”

You jumped at the shrill shout coming from the door of the classroom. You and the other students glanced over to see a smirking Theodore Nott sprint across the room toward you.

You instinctively flinched at the sight and inched away from him just as he crashed his body full-force into your desk.

The wooden hull of it vibrated and sent your coffee mug flying through the air. You shrieked at the image and stood abruptly to avoid the brown liquid coating your lap.

Your breakfast coffee now frowned up at you from the ground with all of its shattered bits and splashed beverage.

You groaned and rolled your eyes.

“Theodore Nott, you’re such an asshole!” you shouted through gritted teeth. With a wave of your wand, the mug reformed itself perfectly, and the liquid swirled into a small bubble of liquid in the air before dissolving into bits of air.

“Ah, you don’t need that stuff anyway—it'll make you jittery and keep you up all night!” he chuckled to himself.

Just as he’d made the joke, his posse of equally annoying boys showed up behind him, laughing along with him.

“I think that’s for me to decide and not for you to send crashing to the floor!” you argued back.

“What if someone had done that to you?”

“Hmm,” he pretended to think. “Well, I suppose I’d give them what was coming to them…unless it was you, of course.” He quirked an eyebrow at you.

You sneered and rolled your eyes, realizing you’d never get anything through his thick skull.

“Whatever, Theo, just leave me alone,” you sighed and dropped back into your seat. He giggled irritatingly, headed to the back of the classroom, and selected a seat beside his friends.

You had no idea what you’d ever done to make him feel like he could harass you all the time, but you were getting to a point with his behavior. And if he kept it up, that point would be driven straight through his ugly face in the form of a fist.

At the sound of his continued giggling, you glanced back at him. Once you had, he caught your eyes and wiggled a few fingers at you.

You quickly turned back around and focused your head down on your newly-fixed mug. It was one of your favorites and—to be honest—had pissed you off entirely too much that Theo had broken it. It didn’t matter that it could be easily fixed; it mattered that he had broken it in the first place.

The rest of the class had passed relatively quickly, even though you could hear Theo and his friends’ little teasing giggles occasionally. You just did your best to ignore it.

By the time Professor Flitwick had announced that evening’s homework and dismissed the class, you were already out of your seat and halfway out the door.

You could still hear their little taunts all the way out the door and down the hallway. All you wanted to do was go back to the Great Hall, get yourself a refill of coffee and enjoy it in silence.

You had about a half-hour before you needed to be at your next class, and neither Theo nor his friends were there.

You rounded the corner to the Great Hall and slipped through the grand doors, allowing your mug to float from your hand and find its way to the nearest flagon of coffee.

If anything, coffee tended to be considered a Muggle drink around Hogwarts, but none could deny its excellent caffeine effect.

Wandlessly, you asked the mug to fill itself up to the brim and then watched as it did. You smiled a bit at the peacefulness of the Great Hall when no one else was in there.

You could hear the candles overhead and the fireplaces crackling softly, and the coffee trickling like a small stream. It gave you a sense of home, just like it always had.

When your mug was full, you took a seat at the empty Gryffindor table and settled your eyes on the flickering flames that reflected on the stone hearth.

“Hey, Tesoro.”

You jumped and turned toward the entrance. Theodore Nott was standing just there with a mischievous smile on his face.

You groaned audibly.

“Theo, I’m not in the mood. Haven’t I made that clear? I just want to enjoy my coffee while it’s not knocked into the floor.”

He laughed a bit.

“Aw, I’m sorry about that earlier,” he smiled. “It wasn’t my intention to knock it over.”

He crossed over to you and sat across the table from you. You refrained from tossing the coffee over him.

“Okay, so when I said I wanted to be alone—”

“I understood, and I’ll be here with you to support you through it.”

You frowned and stared at him. He wore a stupid smile branded across his face, obviously proud of himself for the dumb things he was saying.

“Alright, this was completely unpleasant, and I think I will enjoy my drink elsewhere.” You started to stand and head toward the exit, when Theo also stood and began to follow you.

“Theo! No! Leave me be!”

You increased your pace toward the doors, but he did the same. He matched your speed, ending up right beside you. His legs were significantly longer than yours, and he managed to keep up with you no matter how fast you were going.

You sighed and stopped right at the door, facing him.

“Where are we going?” he asked, with a shit-eating grin spread over his face.

“We are not going anywhere, dummy,” you said, rolling your eyes. “And I will stand right here until you get bored and leave.”

“I guess we’ll be here for a while, then.” He shrugged and shifted his weight against the wall, never breaking eye contact with you.

“Can I ask you something?” you asked. You crossed your arms and took a small sip from your cup.

“Anything, Tesoro.”

“Don’t call me that, please,” you said. “Why me? What about me has struck your little group’s fancy the last few weeks? You never acknowledged me before, but suddenly, you’re interested in making my day a living nightmare.”

“It’s not that; maybe we just like picking on you…”

“How does that make it sound any better?” you asked.

“I think we both know that half of the Hogwarts student body would love to be picked on by me,” he shrugged.

His confidence was a thing of admiration—you had to give him that. He seemed to know exactly what to say to keep everybody on his side at all times. Perhaps it was the charm or the family or something else, but everyone seemed to love Theodore Nott, no matter how incredibly irritating he could be.

It didn’t matter if he and his friends were picking on you for the last couple of weeks. It didn’t matter how many times you’d asked them to stop. It didn’t matter what they did to other people because they were young, attractive, white guys. You’d just happened to, unfortunately, fall onto their radar.

“You’re a cocky motherfucker, aren’t you?” you asked, rolling your eyes.

“Always, baby,” he said, smiling widely. “Looks like you’ll be late for class if we keep hanging around here.”

“How do you know if I’m going to be late for class? I’m perfectly comfortable sitting here for as long as I have to if it gets you to leave me the hell alone.”

Obviously, that wasn’t entirely true, as your second period started in a few minutes, and you needed to be there. But, at this point, your pride and your distaste for the boy before you had you staying in place.

“Hope you like chicken.”

“Excuse me?”

“One of the elves in the kitchens told me that we were having chicken for dinner. I was saying that I hoped you liked chicken because we’ll be standing here until dinner is served.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Not really. I don’t think you understand how willing I am to stick around until you let me follow you.”

“You’re not following me, Theo.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t fucking like you,” you scoffed, in disbelief that he couldn’t possibly understand why you didn’t want to be around him.

“Ouch, that hurt,” he mock-frowned, pretending to wipe a tear away from his cheek. “Also, how do you know you don’t like me? We’ve never hung out.”

“Exactly! We’ve never hung out, and for some reason, you think it’s okay to harass me everyday!”

Your voice had begun to raise slightly with every stupid expression he flashed your way. He was trying to get on your nerves.

“But, maybe that’s my way of getting your attention,” he suggested. You were fuming.

“Getting my—? What the hell are you talking about?”

He parted his lips to answer, but the anger flashing through your body didn’t want to hear any explanation of his.

“Wait! Don’t answer that. I don’t fucking care.”

“I think you’ll be interested in the answer.”

“I highly doubt it.”

You pressed your hand to your forehead and took a deep breath, trying to repress the rage filling in your chest. You didn't care for any explanation he could have for you—all you had ever wanted to do was keep to yourself and enjoy your time at the most incredible school on earth.

But, for some reason, you had not been granted that for nearly a month.

What was worse was you genuinely didn’t understand why you were the target, and he’d yet to answer that, other than with whatever game he was currently playing.

You hadn’t gotten to enjoy your coffee, you were missing class, and—wait a minute. You looked back up at him. Why the hell were you even still here? You could just leave.

Theo’s eyebrows furrowed, and his head cocked slightly at the expression printed on your face.

It seemed he was trying to understand what realization had passed across your mind.

Your fingers tightened around your mug, and with your free hand, you quickly covered the top and—with a held breath—Disapparated.

There were swishing sounds all around you as if you were being pushed through a vacuum of sorts. You could feel your hair tickling against your forehead, and the coffee in your mug swishing against your makeshift hand lid, and something gripped tightly around your ankle.

The force of the process kept your head pinned upward so you could not see what was hanging around you. You just hoped it wasn’t Theo. If he had the audacity to come with you while you were trying to get away as quickly as possible, he had another thing coming. He needed to learn some boundaries.

You stopped suddenly. The whooshing and the coffee against your hand were still again.

You stood on the balcony of the astronomy tower. There were no classes during the day, and the professor rarely stayed in the tower past class hours.

You’d come to learn this the hard way when you had initially been practicing Disapparation.

You had been trying to pop up lakeside along the Black Lake and had ended up dangling on the wrong side of the guardrail.

It had been an unfortunate experience, but it had allowed you to find a space where you could enjoy studying or peace and quiet while having the gorgeous view of the campus spread out before you.

This time around, however, the view of the campus was not your focus. You turned and saw Theo standing just behind you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you shrieked, stomping over to him and pressing a rough shove to his chest. He stumbled backward slightly before catching himself against one of the student tables.

“I said I wanted to be alone! I’m tired of being followed and picked on. You’re pathetic and so selfish! I just want you to leave me alone, and if you don’t after this fucking warning, I’ll go to the Headmaster!”

He didn’t say anything; he just watched your heated vent.

“I swear to Merlin, Theodore Nott, if you bother me again, I’ll fucking kill you.”

He smirked ever so slightly. Just a tiny quirk of his lip in the upper left corner. That was it.

You screamed in frustration. “What the fuck do you want? What do I have to do to get it through your thick fucking skull? I want you to leave me alone! Do I need to hit you? Because I fucking will! Do I need to punch you, throw a drink on you, fucking kiss you? I mean, what is it that I need to do?”

Your cheeks were fiery and flushed, and you felt that you were close to tears, but still, Theo stood still, just watching and listening.

“Fuck—” Without thinking, you grabbed either side of his face and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. It lasted only a second before you pulled away, in utter disbelief with yourself.

Theo’s eyes widened, and his breaths came out in heavy pants. You knew you probably looked the same.

“Uh, I-I’m sorry,” you breathed. “I don’t know why I did that.”

There were a few moments of silence where the two of you seemed to be just glancing between the floor and each other. In reality, it was only a second or two, but in your head, it felt like hours.

Those seconds only filled the space between you for a breeze before Theo walked back over to you and mimicked your actions from earlier.

You grunted on impact at the sheer force he’d planted his lips on yours. Panicked, you shoved him away from you.

You figured you now looked precisely as he had when you’d kissed him. A second passed.

Then you were both reaching for each other, grasping at any and everything, and exchanging tastes between the others’ lips.

Your hands curled roughly into his hair, and his arms wrapped tightly around your lower back, pulling you as close as you would go.

His lips were soft but demanding, claiming exactly what he wanted and trying to force yours down into submission, but you refused. The sheer heat of your anger that had very quickly shapeshifted into lust seemed to push some adrenaline-filled strength into your body.

There was no way this jerk would force you to do anything.

You walked into him, forcing him back against the student table, where he sat against the edge of it. He pulled you in between his legs with a force like no other, never separating his lips from yours.

In response to your shove, he bit down on your bottom lip hard.

“Fuck, you’re such a dick,” you murmured in between kisses. You could taste a hint of blood spilling between your lips from his bite.

“I know,” he whispered against you.

You sucked in a breath and pulled away from him, stepping back just a bit.

“I don’t understand what’s happening…,” you gasped, trying to catch your breath.

“Me neither, really,” he shrugged. “I was teasing you because I wanted you.”

You stared up at him with widened eyes. “You mean like—?”

“What else could I possibly mean?” he deadpanned.

“Shut up. I was just trying to make sure. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Me neither. I’m usually pretty straightforward when I ask for what I want.”

“So, why was I any different?” you asked.

“I don’t know. It wasn’t as easy to talk directly to you.”

“But it was easy to pick on me?”

He shrugged and looked down to the floor. It seemed like he was a bit disappointed in himself, even after you’d been begging for him to stop for so long. Now that he was quiet and seemingly upset, you almost missed his mean quips and charming confidence.

“I’m sorry I made you upset. I wasn’t trying to,” he said. “I was trying to make you like me back. I don’t usually ‘flirt.’”

“Yeah, I can tell,” you snorted. “I just wish you would have talked to me. I’ve always had a bit of a crush on you—I couldn’t understand why you were suddenly being mean to me.”

“You had a crush on me?” he asked, eyebrows quirking up.

“Of course I did. You’re Theo Nott—everyone has a crush on you.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

He smirked just a bit, pride spreading across his face.

“Don’t take it so personally—it was just a little crush,” you laughed.

“No offense, but there’s no way I’m not taking this personally. I’ve wanted you since I first noticed you.”

You looked back up at him. His eyes were focused right on you, though they had switched from a kind of understanding to a flame of desire and ownership. You felt almost claimed.

Merlin, it was easy to see why so many people were so eager to be with him. The way he looked at you felt as if you were being devoured alive.

You swallowed thickly.

“I—”

“Do you want to go to my room?” he interrupted.

Well, shit. Wasn’t the whole point of the original conversation to get yourself as far away from him as possible? You’d already failed on that front, considering you’d just been sucking faces with him, but maybe you could drop this right now? You didn’t have to keep this up. He would probably play you until he was bored, just like everyone else. Fuck.

You bit your lip decidedly and nodded, accepting his outstretched hand.

- - -

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#fanfiction #creative writing #fanfic #writing #reader insert #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #oneshot #slytherin #harry potter smut #theodore nott x reader #theo nott #theodore nott #gender neutral insert

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defmaybe · 4 months ago

Text

Sprint

PURPLE KISS’ Na Goeun x Male Reader

2.6k words

A/N: Very messy lmfao, thanks for reading as always! Part of @mintwithchoco's prompt exercise!

—

“You’re arriving at the halfway point of our cycle. I’m still perplexed why they don’t let you come in after this sprint ends!” Goeun says, clearly annoyed by the fact that you were accepted into the department in the middle of this mess. Still, you have to be a professional and accept this hardship, no matter how difficult it will be.

“Don’t worry, Miss Na. I can work with that,” you answer, trying to sound firm as you walk along with her through the floor, passing countless tables and your soon-to-be co-workers. The scent of lavender wafts into your nose. It’s different from what you’ve expected the office to smell, especially a tech-related office. Sounds of clicking keyboards ring through the floor. These people are clearly working hard, and you have a lot to catch up to them.

Goeun chuckles, clearly amused by your enthusiasm. “Well, if you need anything, just tell me or the other guys, alright? We won’t bite.”

“Yes, Miss Na.”

You two advance through the floor until you arrive at an unoccupied table. The table is empty, like empty-empty. There’s nothing on it, only a plug socket on the right of the partition.

“Here’s your desk!” Goeun says, palming her hands towards the table with a small smile. “Again, if there’s any problem, just ask us!”

“Sure, Miss Na.”

“Just call me Goeun. No need for formalities, really.”

—

Two weeks go by quickly. You find yourself caught in the web of the ever-growing project your team is working on. The sprint is harsh on you, punishing in its sheer complexity and size, but you fight through it. You double your efforts on the works, so determined to earn acceptance from your co-workers. You stay for the overtime (the money’s great). You polish your work. You try to be nothing short of resolute.

And it works.

Your first sprint is a success, and your contribution finds its place in the project. The stakeholders give you a few praises during the meeting, and ecstasy couldn’t even begin to describe the emotion you feel after that.

You aced it.

—

“Well, it seems that your first sprint went well. Congratulations!” Goeun cheers, raising her bubble tea for a toast, to which you shyly reciprocate along with your other co-workers.

“You did great! Especially considering you came in during the middle of it,” Jiwoong adds, giving you a thumbs up.

“I couldn’t do half as good as you did when I joined here. Good job!” says Sumin.

“I’m here because of you guys, so–thank you!” you say, smiling. They sure have helped you a lot. You were afraid at some point that they’d be annoyed with how frequently you’ve asked them for help, but it’s apparent that these guys are genuinely kind. You’re falling in love with this company, well, at least the department.

“To the new guy!” and Goeun leads another toast.

—

The rest of the day goes by quickly as you get absorbed into the whirlwind of work. More Python, more Pandas, and without knowing, it’s starting to get dark outside.

“Hey.” Goeun greets, peeking out from the partition with a small smile. “We’re not paying more after six, remember?”

You look at the clock, suddenly reminded of how much time has passed since your last bathroom break at three. “Oh, fuck, shit,” you mumble, quickly scrambling through the tabs you’ve opened through the day on your overworked laptop. “Let me–uh–”

“I’ll wait in front of the building.”

“Sure.”

—

The chilly night air blows through your body. White puffs of air leave your lungs as you walk along the street with Goeun. Your hands occasionally rub against each other in an attempt to retain some heat. A car passes by.

“So–why did you decide to become a programmer?” Goeun asks. The sounds of dry leaves crunching under your feet can be heard. Another car passes by.

“Oh, my mom, she works in tech, and I kinda didn’t know what to do when I had to go to college, so–yeah.” You let out a huff, looking downwards as you take strides after strides along the asphalt road. Another car passes by. “How about you? Why did you become a programmer?”

“I was also like you—don’t know what to do, and I did well in Python, so I kinda just–roll with that.”

Another car passes by.

She muses, looking up at the stars, “You know, I did wanna be a singer once when I was young.”

An image of Goeun, lost in the symphony, pops up in your head. You find it cute.

You chuckle softly, out of endearment more than anything.

“But I was afraid that I’d fail, so I kinda just, well, stick to programming instead, more reliable.”

“You seem like you’d make a brilliant singer, though.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Just a hunch.”

You continue walking along the street. You take a glance at her to find her eyes, and you feel something. It’s short-lived, but it’s definitely something. You don’t consider it much more than just an eye contact, though.

“What?” Goeun asks. You aren’t going to deny that she looks good tonight. The pairing of a black leather jacket and a white t-shirt fit her like a glove. She looks much better than your average programmer.

“Nothing,” you reply, before breaking eye contact and continuing to walk into the nocturne.

After a short while, you reach her apartment, very likely one of the rooms inside this 40-floor tower (unless she’s otherworldly rich). You’ve walked past it quite a fair few times. It’s not so far from your apartment, after all.

“See you on Monday, I guess?” you say, smiling. It’s almost your bedtime now.

“Wanna have something from my room before you go? I have a few beers,” Goeun invites you, her thumb pointing towards the building.

Your eyebrows arch slightly, hands shifting inside your pockets. You’re uncertain.

“I mean, a bottle can make you go a bit drowsy and stuff,” she continues, cocking her head towards the tower. “Should help you sleep better.”

—

“Nice room,” you say as you take a look around her place.

Goeun’s room is neat, spine-chillingly neat. It’s a small studio room meant for single-living. Everything is kept in its place. No stray strands of hair on the floor, no clothes lying around. She’s good at this.

“Can’t live in a dirty room, you know?”

“I get it.”

You settle yourself on her couch nervously. It’s your first time at her place, after all, gotta be a good visitor.

“Kirin or Hoegaarden?”

“Kirin, please.”

Goeun picks up a Kirin from her fridge before walking towards you. Her legs look longer than usual from this angle.

“To our next sprint,” she says, handing you the beer can, smiling. You take it.

Cold.

“Thanks.” You open the beer can with a loud pop. A fizzling sound can be heard. You take a swig of beer. The familiar bitterness and a hint of malt runs down your throat, and you’re sure your face contorts a little as you put the can down.

Tastes good as always. Well, for a beer.

Goeun takes a seat beside you. She reaches forward to pick up the tv remote on the table, before turning it on.

“What do you wanna watch?”

—

You forget what time it is, but after Crazy, Stupid, Love ends, the last Merseyside Derby at Goodison Park starts, and you two are glued to the screen.

“I’m going to miss this stadium a lot, been there once, and it was fucking awesome,” Goeun says, taking a sip of beer. There’s a pool of aluminium cans sitting on the table in front of you now. You’re feeling a little woozy as you open your fourth beer tonight.

“Lucky.”

The word brings out a chuckle out of Goeun. You can see from the corner of your eyes that she moves in closer towards you, but that’s the least of your concern right now.

She takes a glance at you. You can see in the corner of your eyes, and this time, you give her a reply, shooting a look back at her. She laughs softly. The soft glow of the television casts onto her face. It’s mostly dark blue from Everton’s kit. You can feel the effect of the alcohol dawning on you—dizzy, disoriented—and you realize that she looks good under any light. You look into her gorgeous eyes, and there’s something in them.

Want.

Need.

Lust.

You kiss her.

You get a taste of her lipstick flavor—intense, fruity. Your body shudders as she has her hand wander around your body, feeling every curve and contour of your body—touching, sliding down your frame with haste—and she stops right on your belt.

“Can I?”

“Sure.”

Your hands aren’t doing any better in straying away from this filth, pulling her towards you by her ass. She gasps into your mouth. It’s affecting her, and you go a little further, giving her butt a light squeeze. “God,” she gasps again. Her lips softly quiver against yours. Her tongue trembles. She’s nervous.

The tug on your belt pulls you closer into her tremored body. “Shit.” Her hands begin to undo the leather belt around your pants. It makes a slight scuffle with her, but it comes off, eventually.

“Lie down,” you say. Goeun’s flushing, all red, all anxious. She grabs onto the back of your head with her hand, pulling you down with her as she falls onto the couch, and you’re on top of her.

You draw your hands forward to her jeans' button, undoing it with haste. It makes a slight scuffle with you, but it comes off, eventually. You’re so, so close to her heat right now, and you couldn’t have asked for more for tonight.

“Fuck,” Goeun utters, writhing under you as your hand run along the hem of her panties. Her hips buck up to you—so wanton, so full of need. “Stop with the teasing already.”

You chuckle before pulling her garments down in a single swoop. Her glistening pussy is sitting just right there—below you, waiting to be filled with your throbbing cock inside your boxers. “Already wet?”

“I’m horny, that’s normal,” Goeun says, giggling. “You’re hard too, you know?”

“Thanks.”

With no more words, Goeun pulls your boxer down your legs. Your cock springs free from its fabric cage. You lower yourself closer to her wanton cunt, making a slight touch as you run your cockhead along her wet slit.

“Fuck,” she says, breathy. “What did I say about teasing, huh?”

You chortle before you push yourself into her pussy. Her breath comes out in a stuttering rhythm. Her eyes roll up in pleasure. She’s loving this.

“Fuck, goddamn,” Goeun rasps as you push yourself into her wet cunt. Her fingers dig into the back of your head, forcefully pulling you into a sloppy, drunken kiss.

Your hands slide under her white t-shirt for her chest as you thrust into her pussy while kissing her vigorously. You give her bra-clad tits a squeeze, eliciting a soft moan out of her lips.

“Fuck, this feels good,” Goeun huffs between the kisses, hand moving with your hips to push you into her warmth. Your bodies move in sync as if it’s a habit between the two of you. She feels so good. Her pussy feels so good.

The sound of kissing rings inside your ear as you try to take in how her body feels. You drag your lips down her jaw. She smells like spring. Her skin is so smooth, so soft. The notes she makes are chaotic, but you find it angelic. Her body writhes and spasms under you as you fuck her brains out. God, she’s perfect.

You double your efforts, pushing in deeper and faster with each stroke. She cries. She whimpers. She moans. Her body responds to you so well, pussy gripping your cock like a goddamn vice.

“Ugh–fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” Goeun rasps, her face flushing with red as your hand wanders under her white tee, giving her firm breasts squeezes after squeezes. “You cock, god!”

You reply to Goeun with harsher thrusts; her notes grow higher and higher as you hit the sensitive spot deep inside her cunt. She’s lighting your synapses aflame, making you see stars around her gorgeous face. Your moans and hers are filling up the bluish room.

Goeun’s breathing grows shorter and shorter. Her moans climb higher and higher as she’s at the brink of her orgasm. “Shit, shit, I’m cumming, I’m cumming!” Goeun rasps, and you thrust into her with even more intensity. Your cock vigorously pumps into her wet cunt, so determined to bring her to her peak.

And she breaks.

Her body spasms under you as the wave crashes into her. Goeun mewls, moans, cries under the sheer force of her orgasm. Her hips buck. Her eyes roll up. And suddenly, she grabs you by the collar again, pulling you into a deep kiss as you keep ravaging her spent cunt. The sound of flesh smacking echoes through the room, along with her filthy cries.

She slowly comes down from her orgasm as you keep fucking her through her peak. Goeun’s chest heaves up and down as she tries to recollect herself back up again.

Pulling back, she utters, “Fuck.”

“I know.”

And you are, again, dragged back by the collar to kiss her pouty lips.

“Cum in me,” Goeun says into the kiss, breathy, tired. “I want to feel that cock twitching inside my pussy. I want to feel your cum hitting my womb.”

The ever-so-used-to feeling is boiling inside your loins as your cock finds its rhythm in and out of Goeun’s cunt. Your hand is still playing with her bra-clad tits. Your fingers slide under the garment for her stiff nipple. She moans, struggling to keep up with the pleasure coursing through her body. It’s getting difficult for her to kiss you now.

“Gonna cum,” you whine, your tongue interlocking with hers messily. Her hand grabs onto the back of your head harsher, pulling you deeper into the kiss. The sound of it is obscene, but you’re too happy to care right now. The burning feeling is so strong right now. You need a release. You need a release.

“Do it, baby. Cum in my pussy.”

And you break.

Your cock shoots ropes and ropes of cum into Goeun’s wanting cunt. Your entire body shakes and spasms above her. You moan, whine, whimper, and cry into the kiss. Her pussy wraps your cock so fucking well, and you just fail to find any word to describe the feeling you’re feeling right now.

Fuck.

You connect your lips with her messily again. Your fingers latch onto her face as your tongues are busy exploring each other’s mouth. She finds a good grip on your ass and pulls your hips closer to hers, pushing your softening cock deeper into her cunt.

You pull back. Her bangs are a mess.

“We can’t tell anybody about this,” Goeun huffs, her chest still heaving from the sheer force of her orgasm. Her whole body flushes with red, but most importantly, she’s beaming, so full of joy.

“Sure, sure, Miss Na.”

Goeun chuckles, getting up from the couch as you get off her flushed body. “We should get cleaned up.”

“Round two in the shower?”

She shoots you a smile, before saying, “Definitely, maybe.”

—

#goeun #purple kiss #goeun smut #purple kiss smut #kpop fan #kpop smut

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moon-my-beloved · 3 months ago

Text

neighbors (tf141! x fem! reader)

part III: warmth

cw: possessive thoughts. small touches. that’s it. - xoxo

this wasn’t your room.

when you had woken up from probably the best sleep you had all week, your brain failed to process the different setting.

the blankets filled your nose with a strong lavender scent along with the smallest hint of tobacco. your eyes fluttering shut once again as you pressed your face deeper into the soft sheets before the sound of a rumbling voice had you sitting up abruptly.

“sleep well?” simon asks from across the room. his broad body leaning against the doorframe with two cups of what you presume is tea in his hands. he’s wearing the same skull balaclava you saw him in the first time you encountered him, making you wonder how many he has scattered around.

“I.. I’m so sorry! I didn’t even realize when I started dozing off..” you say in a bashful tone, adjusting your dress as you get ready to slip off his bed. this was so embarrassing. how can you just stay the night with your neighbors? they barely even know you, and here you are— still in yesterday’s clothes, makeup probably ruined, and hair a mess laying on the bed that belongs to the man who sends shivers down your spine with the way he’s looking at you right now.

simon’s own footsteps nearing stop you in your tracks, head whipping up from its bowed position while he pushes the warm cup up against your hands.

“relax. you wouldn’t be sleepin’ in my bed if I had a problem with it.” he reassures you with a casual tone. bed sinking with the added weight as he sits next to you like it’s the most normal thing to happen.

“thank you..” you quietly mumble out, bringing the warm tea to your mouth as you take a sip of it. a sigh of relief passing through your lips with how good it tastes.

there’s a stillness in the room. you and simon sitting beside each other, sipping on your tea comfortably like it’s just another sunday morning. you throw the quick, occasional glances his way every time he lifts his mask. you notice that his lips are a pretty rose color, a scar going across them that gives him a permanent snarl. a few other scars compliment the lower half of his face as a small stubble grows along his jaw. despite his intimidating appearance, he’s lovely to look at.

you should feel a sense of discomfort sitting down next to a man you don’t know very well, but for some reason you don’t. you feel calm. this whole interaction seemingly domestic and methodical even with the lack of familiarity.

you almost feel crazy for making it such a big deal.

“the boys are downstairs finishing up making breakfast.” simon’s deep voice once again pulling you out of your thoughts as he glances at you.

your stomach coincidentally grumbling at that, giving him a sheepish look as simon just lets out a breathy chuckle. “come downstairs when you’re ready, luv.” taking the empty cup from your hands and petting the side of your head before he leaves the room.

you get yourself up after that, meticulously finding your way to the bathroom to make yourself a bit more presentable. you’re shocked to see that your makeup has been removed, your skin surprisingly soft as you pat your cheeks.

whoever’s work was this, was an angel.

aside from still having last nights clothes on, you can admit that it’s not the most convenient but not as uncomfortable as you thought it would be. still, you can’t wait to get back home and take them off. you really hope they didn’t mind you staying, nerves bubbling in your stomach that make you nauseous as you quietly make your way downstairs.

irrespective of your own discreetness, four pair of eyes stop you in your tracks; kyle is midway pushing johnny off of him from getting some of his bacon, price is sitting down on the table with a cup of coffee in his hands, sipping at it in a way that shows his disregard to the situation. probably not the first time he’s seen the boys get all rowdy first thing in the morning.

simon on the other hand has his arms crossed, shaking his head at the show the two men are putting.

johnny is the first one to break the silence, pushing himself off of kyle as he walks towards you. he’s not wearing a shirt. sticking to a pair of grey sweatpants and you try your very best to not stare too much at his exposed chest (in which you fail miserably).

“good mornin’ sleepyhead. hope ghost didn’ scare ye awake,” he teasingly says, a growing grin forming on his face as he glances at the taller man.

“oh fuck off johnny.” ghost says from behind him, too busy fixing you a plate of warm, fluffy eggs, and bacon to even care.

“not at all!” you quickly say, shaking your hands in disagreement as you offer him a smile. “it was very nice of him to let me sleep in his bed. I’m sorry for all the trouble.” eyebrows furrowing in guilt as you look at the men.

“och none of that. we wanted ye tae stay. would’ve been rude of us tae wake ye up when ye were sleepin’ so peacefully.” johnny reassures you as he guides you to the table with the others.

john’s heart couldn’t stand the thought of you seeing yourself as an ‘inconvenience’ as he stared at you.

the men had made it their sole purpose to make you feel comfortable last night. sharing a silent victory with the boys when he and simon walked into the living room only to see you snuggled in between kyle and johnny. lips slightly opened with every breath you took. you were a sight to see.

you hadn’t even flinched when he picked you up and moved you to simon’s room. you must’ve been so tired. working an office job (from what auntie lottie told him) that doesn’t pay you enough for all the hours you put in. he really couldn’t stand it, and he won’t.

a soft thing like you shouldn’t have to even lift a finger. his men will make sure of it.

john price was a man of dignity and self-control, but with you, that stoic facade he puts off cracks the more he’s around you. taking all in him to not pull you into his lap, and whisper gentle affirmations (where you belong) into your ear as you make eye contact with him from across the table. visibly flustered before you cast your gaze down and continue to eat.

you had overstayed your welcome for far too long, and before you knew it, you had to bid your farewells to the group of men unbeknownst to their distaste.

profusely thanking them for their hospitality in which they brush off as nothing. your jaw closing shut when john pins you down with one of his stern looks when you open your mouth to apologize again. ears turning hot in embarrassment with how quick he makes you feel like a child being scolded.

johnny pulls you in for one last hug. his big arms engulfing your body with his warmness and hands squeezing at your hips as he murmurs at your ear to visit them again before he’s pulling away. the corner of his lips pulling into a sly smile.

gaz scoffs at johnny, pulling you into a more gentler hug when it’s his turn and thanking you for staying over. missing the way his hands linger a little longer against your back.

simon just gives you a slow nod, arms crossed as his eyes flicker to you in acknowledgment while scruffing johnny like a kitten when he goes in for another hug.

“come on luv. I’ll drop you off to your door.” john says, not having enough time to protest before he has his palm against your lower back as he turns you away from the men.

you turn your head back, waving at them one last time as john pulls you close to him. it’s not a long walk, arriving at the front of your house and awkwardly shifting in front of the older man at your doorstep. “I know I’ve said thank you countless times, but I really do appreciate you letting me stay over.” rubbing the back of your hand as you struggle to look at him.

the small light of the lamp enhances his features, creating a golden hue against his face as john just looks at you with those warm eyes. the corner of his lips twitching into a smile while shaking his head, “you’re welcome any time darling.” he simply says as he watches your mouth gape at his words before pressing your lips together.

john wants you to come over again. he wants you to have you in the security of his home along with his boys. he wants to have you in his arms, kiss you, and touch you despite barely knowing of your existence a few days ago. a desire growing in the pit of his mind and heart.

he wants you as much as his men do.

you nod silently, trying to hide the way his words leave a warmth in the pit of your stomach, biting back a smile before flickering your gaze back at him. “I’ll see you around then john.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

we’ll be waiting, doll.

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asumofwords · 3 months ago

Text

Watercress - Chapter 5

Warnings: She/her pronouns, graphic descriptions of blood and gore, grief, loss, depression, suicidal ideation, pining, fighting, yearning.

Pairings: Aemond x She/Her

Summary: Raised in the Riverlands, near the shadow of Harrenhal, her life was one of endless toil and quiet resilience. Every day was the same—scraping together food, tending to the ill, and surviving the harsh realities of a land marked by struggle. But when war came, it brought horrors beyond anything she could have imagined. The skies blazed with fury, the waters of the Gods Eye churned with the echoes of battle, and then—just as suddenly as it began—the world grew eerily quiet. She believed the worst was over. That was, until a fateful discovery in the woods shattered her fragile peace and set her on a path she never could have foreseen.

Words Count: 9k oops

Notes: Hello my angels, it's me again, your resident yearner. Thanks again for all your kind words, I'm so glad you're all enjoying this! <3

The energy in the cottage had changed. Shifted into something thicker, more palpable. And although Aemond hadn’t stopped his snarky comments, they had become fewer and farther between. He no longer snapped at her when she checked his dressings, or handed him food. It was almost as if he had grown accustomed to their new and strange routine, and Gods was she thankful for it.

It was exhausting to constantly be on guard around him, be ready for his sharp words and narrowed eye. Add to this that she still slept on the floor and tended to those coming to her, her resolve was growing so thin that she genuinely considered slipping him milk of the poppy to quiet and subdue him. But she had ruled that it would be more hassle than it’s worth.

The cottage was small, but no longer suffocating. Aemond had long since grown used to the tight space, the walls no longer feeling like they were closing in on him. It made him bitter to think of his ease and compliance to his situation, but begrudgingly had to admit that it was much better than being dead.

Sometimes.

The home was built of sturdy wood and stone, the scent of earth and dried herbs clinging to the air. It smelled of damp soil after the rain, of pine and firewood, of bitter medicine and dried fish and freshly cut cloth. Aemond had learnt its sounds—the soft creak of the door, the steady bubbling of a simmering pot, the occasional rustle of wind through the trees just outside the door, and the ever constant grind of her mortar and pestle. Over and over again.

He hated it.

Hated the way time slowed in this place, the way his limbs ached uselessly beneath the weight of his own body. Hated the quiet routine of his days, the endless monotony of waking, eating, and watching her move about her work.

And he hated her most of all.

Or at least that’s what he continued to tell himself.

The healer had made it clear from the beginning that she did not fear him. At first, he had tried to tear through her with words, with biting threats and promises of vengeance. Had even attempted to take her life with his sword, but he could barely stand on his own. Could barely bathe himself, could only just feed himself and could barely stand up unassisted.

He knew that the only way to divert his attention from his failures was to focus on hers.

He had lashed out at her again as she tried to give him a herbal tea to help with his pain, but in a lazier drawl than usual, as though his insults were becoming tiresome to even him.

And they were.

She had only blinked at him, unimpressed, holding the tea out to him to take.

He had knocked the cup from her grasp. The tea, boiling hot, had spilled across the floor, and to his surprised worry, her hand. She had hissed and drawn her hand back away from him, shaking it quickly to flick the hot liquid from her skin.

It was the first time he had felt true guilt for his actions.

Aemond had to physically stop himself from leaning forward and grabbing her to see the injury, to grasp her hand and inspect her in the way she had done to him many times before, but the look she had given him was scathing. Worse than any other time she had ever looked at him before, and it made him shrink back into the furs, averting his gaze elsewhere as if bored.

He wouldn’t admit it, but that look made him nervous.

It was familiar, and it was not.

It was familiar in the way his mother had looked at him. The way his half-sister had looked at him. His sister.

It was a look of anger, disappointment, and hate.

It was a look he had never seen from her. And it was a look he never wished to see again.

The wound on his side healed slowly, a cruel reminder of how far he had fallen. His leg however, would always be wrong. Aemond was used to pain, had lived with it for many years, but this was something else entirely.

This was helplessness.

But even despite the burn on her hand, despite the way he treated her, she still helped him each day to stand. Fed him that evening despite what he had done. Helped pull him from the bed, no matter how exhausted she seemed to be after nights of caring for people or days of toil, and held his weight up to help him gain his strength. It was agony, but each day, each time he stood, it got easier, just as she said it would

But it didn’t change the real issue.

The world had moved on without him.

And now, he was here. Trapped in this small, suffocating life, reduced to nothing more than a broken man in a stranger’s home. He hated it. Hated her. Told himself he did every day like a mantra.

And yet…

He could not stop watching her.

Not because he had softened, not because he had lost the fire in his blood—but because it was exhausting. His anger, his threats, his endless attempts to assert himself in this wretched place… they had no effect. She would not break. He didn’t think she even had a breaking point.

So instead, he watched.

He watched her as she gathered herbs from the small wooden shelves, grinding them down with practiced ease. He watched as she greeted the villagers who came to her door—no longer bothering to hide him away, having some sort of unspoken agreement with them all—old women with aching joints, hunters with deep gashes, mothers with sick children.

She took what coin they could offer. More often than not, she took nothing at all or the goods they could offer. Clothes, or food, or cloth, or bowl. They came to her and she would do what she did best, and they would give the best that they could back.

One morning, after watching a hunched old man shuffle away with a bundle of herbs he had not paid for, Aemond exhaled sharply.

“You’re too giving." He muttered from his place on the bed.

The healer only laughed, the sound light but knowing, “I’m a woman."

"You ask for nothing. Take nothing. Have nothing.” He always voiced this, as though her generosity grieved him, offended him, ”Do you truly have no sense? Do you know how much gold would you have if you took your dues?" Aemond looked around her home in disgust.

“I don’t need anything but this.” There was something softer in her voice this time, something that unsettled him.

She always unsettled him.

Said and did things that had no rhyme or reason to him. That made no sense to him. Had no logic. It was not weakness—no, he had seen her sharpened edges too many times to mistake it for that.

It was something else.

And Aemond Targaryen did not understand it.

The water was cold, and she reflected on how strange it was to be in the same place she had been when she first found Aemond again. The net was slowly dragged back into shore towards her, her dress rolled up as much as possible, sleeves pulled up her arms to stave away the cold chill.

What would have happened if she never went fishing that day? Would she have found his corpse instead? Would someone else have found him?

There was so many ‘what ifs’ that it made her head spin. In some ways she wished that she hadn’t found him. So far he had been much more hassle than what he was worth, but she could empathise with him. He had lost everything, including his ability to care for himself. Yet despite this, she didn’t want to think too hard about what would happen when he healed, where he would go. What he would do. The havoc he may reap. She only hoped that no innocents would be affected by him. That they would not face the anger she pushed him to daily.

The blame could quite easily then be shifted towards her.

She returned just before dusk, her boots and dress damp with water and a net slung over her shoulder. The scent of fresh fish clung to her clothes, mingling with the crisp evening air as she pushed open the cottage door.

Aemond barely spared her a glance at first. He had been sleeping—or pretending to—but the second the unmistakable sound of fish slapping against wood reached his ears, his eye flicked up sharply.

His stomach twisted in immediate, visceral irritation.

"Fish again.”

She ignored him, untying the net with practiced ease before dumping her catch onto the worn wooden table. Silver scales gleamed under the candlelight, the fish still slick with water. She reached for a knife, humming under her breath as she began to gut them, utterly unconcerned by Aemond’s growing displeasure.

He watched her, expression tight with irritation, "Do you ever get tired of eating the same thing over and over?”

She didn’t pause, quick as a whip, ”Do you ever get tired of complaining?”

His lips pressed into a thin line, "It reeks, no matter how well you cook it.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, “Reeks, you say?”

“Like the fish mongers and whores at docks." He wrinkled his nose, "It’s unbearable. The monotony of it. Picking through the bones, chewing it, swallowing.”

She snorted, “That’s usually how people eat food.”

He shot back, “Don’t be obtuse.”

"I’m sure you had fish in the Red Keep." She lifted an eyebrow at him before gutting the next fish with a swift, practiced movement.

Aemond didn’t answer, because he had.

Of course he had.

She continued, ”If you’d prefer to not eat, I’m amenable to that. Saves me the trouble. Unless of course you'd like to start hunting for yourself?”

Aemond exhaled sharply, looking away. He knew she had him cornered.

She smirked at his silence, "I’ll get you a bow and some arrows and you can kill us a nice, large deer. I don’t mind venison, though it’s more tedious to prepare than fish. Fish are small, easy to clean.” She cut the head off of one for show, “Have you ever tried to prepare a whole deer? Skin it, gut it, clean it.”

After a long pause, he leaned back against the wall, arms crossing over his chest, "I’ve been on hunts.”

Unspoken words lingered in the air.

I’ve killed men too.

“Sure. But have you prepped them? Cooked them? Stored what was left?”

Aemond blinked, then quickly, “Why don’t you just buy the meat? Surely you can afford it. Definitely could if you took payment.”

The healer hummed noncommittally, "Good meats hard to come by these days, too expensive for what little there is. So until then, you’ll eat what I put in front of you.”

Aemond scowled, watching as she continued cleaning the fish. “Surely your traps can collect more rabbits, a badger even. Or at least do something to make it taste like food instead of Flea Bottom slop.”

Her voice became higher, "Would you like me to roast it over the fire, m’lord? Is spiced wine from Dorne with your meal tonight good, m’lord? Oh, please, m’lord, I live to serve you and only you.”

Aemond sighed, glancing at the fish again with poorly concealed distaste, "You truly enjoy this, don’t you?”

She shrugged, a small smirk on her lips, “It is a pleasure to watch you suffer, forcing you to eat Flea Bottom slop and all other things you’ve accused me of.”

He sneered, “I’m surprised I haven’t been poisoned by it.”

“I’m still deliberating on that.” She smiled.

Aemond’s eye narrowed.

She shrugged, "Cook your own meals then.”

With a reluctant sigh, he muttered, almost relived for the grace she had permitted him, "Like it's hard. I’ll learn.”

She grinned, victorious, "Now that, I'd like to see.”

His eye flicked up to her, the soft glow of the fire catching the curve of her smirk, the teasing glint in her eye. It sent something hot curling in his gut, something he didn’t want to name.

He looked away, jaw tightening.

He had spoken without thinking.

He had let himself slip—had let her glimpse something he had no right to feel. The unspoken thought that he would still be here, long after he had healed. That he would choose to stay.

The realisation made his stomach twist, and suddenly, the warmth of their exchange soured into something bitter.

His fingers curled into a fist against his knee.

"I won't be here forever." He said sharply, the words coming out harsher than he intended, "Don't get used to this.”

She stilled for a fraction of a second, her knife poised over the fish, before she resumed her work, cold mask slipping into place.

"I never do."

Her voice was unreadable, but something in it made his irritation flare hotter.

He didn’t know what he wanted from her. A retort, a fight, some sharp-edged remark to push him further into the anger that felt safer than whatever had passed between them just moments ago.

But she gave him nothing.

Just the steady, rhythmic sound of her knife scraping away scales and intestines, as if his words meant nothing at all.

And Aemond hated that most of all.

The pounding of hooves shattered the evenings quiet.

The healer had been asleep on her makeshift cot in front of the fire when she heard it—hoofbeats and the shrill call of her name, fast and urgent, tearing through the trees like a storm. Her eyes blinked away the sleep rapidly as she sat up, looking over to Aemond who too began to wake. She had worried for a brief moment that he had been the one to call for her.

She could tell just from the sound that whoever was coming was desperate.

Outside the cottage the hooves scuffed at the forest floor and a horse whinnied. The voice called out her name again, over and over as it came closer, metal jangling and footsteps racing towards her home.

She was already rising when the rider bashed against her door rapidly, fist beating against it as her heart raced in her chest, the wood thunking and rattling at its joints. The man outside called her name in a panic again, and as she swiftly moved towards the door in her chemise she glanced over to Aemond.

to her utter surprise, Aemond looked ready to rise. Ready to act. Ready to protect her from whatever danger he perceived lurking at the door.

But she recognised the voice. Had known it for many years.

Erik.

One of the farmers' sons from the village.

The door swung open as she brushed her long unbraided hair away from her cheeks. His face was pale, sweat beading at his temple. She let her eyes drift lower, looking him over for sign of injury. Upon his clothes, large dark patches of blood.

"You have to come. Now." His voice was raw, breathless, eyes glancing behind her to look at the man who now stood beside her bed, furs clutched against his waist.

Aemond was poised and ready. For what, he did not know.

Her heart kicked against her ribs, "What happened?”

"Ana," He gasped, "She was attacked.”

Her heart clenched.

Ana.

She didn’t hesitate.

"Help me.” She ordered, rushing to snatch her supplies as she threw them into a soft leather pouch hidden by the door.

Erik stepped inside, wary of Aemond who watched him with a narrowed eye, and began to help her collect her things. She didn’t even spare Aemond a second glance as she raced out the door, pulling on a cloak atop her chemise, hurling herself atop the horse as she waited for Erik to mount behind her. The large chestnut shuffled impatiently as she swayed atop it, securing the leather pouch against her chest for the ride, reins already in hand.

Erik slammed the door shut, and Aemond’s view of the healer and the man was ended. Hooves pounded outside, and Aemond listened to the sound of it until it slowly faded from existence. He was still standing when the cottage became silent again, the longest he had stood by himself so far, furs tightly clutched against him, heart racing in his chest.

It was eerily quiet without her.

He didn’t even have a chance to see if she was going to be safe.

The ride into town was brutal. The saddle was hard beneath her hips, Erik pressed tightly against her back, trying to fill her in on what had happened as they went. The wind bit at her face as the horse tore down the narrow forest path, its hooves drumming against the frozen ground, puffs of breath dissipating from before her.

The trees blurred, branches whipping past, but all she could think about was Ana—bleeding, unconscious, slipping away with every passing second. This was a woman she had known for years. Had helped through her first and second births.

A friend.

Her mind was already racing ahead, cataloging what she had in her satchel, what she might need when she arrived. Hot water. More cloth. Dried fish skin.

By the time they reached the village, a small crowd had gathered, their faces drawn and anxious. Three men stood by the cottage, all sporting small wounds that were being tended to by the people around them. Hands wiping away blood and inspecting the damage.

They parted quickly as she slid down from the horse, barely catching her breath before pushing through the door of the house.

The moment she saw Ana, her stomach clenched.

She raced to her side.The young woman lay on the bed, her dress soaked through with blood. Her skin had an ashen tint to it that the healer had never seen on her, not even during her two births, lips slightly parted as she took in slow, ragged breaths.

“Ana," The healer whispered, pulling off the satchel as she looked over her, “I’m here.”

Ana’s mother, an older woman with grey hair stood nearby, wringing her hands, "She’s barely awake since we found her. Please. Please. Fix her.”

The healer didn’t waste time responding.

She moved quickly, pulling her satchel open and looking down at Ana’s body. Along her stomach and base of her hip blood bloomed beneath the sun bleached lilac dress. She could feel Erik’s presence behind her and looked sideways at him, “Help me undress her.”

Erik faltered, and behind him the shuffling of curious towns people watched on by the door.

“Get them away.”

Pulling a blade from the satchel as she slipped it down the centre of Ana’s dress ripping it apart, revealing the two deep wounds that continued to bleed profusely. From behind her came the bark of Ana’s brother, and the slam of the door, leaving her inside with Erik, her mother, and Ana’s older brother, who sported an injury of his own to his upper arm.

“I need water.” Her hands moved to grab some strips of clean linen from her satchel to one of the wounds, and then the other, gradually stuffing them with her fingertips inside to staunch the bleeding.

Ana moaned weakly, which to the healer was a good sign.

She was still alive.

But then she looked at the damage, over Ana’s bare torso, shredded dress pushed to the sides and felt fear rise inside of her. The gash was deep, stretching across Ana’s stomach.

Too deep.

“Erik, the water.” She snapped, and finally he sprung into action behind her, gathering the pail from beside the fireplace.

It wasn’t boiled, but she didn’t have time.

She dipped her hands inside and scrubbed viciously at her fingers, head turning towards Ana’s brother, “D'you have ale?”

The bloodied man nodded, and rummaged by the bench, coming over to uncork a flagon. She took it from him and poured it over her hands, and then atop the wounds.

Ana screamed, eyes shooting open as she looked up at the healer.

“Shh, it will be over soon.” The healer tried to console her, wiping the back of her hand across the top of Ana’s scalp, trying to soothe the woman.

“You’re here.” Ana breathed, voice quiet and broken, the edges of her lips tinged red with her own blood.

“I am.”

“I’m going to die, aren’t I? Like your father.” Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, a small hum of a laugh passing through her nose as she smiled dreamily.

The healer blanched, blinking at Ana. Her skin was so grey that she already looked dead, dark circles beneath her eyes and the tell tale sign of delirium sinking in that came with too much blood loss. When the body was at the end of its tether and began to slip.

She grasped strips of clean cloth and leant over her body, pressing them down into the wounds to staunch the bleeding.

Ana cried out in pain.

“No. You’re going to live.” She tried to assure her friend, but it felt hollow.

Felt emptier still as she began to press the cloth into the open wounds tightly, stuffing it inside, trying to stem the bleeding. Ana wailed and cringed as the healers fingers pushed more and more cloth into the wound trying to stem the bleeding. It slowed, but not enough, the cloths immediately soaking through.

“Stop.” The woman wheezed, hands trying to push away the healers.

“Be brave f'me. Let me do what I do best.”

Hands in her satchel again she rummaged until she found the needle and thread, her hands shaking as she tried to thread it to begin. Erik stood beside her watching as Ana’s mother and brother stood at the end of the bed, the mothers eyes full of tears as the brother held her.

Each time she tried to thread the thread through the needle, it wouldn’t go, slipping just to the side avoiding it.

“Give it t'me.” Erik held his hand out.

Frustration boiled over her, “I can do it.” The healer snapped, she tried thrice more until finally she was able to thread it, hands covered in blood, leaning forward towards Ana, “Hold her.”

The farmers son jerked forth and pressed two gentle hands against Ana’s shoulders, one covered in blood briefly coming up to brush the hair away from her face.

“Where are the children?” Ana wheezed, blinking languidly up at her partner.

Erik cleared his throat, as his hands moved to her shoulders again, stroking gently back and forth with his calloused fingers, watching in his periphery as the healer moved towards the larger of the wounds, “With Myra. They’ll come see you when you’re cleaned up.”

Her tongue brushed against her bottom lip again, smearing fresh blood against it, “Good.” She said weakly, “Don’t let 'em see. They shouldn’t see.”

The healer swallowed the panic that continued to rise steadily in her throat, willing a cool calm to wash over her. She looked up at Erik and whispered a ‘ready?’ at him, watching his worried nod, and with swift and almost uncaring hands, she pulled the cloth from within the largest wound, fresh blood spilling over her hands making it hard for her to see what she was doing.

Ana cried out beneath her writhing, her head thrown back as the healer tried to squeeze the wound together, held down only by Erik who cooed at her to stay still, and that it would be over soon.

Her hands were so wet with the blood that continued to ooze that she could scarcely hold the needle steady in her grip, it slipped and shifted unsteadily in her hand as she made the first stitch. And then the second, closing the wound in her friend as quickly as she could, looking at the way Ana’s diaphragm weakened as she went.

But the wound was too big.

She knew it was too big.

She worked in silence, listening as Erik continued to talk to Ana, tried to reassure her and comfort her the best that he could, the mothers soft sobs being equally consoled by her son.

The healer pushed it all away, her hands becoming steadier even as her chest tightened.

But the bleeding wouldn’t stop. It was so deep, so much deeper than a flesh wound. It had hurt her organs. Important organs. And as she worked she tried to press the cloth down to stop the bleeding of the other wound with her arm, making it harder to work as she went, and knowing that someone else would only get in the way. But no matter how much she pressed down atop it, no matter how tightly she stitched her body, it just kept seeping through.

“Ana, stay awake.” Erik’s voice wavered, “Look at me. Keep your eyes open.”

The healer didn’t have the strength to look up, to watch what was happening. Didn’t think that she would be able to hold her resolve if she could. But she could tell it was happening.

It was happening right before their eyes and there was nothing she could do.

Nothing they could do.

Nothing.

Ana’s chest barely rose anymore, stunted, weak and inconsistent breaths beneath her as the healer hurriedly worked to save her friend. But it was never ending, happening so quickly yet so agonisingly slow that it felt that it would never be done. Her hands were soaked with blood and she could scarcely see or discern a thing anymore, her hands constantly trying to wipe away the blood as it came to see what she was doing. To see what needed to be done.

“We’re almost there.” She urged regardless, her voice quiet, "Just a little longer, Ana.”

“Good.” Was all that Ana could say.

She knew it was coming.

She could feel it.

She had seen it before.

Felt it before.

Had seen it with her father.

Felt it with her father.

The way that Ana’s body cooled beneath her hands. The way her breath came slower. Shallower. Her light eyes kept fluttering shut, the hand that had been weakly holding Erik’s loosened, and the telltale rattle of her lungs signalled the end.

Erik’s reassuring words became more and more panicked. More and more desperate as he watched his wife slowly slip away. So she tried to worked faster, her heart hammering, her movements almost frantic now, her work was not as precise. She was working to get it closed. To stop the bleeding.

She had saved people from worse.

She had seen men survive wounds that should have killed them.

She could save her still.

She had to.

The healer swallowed, her throat tight.

The first wound was finally sewn shut, and she moved to the second, blood soaked rags lost to the floor beneath her and the sheets that Ana lay upon.

Erik whispered Ana’s name in question from beside her.

The healer didn’t look up, didn’t register what was happening as she continued.

The gasping sob of Ana’s mother was ignored, the sorrowful whispers of Ana’s name that came from Erik growing louder beside her, and yet she didn’t stop. Her hands kept moving, the blood no longer pulsing beneath her.

She kept on.

And on.

Her hands beginning to shake again as the world crashed atop her, the needle slipping more than once into her own skin, though she couldn’t feel it. She ignored the hollowed cry of the older woman as she collapsed beside the bed, beside where the healer continued, her hands grasping her daughter tightly as she wept.

She didn’t stop.

Couldn't.

Wouldn’t.

She would save her.

She would live.

She would-

The healers name was whispered beside her, two large hands reaching to grasp her own hands. She shook them off, needle still poised as she moved to the next stitch.

Her name was spoken again, this time, her shoulders were grasped and pulled back, and she struggled against it, stitch being pulled free.

“Stop. I need to-“

“Enough.” The voice was deep, crackled with exhaustion, “She’s gone.”

The sounds that followed were unbearable.

The healer sat back slowly, her bloodstained hands falling to her lap. As she finally let herself gaze upon her friend. She felt the weight of it press down on her—failure, grief, exhaustion. Ana’s mother let out another choked sob, as Erik sunk to his knees beside Ana, bloodied hands brushing against her hair as he looked down at her.

Her eyes were open.

She did not blink.

Did not breathe.

She was gone.

The healer stared, hands shaking slightly as she wiped them against her skirts. The blood was thick, clinging to her skin. It made her feel sick. Made her want to claw at her skin. To tear it away violently with a blade. She had seen death before. She had watched men gasp their last breath, had pressed her hands to open wounds she could not close, had listened to the quiet, rattling end of those too sick to save.

But Ana’s death—this felt different.

She had known her. Been with her before. Shared smiles and wine with her. Meals.

But it hadn’t been enough.

It was too late.

She had been too late.

And then the wailing started.

It was the kind of sound that cracked through bone, that settled into the skin like frostbite, that would haunt the healer for days to come.

The mother had reached for Ana’s body again, pulling her closer as if she could shake her back to life. Eriks hands kept brushing against Ana's face, eyes wide with shock, face streaked with silent tears.

And the healer could do nothing.

Say nothing.

She knelt there, blood soaking her hands, her skirts, her arms, her chest—her own breath coming in shallow gasps. The smell was suffocating, the irony stench that lingered upon skin like fish. Her fingers trembled. She wanted to say something. Anything.

But there were no words.

Nothing could fix this.

She felt the brothers gaze on her then. When she finally lifted her eyes away from Ana, his expression was hollow, empty in a way she had seen before.

“Go." He said, voice flat, distant.

She hated it.

She had failed.

She didn’t move.

“Go.” He gruffed, “Take the horse, he knows his way home.”

So she did.

She stood, and she moved, and she took her satchel with her. She took the blood covering her with her.

The grief with her.

The loss with her.

The sorrow.

The failure.

The ride home was slow, the exit from the home unbearable as she emerged to find the townsfolk waiting, watching as she exited covered in blood, the wails and sobs of grief behind her. She said nothing as they watched her. Said nothing as she mounted their horse and guided it away from the home.

The horse’s hooves crunched against the forest floor, she did not trot, did not canter, she simply trailed towards her home, deeper and further away from everyone. Back into solitude. The solitude that she knew and loved, and lived and breathed. The cold bit at her blood-soaked clothes, but she barely felt it. Didn’t want to let herself feel.

Didn’t want to come to terms with what had just happened.

With Ana.

Ana.

Her fingers ached from gripping the reins too tightly, the blood beginning to dry against her skin. Grief settled deep in her gut, an unrelenting weight. She had lost people before. She had told herself she would lose them again. Had known that she would.

But this time—this time it had been someone she knew. Someone she cared for.

A friend.

And for the first time in a long time, she wondered if she could bear it.

It had been hours since she had left, and Aemond had sat rod straight at the side of the bed, watching the door, listening for the sound of hooves, the sound of anything that wasn’t the howling wind outside. He waited, and waited, and waited for her, a million thoughts racing through his head. He wondered what had happened. He wondered if she was in danger.

He wondered if she would come back.

And for the first time in a long time, Aemond Targaryen let himself care.

The wind whipped through the trees as she approached the cottage, her limbs heavy with exhaustion, her breath visible in the cold night air. Snow would come soon. It flowered before her lips, briefly warming her face before the cold would nip at her again. Ana’s blood had dried in thick, stiff patches across her clothes and body, crusting beneath her fingernails, streaking up her arms where she had pushed so hard, pressed so desperately, tried so hopelessly to hold life inside a body that could no longer contain it.

She stumbled as she dismounted the horse, legs numb beneath her feet. She let the reins go, and turned away from the horse, leaving it where it was. Her fingers barely worked as she fumbled with the door, the weight of it unfamiliar, as though she had forgotten how to move through her own home. When she stepped inside, the warmth of the fire did nothing to touch the ice lodged beneath her skin.

She did not look at Aemond.

Did not acknowledge his presence where he sat, his head lifting to attention the moment she entered.

She felt his eye on her, sharp and searching as she moved towards the washbasin in the corner of the room. Her hands shook as she poured the water, dark red swirling and staining the surface. She unclasped her cloak and placed it upon a hook.

There was so much of it.

So much blood.

She began to scrub.

And Aemond watched silently.

She scrubbed harder.

And harder.

But the blood would not leave.

Would not wash away from her skin.

The rag in her grip was soaked, and still, she scrubbed, the motion mechanical, hollow. She could not feel the temperature of the water, could not register the rawness of her skin beneath it.

Aemond uttered her name.

She had lost people before.

He called her name again.

She had held the dying before.

So why—why did it feel like this?

The bed creaked behind her. A soft, uneven step followed.

Why was the blood not coming off?

Why was it so thick?

The water in the basin was so dark with it, it looked like it had been filled with it. The thick acrid smelling life force that she had seen so often. That she had touched so often. But it was too much.

Why was there so much of it?

Surely there hasn’t been this much.

Behind her, her name again, and the uneven steps of an injured man, followed by a shifting of a chair by the table, like weight had been leant against it.

But why wasn’t it coming off?

She would need to go down to the lake, to collect some more water.

Perhaps she could dive beneath the murky depths and bathe in its iciness. Let the numb of the cold take over from the numbness of grief that she felt now.

More shuffling behind her, more utterance of her name, more concerned questions. But she didn’t register it. Didn’t answer it.

Didn’t turn towards him despite knowing that he was up.

She did not want to see him.

Did not want to see pity.

Or anger. Or disgust. Or a sneer.

Did not want to see the look of disappointment at her failure.

How had she been able to save him, but not Ana?

How was he still living?

His limp was more pronounced now, but she could hear him moving closer. She did not stop washing her hands. Over and over she scrubbed, becoming more erratic with the cloth that merely smeared the red across her skin.

“Stop.” His voice was low, rough, edged with something unnameable.

She didn’t.

She kept scrubbing.

His hand came to her wrist—not forceful, not cruel, just enough to still her. The healer’s breath hitched at the contact. It was the first time in so long that someone had touched her, not out of desperation, not out of grief or sickness, but simply to stop her from falling apart.

Her fists tightened beneath his grip, hand still clutching the cloth as she stared down at the water.

His eye flickered over her, lingering on the blood, the way it had seeped through the fabric of her sleeves, dark and clotted and the front of her chemise. How it streaked up her arms and was smeared on her face.

Could feel how the muscles in her hands tightened, coiled, ready to move again, to continue the incessant scrubbing which didn’t work. His own responded by tightening just slightly around her wrist, as if he could tether her back to herself. To signal that he could feel her. Predict her.

Knew her.

“What happened?” His voice was quieter now, careful.

Had never been so careful.

She did not speak, eyes still trained to the water. With a jerky move, she attempted to pull her hand away from his, but his grip was unrelenting.

“Are you hurt?”

She swallowed, forcing herself to speak past the lump in her throat, “She’s dead.”

Aemond’s gaze did not waver, nor did his grip. He did not offer her empty condolences. Did not tell her she had done all she could.

Instead, he asked, “Who was she?”

Her throat tightened, “A friend.”

Aemond’s jaw clenched.

She had never looked so small before.

She had always been a force—unyielding in her stubbornness, sharp-tongued, quick-witted, infuriatingly kind despite his cruelty. But now… now she looked lost.

And Aemond hated it.

He shifted his grip, his thumb pressing just slightly against the inside of her wrist. Not a comfort. Not really. But an anchor. A piece of pressure she could focus on.

The healer closed her eyes, forcing her breath to steady. Her exhaustion clawed at her, dragging her downward, threatening to pull her beneath the weight of everything she could not fix.

“Sit.” Aemond said, quieter now, but insistent.

It was ironic really.

The pain in his side and leg had begun to creep into his senses, and he should really sit with her, but he didn’t. He wouldn’t.

She shook her head, finally looking at him, “I—”

“You’ll collapse if you don’t.”

A pause.

Such a long pause.

It seemed to stretch on forever.

Then, with a broken kind of reluctance, she let him guide her to the chair by the fire. It was a slow guidance, and he couldn’t help but notice as her eyes roamed over him, inspecting him for injury, watching as he struggled. But she did not argue. Did not resist. Did not do anything but sit herself down as Aemond still held her, limping by her side. Pushing through the agony. The furs that he had wrapped around his body tucked in tightly.

Aemond watched as she sank down, her body curling inward as if she could fold herself away from the grief.

He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what he could do. But he felt an urge to do something. To repay her in some way. He wasn’t like the others that came to her home. He wouldn’t take, and take, and take from her without giving back. He would repay her.

He would.

He just didn’t know how.

Once he was certain she wouldn’t move, he limped back to the wash basin. It took him some time, hand seeking out furniture for support—the chairs, the bed, the table, the edges of the cabin as he shuffled forward, pausing to catch his breath. It took him more time than he would care to admit to empty the basin out the window and refill it with clean water from a bucket. He didn’t even want to think about how he looked, pale and agonised as he moved towards her, his balance impeded by his now lack of hands.

By the time he made it back to her, tears had begun to fall from her eyes as she stared into the flames. She didn’t look up at him as he came to her side, not even when he slowly dragged the other chair beside her.

The fire crackled softly, filling the heavy silence between them. She sat slumped, her body rigid with exhaustion, her hands curled in her lap as if she no longer knew what to do with them. Her skin was cold beneath the dried blood, dark circles shadowing her eyes, but still—still, she tried to hold herself together.

Aemond could see it, the way she clenched her jaw, the way her fingers twitched as though she might force herself to stand and keep moving, as if sheer willpower alone could push away the weight of her grief.

“Go back to bed.” She said finally, her voice barely above a whisper, “You need to rest.”

Aemond scoffed, shifting his weight onto his uninjured leg. His body ached with the effort, but he refused to let himself falter, refused to let her push him away the way he had done to her.

“I think you forget,” He said dryly, “That I am not so weak anymore.”

“You’ll only injure yourself—”

“I am perfectly capable of standing in this moment.” He cut in, stepping closer, “Besides, a healer told me that I should stand to gain my strength.”

Her eyes lifted to his, sharp despite her exhaustion.

Aemond’s lips curled into something between amusement and frustration, “You are covered in blood.”

It was the wrong thing to say.

She looked away, and back into the fire, “It isn’t mine.”

“As if that makes a difference.”

“It makes all the difference.”

Aemond exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face before leaning toward the washbasin he had placed on the chair. He picked up a clean cloth, dipping it into the cool water before grasping her hand from her lap. She protested at first, attempted to grasp the cloth from his hands, pulling away from him.

“I can do it.” She murmured, “Go to bed.”

His eye narrowed.

“I’m not a child.”

She was watching him now, tired but wary.

“Let me.” He said, as cooly as she had once spoken to him a she tended to his side.

“I can wash myself.”

His jaw tightened. Was this how she felt when she tended to him?

“Quiet.”

Aemond sighed, and then grunted, the pulse of his blood through his leg making his teeth clench, and what little patience he had dwindled. He lowered himself onto the seat beside her, the firelight casting sharp shadows across his face, washbasin in his lap. He lifted the cloth, reaching for her hand again.

This time, she did not stop him.

His fingers brushed against her wrist, gentle despite their roughness. He pressed the damp cloth against her skin, wiping away the dried streaks of blood, revealing the flesh beneath, watching as the liquid darkened with the remnants of her failed attempt to scrub herself clean.

The silence between them shifted—not tense, not uncomfortable, just… something different.

Something unfamiliar.

It had been building for days. Weeks.

She watched him carefully as he worked, his movements steady, methodical. Aemond had always been methodical. Always been calculative and precise. He did not speak, did not offer any words to fill the quiet. He simply cleaned her hands, her arms, her face, wiping away the remnants of a battle she could not win with detached coolness.

Methodical.

By the time he was finished, the cloth was stained deep red. Aemond set it aside, his gaze flicking over her, taking in the way her shoulders had finally begun to droop, the exhaustion settling heavier now that she had allowed herself to stop. Let someone else take care of her the way that she tirelessly took care of others.

It was the first time Aemond had witnessed her stop. The first time Aemond had witness her be still.

He leaned back slightly, his eye grazing over her. She was still covered in blood, her clothes having dried with it. Her unbraided hair needed to be brushed, knotted and tangled from the wind, but he doubted she would allow him to do that, let alone herself. She looked so empty, so hollow that he worried she may collapse then and there.

Aemond’s chest tightened.

He had never seen her like this.

She was always sharp, always biting, always moving with purpose—whether it was to tend to him, to fetch herbs, to argue with him. But now… now she was something else entirely. Something fractured.

He hated it.

Hated that he did not know what to do to fix it.

Aemond grit his teeth.

Why did he care?

She was nothing to him.

Nothing.

And yet, when he dropped the cloth he had been holding, when her breath hitched as though she might shatter, he found himself moving without thought, pushing himself up again despite the pain in his ribs and leg, moving the wash basin to the seat.

“You need to rest.” He said, his voice lower than he intended, rough with something he did not understand.

“You did your best. Now you must rest.”

She looked up into his gaze.

And Aemond wished she hadn’t.

Because her eyes—gods, her eyes—were filled with something he could not bear to see.

Grief.

Failure.

A hollowness that made his stomach twist, made his pulse quicken with something close to panic.

He had not thought her capable of breaking.

And yet, here she was—cracked open before him, bleeding out in a way that had nothing to do with wounds or war.

Aemond swallowed hard, his fingers reaching and flexing around her wrist again. He did not know what to say, did not know how to drag her back from whatever abyss she was teetering on the edge of.

And that infuriated him.

He should not care.

And yet, the thought of her fading into that emptiness, of her never coming back to the infuriating, sharp-witted woman who had forced him to live when all he had wanted was to die—he could not stand it.

His jaw clenched. His grip did not loosen.

She was not allowed to fall apart.

Not like this.

Not in front of him.

“Sleep.” He tried to pull her hand towards him, to get her to stand, but even with this new found strength his wound would not allow it.

She blinked at him, as if he had just spoken a language she did not understand.

“I will.” She muttered, glancing toward the mound of blankets and fur on the floor beside the fireplace, though they both knew it was a poor excuse for a place to rest.

Aemond’s expression darkened, “You are not sleeping on the floor.”

“I’ve done it before.”

“No.”

There was something final in the way he said it, something that left little room for argument.

Her mouth opened, then closed. For a moment, she simply stared at him, tired and frayed, but still stubborn.

Aemond clenched his jaw, leaning forward slightly, “You saved my life,” He said, voice quiet but firm, “Let me return the favour, if only for one night.”

Something in her gaze wavered.

For a long moment, she did not move.

“I’m not going to die.”

He ignored her, voice gruff, “Get up.”

She blinked again up at him, emotion flickering across her eyes. But he could tell she was tired.

Gods she was so so tired. She just wanted to sleep. To forget what had happened. To not be present in that moment.

Aemond spoke her name, and in a strange way it grounded her. It was rough, and commanding, and demanding in its tone. It was every inch the man she had known these past weeks. Stubborn, sharp, quick-witted. But this time it wasn’t to poke and prod at her.

This time was different, and she found she didn’t have the energy to argue.

Slowly—reluctantly—she stood.

She moved toward the bed as though unsure of her own steps, pausing just before it, her back to him.

Aemond watched as she numbly pulled the bloodied chemise over her head and onto the floor, leaving herself bare before him.

Aemond blanched.

Not once in his time here had he seen her in the way she had seen him. His eye roamed over her body, even though he knew that it shouldn’t. Aemond knew that he shouldn’t gaze upon her now at her most vulnerable. At her most broken. But he couldn’t help it. Couldn’t tear his eye away from the soft slope of her hips of the curve of her breasts from the side. Couldn’t tear his gaze away from the roundness of her ass, or the soft skin of her back and legs.

She didn’t seem to notice his gaze, or didn’t care as she pulled back the furs of the bed and crawled inside, sliding to the opposite side, her back facing him as she pulled the blankets up to her shoulders.

If Aemond was anything like his brother he would have sought this moment to take advantage of her. To hurt her. It was a naked woman, in a bed he would be sharing. But instead of any urge to roll her onto her back or stomach, he felt a nervousness he hadn’t felt before. A nervousness to be around her that he had never felt.

His heart raced in his chest as he looked at her, gazed at her with a new intrigue,

She was beautiful.

She was perfect.

She was—her.

So very her.

The bed was small. Too small.

He limped and shifted and struggled to lay back down but managed it all the same, the bed dipping beneath him. It took him some time to get his broken leg beneath the furs comfortably as he lay on his back. She was close enough that he could feel the faint warmth of her body, but far enough that she might as well have been a world away.

Aemond stared at the ceiling, his eye adjusting to the dim flicker of firelight. He had not thought this through. Had not considered what it would mean to share a bed with her. Not just the physical proximity, but the weight of it—of allowing her into his space, of stepping into hers.

Of her within his.

It was different from when she had tended to him, different from when she had pressed cool hands against fevered skin, from when she had helped him stand, from when she had argued with him over fish.

This was something else entirely.

She was fragile now. And he hated it.

He hated so many things, but most of all, he hated this.

He hated the way it made something inside him tighten uncomfortably, the way it made his chest ache. He was not meant to feel this way. Not for her. Not for anyone.

And yet, she had looked so small when she finally climbed into the bed. So lost.

He exhaled slowly, willing the unfamiliar sensation away.

She did not speak.

And neither did he.

For a long time, there was only silence, punctuated by the occasional flicker of the fire and the slow, unsteady rhythm of her breath.

She smelled like the thick scent of iron and something uniquely her. He wondered if the scent of blood was just in his mind or if it still lingered on her skin, or perhaps it was on his now. He had tried to scrub it away with a cloth, had watched as the water in the basin turned red. But some things did not wash off so easily.

He, more than anyone, knew that.

She shifted slightly, the movement small, hesitant. He felt the way her muscles tensed, as if she were fighting the instinct to move closer. Trying to escape the ever haunting feeling that crashed over her.

Aemond knew what it was to be haunted.

He knew what it was to lie awake with ghosts pressed into his skin, to feel the weight of failure like chains around his throat. He had felt it after losing his eye. After the war. After his fall. His time spent in this very bed.

But he had not expected to recognise it in her.

He had not expected to care.

And yet, as he lay there, listening to the sound of her breathing, feeling the slight tremor in her limbs, something dark and unbidden curled inside him.

He turned his head slightly, his eye tracing the outline of her in the dim light. Over the slope of her shoulder, her tangled hair that lay messily upon the pillow. The curves of her body beneath the furs.

“Sleep.” He murmured, his voice quieter than he meant it to be.

She did not answer right away. But when she did, her voice was raw, as if she had spent all of it on grief.

“I can’t.”

Aemond hesitated. He was not good at comfort. He was good at pain, at rage, at control. He was good at killing, and fighting, and burning. At threatening those around him when needed. At the training yard with his sword. At politics, and history and philosophy. He was good at war. He was good at taking. But this was something else.

This he did not know how to do.

Still, before he could stop himself, his hand moved—slow, deliberate—until his fingers brushed against her shoulder. Just barely. Just enough to remind her that she was not alone. She tensed beneath his touch at first, stiffening as she held her breath, but as the warmth of his hand seeped into her skin, she relaxed.

Did not pull away.

And neither did he.

He did not sleep that night.

Not because of pain.

Not because of nightmares.

But because of her.

He would not say it aloud, but he knew.

Tonight, she needed this.

And for some reason he could not quite name—so did he.

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