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sundaysundaes · 3 years

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Started With A Kiss

Lee Donghyuck/Haechan X Reader | Actor AU, Smut, Fluff, Humor | NC-17 | 10K

Summary: Rookie actor, Lee Haechan, desperately wants to get the lead role in the highly anticipated upcoming TV drama. He’s sure he has what it takes to fill the part. Acting as a hero? No problem. Pretending to overcome his traumatic experience? Consider it done. A bed scene? Easy—wait, no. That might be a problem. But he should be fine as long as he gets to rehearse, right?

Warnings: protected sex, oral sex, crude humor, swearing, literally 10k of sex with very little plot, a lot of playful banters between sassy!hyuck and equally sassy!Y/N

Wrote this for my love Kira @flopim who’s been having a tough time lately. I hope this will cheer you up bb! ❤️

“I want you to make love to me.”

Standing there, still dressed in your bright pink pajamas with your hair resembling a bird’s nest, you can only blink once, twice, and several times more because surely, your ears are playing tricks on you. There’s no way that your best friend, the cutely annoying and annoyingly cute, Lee Haechan—the one who’s been practically glued to your skin like a conjoined twin of yours for the last two years—is asking you to make love to him.

Surely, this is not what you’d expected to see when you opened the door to your apartment, ready to bark at whoever it was who dared to disturb your beauty sleep (since it is seven in the morning on a Sunday), only to see him standing in his blue ripped jeans and black Michael Jackson shirt with his cheeks flushed, his bag hanging loosely on his shoulder, brown eyes desperately begging for your attention.

And you’re most definitely sure that he’s not asking you to sleep with him when you still have drool on the corner of your mouth and a terrible morning breath (in your defense, you have brushed your teeth but that was, like, six hours ago).

But when seconds have passed and Haechan still looks like he badly needs to hear an answer, you have very little options but to ask, “You want me to do what to who now?”

Catching a sniff of your mighty dragon’s breath, he promptly takes a step back, scrunching his nose while frantically covering half of his face with the script he’s been holding. “Eew, God, what is that smell?” Ignoring your glare, he repeats his words, voice muffled by the papers. “I said, I want you to make love to me.”

“What—”

“Damn it, woman, just brush your teeth and let me in!”

When he’s stomping his feet while whining that loudly—loud enough for your fucking landlord to hear, along with everybody else in the building (including your cute neighbor, Jaehyun, oh dear God, no), he doesn’t give you any other choice but to invite him in, does he?

You step away from the door, flatly muttering, “Please, come in, why don’t you.” Haechan doesn’t waste any second waiting, making sure to run and stay as far away as possible from you so he won’t inhale the poisonous air that’s tainted with your breath again.

You roll your eyes. Dramatic little shit. But just to be on the safe side, you make your way to the bathroom.

***

The scalding hot shower you just took was comforting but not enough to wash your entire drowsiness away. You’re in dire need of your caffeine intake. “Would you like some coffee, my king?” You ask between a yawn, hands finding their way to the coffee jar on your kitchen counter.

Haechan throws his bag to the floor, body sinking into the comfort of your couch. “With milk, please.”

"I’m kidding.”

“Well, I’m not.” He throws one of those cheeky grins that you adore—no, wait, you hate—as he settles his legs on your coffee table. “Less sugar but more milk. I’m still growing.”

“Growing what, your balls?” You pour him a cup of coffee as requested, yes, because to balance his demonic behavior, you have to act like the perfect angel that you are. “Since you don’t have any?”

“You mean, like your boyfriend?” Haechan retorts before he gasps dramatically, his palm going to his mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry, you don’t have a boyfriend.”

You hover above him from behind the couch, bringing two mugs filled with sizzling hot coffee. “Want to repeat that?” You tip your mug just a little bit until it nearly spills on his forehead.

Haechan winces, attempting to grin. “I’m sorry, I love you, please don’t ruin my face. It’s the only thing that’s good about me.”

“It surely is.”

“Yah, what does that mean?”

“Take it as a compliment.”

Sitting next to him, you sip your coffee and curse silently when the liquid burns your tongue. “Okay, so what about this ‘make love to me’ thing you said earlier? Please tell me it’s just a figure of speech or something.”

“I wish.” He drags his legs away from the table so he can lay his cup down because apparently, he means business. “Okay, I know you’re gonna kill me after you hear—”

“After? I’m about to kill you now, actually.” You scoff. “Don’t you remember what we’ve agreed on? You cannot bother me when I’m still too sleepy to smack you in the head, Haechannie.”

“When did we ever—” He stops. “Why are you going to smack me in the head?”

“‘Cause you’ll say something stupid.”

“Who says I’m gonna say something stupid?”

“You always say something stupid. You’re saying something stupid now!”

“It’s not stupid.” He sighs exasperatedly but when your flat, degrading stare comes into view, it morphs into a groan. “Well, not that stupid. I’ve thought about this—really thought about it—and I can’t find anyone else to do this but you since you’re the only girl I’m friends with. I mean, I can pick random girls, I suppose—you know how popular I am. They just can’t stop talking about me. My hair, my eyes—”

“—your tiny dick.”

“But I don’t want to break any girl’s heart by doing something that’s gonna make them feel like I’m just using them to get a job, you know? I know I’m hot but these good looks aren’t meant to trample people’s hearts.”

“And you don’t care how I’m gonna feel?”

He has the decency to act like he’s thinking about it, but then, “No, not really.”

“Thanks.”

“Look, I really need your help.” He takes it as further as holding your hand between his, puckering his pouty lips, and blinking his eyes in a way that’s cute enough to leave you in daze so you pretend like you’re about to vomit your insides to cover it up.

Okay, so there’s one thing—one little thing that nobody knows—that you’re too ashamed to admit and that is the fact that you have a massive crush on this boy who sits in front of you with his socks unmatched. Well, no, not massive. It used to be massive during the first few weeks you knew him. How could you not? Haechan was so cute, you wanted to turn him into a doll so you could carry him around in your backpack and squish his cheeks whenever you feel like it. Sure, he’s not all jawlines and dimples like that neighbor of yours (Jung Jaehyun was probably sculpted by God himself ), but Haechan has his own charms. His devilish smirk, his loud, contagious laughter, his naughty eyebrow raise, and his lips—God, his beautiful plump lips, the way they look so pouty and soft. Honestly, you can write a whole essay about his attractive features (not that you haven’t already).

You knew you were crazy for him when the antics he did annoyed the hell out of his friends but to you, he was just plain adorable. And you realized you were pretty much fucked-up when Jeno said, “Fucking Lee Donghyuck said he forgot his wallet and robbed me this morning. Who the fuck orders a freakin’ wagyu steak for breakfast?!” and the only thing you could think of was how nice it was to go on a date with him and how your first kiss with him was going to be like (poor Jeno, though).

It’s not that you love him or anything. It’s mostly physical, nothing more—at least for now anyway. It’s not your fault that he’s so fucking pretty that he ends up showing every now and then in your fantasy, doing indescribable naughty things that will definitely make Mark splash some holy water on your face if he knew what was going on in your head.

Fortunately, now that you’ve been friends with him for two years, that massive crush you had has turned into something normal, something you can easily hide. And can be forgotten even, whenever another cute guy—like Na Jaemin, for example—takes you out on a date or two. It’s easier to breathe these days.

“Hello? Are you there?” Haechan snaps his fingers, waking you up from your reverie. “What’s your answer? Do you want to make love to me or not?”

‘It’s easier to breathe these days?’ More like fucking kill me.

“Can you stop saying that?” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “You’re giving me headaches.” Or a heart attack, more accurately. “Assume I said yes. Don’t you think it’s gonna get a little weird between us?”

“What is so weird about it?” He throws his hands in the air, exhausted and impatient. “It’s just gonna be two friends, pretending to be in love with each other, hugging, kissing, touching, and having sweet, tender sex.” Realization falls upon him and you resist the urge to exhale loudly. “Yeah, okay, so it is a little weird, but it should be fine, right? It’s just acting. It’s not like you have any feelings for me, do you?”

If by feelings you mean picturing you naked in my head with your mouth sucking on my neck, then yeah, I do have feelings for you. Plenty of that. But on the outside, you say, “Eew, God, no.”

Haechan squints his eyes at your response. “Can’t say I’m not hurt with the way you said it, but eew, God, no to you too. Well, if that’s the case then I’m sure we’ll be fine,” he says, sipping his coffee, and retracts his mouth as soon as the flavor hits his tongue. “What the hell is this?! Did you spit on my coffee or something?”

You didn’t but for your amusement, you throw him a sly grin. “A little.” It’s satisfying to see him looking like he’s about to pass out. “I’m still worried how it’s gonna affect our friendship later on though.”

He simply shrugs. “Meh. We’re not really that close to begin with anyway.” He takes another sip of his coffee by accident and nearly vomits for real. “Fucking hell—take this shit out of my face.”

“I'm still not sure about this, Haechannie.”

“Look, I don’t know why it’s such a big deal to you, we’re just going to pretend! Acting!” He exclaims as if that was the most normal thing a friend could ask another friend. “And you’re gonna be acting out a love scene with someone as hot as me. Consider yourself lucky.”

“Consider yourself dead.”

“Damn it, my audition is in two days and I really want to get this role!” He’s whining, tugging at your hand like a baby as he practically throws himself at your feet, graveling for your mercy. “You’re the only one who can help me with this. How can I act properly if I don’t have enough experience to perform a freaking bed scene?!”

“I don’t think actors who have to play dead have enough experience of, you know, being dead.”

“Excellent point.” Haechan stares at you blankly, unimpressed. “Do you hear yourself when you talk?”

“Do you?”

A few seconds passed by in silence with the two of you exchanging sinister glares until he finally surrenders with a prominent pout on his face. “Fine, if you don’t want to.” Haechan exhales dramatically, his shoulders sagging and when you don’t respond, he sighs again only louder this time. “I guess, I have to force Mark to make out with me. Again.” He sneaks a glance to see your reaction. “And have my face slapped with a Bible. Again.”

You wince at the thought. “How did you force him, exactly?”

“Just…” He timidly scratches his nose. “Kinda attacked him in his sleep.”

You nod in understanding even when it’s the most idiotic thing you’ve ever heard. “Well, maybe he would’ve been fine with it if you had taken him out for a nice dinner before that.”

Haechan smiles a little at your words, and even a little glimpse of it is contagious enough to make your own spread wider on your face. Small chuckles resonate through the air and he playfully bumps his shoulder against yours, his palm resting on your knuckles.

“On a more serious note,” Haechan says, “I know that asking you to rehearse a bed scene with me is too much and way out of line. But I swear, I’m not gonna touch you if you’re so uncomfortable with it. Won’t even hold your hand, I promise.” Then he notices he’s still holding your hand from earlier. He drops it immediately, clearing his throat. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” It’s more than fine. His hand seems to fit yours in a way that nobody ever does but there’s no way you’re gonna tell him that. “So, we’re just gonna be practicing lines?”

“Exactly.” He rubs his nape, suddenly a bit bashful. “Well, I was hoping to at least kiss you—just to, you know, know how it’d feel like.”

“You’ve never kissed before?”

“I have, obviously.” He rolls his eyes, disgusted at your question. “I’m not a fucking virgin if that’s what you’re assuming.”

“Chill, don’t get your panties in a twist. Nah, I know you’re not a virgin from how many times you’ve had sex with yourself.”

“Hey!”

“But then, why do you need to practice? Can’t you just go straight to your castmates, and kiss the bejeezus out of them?”

Donghyuck runs a hand through his face. “It’s… I’ve never done it for a role,” he professes, faint blush blooming on his cheeks, “And the scene is supposed to be intimate and I’ve never… You know…”

You gesture at him to clarify more with your hands. “You’ve never…?”

“You know…” The color on his face turns brighter. “T-the thing.”

“What thing? Never made-out in public? Never had sex outdoor?” You act clueless just because you’re liking his reaction. “Never had a finger stuck in your ass? What? Please do enlighten me.”

“I’ve never been in love, you witch!” Haechan is adorable when he’s fuming. Nostrils blaring, eyebrows knitting together in an angry frown, scarlet cheeks all puffed out. He looks like a terribly pissed Pomeranian.

Man, if I could just take a picture. “Oh, okay. So have you had your finger stuck in your ass?”

“I swear to God—”

“Kidding. I know you have.” But even when Haechan is nearly ripping your cheeks apart from your face, your giggles are never-ending. “So, you’re nervous?” You snort, raising an eyebrow. “You, the obnoxious, desperate-for-attention Lee Haechan, are nervous?”

“Will you help me out or not?!”

You pretend like you’re contemplating about it when truth is, every part of your body and mind is just screaming what the heck are you waiting for? He’s asking you to rehearse a bed scene—a. bed. scene! And he said he wanted to kiss you, for God’s sake! So, really, what else is there to say but “Okay.”

Haechan widens his eyes. “Okay?”

“Okay.” You try your best to appear nonchalant. “But you’ll owe me a favor. A huge one.”

“Anything,” he instantly agrees, “As long as I’m not dead, you have my words.”

You’re not yet sure what you’re planning to ask him but seeing his enthusiasm, you know it’s going to be good. “Great. So, umm, do you want to do it now or…?”

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“Here?”

“Wherever you want.”

“Man, you’re giving me too much power. I should’ve agreed to this way sooner.” You can practically feel your face splitting in half from how wide you’re grinning. “My room, then? I mean, a bed scene requires… a bed, right?”

Haechan laughs and even after two years, it still sounds like your most favorite thing in the world. “No, it doesn’t necessarily require a bed but sure.” He jumps out from the couch, taking you by the hand, and only by that, you can already feel your heart thumping a tad faster. But the second he walks into your room, he makes a face. “Why does it smell like something died in here?”

“Because something did die. Your dignity.”

The tickling fight doesn’t occur very often between you and Lee Haechan but once it starts, it means war.

***

“Okay, so…” Haechan hands you the script, already opened to show you a page filled with dialogues and short narratives. He scoots closer on the bed, his knee a few inches away from grazing yours as they dangle from the edge. “Just from the top of the page, here.” He points with his finger and you do a quick scan, trying to get a picture of the intimate scene you’re going to do. “So, a quick summary. Your character, Aeri, has been in love with my character, Donghyun. In the earlier scene, you’ve confessed your love to me but I rejected you because we’ve been friends for so long and I didn’t want to ruin what we have. But then, later on, some things happened and I ended up catching feelings for you and this is the part where I’m gonna be telling you how I really feel and then we start kissing and—”

“Then we have sex,” you utter in dismay, but butterflies are erupting from your stomach due to the anticipation.

“No,” Haechan corrects you, “We make love.”

“Is there any difference?”

“There are more feelings involved, not just out of sheer passion. It’s slower. Tender. Intimate.” And when he notices you raising a questioning brow at him, he sighs. “That thing you did with Jaemin? Fucking like bunnies? The opposite of that.”

You mock him by imitating his sigh exaggeratedly and receiving a flick on the nose in return. “Is it just me or is the script pretty lousy?”

He nods. “But they’ll pay you good money for this.”

“I thought the reason you became an actor was to create art not money.”

“When I’m rich, maybe. Right now, I gotta pay for my rent. And apparently, Jeno keeps chasing my ass, forcing me to pay him back. It was just a wagyu steak for fuck’s sake.” He grumbles to himself, momentarily distracted. “Anyway,” he cracks his neck, “I’ve memorized my lines. Wanna give it a go?”

“Okay, let’s try. I guess I’ll be fine if it’s just kissing. Even if it’s with you.” When in reality you’re only agreeing to this because it’s with him.

Haechan’s eyes gleam brighter, ears practically perking up like an excited puppy. “Really?”

“You’re that excited at the thought of kissing me?” You play smug but you could practically hear your heartbeat blasting through your ears. “What else have you been thinking about me?”

“I’m not excited at the thought of kissing you, dumbass,” he spits back, the spark in his eyes vanishes in an instant. “I’m excited that finally I can practice kissing scenes with someone who’s actually willing to do it, and not, you know, like with the back of my hand or something.”

“You…” Failing to hold back a grin, you burst out laughing. “You made out with your hand?”

It’s funny that even when his skin is golden as if it was kissed by the sun, it still shows vividly on his face whenever he blushes. “I didn’t mean it literally—”

“I can’t believe you made out with your hand.”

“Would you just—” He nearly suffocates you with your pillow but you quickly retaliate by kicking him in the stomach.

Tears are prickling at the corner of your eyes. “Man, that mental image of yours making out with your hand will live in my mind rent-free for as long as I live.” When you still can’t stop laughing, Haechan is practically baring his teeth. “Okay, I’m sorry. Let’s get this going. If it gets too uncomfortable for me, I’ll stop.”

“Of course.”

“At any time I want.”

“Your call.” He nods in agreement with the most serious expression you’ve ever seen him do; it almost doesn’t seem like him.

“Good,” you say. “Now, I’ve never acted once in my life so if you laugh at me, I will sneak into your room at night and pour hot coffee on your computer.”

There’s fear fleeting through his eyes but he gives another nod. “Deal.”

“All right…” You take a deep breath, willing your heart to stop hammering against your ribcages, and for once, focus more on the script instead of the shape of his pretty, pretty mouth. “What are you doing here?” You follow the script, voice a little bit shaky as you’re still embarrassed with everything you’re doing. Haechan closes his eyes and you’re about to throw a joke to tease him about actor Haechan coming alive but when he opens them and gazes at you, you sit still, frozen.

“I wanted to see you,” he says, voice so delicate, it startles you. He’s so serious about this that you don’t find the strength within you to tease him like how you usually do. Somehow, the little gestures he makes, the changes in his expression alter the air along with the tension in the room. Suddenly, it feels like you’re standing next to him under the spotlight, hundreds of pairs of eyes following your every movement.

“It’s—” You swallow your breath, tongue lays heavy in your mouth. “It's pouring outside, why are you—”

“I love you,” he vocalizes, his eyes gentle and heartbroken. His voice suddenly sounds a pitch lower, reverberating through the air until it sends goosebumps to the tiny hairs on your nape. He waits for your reply and you have to blink twice to slap yourself back to reality.

“W-what?”

“I’m sorry it took me this long to realize, but I do. I’m in love with you, hopelessly so.” He reaches out to cup your cheek, his thumb caressing your cheekbone. Though he has pretty hands, his fingertips are not as soft as you had imagined them to be, but they feel better, feel real. His warmth is unfamiliar to your skin but it feels more pleasant than anything that ever touches you. “Maybe you’re unaware of this, but it kills me to know that I’ve hurt you because I simply couldn’t be brave enough to accept my feelings. The reason why I didn’t want us to be together was because I didn’t want to ruin what we have, not knowing that we could be something more.”

Haechan’s lines fit your situation so much that you wish he wasn’t acting. It’s amazing how he’s changing into an entirely different persona and yet, it feels so natural as if he has been that person all along. Your breathing gets heavier as you take a brief look at the script, searching for your lines. “This feels unreal…”

“Do you still love me?” Haechan lifts your face by the chin, his touch is paper-thin.

You wet your lips, head swirling. “But Donghyun—”

“Do you still love me?” He repeats, emphasizing with his tone. His eyes are peering into yours and you wonder maybe the quote eyes deeper than the sea refers to his gaze. “Or is it too late for me?” His thumb drifts to your lip, caressing your bottom one, your lip balm sticking to his skin.

“I do,” you reply. He’s so pretty. You’ve never taken a glance longer than a few seconds at his close-up face, but now that you’re in this close proximity, you can finally witness the two tiny moles on his cheek, the beautiful shape of his dark eyes, the delicate curve of his lips… “I do love you, Donghyuck.”

A few seconds of silence hangs in the air when Haechan stops, his eyebrows furrowing. “Umm—it’s Donghyun, actually.”

Fuck! “Right!” You nearly leap out of your bed, face aflame. “Donghyun! Of course! I don’t know why I said that. Donghyuck is your name, I know that—” Fuck, fuck, fuck, just fucking kill me. “Sorry, umm—nervous.”

Fortunately for you, Haechan buys your bluff. “Rookie mistake,” he chuckles and you exaggeratedly roll your eyes to play along. “Okay, let’s start over. Do you still love me?”

“I do,” you respond too rigidly, making him glance away so he won’t break into laughter. “I do love you, Donghyun. Dong-Hyun.”

“Good,” he improvises, as it’s not written in the script. He has a tiny smile on his face and you like to think that it’s just him doing a terrible job at hiding his amusement. But when he swats your bangs out of your eyes, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, he seems like he’s seeing the most beautiful thing he has ever seen in his whole life. The adoration in his eyes, his loving gaze—they are so vivid, they nearly consume you. “Because I don’t think I can resist this any longer…”

You’re lost in his eyes, lost in his touch, lost in his warmth. It’s until Haechan nudges his head slightly, indicating you to wake up, you’ve got a line to say, that you jolt, eyes hurriedly going down to the script, seeking your lines. “Umm—“ You flinch. You sound so jittery, it’s terrible. “R-resist what…?”

But Haechan doesn’t pay a mind that you just stuttered from saying two words. He doesn’t ask you to start over. Instead, he presses his forehead against yours, his breath mingling in the air and you can taste the scent of sandalwood and summer. Combined with his soft breathing, you’re almost stuck in a haze, just reeling in the feeling of how this man is now closer to you than he has ever been in the past two years and it’s better than anything you’ve ever imagined.

“Resist this,” he whispers and before you can look down to check whether you have more lines to say, Haechan dips his head, his lips brushing against yours, ever so faintly at first but when you gasp, he presses harder, framing your cheeks with both hands before he moves one down to your waist. Unlike his fingertips, his lips are soft—softer than silk or the cotton candy he once bought you. But it’s not the way they feel or the way he tastes that distract you the most. It’s the way he moves them, parting his lips slightly so he can blend with yours, your lower lip fits perfectly between his plump ones. It’s the way he sighs, so contentedly, as if kissing you was everything he ever wanted.

You close your eyes, hands reaching up to his collar, wanting to feel him more, wanting to touch him—

Haechan breaks away, placing both hands on your shoulders. “How was it?”

You’ve never had someone splash cold water on your face but you figure it might feel something like this. Your voice grows hoarse when you speak. “How was what?”

“The kiss!” Haechan’s eyes are filled with concern, analyzing your expression. “Was it romantic enough? Tender enough? Did it properly convey the desperation and longing my character feels for yours?”

You knew this was a bad idea. You fucking knew it. So, why are you still hurt when he acts like he feels exactly nothing by that kiss? This is just an acting lesson for him. You should have been prepared.

“It’s good,” you answer, averting your gaze and hiding your eyes behind your bangs. Your heart is still running a thousand miles an hour but somehow, it doesn’t feel as pleasant as before. “So, next scene—”

“Wait, are you okay?” Haechan asks, bending slightly to catch a glimpse of your face. “Was it too much? Do you want to stop?”

Truth is, you’re conflicted. You’re going to catch feelings—you most likely already are. But Haechan only treats you as a friend and nothing more, and this is the only chance you have to be this close to him. The temptation of continuing the kiss, to just hold him close for one more time, stands stronger than anything else so you say, “No. I promised you I’d help.”

He’s still unsure, eyes glinting in concern. “It’s okay if you want to stop, I—”

“Let’s just do the damn scene, Donghyuck.”

Haechan freezes on his seat, eyes searching yours as you now have the bravery to look at his face. Knowing you came on too strong, you try to ease it off with a smile. “I’m fine, don’t worry. It’s just my first time doing this—acting, I mean. Can we try again?”

He spends another few seconds trying to decipher the true meaning behind your smile but eventually nods his head at your command. He drags his finger back to the script. “Then, umm… Let’s start from here?”

You don’t even look at the page when you give affirmation. “Go.”

Haechan takes a moment to prepare himself and when your eyes meet each other again, he’s a different person once more. “The reason why I didn’t want us to be together was because I didn’t want to ruin what we have, not knowing that we could be something more.” His voice is so soothing, you almost forget that deep down you’re immensely upset knowing that the kiss didn’t have the same effects on him.

This time, when he frames your face with his palm, you lean into his touch, eyes never leaving his. “This feels unreal,” you say and for a second—just for a split second—you notice Haechan breaking out of character, surprised by the gentle expression on your face. Because you’re not acting out his script, you’re acting out on your feelings. It’s your only chance to be honest with him without forcing him to respond. So you pour all these feelings you have for him out in the open—ones that started from a mere physical attraction to something more as his presence grew bigger in your life, you’re acting out each and every one of them.

“Do…” He inhales sharply, trying to focus. “Do you still love me?” He’s doing the same thing as before, placing his thumb and index finger on your chin but before he can say his lines, you see how his eyes fall on your lips.

And you kiss him. You kiss him with everything you have, hands going to his face, fingers slipping between his strands, and Haechan gasps against your mouth, his fingers curling around your wrist. You know he’s about to push you away so you quickly murmur, “I do,” against his lips, breath stuttering, “I do love you.”

When you take his bottom lip between yours, teeth grazing against his supple skin, Haechan lets out an involuntary moan at the back of his throat. The butterflies in your stomach come alive, pumping a rush of adrenaline through your veins and suddenly, you’re brave enough to glide your tongue across his lip. His hold tightens around your wrist but instead of pushing you away, he tugs you closer and you fall into his chest, hands breaking free from his grip to wind around his neck. Your fingertips are scraping against his nape before they move upward to yank at the roots of his hair. “Fuck,” he breathes out, almost inaudibly, as if he didn’t mean to let the word slip from his mouth and it makes your heart jumps straight out of your chest. The second he responds properly, Haechan kisses like fire, all passion and urgency, and you really don’t mind being consumed by his flames.

His hands are on your waist, pulling you closer and closer until you’re almost sitting on his lap before he jolts awake, pushing you away so abruptly, you almost fall from the bed.

“I’m—We—” he stammers, looking everywhere but your eyes. His cheeks are flushed, his lips bruised and red from your kisses. “I think we should—I gotta go—“

He stands up from the bed like the sheets are catching on fire, picking his script from the floor and gathering all his belongings at once before he runs toward the door. He turns on his heels, wanting to say something to fix the goddamn situation, but when his eyes land on yours, his words vanish without a trace.

“I—I’ll call you later,” he finally says and doesn’t wait for your response. The front door closes with a thud.

And then silence comes to answer.

What just happened?

Your heart is thundering inside your chest, you’re starting to feel nauseous. What have I done? You keep asking over and over. You thought everything was going to be fine. He responded to your kiss earlier, didn’t he? You were sure you didn’t imagine the whole thing. But now he’s gone and you’re not sure whether he’s gonna come back as the same Haechan—the old, bratty but caring Lee Haechan. The one who snickers loudly when you fall face-first on the ground but always steals secret glances at you to make sure you're not hurt. The one who makes jokes about your love life but never forgets to show up at your apartment with a thoughtful gift right at the minute you turn a year older.

Things are not just gonna get awkward, they’re ruined.

When nearly half an hour has passed by and you’re still left alone in your apartment with no signs of him coming back, you’re about to go insane. You can’t stay still, walking back and forth your living room with the tip of your thumb between your teeth.

Should I chase after him and explain that it was just me trying to improvise? You hesitate with your hand lingering on the doorknob. But with your knees nearly giving up under your weight, you decide to stay put. It will probably just gonna make it worse. He’ll see through my lies, he always does.

You’re straying away to the kitchen, hands placed on the counter. You can feel your head spinning, stomach somersaulting. Damn it, why did I have to do that?! Why couldn’t I just—

The front door slams opened and Haechan barges in with his hair messy, ruffled by the wind, and his bangs sticking to his temple. Stunned, you stand still on your ground. Your heart is the only one that’s moving beyond control. His eyes scan your apartment until they land on yours and for an instant, everything seems to fade away.

“Fuck it,” he says, dropping his bag to the ground and making his way towards you in such a hurry, he nearly trips over his feet. “You’re not that good of an actor to be faking it.” Before you have the chance to even take a breath, Haechan’s lips are smashing against yours.

“Hae—” Haechan’s kiss is insane. So forceful that you can barely keep up, taking every bit of air directly from your lungs. He has you backed against the kitchen counter, the marbled edge digging into your skin. His hands frame your face, sliding against your cheek until they cup the backsides of your neck, his thumbs resting against your ears. You curl your fingers around his wrist, gasping, “Wait—”

He pulls away, lifting your face so you can’t bring your gaze anywhere else. “You like me?” His eyes are just as intense, begging for answers. “Please tell me I’m not imagining this.”

But behind that passion, his confidence is wavering. You can tell by his quivering breath, the little tremble running through his fingertips, and at that, you’re drowning in relief. You don’t think he’s that good of an actor to be faking this too.

“I do,” you admit, heart pounding so loudly that you can barely hear your own voice. “I like—”

His mouth is on yours again and it feels like he’s kissing you in a hundred different places at once. “Jesus Christ, why have you kept quiet about this for so long?” he says, tasting your breath and skin at the same time. “Two fucking years. We wasted two fucking years.”

The words this isn’t happening endlessly run through your head but all your senses scream that Haechan is really here, in your arms, his nails clawing against your shirt and there’s nothing left you want from this world.

When you reciprocate to him properly, your palms sliding up his chest, over his shoulder, until your arms circle his neck, Haechan sighs in content. His kisses grow slower—more relaxed—but deeper, his tongue peeking out shyly at first but not for long. He still tastes faintly like the coffee you made and something else entirely different. Something pleasant that’s just exactly how you’ve fantasized him to be, if not more.

He pulls away to catch his breath with his eyes still focusing on your lips, thumb rubbing your lower one. “Does this feel weird to you?” He whispers, his temple pressing against yours.

You’re intoxicated by his sweet scent though you’re not sure whether it’s the smell of his shampoo, his cologne, or just him altogether. “No,” and as soon as the word comes out, his lips are chasing after yours once more.

“Good, ‘cause I don’t think I can stop.” He’s breathing heavily against your mouth as you are against his. With his fingers twisted in your hair, making a messy ponytail out of it, Haechan peppers open-mouthed kisses on your neck, tongue pressing against your pulsating vein and a whimper escapes your mouth.

Your dreams, your fantasies—they all fall pale in comparison to reality. When you vocalize his name, it almost sounds like a plead and Haechan slants his mouth back on yours again, giving you another taste as he is not satisfied with yours just yet. “Your lips taste amazing,” he breathes out and it’s so quiet, it seems like he’s intending to say the words in his head and not with his mouth. But as his words fall on your ears, they send tingles down your spine.

“So do yours,” you reply, attempting to make him blush in return but if he does, he doesn’t show much. “Never pegged you as a man who wears lip balm.”

You can feel his smirk directly with your skin. “I’m not wearing any.”

“You’re not?” You lightly giggle, swiping your tongue across his lower lip. “Then your lips do taste amazing.”

Haechan’s hand is slipping underneath your shirt, fingers hovering above your bra. “Guess there are still a lot of things you don’t know about me, huh?”

“I’ve got a hunch you’re about to teach me?”

“Only if you’re eager to learn.”

The kiss becomes heavier that you’re lost for words, entirely consumed by his passion, until he breaks away, muttering, “Off, off, off, off, off,” as he struggles to tear the fabric away from your body. You titter at his desperation, raising both hands to help him out of his misery. The second it’s off, he lifts you by the waist and places you down on the counter.

“I’m amazed you could lift me,” you coo, admiring the sight of his lean stomach as he pulls his shirt over his head. His silver necklace hangs loosely around his neck and you hook a finger around it to yank him back to you.

He doesn’t seem to be able to detach his lips from yours for too long, especially when you keep sneaking glances at his. So when he speaks again, his every word is painted directly to your skin. “It wasn’t easy.” He settles between your thighs, mouth latching against your collarbone. “You weigh a ton.”

“Yeah?” You bite your lip, holding back a moan as he sucks bruises on your neck, the edge of his fingers trailing over the seam of your bra. “Then you must be so strong.”

“I am, haven’t you noticed?” Haechan pulls away just to showcase a mischievous grin. “I work out, you know.”

You blurt out laughing. It’s not solely because of the mental image of Lee Haechan—a full-time gamer, Lee Haechan—doing push-ups seems so funny to you. It’s more about the way he wiggles his eyebrow, trying to be sexy about it when you know he’s the weakest one in your group. Flustered at your reaction, he flicks your nose. “What is so funny?”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize though it doesn’t seem that much sincere with the way you’re still giggling at him. “It’s just that an hour ago we were two friends making fun of each other and now we’re here, in this position. I don’t know, it just feels surreal to me.”

An adorable pout blooms on his face. “I thought you said this didn’t feel weird.”

“No, it’s perfect. I want this.” You wrap the end of his necklace twice around your index finger. “I want you. It’s just… I’ve been imagining this to happen for such a long time and now that it’s happening, I’m feeling a lot of things at once.” You place a reassuring kiss on his temple. “I’m nervous.” This time landing one on his cheek. “I’m relieved.” When your lips hover above his, you notice him parting his own slightly in anticipation. “And it feels so good, I don’t ever want to stop. Even if that means we can’t go back to being friends.”

Haechan can’t form a response as you don’t let him, your mouth swallowing the tiny moans he emits. “We’ll talk about that later,” he hastily replies, “I still haven’t had enough of you yet.”

Without warning, he lifts you off the counter, making you yelp and wrap your legs around his waist for support. “Haechannie!” With you holding onto him, he takes a step forward, ignoring your call. “Where are you taking me—"

“Wait, no, back pain, back pain.” Both of you nearly tumble down to the ground from how he’s harshly placing you back to your feet, wincing at the ache erupting from the strained muscles in his spine. He’s groaning in pain, massaging his back with both hands. “Fuck, you’re really heavy!”

“That’s no way to talk to a lady.” You throw your slipper at him, missing his head just a few inches, laughing all the way. “What exactly were you trying to do?”

“I was trying to move us to the couch.”

“All you had to do was ask.”

“I was trying to be sexy.” He juts out his lower lip, and it takes all control of your body to not squeeze his cheeks from how adorable he looks.

“Honey, you are sexy, believe me, but you’re also weak as fuck. Consider hitting the gym for real next time and then carry me.”

“Shut up,” he sighs, holding out a hand for you to take. “To the couch, please? And maybe a massage after this ‘cause my back is killing me.”

Shaking your head in amusement, you take his hand, intertwining your fingers with his and drag him over to the couch. He’s in the middle of asking, “Do you want me to be on top or—” when you push him down and straddle his lap without warning, legs tangling around his hips. “Oh, okay.”

You run a hand through his hair, pushing them back so you can witness the glow in his eyes. “You look sexier with your hair pushed back.” You love the way he stares at you, eyes half-lidded painted with lust and desire. And combined with your commentary, he now has his cheek tinted with red. “Do you have a problem with me being on top?”

His eyes quickly run down to the place where your denim shorts are riding up your thighs, your zipper pressing against his groin. With a noticeable gulp, he stutters out, “N-no.”

You smile, patting his cheek. “Good.”

The kiss starts slow as you focus more on moving your hands down his body. Haechan shivers a little when your palm is pressing against his bare chest, sliding down to his navel. When you pull back, raising a questioning brow at his reaction, he bashfully says, “Your hand’s cold,” looking like a nervous little boy who’s a stark contrast to how he usually behaves.

He’s so cute.

“Well, I know a way to warm you up.” You smirk, almost cringing when you hear your own words but Haechan seems to like it.

“Oooh,” he coos, grinning against your lips. “Are you offering what I think you’re offering?”

“I don’t know.” You kiss your way down from his jawline to his chest, pushing yourself off his lap so you can kneel on the floor, your fingers unbuckling his belt. “What do you think I’m offering?”

Haechan’s eyes are glowing with anticipation. He curves his fingers around the edge of his seat, wetting his lip nervously when you pull his zipper down. You release him from his boxer, stroking him to life and he sinks his nails further into the couch. A train of expletives breaks free from his mouth but he’s so quiet, you can only hear his ragged breathing.

But by the time you run your thumb over his slit, your hot breath hitting his sensitive skin, Haechan melts into a whimpering mess. “Please don’t tease,” he begs.

“I haven’t even started, Haechannie.” And he looks like he’s about to say something but it only turns into a mewl when you press a kiss to his tip. “You’re so cute,” you comment, and he shivers when the vibration of your voice meets his skin.

Haechan tries to act composed. “Of course I’m cute, it’s—”

You cut his line short by darting out your tongue, giving kitten licks at the side, smiling satisfyingly when his eyes meet yours. As you give him a little suck around his tip, he throws his head back, his lower lip between his teeth. “I—I said don’t tease.”

“I’m not teasing you.” But you are. How can you not? He looks so fucking cute. You’ve never really enjoyed giving head before, especially when your opponent gets rough and ends up pushing too deep until you gag. But with Haechan, you feel like you can do this for hours. He’s so nervous and shy, doesn’t even dare to place his hand on your hair, and his reaction to every bit of your action is honest even when his words aren’t.

“Here.” You take one of his hands, moving it to your head. “You can use me as much as you want.”

“Use—” he crumbles at your choice of words. When you suddenly envelop him with your mouth, moving from the tip to the base in one quick motion, Haechan instinctively grabs a handful of your hair, flinching. “Goddamn, why are you so fucking hot?”

You giggle, sliding his cock out of your mouth with an obscene pop. “Thanks.”

“No, I mean your mouth. It’s so fucking warm.”

“So, you’re saying,” you dip your tongue into his slit, eyes seductively peering into his. “I’m not hot?”

“You’re—Fuck, fuck—” Haechan seethes, hips buckling when you bob your head down again, tongue pressing against his veins. Shivers run through his fingertips when he slips them between your locks, pushing your fringe back to have a good look at your face. You catch a glimpse of him, his lips unconsciously moving to form words that you can’t hear. So pretty, he seems to say, and the thought of it makes your stomach lurch in delight. Taking him completely in your mouth, you hollow your cheeks, swallowing around him. He tightens his hold around your hair, cheeks flushed and you expect him to hold you in place so he can thrust against your mouth but what he does is pull you away. “Stop, stop, stop, stop.”

Wiping a string of saliva away with the back of your hand, you ask with a frown. “Something’s wrong?”

Haechan hides his reddening face behind his fingers, quietly answering, “I was about to come.”

You hold back a grin. With a nonchalant hum, you dip your head down again, this time engulfing him until he hits the back of your throat.

“Jesus Christ.” His sanity is deteriorating, he can feel it.

“Don’t bring Lord’s name when I have your dick in my mouth, Haechannie. Mark would kill you if he knew.”

“Fuck Mark. Come here.” He rushes forward, forcibly pulling you up with both hands clamping your arms. When you follow his order, settling back down on top of his lap, he confesses with his lips grazing against the shell of your ear. “I really won’t last long if you keep doing that.”

Despite your previous teasing and confidence, you squirm inside his arms, feeling warmth spreading from your chest to your cheek. “So I have these effects on you?”

He’s almost growling when he retorts, “You don’t even know.” Haechan pushes your bra strap until it falls off your shoulder, teeth marking your supple skin until you hiss in both pain and pleasure. He presses a softer kiss to soothe away the bruise. “Sorry, I… You’re gonna need to cover it up tomorrow.”

“It’s fine.” You stroke his cheek, tracing the tiny mole on his jawline. “Seems like you have a biting kink.”

He sheepishly chuckles, “I don’t know. But if you let me, I’d love to do that again.”

Something about him saying it in the most sincere way possible, almost too formal even, makes you crave more for him and everything he does. “You’re allowed to do whatever you want with me, Lee Donghyuck.”

Haechan swallows hard, barely has the bravery to look at you in the face after hearing your words and his real name tumbling out of your mouth. His fingers are now on the hem of your shorts, trembling a little bit. “Umm—may I?”

Helping him further, you stand on your knees, unclasping your bra first to his surprise and pulling your denim shorts and panties down to your thighs. Haechan watches with his eyes wide open, mouth parted in awe as he commits every bit of your curve and movement into memory. It feels so thrilling to be this wanted, to be ravished by his eyes, until you begin to struggle to push your clothing away from your legs.

“Need some help?” He asks, lips pursing as he tries to hide a grin.

You exhale loudly, detaching yourself from him. “Let me just—” You jump off his lap, standing back with your feet on the ground, and kicking the clothing away with annoyance—why in the world did you have to wear shorts this tight—and slap him in the chest when he’s chuckling at the sight.

“Maybe you should stop trying to be sexy too,” Haechan snickers.

“Shut up.” You crawl back into his lap. “Go back to staring dumbly at me like before. I’m naked.”

“I wasn’t staring like tha—oh,” he inhales sharply as you grind your heat against his cock, amazed at how warm you are despite your cold palms. The sensation of skin meeting skin feels much more different. There’s really no going back this time. Somehow, it feels dangerous, as if you’re doing something forbidden and it makes your skin crawl with excitement.

And by the look on his face, seems like he feels the same way.

“Lost for words?” You taunt him with a smirk, hands on his chest. “That’s new.” His glare is menacing but it falters away the second you rub your arousal against his.

His head falls to his shoulder, eyes tightly shut. “God, baby…”

There it is again. The funny feeling in your stomach. “Baby?” You simper though your heart is palpitating like crazy. “We’re moving on to giving each other pet names now?”

If he can blush any harder than this, he probably might but with the way you’re grinding shamelessly on his cock, letting him get a glimpse of how wet and warm you are, he’s all maxed-out.

His earlobe lays between your teeth when you whisper, “Shall we put it in?”

Haechan’s nails are sinking into the skin of your hips, both to hold you in place so you’ll stop torturing him and to press you down harder on his crotch. “I…” He’s so distracted, he can’t even think. The way the side of his length is pressing against your folds is pushing every little bit of self-control he has to the back of his head.

“Haechannie?” You giggle, moving your hips. “I kinda asked you a question here.”

“Yes, fuck, yes, please.” Haechan tries his very best to not sound that desperate for your touch but he is that desperate. “Wait—aren’t we—shouldn’t I wear a condom first?”

You blink, halting your movement. “You brought a condom with you?”

He nods as he leans forward, fingers searching frantically at the pocket of his jeans that hang low on his knees. “Here.”

“Why do you have a condom with you?”

“‘Cause I bought it downstairs just now.”

Your jaw grows slack at the realization. “Is that the reason why your hair was so messy and you were sweating when you barged in here? ‘Cause you ran downstairs, trying to find a condom?”

“I’m sorry, are you really complaining about this now?”

At the feeling of his member twitching underneath you, you sigh. “You’re right. Let’s discuss that later.”

It feels a bit awkward when you stand on your knees, giving him some space and wait until he finishes wrapping the rubber around himself. The silence that hangs between you is almost deafening that by the time he’s done and you fall back to his lap, sitting on his thighs, it feels like you have to start over again.

You diffidently smile. “Hey.”

Haechan is equally as embarrassed, mirroring your gesture. “Hi.”

“I guess we’re gonna have sex.”

“Guess so.”

Another few seconds pass by where you can only meet each other’s eyes, feeling your heartbeat racing louder and louder. It feels like you’re about to burst, honestly, but fortunately for you, Haechan leans in, his fingers tentatively caressing your cheek. “Can I kiss you?” He questions.

You melt under his gaze, his gentle touch, his honey-like voice. “Yes, please.”

Your lips start the connection and the rest of your body follows, fitting every curve of his perfectly like you were made for him. The way Haechan sighs against your mouth sends sparks of electricity all the way down to your toes and you don’t waste any more time. With his mouth latching on your breast, tongue flicking against your nipple, you lower yourself on him.

Haechan’s hold your waist tighter, eyebrows adjoined in the middle at the sensation, his moans muffled. He presses his spine back against the couch, admiring the sight of his member disappearing inch by inch into you. His eyes begin to droop when he’s completely sheathed inside, his bruised lips parted. He cups your cheek, kissing you softly on the corner of your mouth, making you shiver at the sudden tenderness. “I guess we are having sex,” he murmurs with a bashful smile.

You can’t help but laugh a little. “I guess so.”

It starts slow, with you placing both hands on his chest and him swallowing his breath at the sight of you moving up and down his length. You hiss slightly at the friction, adjusting to his size.

“Does it hurt?” He asks, tucking a few loose strands behind your ear.

“A little.” You reassure him with a grin. “Relax, you’re not gonna break me.”

You expect him to send back a snarky remark but what he does is press his forehead against yours. “You’re so warm,” he whispers, tasting the skin that connects your shoulder to your neck. Something about his words, his sensual kiss and his tender touch makes you squeeze your walls around him and he clutches harder around you. He glides his hands lower to your hips, silently urging you to pick up the pace and you follow.

Breathing heavily, Haechan has his thumb grazing your lower lip. “You have such a pretty mouth,” he professes as if he was in a trance.

You seductively bite his thumb, still working your hips. “You’re saying that ‘cause I just sucked your dick.”

“Yes, that too, but really.” It’s as if he’s staring at a work of art, eyes twinkling with admiration. Sometimes, when you’re hitting the right spot and quiver around him, a small moan escapes his lips and you feel him twitching inside you. “It’s—ah—It probably doesn’t sound sincere when I’m saying this now, but I’ve always thought you had a pretty mouth. And lips. I’ve thought about your lips a lot.”

“Yeah?” You mouth against the sensitive skin below his ear, sinking harder on his length. “What else do you like about me?”

“Y-your voice—” You can actually feel him shivering. “You have such a—fuck—I just—I really love your moans.”

You’re not sure whether he’s saying that because he’s so distracted with the way you’re breathing in his ear or he genuinely loves it. Either way, it’s a pleasure to know how much you’re affecting him with your actions. With a chuckle, you say, “You’re rambling, baby.”

“And your hair,” he adds, probably losing every bit of his self-control by this point. “I love your hair. Looks so soft.” Haechan cards his fingers through your strands. “Feels so soft.”

You hum in response, hoping that your flushed face doesn’t look as apparent as you think. “Anything else?”

“Your—” He shudders when you paint a mark under his collarbone. “Your ass.”

You stop, pulling away to give him a look and he whines at the loss. “My ass?”

“What—” The tips of his ears are turning red, steam practically coming out of them. “Why are you staring at me like that—you have a great ass!”

Teasing him is such a joy to you. “Then, let’s do it this way.” You part away from him, landing back on the carpeted floor so you can turn around, giving him the chance to ogle at your behind, before you ease yourself down onto his lap once more.

“Fuck—” Haechan’s hisses, his hands going down to your hips again. The new position doesn’t allow you to meet his eyes but with the way he’s whimpering behind you, fingers trailing over the curve of your ass, the sensation increases.

“You okay back there?” You taunt smugly, chuckling a bit because Haechan sounds like he’s losing it. His nails are sinking into your skin and you just know that’s gonna leave a nasty bruise tomorrow. “You seem like you’re enjoying this way too—“ You’re interrupted by your own moans when he suddenly has one hand massaging your breast and another one sliding down your stomach to find your clit. “W-wait, Haechannie—”

“You’re such a tease,” he breathily whispers into your ear, his chest pressing against your spine as he leans forward, pulling you into his embrace. “Isn’t that supposed to be my job?”

His fingers are rubbing you in circles, making your thighs tremble. “You’re right.” You move your hips harder, going out of rhythm with how fast you’re going and Haechan sinks his teeth to your shoulder again.

At the sound of his name departing your lips in the most sinful moan he’s ever heard, Haechan curses. “Shit, you’re not gonna let me enjoy this longer, are you?”

“There’s always a second round, Haechannie.” You smirk, raising your hips all the way up in intention to slam it back down again but Haechan catches you and pushes you forward until you land on the coffee table, stomach pressing flat against the wooden surface. “What—"

“There’s always a second round, right?” His lips are brushing against your ear as he positions himself behind you. “Then I’m going all out.”

When he slams his hips in one swift motion, hard and deep, he knocks all the air out of your lungs. “Wait—” You choke out, can barely keep up with his pace. “Oh God—”

“Now, now,” he coos, his hand finding its way to your throat, fingers pressing against your veins. He raises your face, his chest completing the dip of your spine. “Don’t bring God’s name when I’m fucking you like this, baby.”

You can’t even find the strength to retort, eyes shutting tightly until you see stars behind your eyelids. It almost feels unreal how fast he can go from being awkward and tentative about all of this to raw and wild within a few minutes but Haechan has always been fast adapting to new situations and you have been teasing him way too much. It’s about time that he snaps.

Haechan moves you down to the floor, forcing you to stand on all fours and you’re so glad you follow his lead. “Spread your knees. Bring your head down,” he instructs and you do as you’re told, extending your arms in front of you. Haechan has his hand on the dip of your shoulder blades, holding you still until you have no choice but to press your cheek against the carpeted floor, ass in the air. “Good girl,” he praises, kneeling behind you and rubbing his tip along your folds. “Ready, baby?”

He doesn’t wait for your answer.

With only a few minutes in, you know you’re getting close, you can feel it. He has switched from giving deep, hard thrusts to quick, shallow ones and it’s driving you insane. “H-Haechannie, I—” you whimper, “I’m close—”

And he knows it too, of course he does. He can tell by the way you’re clenching around him. But instead of going harder and driving you completely over the edge, Haechan suddenly laces his fingers with yours, his lips painting soft kisses from your nape down to your spine, his hips hitting another angle that feels just as amazing even when he slows down the pace. The intimacy surprises you as you don’t expect him to be this tender. Suddenly, it doesn’t feel like you’re doing this out of sheer passion. With his palm covering the back of your hand, fingers slipping between yours, somehow, everything feels more sentimental, stronger, crossing the lines.

With a moan of your name, Haechan flips you to your back, fingers framing your face, lips meeting lips as he thrusts back in, gasping against your mouth. “I want to see your face,” he says when he pulls away, his half-lidded eyes boring into yours, thumb slipping between your lips. “Not sure if I’ve told you this before but…” He snaps his hips, and you tangle your legs around them in response, fingernails digging into his upper arms. “You’re so beautiful.”

The knot in your stomach untangles without warning and your orgasm hits you so hard, you nearly sob at the sensation. With the way you’re quivering and squeezing around him, Haechan follows right after, his face sinking into the crook of your neck, hips stuttering as he rides out his own orgasm.

***

With his jeans back on and his used condom thrown away to the nearest trash bin, Haechan joins you back on the carpeted floor as you still haven’t found the strength to get up and get dressed after that. He shamelessly lays his body down on top of yours, his cheek pressing against the valley of your breasts. “I’m spent,” he mumbles, feeling drowsy.

“Haechannie?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re heavy.”

“I know.” But he doesn’t get up, only moving his head slightly to press a tiny kiss to your bare chest before he lies his head down over your heart again. You give up with a smile, wrapping your arms around him, fingertips stroking his hair. Haechan sighs contentedly under your touch. “Man, that was…”

“That was?”

“Amazing.” He props himself up on his elbows so he can meet your eyes. “You’re amazing.”

Your heart jolts at the sincerity in his words but you cooly smile back. “I know.”

“And I’m amazing too, I’m sure?”

“Meh,” you shrug. “Could be a little better but I’ll let you practice on me for free.”

“Jesus Christ.” He shakes his head, his strands tickling your nose. “I don’t even have the strength to join your banter. You know, I’ve always wondered since you’re pretty much shit at everything, there must be something you’re good at. But I never thought that something would turn out to be sex. I can’t even believe I’m saying this but you’re really, really amazing at it. I feel like I should give you a medal or something.”

“Thanks,” you flatly mutter. “Not sure if you’re praising me, though.”

“Oh, I am praising you, believe me. And you know me, I rarely praise.”

“Stop it,” you use your robotic voice. “You’re making me feel so special, I’m about to cry.”

Haechan playfully nips at your nose, forcing you to break off your act and laugh directly into his mouth. “Seriously,” he says, breaking off the kiss. “If I were to pay you for sex, I would give you everything I own. Even the clothes I’m wearing. Hell, I’d even sell my grandma but don’t tell her that.”

Your laughter has reduced into small giggles. “That’s comforting.”

“So…” The way Haechan is caressing your hair is so soft, almost like a mother to her sleeping child. “What should we do about this?” When you raise an eyebrow, he tensely adds, “Do you, umm… I mean, do you want to, like—”

“You’re rambling.”

“I know, God, I’m so nervous! I may look like a naughty, sexy bad boy—”

“No one is saying that—“

“But I actually suck at this—as in, I don’t really know how to date a girl.”

“You don’t even know how to talk to a girl, based on the conversations we’ve had,” you comment and you know it’s not helping but it’s worth seeing his adorable pout. “Then don’t date me. If it’s hard for you to date, then let’s just keep being friends—"

“But I want to continue this!” He says it so fast and firmly that you don’t even have time to feel hurt about your offer.

It’s not like you crave a relationship with him—you haven’t thought about it that far—even just holding him like this is enough for now, so the fact that he’s so excited to have this going makes your heart swells with joy. “Well then, we’ll be friends who have casual sex anytime we want,” you suggest.

He blinks twice, a bit amazed at your offer, but to your surprise, he seems rather… disappointed? “What happens if we start catching feelings?” He quietly asks.

“Then I guess we’ll start dating for real.”

“Then…” He runs a hand through his hair, nervous. “What happens if I already have feelings for you?”

He states it so quietly, it’s a miracle you can even hear him. “Do you want to date me, Haechannie?”

He looks away, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “Do you want to date me?” He murmurs against your skin, unsure and flustered.

You heave the heaviest sigh you’ve ever done in your life. “You’re unbelievable. I’ll decide for us then. Starting now, we’re dating.”

He lifts his head, and if he were a puppy, he would’ve had his tail wagging behind him, even when his face doesn’t show much. “That easy?”

“That easy. What, you have something to complain about?”

“No.” He grins, pressing a chaste kiss on your lips. “Hey, girlfriend.”

“Ugh, get off me, you’re gross.”

But no matter how hard you push your palm against his face, Haechan only giggles and turns you around so this time, you’re lying on his chest. “So,” he pushes a few strands of your hair behind your ear. “You like me, huh?”

“No, what makes you think that way?”

“Says the girl who just slept with me.”

“I slept with you ‘cause I was just curious about your dick. Jeno said you had a dick that was the size of his thumb.”

“Excuse me?!”

“Didn’t you see his InstaStory last night?” You reach up to gather your phone from the coffee table. “I took a screenshot of it actually. Man, you should’ve seen the comments. They’re hilarious.”

Snatching your phone away, Haechan runs his eyes along the words written on the screen. “That son of a bitch!”

Simpering, you sneak a peek under his boxer. “Well, he’s not wrong.”

“Oh, it’s on,” he deadpans, throwing your phone away and pushes you back down on the floor. His eyes glinting mischievously.

“What are you doing?” You’re still half-laughing when he brings your hands over your head, holding your wrists together with one hand as he settles between your thighs, his fingers hovering dangerously close.

“I’m gonna make you take your words back.” He wets his lip, one corner of his mouth turning upward. “Time for the second round, baby.”

***

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targaryenimagines · 3 years

Text

Just Wait

Daenerys Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1,989

Summary:

Notes: I hope this is all right.

Dialogue Prompt: “Try and stay calm, okay? Help is coming.”

The wind was howling through the air. Snow whipping past your face and obscuring your view. All that you could see were the elegant spikes of Rhaegal’s neck. The pebbled scales being the only comfort to your numbing hands. You wince as the winds howls were intersected by the wails of the damned. Glowing blue eyes appearing before your eyes as you blinked.

Glancing down, you could see nothing but the unending swirl of white in the pitch blackness.

How many of your friends had already perished below you?

How many would you never see again?

How many would you never be able to properly bury?

The questions only cause the growing pit in your stomach to become that much larger. Your hands clench around Rhaegal’s spike. Trying your best to keep your breath steady as he took another sharp turn. Your body pressing against his neck in order to stay upright. Squinting doing little to alleviate the temporary blindness the action caused.

Craning your neck, you look up in hopes that the moon would be able to guide you to where you needed to be. You were only met by even more suffocating darkness-- even the clouds having lost their glow. Curses fall from your lips as you angle Rhaegal down into another dive. Getting too close to the ground could prove to be fatal but you had no choice; images of Viserion’s lifeless body falling from the sky comes unbidden to your mind at the thought. Your heart breaking all over again as you remember his pain-filled cry. How Rhaegal had echoed it as you both tried to desperately save him. Your gentle boy being swallowed by ice and snow; only to be awakened by the very thing that had cursed him.

You hadn’t seen Viserion yet but you had heard his roars. The once gentle and calming sound turned ragged. A mournful howl for everything that was lost and that had to continue to be. In the same manner, you hadn’t seen Drogon or Daenerys since the battle had begun. Both you and Rhaegal taking to the outside defenses to make sure there wouldn’t be any stragglers. Even now you couldn’t hear the sounds of Drogon’s mighty roars or the cries of battle.

You and Rhaegal were completely alone. In the ghost filled sky that promised nothing but despair when it used to offer nothing but freedom.

That is until a sharp cry from above you caused every hair on your body to stand on end. Your head snapping up towards the sound, even as you made Rhaegal dive to the side, and nothing could have prepared you for the sight of seeing Viserion.

Nothing could have prepared you for the sight of seeing him so broken. His scales, once so vibrant, turned ashen and lifeless.

His gentle face devoid of any emotion except for the mind-numbing coldness that seemed to be in constant supply in the North.

Once golden eyes, that always reminded you of the sun, turned blue. Fire turning to ice.

The only thing rivalling the horror you felt at seeing Viserion in such a state was seeing the thing that was riding him. The Night King’s cold eyes were watching your every movement as Rhaegal dipped lower and lower in the sky. Your attention diverted from his icy gaze towards Rhaegal as his wings narrowly escaped the tree tops. His body jolts as he tries to avoid the imminent collision.

With your mouth pressed into a line, you force yourself to relax and remember everything you had learned over the years with Rhaegal. Every minute movement of his body and what that told you. Even if the Night King could control Viserion, he would never be able to fly like you could. You just had to get to Daenerys, to Drogon, and everything would be fine.

Chancing one last glance towards him, you couldn’t help the sardonic smirk that pulled at your lips. “If you want me you’ll have to catch me you sick bastard.”

-----

In retrospect, taunting the Night King wasn’t the smartest plan. While you had the advantage of experience atop dragons. He held the advantage when it came being able to see where you were going. Which, in the grand scheme of things, was a very useful tool to have.

As it wouldn’t be the first, or second, time you had almost slammed into something as you made your back towards Winterfell.

“How did we get so far out?” You hiss as you, yet again, dip Rhaegal into a dive to avoid Viserion’s talons. His disjointed shriek causes the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on end. You didn’t remember flying this far out from Winterfell but as each moment ticked by you could tell that you had somehow gotten turned around. We were only supposed to be a few minutes out at most. How did this happen?

Feeling the sudden breeze of air on your head, causes you to duck. Your head almost collided with Rhaegal’s neck as Viserion made another dive towards you. Feeling the slick feeling of liquid running down your neck, you raise your hand to the base of it. Letting loose a soft hiss as a sharp stab of pain is the response your body gives to the prodding. You know you didn’t have to look at your fingers to see that your glove was stained red.

Catching sight of the beacon fires almost causes you to sob in relief. Your eyes welling up at the brilliant sight of light after spending so long in near darkness. The sounds of battle resounding out towards you like a choir.

“Only a bit longer, Rhaegal,” you murmur against his neck. Feeling the way his breaths had gotten deeper. You don’t know how much longer he would be able to last if the pace continued like this. The constant bobbing and weaving through frozen air. Squeezing your eyes shut, you send a silent prayer to R’hllor to get you through this-- to get Rhaegal through this. “You’re doing so well. Just a bit longer and I promise you’ll be able to rest.”

Only a small snort was your response. The reaction caused a small smile to quirk your lips despite the situation you were in. His tenacious spirit hadn’t dimmed in the slightest even as his energy was so clearly waned. That’s my boy.

Angling Rhaegal into a steep dive, you make your descent towards Winterfell. Your eyes desperately searching for Daenerys. Your breath catching when you finally caught sight of Drogon’s familiar form. His looming black shadow shifting over the battlefield as he and Daenerys dealt with the Wights. The Unsullied fight valiantly underneath their Khaleesi. You think you could even see Jorah shifting about with Jon Snow’s direwolf-- Ghost.

Viserion’s sharp cry causes you to wince. Your head is already bowing as you twist Rhaegal into the opposite direction. Hoping that you would be able to be fast enough but you hadn’t reacted fast enough. Not as you felt Viserion slam into Rhaegal and press you down against his back. Your breath escaping you in a harsh exhale as Rhaegal tried desperately to free himself. His angry shrieks like daggers through your heart.

Knowing that there was little else you could do; not when you and Rhaegal were so tired. You call for Daenerys-- hoping that your dragon would be able to get to you. Your eyes search for her violet as you begin your descent towards the snow covered ground.

“Daenerys.”

------

“Daenerys.”

The sound of her name ripped through the air. Louder than any scream from the undead below her. Louder than any cry of the dying that would forever echo in her head. Louder than even Drogon was at his angriest.

Her head snapping up in the direction the scream, no plea, had originated from. Her own beginning to form when she saw her mate and son in a spiral. She had known that Viserion was a slave of the Night King’s now but she had never truly prepared herself to see him.

She had never thought it would be when he was clutching onto Rhaegal’s back. His talons like anchors against Rhaegal’s green hide. Rivulets of red already became obvious as her son struggled to break free. Struggled to protect his mother, his rider, from harm. She could even see your face from here. See the pain that was so clearly etched across your beautiful features. The blood that was becoming apparent through the stark white of your cloak.

It was a sight that forced her into action. Nudging, Drogon in your direction as fast as he was able to go. Her heart hammering in her chest as Rhaegal let loose another cry of pain. As Viserion echoed it back with one of his own demented shrieks. Her two boys, that were closer than even she could comprehend, enemies because of the vileness that Westeros held. It brought tears to her eyes as Drogon finally got a hold of Viserion. His much larger form easily being able to overpower his brother. Claws ripping and tearing through brittle hide as he was tossed to the side. Little decorum being shown for what used to be his brother.

Glancing down, Daenerys’s heart almost stops at the sight of Rhaegal’s still plummeting form. His wings weakly trying to keep him afloat but nothing would be able to stop his descent. She could see the wounds in his wings and the way his head was drooping which each second ticked by. Angling Drogon into a dive, Daenerys does everything she can to stop his descent. To stop him from hitting the ground but it was all in vain.

Her widened gaze watching as Rhaegal was weakly able to run across the surface before crashing down completely. The form of his rider being thrown from his body into a heap on the icy landscape.

Not thinking of much else, Daenerys jumps off of Drogon the moment his feet make contact with land. Her hand ran against Rhaegal’s neck in a quick search to make sure he was all right; relieved when she felt his heavy breathing through her glove. His steady warmth is still there despite everything.

With that task accomplished, she makes her way over towards the form of her mate. Her knees hitting the ground with preamble and she brought you into her arms. A worried gaze taking in every bruise and scrape that made up the expanse of your skin. Blood trickling down slowly from open wounds that didn’t look to be too deep. A relieved sob leaving her lips when she notices your breathing; while shallow it was something.

Closing her eyes, Daenerys sends a silent thank you to whatever deity helped keep her mate and son safe. Her mouth pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as she pulled you tighter into her embrace. Very much aware of Drogon’s presence wrapping around her. His protective stance warmed her heart.

“Try and stay calm, okay?” She murmurs softly to herself as she pulls you tighter against her. Wanting to keep you as warm as she possibly could. “Help is coming.”

Glancing up, Daenerys could no longer see the various shadows of war against the landscape. Her heart thudding against her chest at what that could mean. Though none of it mattered if it meant that she lost you.

Looking down, she presses another small kiss to your forehead and smiles despite the tears in her eyes. “I love you. If you hold on a bit longer I promise I will never leave your side again.” She nuzzles into your neck; needing to be surrounded by your scent. “You’ll be stuck with me. Just wait for help to come.”

Unbeknownst to Daenerys the slightest of smiles curled your lips at her words. You could never imagine not waiting for your dragon.

#daenerys targaryen x reader #daenerys x reader #daenerys targaryen #daenerys #queen daenerys #got imagines #game of thrones imagines #game of thrones #daenerys imagines #daenerys targaryen imagine #just wait

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deniigi · 3 years

Text

Lando The Nosy Neighbor AU

Title: good fences make good neighbors

Summary: Modern AU based off the premise presented to me as ‘Han and Leia move into the same neighborhood and start a feud, only to eventually overthrow the local Homeowner’s Association.’

Relationships: Pot-farmer!Han/Lawyer!Leia; Farmboy!Luke/Survivalist!Din; Lando & Breha Organa & Chewbacca

This is based off a rural community in Washington which has local cults.

Lando POV

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

A hippy has moved in next to the Organas.

It’s a good one, too. This one hasn’t even rented a moving truck, they’ve just come on over with all their furniture tetris-ed in on top of itself and wrapped tight with rope, blankets, and prayer.

Lando’s petunias screech for watering as the hippy throws open the truck’s door and comes staggering out, cracking his lanky back. Out of the other side comes an even hairier, even lankier person. He closes the truck door and looks right at Lando.

He stares.

It is a challenge. But of course, not one that Lando is not prepared to handle.

He points at his watering can.

Hippy Two seems to scoff.

Lando waits until he’s distracted by the first hippie struggling with the blue house’s doorknob to dump the remaining water into the pebbles under his ornamental bridge.

He returns inside and goes about his busy business, tying back the curtains.

It is always good to have someone new in the neighborhood.

It takes the hippy couple a few weeks to get settled into their new home, and in that time neither has ingratiated themselves to Lando.

The stupid one with the floppy hair caught onto Lando’s tricks at the weekly poker match held in the local bar. Lando may have lost his irrigation system, but he has not lost his dignity. It was old anyways. He’s been planning to replace it for nearly a year now. There is never a better time than the present to start making your dreams into reality.

And anyways, the floppy haired out-of-towner will get what is coming to him. Lando has already sown the seed of his demise.

Leia Organa returned home to look after her poor, sick, stubborn mother just two months ago. Breha is fine, of course, not even cancer could snuff out her fires, although she is bored of her husband and daughter trying to trap her indoors. Her immunocompromised escapades have been delightful to watch.

The Organas are always a lively group. There is never a dull moment or lack of machinations among them—especially the lady of the household. She, like Lando, appreciates a good tussle. Which is why he has pointed out to Leia that her new neighbors’ greenhouse is mighty interesting, is it not?

Lawyer Leia’s ears pricked up like a horse’s, and Breha’s sharp eyes took on new sheen.

Lando watches Leia in the mornings now, struggling to find upper-body strength and purchase on the wood of her backyard fence, among the roses and bougainvillea. She’s so tiny, Leia. Breha is not an overly large person either, and thus is no help in this endeavor to collect data on the greenhouse of questionable origins and purposes on the other side of the fence. Leia doesn’t need her, though. She needs no one. She’s seen what she needs to.

Lando pours tea from a glass pot given to him by someone in his company who wishes for their secrets to remain so and beautiful, clear amber liquid fills his cup.

He looks up to see Leia holding her phone out as far as she can without relinquishing her grip on the fence. She fumbles, trying one-handedly to document the crime before her, but alas. Even the mighty sometimes trip on the red carpet.

The phone slips. She grabs after it in slow-motion, horror filling every pore of her face.

It is gone now, that phone.

The Public Nuisances will know what she has been up to.

Lando sighs and leans back in his seat.

It is no time at all before the dropped phone is returned graciously over the white, waist-height fence that separates the Public Nuisance’s yard from the Organas’. Leia snatches her phone back and wipes it off with her hand and sleeve. The shorter public enemy, Han, he calls himself, smiles at her cheekily. He retracts his hand and gestures to the taller fence, barely visible for the fruit trees and vines, between their backyards and says something that makes Leia go very, very still.

It is, undoubtedly, a challenge. Not unlike the one that that the more polite public nuisance, Chewie, opened his and Lando’s relationship with.

Chewie has explained without mincing his words, that he and Han have come here because their last venture was lost in a snowstorm. Chewie will be damned if his precious seedlings are so callously frosted over again. The Pacific Northwest has no chance of freezing over, he says. It provides a better setting to grow stock.

Weed, he means. Marijuana. Chewie is again, not shy. He and Han make good money supplying dispensaries with their organic, hand dried leaves. It is apparently ‘artisan’ like in quality.

Lando isn’t sure he’d go that far, but yes, it is nice stuff. And yes, Leia, bastion of justice, does need to see the men’s permits.

Lando opens the window for a breeze and catches Han telling Leia that he’ll produce them if she arm wrestles him for the right to witness their authenticity. Leia agrees. Han fetches a small worktable from the house’s garage and sets it between them.

The match is over within seconds. Leia has never been so insulted in her life. She demands a rematch and, out of sheer indulgence, Han gives it to her.

He is nearly a foot taller than her. He could lift her up and over her own fence with ease if he so desired. He wins the next round. And the next one. He loses the last one by reason of having his leg deadened under the table but stands abruptly to renegade on his earlier promise.

“You watch yourself, princess,” he calls over his shoulder with his hand on his front door’s knob.

“Oh, I’ll be watching,” Leia snarls back.

Han slams the door. Chewie looks from him to Leia standing fuming in the shade of her family’s pine trees.

“Unbelievable,” she snaps at him before stomping off herself. “UNBELIEVABLE.”

Lando flicks his eyes up to see Breha’s dining room window wide open. She too, has a cup of tea. She lifts it his way and he lifts his back.

Finally, some quality entertainment once more.

Han and Leia’s hatred has become neighborhood gossip. They have begun going to extraordinary lengths to gain the others’ attention. For example, Han, in weeding his sparce flowerbeds, was careful to shove the fruits of his labor between the fence slats into Bail’s well-tended herb garden. Bail, ever the gentleman, does not mind, but of course Leia feels that her family honor has been spat upon. She collects the weeds and returns them to her owner, via mailbox. It is kind of her to put the flag down, so Han knows that he’s received a message.

The retaliation is a mural in rainbow colors commissioned by Han and painted by one of the budding young teenagers from a school about a thirty minute drive downtown. It is...psychedelic. And facing Leia’s bedroom window.

Han asked the youth who painted it to add in a figure in the center of the composition; it is a brown-haired woman dressed all in white, surrounded by thorny vines, and attempting to climb a fence. The young artist must have felt like Michelangelo in the application of those delicate strokes of artistry. They knew they were creating something holy.

Han helps that along by bracketing the figure with solar lanterns that light up at night and keep the image fully illuminated.

When Lando arrives to Breha’s side to go on a walk, arm in arm, with her and her beast of a terrier, she giggles like a schoolgirl behind her hand.

“Han is very handsome,” she tells Lando.

“He’s alright,” Lando says.

“I think he and Leia are a perfect match. Will for will. No one’s ever dared to cross her like this.”

Now that is a fact.

“I wonder if this is the start of something more,” Breha says.

“What does your husband think?” Lando asks.

Breha waves him off dismissively.

“Oh, you know. He’s convinced that Leia will kill Han in his sleep, and we will be forced to post bail, but I told him—as I’ve told you, Lando—Leia’s too smart to get caught committing axe murder. Now poisoning, that’s a different story.”

Lando wakes up and makes coffee. He turns on his computer and opens his curtains to let the light pour in and warm his hardwood floors. He stands at the window, hiding a smirk behind his mug.

Leia has had enough. She has called the Home Owner’s Association and they are standing at Han’s front doorstep.

It is about three weeks before Han and Leia have overthrown the Home Owner’s Association for interfering in their escalating romance—ahem—bloodfeud. By then, Lando’s work-from-home situation is suffering. It is impossible to focus with those two cluttering up his view with distractions left and right. He determines that, for the sake of his finances, he must direct his attention to something a little further afield.

The Lars’s vegetable stand is becoming something of an institution.

It’s about a mile or so out of Lando’s way, tucked smack in the middle of the battlefield that is the stretch of land between the survivalist cult that lives in the forest and the pseudo-Buddhists that live in their compound. The farm itself is a few acres and the Lars’s son can be seen walking around, herding livestock out of the road and into pastures.

Lando has heard whispers that this son is none other than Leia’s twin brother, but no one has the nerve to directly ask the Organas about the truth of such a scandalous idea. The most that can be said about Luke Lars-Skywalker is that he is a master of social media.

He has created a Youtube channel and an Instagram to document the practices of his family’s farm and the products they produce. He is in a twitter-war with many communities online for his videos on small-scale bee-keeping, and his family’s stand is proudly boycotted by the vegan association in the city on farmer’s market days.

It has become well-known among the farm-to-table restaurants in the city, though, and that is why Luke keeps on keeping on with his cows and his fowls and his silly camera holder.

But all that means little because Luke Lars-Skywalker is in love.

Anyone with eyes can see it.

He is in love with an ancestral enemy.

See, in this area there are not one, but two cults and naturally, they abhor and reject the others’ teachings. To the south are the pseudo-buddhist, clairvoyants who have fashioned themselves more or less as monks preoccupied with meditation, self-development, and a few fairly mystical beliefs among the rather terrifying devotion to martial arts. To the north are the survivalist whack-jobs who don’t believe in electricity or running water, but who are also, somehow, preoccupied with self development and a terrifying devotion to martial arts.

Both groups have publicly denounced the other as misguided extremists.

The rumors say that Luke and Leia’s biological father is one of the clairvoyants, and this is where the heart of the current delightful irony lays.

Luke Lars-Skywalker is in love with one of those survivalists.

Lando knows this because he has seen it with his very own eyes.

He took a trip a while back to purchase some greens from the vegetable stand and he was there for a little while, picking through the selection, when he looked up and saw Luke’s posture explode out of its lax boredom. Lando looked over his shoulder to see what Luke’s tan, freckled attention had latched onto and lo and behold.

It was a man. And not only a man, a man with a baby.

Luke stuffed knuckles into his mouth to keep from cooing as the father of the child nodded at him and meandered over to have a poke through the produce piled up on the stand. The baby, dressed carefully in layers of warm, water-resistant clothing, watched Luke right back. He smiled and grunted, waving his dark, stubby arms and Luke melted—literally collapsed into a fraction of his size behind the paystation.

The father, a white rugged guy with dark curly hair and a great deal of stubble, shifted the baby to his other arm. His worn, heavy clothing and the military-style canvas sack on his back marked him as one of the Cabin-In-the-Woods people.

Lando felt like he was watching a country romance flick in real life.

Luke gathered his courage and approached the dad and baby to ask if they were looking for anything in particular. The baby immediately held hands out to him. Luke asked the father if he could hold the little one. The father said ‘no.’

Lando nearly choked on his own spit.

“Oh, sorry buddy,” Luke said to the baby. “Daddy thinks I’m gonna eat you up.”

“He just got a bath.”

Luke gooey expression hardened in an instant.

“Excuse you. You sayin’ I’m dirty?” he asked. “You sayin’ I smell like horseshit?”

The father stared at Luke wordlessly.

“Pigshit,” he corrected.

“WHAT.”

Lando no longer needed only greens. He had to pick a cheese from this bountiful pile. Oh dear, so many to choose from.

“I said, you smell like pigshit. And he just got a bath,” the survivalist father said. “How much for the tomatoes?”

“Twenty a pound,” Luke said viciously.

“That’s steep.”

“There’s a discount for people who smell like pigshit.”

“You get a lot of those?”

“No, but I know how to wallow in the time between buyers.”

“Are you angry or something?”

“Take your damn tomatoes.”

“I didn’t pay yet—”

“Just take ‘em. Go. Go.”

“Twenty—?”

“Hey, Mr. Calrissian, that’ll be ten-fifty,” Luke said over the protests.

That was then. This is now. And Luke Lars-Skywalker has not let up on his tirade against this survivalist. Nor, it is important to note however, has the survivalist stopped coming to the vegetable stand when Luke is working it.

What is even more is that Lando can see with his own two eyes that the survivalist is not holding his baby at the vegetable stand now, as Lando closes his car door a little ways from the stand. Luke smiles at Lando as he draws near; he is bouncing at the knees. He waves the baby’s hand in greeting and the child gurgles and twists back to grab at his face.

Lando smiles and does not say anything.

He finds Chewie inspecting a sprinkler at the edge of his and Han’s yard on the way back and crosses the street to inspect it with him. It sputters. Chewie suspects outloud that their squirrels are getting stronger and more destructive by the day.

Lando asks him if he’s been the Lars’s vegetable stand since moving into town.

He has.

Lando asks if he’s ever seen Luke there, holding a baby.

He has.

Lando is smug.

“Mr. Rugged Mountain Man is falling for the farm boy,” he tells Chewie.

Chewie lifts a thick eyebrow.

“One day soon, that baby is going to go from living off the grid to living in a barn,” Lando tells him. “Mark my words.”

Chewie tells him that that is impossible without a kidnapping charge because the Rugged Mountain Man is the straightest man that he’s ever seen. Lando tells him not to judge a book by its cover.

Weirder things have happened. Han and Leia, for example.

Chewie tells him that he knows that Lando is somehow responsible for those two’s newly inescapable sexual tension and he will never forgive him for it.

Lando cannot believe his ears. Him? An instigator? Of course not, Chewie. He is but a humble spider, waiting around in his house for a fly to shake things up. He is an observer, nothing more, nothing less.

Chewie just points a finger at him.

Lando points a finger-gun back. He fires it with a click of his tongue.

#star wars #han/leia #dinluke #lando calrissian #fic #ficlet #don't mind me I'm just thinking about petty neighborhood politics

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ignitedbynatsu · 3 years

Text

He Makes You Feel Insecure ~ Jellal

A/N: I did Jellal as requested! Freed will be up next 🤩 Once again thank you all so much for the support. I love seeing people binge read the series it makes my heart swoon 🥺 ANyWaz if you have a request don’t hesitate to ask 🥰

warnings: insecurities (he makes you feel like you are stubborn and a know-it-all), cursing

genre: angst to fluff

Other versions:

Gray ~ Laxus ~ Cobra/Erik ~ Bickslow ~ Gajeel ~ Natsu ~ Freed ~ Sting ~ Rogue

💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫

"You shouldn't have gone" Jellal frowned as he saw you disinfecting the wound on your upper arm. It was nothing too serious, but you'd rather be safe than sorry later.

You jumped lightly by his sudden presence, making you press harder on the wound than necessary, a groan leaving your mouth soon after.

"I wanted too" you shrugged as you spared him a glance over your shoulder before tending back to the cut.

"I told you it wasn't safe" he crossed his arms, patience slowly running out.

"And I told you I could handle it" you bit back, wrapping the wound up, shielding it from the outside world in the progress.

"Look where that got you" he deadpanned at your carelessness.

"I'm fine, Jellal. It's only a small cut. You don't have to make a big deal out of it" you rolled your eyes as you stood up, finally facing him.

Frustration had clearly taken over his posture as his eyes narrowed at you "you always do this. You always go against my commands. You walk around all high and mighty like nothing can touch you, but guess what, love, I'm in charge here. You follow my rules. You obey my orders. If you can't do that then go somewhere else."

Normally your heart would have stopped at the sound of him using a pet name for you, but not this time. Not when it was used with that much coldness, it nearly sends shivers down your spine.

"If you wanted someone to blindly obey you, you should've gotten a dog" you replied with the same coldness he just used as you walked away from him and towards where Meredy was seated.

"Are you okay?" she gave you a soft smile as you let out a frustrated sigh while sitting next to her on the ground.

"Sometimes I really wonder why he hired me as a spy. It's like he didn't like me from the moment we first meet." You mumbled as you rubbed your hands over your face "he never gives anyone of you any shit for the things you do, so why does he always have to scold me?"

Meredy stayed quiet at your rant, knowing damn well why he chose you as his spy and not anyone else, but she knew that if she told you the truth right now, you'd just laugh at it. "Maybe you should talk with him about it"

"No he always says I'm stubborn when I talk back..." you trailed off, realization dawning on you.

Is that why he didn't like you? You were always more vocal about your opinion than others, but you never really saw it as an issue. The more you thought about it, the more you realized he was right. You always fought him on his opinion, never giving in, not even when you knew you were in the wrong.

You always thought of yourself as a strong independent individual, but now you realized how annoying you must've come across for some people.

You frowned at your newfound information. Everyone probably thought of you as a know-it-all, and you hated it.

"Listen up everyone. Thanks to (Y/N) information, we found our next location. Get ready, we're leaving as soon as possible" Jellal announced. He was waiting for you to object by saying something like you should be waiting 'till morning, so everyone was well-rested, but it never came.

Everyone's head turned to look at you in confusion by your lack of vocalizing your opinion.

You were just silently staring at the ground, not even noticing everyone's eyes were facing you, as you recollect all of your memories of the time you were being stubborn. You cringed at the flashback, wishing you would have shut your mouth from time to time.

Everyone started to get ready to leave once they realized you weren't gonna say anything. Meredy softly hit you in the ribs to snap you out of your mental prison.

You smiled softly at her, before getting ready as well.

Jellal's eyes never left your body. Sure he just scolded you for always going in against his commands, but he didn't think you'd listen. You never listened, so what changed?

You ventured in the direction of the next rogue dark guild and set camp again at a safe distance.

"So what's the plan?" Meredy asked as she just finished setting up her tent.

"We need to find out with how many they are and the entrance to the guild" Jellal replied as he looked at a map. He had marked the place of the guild with a red circle and was now observing the surroundings to see if they were in your favor.

"I could always go scout" you suggested.

"No, it's too dangerous. They're already on high alert after they caught you spying on them yesterday" he shot your request down.

You bit your tongue in an attempt to stop you from protesting and just nodded instead.

Jellal looked up at you and frowned when he didn't hear anything from you. By now you'd usually come up with a clever way to get around the obstacle, but this time no words left your mouth. Not even a dissatisfied noise. It was pure radio silence.

The blue-haired mage did not know how to react. On one side he was relieved because he wouldn't have to worry you getting hurt again, but on the other side, he missed the little quarrel you two had when you went against him.

He didn't actually mind that you always had such a strong opinion. It challenged him to make his plans more thorough.

By nightfall, you had hardly said a word to anyone. You did not speak unless spoken to. You didn't even react to certain things everyone knew you had an opinion on.

Everyone had gone to sleep except you. It was common for you to be the last one awake, you liked the silence the night gave you. However, this time you cursed yourself for having such a messed up sleeping schedule as the silence was deafening. You were once again trapped in your mental prison, only this time there was no one to help you escape, or so you thought.

"It's a beautiful night tonight," Jellal said softly as he took a seat next to you in front of the crackling fire.

Your head snapped up at him, not expecting he was still awake, but his eyes were cast upwards, looking at the clear sky that held so many stars and secrets.

"Yeah" you mumbled as you shifted your eyes from his face to look up as well.

It wasn't the first time you had stargazed together. You loved doing it when you were welcomed by the silence of the night. Jellal joined you from time to time when he knew you all had an off day the next day.

His gaze landed on you as you looked at the distance lights that resembled stars. An idea popped up in his head "look it's the Ursa Major"

He pointed at somewhere completely different, making you frown. You quickly covered it up with a smile "yeah"

"Okay, stop it," Jellal said, his eyes already trained on you when you snapped your attention towards him at his sudden outburst.

"What do you mean?" You asked.

"You know damn well what I mean" He replied "you knew that constellation was not the Ursa Major, we've been stargazing for months"

"Must have mistaken the one you were pointing at" you mumbled in response as you broke eye contact to look at the campfire instead.

"No you didn't" he sighed, his eyes also shifting from you to the fire "why aren't you voicing your opinion."

"I thought you didn't like it when I went against you?" You frowned. "Isn't that why you don't like me in the first place"

This time it was his turn to frown as the words left your lips. Did you really think he didn't like you? "Of course I like you"

You scoffed at his response "Really? Cause no matter what I do, I always seem to disappoint you. You never complain when the others do something wrong so why do you only give me crap?"

"It's because I like you," he said as his gaze shifted once again to look at you.

You laughed dryly at that, but he wasn't having it "(Y/N), look at me" you obeyed and locked eye contact with him "I really like you"

"No, you don't" you whispered as he slowly inched closer, his eyes flickering to your lips for a mere second before looking back at your eyes.

"But I do" he whispered back "tell me when to stop"

You didn't say anything as his lips grazed yours. You closed the gap in anticipation as your hands immediately found your way to his hair.

His hand softly cupped your cheek, while the other one was on your lower back.

Your lips moved perfectly in sink as his tongue softly grazing against your bottom lip, asking permission to enter which you granted.

You gasped as he explored your mouth and pulled you closer, so you were now in his lap, both legs on either side of his.

If he hadn't pulled apart, you for sure would've forgotten to breathe, already addicted to the sweet taste of his lips.

Your foreheads were pressed together as you both breathed heavily. His eyes were closed while you admired the man in front of you.

"I really really like you. I'm sorry if I made you feel like your opinion wasn't validated. I only scold you because I couldn't bear the thought of something happening to you" he whispered as he slowly lifted his eyelids to look at you. "I really am sorry for making you feel like I didn't like you"

"I forgive you" you whispered back as you pecked him softly on the lips.

"Great now that's cleared, can you guys go fuck somewhere else? People are trying to sleep over here" Cobra spoke up, startling you both. A pink tone crossed your cheeks as Jellal chuckled softly, careful not to wake the others up.

You hid your face in the crook of his neck "I hate you"

He pulled you closer as he laid a hand on the back of your head "no you don't"

"Yeah, you're right"

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scuttle-buttle · 3 years

Text

Chapter 17

WC: 1131

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: angst, language, discussions of student/professor relationships, age difference

A/N: so I'm actually going out of town for a week and I'm not sure I'll be able to write much if at all so I figured I'll be nice and not leave yall hanging too much

🧠

A sea of petrified students part as you come raging down the academic building’s hallway. You waste no time in throwing open the heavy wooden door to his office. It hasn’t even had time to slam shut before you begin your tirade.

“What the fuck is your problem?” you seeth.

Laszlo sighs, annoyed at having his work interrupted for the second time in the last hour. The headache from his encounter with Sara made his temples throb uncomfortably. He once again removes his glasses, tossing them indelicately onto the desk, before running a hand through his neatly combed hair. “What, is it not allowed that I do my work in peace?” He does nothing to hide his exasperation as he lifts his head to face you. The dark bags under your eyes remind him of his own.

“I don’t know who the hell you think you are, some high and mighty hot-shot professor, but I do not need your pity money,” you spit at him. “It’s disgusting and patronizing and quite frankly fucked up. It’s bad enough that you fucking fire me over text for no goddamn reason, but then you go rub it in my face just how much I needed this job and the money. I’m not some pathetic charity case, Laszlo. I can figure out my own shit and I don’t need your help to do it!”

Midway through your rant he stood up from his desk. Now Laszlo is more confused than angry at your outburst. Charity case? “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re on about.”

You scoff. “Oh, don’t play dumb, it’s beneath you. You were supposed to fix the system to say that you removed me from being your TA. But no, you went and kept me on payroll on purpose so that, what, I didn’t go starving on the streets without you? You think that I’m so incapable of taking care of myself that only you, the great Dr. Laszlo Kreizler could help, and just so you could feel better about yourself?” The sarcasm drips heavily in your tone.

With the raising of your voice so did your frustration. Laszlo could feel it pushing off you in waves, stoking the fire within his own emotions. He lets out a dark chuckle at the preposterousness of your accusation. “If you think for even a moment that I have done anything out of pity for you then you truly must be beyond yourself. I have not done anything outside of what is required for my position as your supervisor and professor at this university. If you have a problem with that, you may take it to the Dean," he sneers. "As for your accusation of treating you like a charity case - that was never my intention nor purpose. I became preoccupied and did not find the time to change your status in the system.” He looks you up and down from where he stands, his eyes cold. “You have much to learn if you are going to expect people to take you seriously as an academic.”

Jabbing a finger towards him, you yell “don’t you talk down to me like I’m a child! God, you are infuriating!” You throw up your hands and begin to pace the office. Taking a breath, you try to bring some logic into your fuming thoughts. “Okay fine, let’s say I do believe that you forgot to fix it. That still doesn’t explain why you fired me out of the blue. Was I not doing my job correctly?”

“You did what was asked of you.” He does his best to sound neutral in his response.

“That doesn’t- ugh- that doesn’t answer the damn question, Laszlo! For once, why can’t you act like a human being and not like some omnipotent god that just takes pleasure in pointing out everyone else's flaws?” The fire behind your eyes blazes hotter than the surface of the sun.

Circling the desk he comes to stop a few feet from you. His shoulders are rigid as he glares down at you. “Perhaps I will the day you yourself get a hold on your own actions. You are intelligent beyond your own comprehension, yet you present yourself as a naïve child might. You speak as though your ideals are the only ones that could possibly be entertained. You are loud and confrontational and irritating-”

You cut him off; “I could say the same thing about you!” You pause a short beat. At this point you decide to rip the proverbial band aid off - “Is it because we almost kissed? Did I really fuck it up that bad or are you just unable to grow up and be a big boy with your feelings? Because you’ve been giving me all these signs and if they aren’t really there then fuck, Laszlo, you need to figure out how to actually talk to someone without making them think you have feelings. Or is it because you’re a professor and I’m your aide? Am I some stupid little girl that caught feelings for her teacher? Does the idea offend you that much that you had to get rid of me-”

“I CAN’T!” he yells mere inches from you. His shout stops you in your tracks, your eyes darting between his own pitch black pupils. Laszlo's face is flushed, his temples throb.

He sees red as he tries to defend himself from your onslaught. “I cannot be around you!” He growls, pacing away from you towards the back wall.

You don’t let him get away so easily, following him with a single measured step. “Laszlo… why not?” You are enraged and heartbroken, but you need answers no matter how much they might rip your soul to shreds.

He runs his fingers through his already mussed hair, pulling at the strands. “Because I feel my control slipping when you are around. Everyday you sit here and all I want is to be near you, to feel you against me, to know every thought that crosses that beautiful mind. I become more and more alienated from my own when I am with you. I’m not sure I have much sanity left. There are certain things a man cannot control...” You hear his swallow. “I’m afraid of what I might do if you stay…”

When you do not respond he glances over his shoulder. You stand where he had left you, your jaw clenched, eyebrows scrunched together. He continues to study you from across the room. Neither of you say anything.

Finally, you open your mouth to whisper out “I’m afraid of what might happen if I don’t.”

The words are barely past your mouth when he launches himself towards you, his left hand tilting your jaw forward to crush his lips against yours.

Tag list

@hardlyinteresting @lorna-d-m @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @greeneyedblondie44 @unbeatablecurlgirl @apparrio @marchingicenotes7 @anteroom-of-death @bruhidaniel @lemairepstuff @thehuiabird @zemosimp05 @alindeluce @iamnotthecatladynextdoor @laura-naruto-fan1998 @trelaney @boneheadduluc @i-am-dead-inside-666 @fictionlandslanddreams @thatoneartgalsstuff

#the interpretation of dreams #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo x reader #laszlo kreizler #the alienist #the alienist angel of darkness #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #laszlo kreizler fanfic #laszlo kreizler daniel bruhl #scuttle-buttle

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feral-dumbass · 3 years

Text

F*ck Me

James “Bucky” Barnes/ Female Reader

Summary: Bucky loses a bet and has to wear a maid dress. Neither of you expected you to be so into Bucky wearing it.

Includes: Bucky in a maid costume, Knife kink, ripping of clothes, Bondage, unprotected sex, brief mention of Bucky being turned on by glasses, Beefy!Bucky, use of vibrator (sharing of it too), manhandling, overstimulation (Possible dub-con because of it), dirty talk, unprotected sex, size kink, choking (with the metal arm)

Words: 4,103

A/N: Happy New Year! I finally actually finished a WIP. Bucky does wear a maid dress, so if you know me in real life, no you don’t. I just wrote a crack fic. Didn’t I? Title Credit to Vernon Jane. Tagging my friends @babybluestan @gagmebucky @heresyoursnackdumbass

Masterlist

It started off with a bet. Who could beat Thor at armwrestling? Cocky egos and bored minds don’t mix well. Quill and Steve both lost. Most men that weren’t gifted with super strength didn’t need that question answered. Bucky decided to join in on the camaraderie. Besides, if Steve lectures Bucky team bonding one more time, he’s gonna lose it.

Everything was fine until Tony couldn’t stop talking. Out on a personal vendetta ever since you and Bucky took Stark’s Audi out for joyride and put the most miniscule dent on the hood, Tony suggested more than money. If Bucky lost, he’d have to follow Thor around in a maid’s costume at the next compound party with the team and vice versa. Thor and Bucky were already sitting across from each other at the table when Tony announced it. It was too late to back out now. With Clint cheering on the statement and Steve starting to mother hen, Bucky said fuck it. Thor even let him use his bionic fucking metal arm. How bad could it be?

Bucky was wrong. Bucky was so very wrong. Never make a bet about strength with a God. The gears and plates of his arm buzzed from the tension underneath the sound of the men choosing their sides and cheering them on. Even though Bucky put up a good fight, he lost and probably needs to kiss Tony’s ass to make sure the processors are still functioning. Thor has a good grip.

The package arrived at your doorstep Thursday, just in time for the party on Friday. You were the one to place it on the kitchen table. You were sympathetic to Bucky’s predicament after a good laugh. The offending package sat there for the next twenty-four hours, Bucky avoiding it like the plague. It’s not that Bucky hates it per say, it’s just a clothing item for fuck’s sake. He just hates the fact he’ll never hear the end of it.

He expresses the same fact exactly to you as he tears open the package in the bathroom. He tries on the maid dress while you wait patiently for him on the bed. Bucky manages to zip himself and stare at himself in the mirror. Bucky sighs at the sight. For a genius, Stark is really bad at guessing sizes. Bucky is practically busting at the seams. “Damnit.”

“Aww. C’mon out, Bucky. I’m sure it’s not-” You try to assuage Bucky as your eyes never leave the latest gossip magazine of the Avengers. At the sound of the bathroom door creaking open, you look up. Momentarily stunned, you forget your words. Magazine long forgotten. “Oh- oh my god.”

“I know. This feels indecent.” Bucky crosses his arms underneath his chest and your mouth waters.

“No, Bucky, not in that way.” You didn’t expect Bucky to look this good in frilly black and white. The bands of the poofy sleeves strain against his bulging biceps. The bust also straining against his pecs. The dress is so short the bottom of Bucky’s black boxers peak out. Not to mention, Bucky has his emotional support knife strapped to his thigh. You wish you could be surprised you’d fuck him like this, but then again, he is Bucky Barnes. “It’s not that bad.” You slur your words a bit, still focused on the band stressed around Bucky’s biceps. You lick your lips and suck the bottom one in between your teeth.

“Wait, is this actually working for you?” Bucky ducks down so you’re forced to look him in the eyes. No point in beating around the bush. Act coy and you might never get to see him like this again.

“Would you judge me if I said yes?”

“A little bit. Yeah.” You shrug. It’s not like the nerd hasn’t asked you to wear glasses while you give him head. Different strokes for different folks.

“Would you wear it in bed?”

Bucky lets out a surprised laugh and shakes his head. “Keep looking at me like you wanna eat me alive and I’ll wear anything for you.” He strides over to you, pulls your hair so you look up at him, and kisses you with blazing passion. This is fine. You’re more than happy to give Bucky a few minutes of happiness before he spends the whole night brooding. Bucky barely separates from you. “We can skip the party and I’ll wear it in bed for you right now?” His lips brush against yours as you stare at him with heavy lidded eyes.

“Stark will probably conduct a man hunt and it’s probably best no one see what I have in store for you.”

“Please, do share your plans.”

“I was thinking we could bring out the nylon ropes. I tie you to the headboard and have my way with you.” Even with his hair half up in bun, pieces of his hair fell out. You tuck a brown piece of his hair behind his ear as he swallows thickly and groans.

“Are you sure we have to go?” You nod as a grin slowly spreads across your face. “Give me ten minutes before we go to my personal hell.” Bucky walks back into the bathroom, trying to fix the growing bulge in his boxers.

The party is going surprisingly well, Bucky being less broody than usual. Turns out when you’re girlfriend promises to ride you into the mattress, your mood lightens. Bucky’s smirk has been laced with secrecy all night. It probably doesn’t help that you haven’t been able to keep your eyes off him, flashing him fuck me eyes everytime he caught you. By the fifth time Bucky caught your eye, Tony had enough.

“Oh my god, you guys look like your two seconds away from fucking eachother in front of us.” Tony complains.

Bucky shrugs in all his maid dress glory. “I wouldn’t mind.” Bucky looks to you for confirmation.

“Uh, hey, no. This isn’t fun anymore. It’s getting weird. You lost your party privilege. Leave before I order both of you a psych eval on Monday.” Tony pretends like Pepper hasn’t told you things three margaritas in. Fine, he can act all pure and mighty all he wants. You’re forced with the knowledge Tony is a good submissive for Pepper.

“Thank God.” Bucky is ushering you to the elevators before you can say something witty back to Stark. Once in the elevator, Bucky incessantly presses the door closing button.

“Pressing the button ten times doesn’t make the elevator work faster.” The elevator hates you and starts closing as you speak.

“You were saying?” Bucky backs you up against the elevator and ducks down to kiss you which eventually turns into making out. He lifts you up by the back of your thighs as he deepens the kiss. He moves his kisses down to your neck, sucking hickeys into your skin in between kisses. Pressed in between the wall and Bucky, you’re forced to feel all of him, rutting his quickly hardening bulge into you. You’re like 99% sure Bucky is ready to fuck you in the elevator. Security cameras be damned. It wouldn’t be the wildest place you had sex and you’re about ready to help drop your pants until you remember your plans. You rake your hands through his hair, grab a nice hindfull, and pull, taking his lips off your skin.

“Bucky.” You whine with a pout of your lips. His eyes track the movement of your spit-shined lips, too entranced to look you in the eyes just yet. “You agreed to let me tie you up and I’m holding you to it.” The elevator dings with the arrival of your floor.

Bucky smashes his lips against yours for a quick kiss. After he separates, he rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “I spoil you.” It’s his only response before he’s carrying you to the bedroom.

Managing to make-out with you and kick the bedroom door open, Bucky sits down on the edge of the bed. Your legs are forced to spread wider to accommodate his thick thighs, the knife strapped to him digging into your inner own.

“You’re wearing too much clothes.” Bucky tugs on your shirt.

“Maybe you should help me with that.” Before you can finish your sentence, Bucky is pulling your shirt up. You finish pulling it over your head, flinging it onto the bedroom floor, as Bucky works on unfastening your jeans. Bucky pauses his task at the sight of bare skin. He groans deep within his chest. So maybe you wore Bucky’s favorite lingerie set, navy blue and semi opaque. You’re even wearing slutty panties to match. You were hoping to get railed tonight even before the maid dress was introduced into your life.

“Jesus Christ, you’re gorgeous.” His hands travel to your breasts kneading them through the flimsy material. Goosebumps break out underneath Bucky’s calloused touch. His stubble scratches as he kisses the swell of each breast before gently dragging his hands back down to your pants. You duck down to kiss him as he snakes his hand into the back of your pants, squeezing handfuls of ass. “Well, are you ready to be in charge, baby?”

“Please.” You push Bucky on his back and hop off his lap. You slide a chest out from underneath the bed and get out a couple objects of interest including the nylon rope. Bucky moves to the center of the bed as you take off your pants. You crawl onto the bed and Bucky. He meets you halfway for a kiss, his hand on the back of your head.

“Did ya wear all this just to torment me? Knowing I won’t be able to touch you is driving me crazy.”

“I will admit I didn’t wear this with bondage in mind. You ripping my underwear off with your teeth is more of what I was thinking, but I’m flexible.”

Bucky’s chest rumbled. “I’m aware.” With darkening eyes, Bucky lets you maneuver his arms up to the bedpost and tie him to it. Of course, it helps he has a perfect view of your cleavage dangling just a few inches from his face. Once you’re done tying him up, you kiss his cheek.

“Remember your colors, baby boy?” You ask him in between kisses on his neck, nipping at the skin. It’s a line Bucky has used on you so many times and now it’s your turn to use. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“Yeah.”

“What’s your color? These too tight?” You tug on the binds wrapped around.

“So fucking green. They’re not too tight. Although, I’d be a lot better if you were on my cock right now.” You suck a hickey into his neck.

“It’s cute you think you’re still calling the shots.” You grind down onto him, your eyes fluttering at the feel of the sweet friction, but Bucky doesn’t need to know that. You blow on the hickey and Bucky shudders underneath you. You sit up to admire your handiwork. His eyes are lust-filled. A hint of a rosy flush decorates his cheeks and chest. Bucky’s arms flex at your incessant grinding.

“Please, wanna be in you.” He ruts his hips up, adding more friction. You bump into the handle of his knife, reminding you it’s there. You reach behind you and unsheathe the knife. Bucky’s knife glints as you take note of it.

“Tell me, Bucky. Are you invested in your outfit?”

“Oh my god, please. Destroy it.” He stares up at you with such awestruck devotion. You lift up the skirt and cut through the torso of the dress. Bucky lets out an whorish moan even for him. His chest and abs out on open display and your mouth waters. As much as you loved seeing Bucky in the maid dress, this is fun too. You slowly drag the tip of the knife gently down his abdomen, muscles flexing under the cool touch of metal.The sounds of a rip makes you pause. You check and sure enough Bucky’s bulging metal bicep has ripped through the band of the dress.

“Holy shit, I love you.” You smash your lips onto his for a messy kiss. Bucky is more than eager to slip his tongue into your mouth. You pull away when you need to breath and work on Bucky’s sleeve. The previous rip already making the cheap material easy to shred. You make the rip reach the slice you made and use the knife for the other sleeve. You put it back in it’s sheathe. Bucky maneuvers to the best of his ability so you can pull the maid dress out from underneath him. You pull his boxers down. His red and leaking cock hit his stomach. You grab the vibrator off the edge of the bed and turn it on it’s lowest setting. You drag the vibrator up and down the underside of his cock. He shouts out, muscles tensing at the stimulation. Just as quickly as you were touching him, you’ve stopped. You move the vibrator off him as you grin, bringing the vibrator to your clit through your slutty panties. You lose yourself in the vibrations before Bucky speaks out gruffly.

“Watch it, sweetheart. Whatever you do to me, I can do to you.” Your response is to turn up the setting on the vibrator and moan out. “Oh, c’mon, don’t you want my dick?” He rocks his hips up. “You can act like a tease all you want, but we both know you love leaking with my cum. You just love being filled to the brim as I fuck you through both of our orgasms.” You whimper out his name. “Yeah, honey, you were made to take this cock. Do such good job of it too. C’mon, please. Jus’ wanna feel you cum around me. That stupid piece of plastic can’t make you cum as hard as I can.” You thought you were slut for Bucky Barnes and that was before you heard his gravely begging underneath you. A whole new wave of want rushes through your veins and your shutting off the vibrator. Your hand pumps his dick a few times, leaking so much you don’t even need lube to touch him.

“Fuck!” Bucky repeatedly chants as you finally grab the base of him and slide him into your entrance, panties pushed to the side. Bucky is gargantuan. He always is at the first slide. Your walls need a few seconds to accommodate him. During the time, Bucky’s muscles tense as he pants. He can’t do anything, but feel you. No outlet for the pent up energy he’s been harboring. He is literally so pretty, you can feel a heartbeat in your lower muscles. You grind on his dick, testing your limits. He groans. “Baby, I’m gonna you to-.” Bucky’s encouragement is cut off with a deep groan as you lift yourself off Bucky’s cock, tip just outside your entrance, and falling back on it. Bucky can’t stop his curses and groans as you do it again and again, eventually setting a nice pace for yourself. You ride Bucky’s dick in earnest. Closer than you realized with the previous vibrator and his dirty talk, you move in a way that feels good for you. Bucky’s pleasure an afterthought. With a hand pressed against his pectoral, you rock against him. You close your eyes and bite your lip, bringing your other hand to rub your clit.

“Oh my god, are you gonna cum already? How’s my cock feel, sweetheart? Such a cockslut, you’re already close. Look at me.” Bucky rocks his hips up as you drop down, causing you to gasp out his name. “Look. At. Me.” You open your eyes to glare down at him. You hands slides up to wrap around his thick neck. You can feel his racing pulse underneath your fingertips.

“I swear if you ruin this for me, I’ll-”

“You’ll what? What will you do?” Bucky waits for a response. You can’t, too tongue tied as your peak gets closer and closer. “That’s what I thought. Now be a good cockslut and cum on my cock.” You double down on your efforts until you’re cumming. Pleasure rolls up your spine. You’re movement falters as you get lost in your orgasm. Before you know it, you’re on your back, you’re supposed tied up boyfriend on top of you. Bucky picks up your slack, fucking you at a brutal pace through your orgasm.

“Wait, Bucky. How?” You brain tries to catch up as he gathers your wrists in his metal hand and pins them to the bed above your head.

“You need to get better at tying, baby. Didn’t even have to break the restraints. They fell apart halfway through.”

“Fuck.” The word you use is long and drawn out, arching your hips to meet Bucky’s thrusts. Having a supersoldier underneath you to use at your indiscretion was fun, but there truly is something about letting Bucky take the reins, rippling muscles of caged energy pressed against you. Bucky’s thrusts slow as his free hand searches for something on the bed. With a victorious grin, Bucky is turning on the vibrator at a higher setting than you previously had it. He slides it between your bodies to rest on your clit. The flimsy lace of your stretched out panties does nothing to barricade the pleasure.

“You’ll cum for me, again. Right?” You curse his name, trying to buck away from the vibrator. The vibrations are too much for your sensitive clit. Bucky is persistent, keeping the vibrator pressed against your clit.

“Fuck, Bucky. Please. Please. Please.” It’s your turn to repeat words, not exactly sure what your begging for. You just know the pleasure is almost too much. With the combination of Bucky’s girthy cock and the vibrator, it’s not long before you’re coming. Your muscles shake as your orgasm hits you. You moan until your voice runs hoarse. He keeps the vibrator on your clit until your orgasm is done.

“Love it when you cum. Wish I could be in this pussy all day.” Bucky lets go of your wrist and cups your cheek tenderly. He ducks down for a filthy kiss, tongue included. Your muscles feel weighted, but you manage to match Bucky’s enthusiasm in his kiss. Before you can register it, your brain a little fuzzy from the two orgasms, you’re facing the sheets on your stomach. His cocks slips out during the commotion. Bucky lifts your upper half to lean against him so you’re on your knees, using his own knees to spread them. You head rolls down.

You share the same qualities as a rag doll right now, joints weak and ears still ringing from your orgasm. Not that it’s stopping Bucky. Facing down, you get to witness Bucky’s angry, leaking, and glistening with your cum erection extending practically past your belly button as he ruts against your sex. Electric shocks are sent to your nervous system everytime Bucky manages to make contact with your clit. Your only thought is you want him to destroy you with his dick as he wraps his metal arm around your neck, head now resting against his clavicle.

“Remember your colors, baby girl? What’s your color?” Bucky’s voice is in a low, hushed tone. His lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. You eyes flutter shut, hands moving to hold on to his forearm wrapped around your neck.

“Green.” Even with your hazy mind and heavy tongue, you manage to answer Bucky. He presses a quick, stubbly kiss to your temple before turning his attention to your underwear.

“These are unnecessary.” He grabs ahold the triangle of lacey material of your underwear and pulls. It doesn’t take much of Bucky’s strength for the strings of your underwear to snap. He throws the offending clothing over his shoulder. He flips his bowie knife out of the sheath strapped to his thigh. Bucky fucked the knife out of your memory. Goosebumps erupt onto your skin as he gently traces the knife’s tip up your stomach to slip underneath the band of your bra. “I’ll buy you a new set.” He says before slicing through the band of your bra with a flick of his wrist. You gasp out and Bucky slices through the straps too. He flips his knife into the sheath and throws your bra away from you.

“Want your cock, Bucky. Please.”

“How could I say no to such pretty begging? I can’t let the cockslut be hungry for too long, now. Can I?” You can feel Bucky reaching his hand down over your abdomen and then the next thing you know, you’re being filled to the brim with cock. Okay, fuck what you said about the first slide. You’re pretty sure you could cum again at this slide. With your fucked out brain, there is so much of Bucky. Bucky sliding his cock in slow sure doesn’t help either. Bucky groans right next to your ear. It’s almost a sensory overload. You haven’t even registered you’re moaning yourself. Bucky finally- finally bottoms out, giving you time to catch your shuddering breath. “You still with me?”

You manage to rasp out an affirmative.

“Good girl.” And then Bucky is pulling out and thrusting in. You manage to get out a curse at the friction before Bucky truly starts to thrust into you. His pace picks up quickly. His powerful thighs slam into your slick ones as he rumbles deep within his chest. You can feel it throughout your whole torso. “Addicted to this pussy. Love how you feel around me.” Bucky moves his right hand to rub your abused clit. You grab ahold of his wrist. Bucky’s too stong to move his hand off your clit. You’re forced to feel the all the pleasure he gives you.

“Aww, c’mon. You can cum for me one more time.” Bucky tucks his nose behind your ear and kisses underneath it. He changes the angle of his rubs and your thighs start to shake. “There you go, sweetheart. Just one more.” Bucky’s metal bicep bulges making it a little harder to breathe as he thrusts faster. The two previous orgasms make you sensitive. In just a few meager minutes, you can feel the rise of your orgasm. This orgasm hits you harder than the previous two. The pleasure takes you over in waves. Your thighs shake as Bucky fucks you through it. He moans louder than you sounding like he enjoys you’re orgasm almost as much as you. He finally notices your fingers digging into his skin and stops rubbing your clit.

“God, baby. I’m so close. Gonna let me use you?”

You nodd.

“Say it.”

“Use me. Wanna feel you cum in me.” You rasp out with an even heavier mind. Bucky lets out a whorish moan as his thrusts get even more energetic. It shouldn’t be possible, but then you wouldn’t be dating a super soldier. Within just a few more thrusts, you can feel Bucky flood your insides. He groans as he slows down to prolong his orgasm. Bucky was hot before, but he’s even hotter as he coming. The only thing you dislike about this position is not being able to see Bucky’s abs contract as he cums. You can still feel his abs jump against you lower back. Bucky’s thrusts eventually die down until he’s just bottomed out in you. He takes a minute to catch his breath before he uncurls his arm off your throat, keeping his right hand on your hip to steady you.

“How are you feeling?” He asks as he gently slips out and sets you on the bed.

“Tired.”

“I know and you can rest in a bit, but we gotta get cleaned up first.” You groan at that. “C’mon, baby. I’ll grab the washcloth.” The smile in Bucky’s voice is prominent as he gets out of bed. You can hear him rummaging around in the attached bathroom as you rest your eyes. You fall asleep before Bucky can bring out the warm wet washcloth. He still wipes you down while you’re half asleep before joining you back in bed.

Bucky will be there in the morning to massage out your sore muscles because Bucky is a good boyfriend. And if you happen to order the same maids dress the next day only to leave it in the exact same spot the previous package was in, Bucky doesn’t bring it up. He just adds it to the back of his closet when you’re not looking.

#the knife stays ON during sex and I think thats the most Bucky thing I’ve ever written #Mel if you’re reading this I failed at making sub!Bucky 😔#Looks like I'll have to try again #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky/ reader #bucky barnes/ reader #bucky barnes/ you #bucky barnes barnes smut #bucky barnes imagine #maybe overstimulation will become my trademark #if this is bad you never read it #my writing

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airplanned · 2 years

Text

Spirits of Calamities Part 11

Castletown drunkenly prepares for the celebrations!

Master list...Part 10

***

There was a chill in the air, and Rhoam hugged himself, before seeing that the Spirit seemed unbothered despite her smallness and her overly-casual dress. There was probably a measure of the supernatural that caused her not to feel the bite of the wind, but her disregard made Rhoam stand straighter.

They stood in the main square of Castle Town, the fountain of the phoenix drained for the winter, but now decorated with blue streamers that radiated out to the buildings around the square. Despite the lateness and the season, the square still bustled with revelers getting an early start to the celebration the next day. The Spirit walked through the square toward one of the more popular pubs. Before the door, she gestured almost mockingly for him to enter first. When he grabbed for the doorknob, his hand slid through, but before he could get huffy that she had made a fool of him, she grabbed his elbow in a tight grip and marched them straight through the door and into the rowdiness.

The air smelled of a festival--of sweet things and spices--and the music clanged away in the corner while all the crowd seemed to be laughing, all at different jokes.

Suddenly, one of the men stood and thrust his mug into the air, lifting his voice for attention. “Here’s to Champion Mipha, who once hosed down three dozen hinoxes and then got all bashful about it, and if I’d have done that, you’d better believe I’d never shut up about it!”

“Here! Here!” the crowd cheered, and another man stood from a different table, raising his glass. “And here’s to Champion Daruk, the biggest, hairiest Goron to ever dislocate my shoulder slappin’ me on the back!”

“Braaaaag!” someone jeered as the rest of the crowd hooted.

Someone else stood, "Here's to the Champion Urbosa, who'd kill you as soon as look at you, and you'd damn well like it!"

The cheers were louder.

"And here's to Champion Revali! That arrogant bag of hot air is going to save us all, and I hate it!”

They cheered even louder.

“And here’s to that poor sap Link! Goddess save him!”

“Aye! Save him and his poor, whipped ass!”

“It’s a good ass!”

“Mighty fine!”

“He kicked me in the stomach once!” shouted an off-duty guard. (Or at least Rhoam hoped he was off duty.) “Did a flippin’ flip thing! I wrote my mother about it!”

“I got you beat. One time he stole my shield and threw it at a Yiga who'd snuck up behind me. It made a noise like Gong!"

"I got you both beat! One time, he was runnin' down the hallway--don't know why--"

"Probably lost the princess!"

"--And he smacks straight into me, and he mumbles, 'Sorry.'"

"Bull shit!" "Booo!" The crowd threw their napkins at him and his clearly fabricated tale.

"My hand to the Goddess!"

“As if he could ever get a word in, even when she's not about.”

Someone else stood and lifted their glass. "To the Princess! The Goddess may have turned her back on her, but the Goddess has turned her back on us too. So, solidarity!"

The response was less of a cheer and more of a begrudging admittance that it was true, and then the bar went silent as everyone drank to her.

"Here's to our last winter," someone shouted. "Let's make the most of it!" And just like that the cheering was back, the music rolling in louder as couples took to the dance floor, as everyone dug into their food and ordered another round.

With a frown, Rhoam turned to the Spirit, who had not only procured a mug of ale from somewhere, but was also able to hold and drink it. She leaned back against the wall with her feet crossed at the ankle, watching the scene through one eye.

"They have no faith in my daughter," he said.

"Does that make you angry?"

"Of course! A monarch should always have the faith of their people."

"That's how you stay in power."

"What? That's not it! The faith of the people is how we'll rally troops to fight against the Calamity. It's how we'll keep morale high. If people stop trusting us, then we won't have a united front in the final battle, just fractured groups who could never be as strong as the whole."

"You're angry these people might not fight for you."

"Fight for Hyrule," he corrected. "I'm angry Zelda has allowed them to lose such respect for her."

The Spirit rolled her eyes, and Rhoam rounded on her.

"What do you mean by that?"

"By what?"

"That eyeroll."

She considered him a moment. "You want your people to follow you, and yet, here they are, following you."

"What do you mean?"

"Who set the example of how the princess should be treated?"

Rhoam was now truly affronted. He was hard on his daughter because the people were losing faith in her, not the other way around.

He clenched his jaw and glared at the Spirit, who watched him lazily. Then she blinked, and the scene around them changed.

***

Part 12

#Zelda #my fic #Spirits of Calamities

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hqcult · 3 years

Text

PERFECT ## oikawa tooru

the air of perfection surrounding you makes him sick. you're worse than the geniuses he hates

. tw misogny, predatory behavior, smut, noncon/dubcon, slight dacryphilia, corruption kink, fingering . wc 1.2k

before his flight to argentina in a few months, oikawa made it a hobby to swing by his alma mater.

iwa's too busy and he can't possibly bother his best friend when he's working so hard in college. so oikawa tooru goes alone. sometimes, he comes in early while the team's still there. maybe he'll even join matches for fun — coach irihata still has a soft spot for him, apparently.

but most of the time he comes when the gym is empty; when there's an absence of the squeaking shoes and the ricocheting balls. it never fails to make his heart swell in nostalgia. ah, how he’ll miss this place terribly once he moves to argentina.

something did change, though.

oikawa wouldn't call it drastic but the first time he crashed their practice, he was all but pleasantly surprised to see the new aoba johsai manager.

you were a pretty thing and the boys adore you a lot. you didn't look the type to apply as manager just to score an athlete boyfriend nor did you seem to have any other objective other than taking care of the team. oikawa can say as much because he could see how the new captain looks at you and the way you purposely try to keep things platonic. friendly. you don't let yahaba, or anyone in the team, go the extra mile for you.

and the fact that you can miraculously keep kyoutani in check is the cherry on top. while the said player is still rough around the edges, he learned how to listen to you and the last time kyoutani ever listened to anyone was months ago, when iwaizumi was still in the team.

team morale is high when you're there to support them on the sidelines. in your white and turquoise tracksuit yet still managing to look attractive. yahaba's got quite the patience, if oikawa do say so himself.

you were like some sort of goddess to them. it's sickening how dewy-eyed his ex-teammates would get whenever you smile and hand them their water bottles. it was too good to be true. you were too good to be true. there has got to be some sort of conspiracy behind this whole ordeal.

"oikawa-san, i didn't think you'd be here at this hour."

he turns around at the sound of your voice. there you stood in casual clothes, hair tied up and face bare. with the harsh angles the moonlight created together with the poor lighting of the gym, you look normal. not an air of that perfection he’s always seen circulating around you.

"how did you get in? only yahaba and i have the keys."

you saunter closer and it wasn't a wise move on your part. while you have aoba johsai as the same denominator, the alumnus was still practically a stranger. quick exchanges of acknowledgments aren't exactly sufficient to get to know someone. let alone be friends with. but you never once thought any of that. how naive.

he smiles as you finally stood next to him. you can't help the slight dread pool in your stomach at the sight of it. with his tall lean frame that can easily overpower you, the smile looked more ominous than friendly.

"bold of you to assume i gave the keys back. why do you think shigeru had to duplicate them again for you?"

you didn't see it coming, the arm oikawa slings around your shoulders before pulling you flush against him. you would've lost your balance if you hadn't clutched the lapels of his coat.

"can it be…" his plush lips graze the shell of your ear as he whispers. "our little secret, cutie?"

warning bells are going off in your head. it tells you to run and stay the fuck away from him but you did nothing of the sort, had only forced a polite smile and swiftly ducked around to get his arm off you.

this is oikawa tooru we're talking about.

yeah, you know he's quite the ladies man but you doubt he'd go... that far, especially if he knows the person's uncomfortable. not to mention, you're part of the volleyball team! you're managing his past team. surely, maybe, the familial bond extended to you too despite only joining their little family this year. you were just being paranoid. you were reading into it too much.

"uhm, yes. of-of course."

oikawa does have to admit, seeing little miss perfect stutter and avert her eyes from him did wonders to his ego. well, now you don't look anything like the goddess his ex-team worships. you're not exuding the same level of confidence or reliability that you always carry yourself with. you look unsure of yourself. powerless in the face of real dominance.

"why are you here?"

"i…" is it really wise for you to say why? "i forgot the team's record notebook in the girl's locker room. i need to pass a summary of it to coach tomorrow.”

oikawa smiles, eyes comically lighting up in excitement before slinging a heavy, oppressive arm around you again. "ooh, i'll come with!"

you walk with shoulders slightly folded in and the ex-captain likes you like this. all meek and submissive. he daresay you look prettier compliant and not like a self-entitled princess who thinks she shouldn't bother being romantically involved with an athlete. he still thinks you were bitchy and idiotic for friend zoning yahaba of all people. he thought you should be very thankful for getting noticed by his junior.

but oh well, at least oikawa gets to have a go.

to witness firsthand what the fuss about you is all about.

you wanted to shrug his arm away and he knows that but he won't do it. the fact that you're struggling to even speak up about it makes him smirk. see, now you know your place. as you should. sometimes, girls like you who get silly little ideas in their head should be reminded of where they truly stand in the food chain. oikawa is more than glad to be the one reminding you.

you told him to wait outside while you sauntered into the girls' locker room and oikawa smiles that innocent smile before nodding.

a prey really shouldn't have turned her back on a predator.

just as you picked up your blue notebook on the bench, the resounding lock of the door clicking shut sounded too loud in a closed-off space. "oikawa—'

"you know, i'd really appreciate if we drop formalities. i think screaming tooru while i fuck you sound way better. makes things more intimate, dontcha think?"

he was onto you before you even got the chance to turn around. the notebook you were holding drops to the ground as he grabs hold of your wrists, his leg swiping at your ankles to tackle you to the ground. he's quick. the floor is hard and cold when your back crashes into it. you wince, the shock of what's happening yet to register in your system. never before thinking that this sort of thing will happen to you.

oikawa isn't as cruel or disgusting as you think. you were both legal adults. he knows. after all, he was there when the team decided to throw you a surprise birthday party on your 18th. he was also there from around the corner, eavesdropping when yahaba pulled you aside and confessed his feelings to you and you had the fucking audacity to turn him down.

he doesn't want to call this revenge, not when he'd still do it whether or not shigeru had confessed.

you were from a different breed of people. worse than geniuses. you are so disgustingly perfect in every sense of the word that it's so fucking unfair. it fueled jealousy more severe than he ever felt from tobio or ushiwaka.

because people aren't perfect. people aren't meant to be perfect. even oikawa himself is far from it so why should you be any different from him? you're nothing special. you're ordinary just like him. you don't deserve it. you're not even working hard enough like oikawa to fucking deserve it!

you were red in the face when he took a good look at your pinned form underneath him. your eyes are glossy but held fierce contempt as you meet his gaze, your lips sealed shut in a straight line. you were trying to hold yourself back from crying and it only fuels the fire of his anger.

"what, think i'm not worth your tears?" he growls, a hand coming up to pull your hair. he sits atop you, his legs pinning yours down as he straddles your hips. "think you're so high and mighty that you won't cry for your oh so dependable oikawa-san?" he purposely makes his voice high-pitched like a girl, copying you spitefully.

"that’s fine, i can give you a real reason to cry."

he rips your flimsy shorts off and ogles at your cute panties. pink with little bows? how innocent.

his large hand covers your mouth, the heavy pressure keeping your head in place as his other hand cups your sex. the heat of his palms makes you squirm. already simulating the sensitive nerves and you poorly try shaking your head in denial. because no no no your body shouldn't be enjoying it!

"ou're a real piece of work, (name)-chan," he starts, voice conversation as he nudges your underwear aside, the flat of his thumb drawing lazy circles against your bare clit. "why pretend you don't like it? it's okay to accept pleasure from ordinary people like me. you're plain and average at best too, you know."

with both his hands occupied, you can freely try pushing him away but it's futile. he's too strong and your head is starting to ache with how hard he's pressing it against the floor.

his blissful expression peeves you out entirely. he doesn't look regretful in the slightest. "you should really get off of that high horse, cutie. stop pushing me away. silly little girls like you belong like this, underneath a capable and powerful man to protect you."

you pant, the ministrations on your clit too good but you don't let it blind you.

"fuck yo—"

but oikawa doesn't let you finish. he swoops in for a kiss, a hand holding your jaw firmly in place so you can't bite him. a particular hard nudge on your clit makes you gasp instinctively and his tongue invades your mouth. he's a good kisser. so damn skilled from all the girls he's kissed before you. maybe if circumstances had been different, you'd have butterflies in your stomach.

"aw," he coos against your lips. "i see. little miss perfect wants me to fuck her? how cute."

you thrash and squirm, a pathetic sneer on your face as he holds you down with ease. all it takes is one firm hold against your shoulder as he nibbles on your neck, kissing and suckling at your skin until they turn purple and red. he placed them in positions he knows you can never cover even with the official aoba johsai uniform. why would you cover them anyway? you should wear his hickeys with confidence! it's the one evidence to show he even bothered himself with you so you should be grateful to him!

"let go of me, you jer—!"

"i don't think i'll suck on your tits today, cutie. no time. let's get to the fucking already then, yeah?"

you absolutely hate his voice. it's the signature high-pitched and childlike tone partnered with that goofy smile of his. a facade he always wears when dealing with other people. a show he's mastered to an artform. he looks awfully unbothered by how wrong this is and it chills you to the bone.

"oikawa-san—please—"

"i told you it's tooru!" he whines, pouting. "how many times do i have to tell you?"

panic seizes you when his ankles hook around your legs to force them open. he hears none of your pleas and shoves two long fingers up your pussy. there's a slight stinging feeling as he looks for that one spot that'll make you succumb, make you admit defeat.

"if you want my dick inside this pussy you better call me by my given name or you won't cum, baby girl~" he says in a sing-song tone.

"who the fuck told you i wanted your—shit."

your toes curl and your back arches when his fingers grazed around a certain area. you didn't have time to feel betrayed by your body's reaction as the man on top of you chuckles condescendingly, angling his fingers so he hits the spot in every single thrust. "you like that, don't you? you like what my fingers are doing."

"no!"

"no?" oikawa repeats, measured. with a flick of his wrist, he has his thumb pressing firmly against the sensitive nerves of your puffy clit again and he watches you writhe, lose yourself to pleasure, moaning and whining so wantonly under him. "but cutie, i don't think that's what your body is telling me."

you cringe in disgust when his hot tongue laps at the falling tears in your eyes before whispering against your ear. breathy, and desperate, and ever so patronizing. you don't hear the zipper of his pants going down, nor did you realize he wasn't even bothering to hold you down anymore. good. that's a good start. baby steps, oikawa thinks. for someone who sat in a make-shift throne worshipped by hormonal teen athletes for so long, serving the one great king will be a huge reset for you.

when he enters, it's a tight fit. of-fucking-course you're a virgin. always staying true to that little miss perfect reputation, huh? sweet and gorgeous but humble and demure. you probably had the same shitty old school belief of staying pure 'till marriage. it makes him harder, makes his length throb and ache with the desire to taint, to soil, to fuck you until that good girl image is stripped away and all you can think about in every waking moment of your useless life is your tooru's big fat cock. your pure lips only producing the most sinful of words to satiate his deepest desires—"fuck me hard, tooru!" "make me your whore, tooru!" "i want to feel all of you, tooru!" "i want your cock so bad, tooru! please please please!"

your longing cries of defeat, the lewd sound of skin slapping, oikawa's pornographic moans—it's a wicked symphony crafted by prodigies. "go on, cutie. cry for me. cry, and cry, and cry, 'til you don't have anything left inside you but your sorry tears and my cum!"

little miss perfect? no. you're his little cockwhore.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere hq #yandere oikawa tooru #yandere oikawa #yandere oikawa x reader #toxichours #(❁ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈) mine ༉‧#yandere oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa x tooru #tw noncon #tw dubcon #tw predator #tw corruption #tw dacryphilia #tw misogyny

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mythicamagic · 3 years

Text

Sesskag Week: Day One ‘Green’

Title: Stop me if you’ve heard this one before

Summary: Kagome witnesses Inuyasha and Kikyo in another loving embrace and runs away, stumbling straight into Sesshoumaru that moonlit night. (My attempt at an old fandom trope.)

Rated T

Words: 4,000

You can read this on Ao3, Dokuga and Fanfiction.net

AN: I just wanted to try my hand at an old sesskag fandom trope that I reckon was in the height of popularity from the early 2000s- 2010s. Other tropes from that time included Abusive Inuyasha, no one knowing what the canon end or final battle was like, and mokomoko being sentient. Ah...old memories. If this fic feels like it's from a bygone era, well...that was the intention lol. For Sesskag Week Day One - Green.

-----

Standing frozen stiff, Kagome stared ahead. A gasp remained locked behind her teeth. Slim fingers dug into the bark of a tree she'd hidden behind, gazing around the trunk towards a couple cradling each other tightly.

This was the second time. The first had hit harder inside her chest, the slam of heartbreak cracking the fragile shell of first love that had closed around her heart.

But she'd made a promise to Inuyasha; to remain by his side. She needed to get over this haze of green misting her eyes, the jealousy roaring through her veins. Inuyasha and Kikyo used to be lovers, it was perfectly natural and humane to want to hold his lost love.

That didn't make it any easier to see.

In fact, the emotion welling up in her throat threatened to burst louder than before. Fearing the strength of her own reaction, Kagome stepped back. She took another, then another, whirling around to flee into pitch-black darkness.

I wanted to be more mature about this, she thought. The tears stinging her eyes bespoke of her anger, worry, and heartache- like an old wound had been freshly ripped open anew.

Kagome couldn't be understanding or mature, not like poised Lady Kikyo likely could. Kagome was 15, emotive and sparking. She was fire, passion, a roaring flame of anger that could climb so high nothing would stifle it.

Stumbling over tree roots in the dark, quiet woods, Kagome ran blind. When she felt that she'd covered enough ground, far away from the lover's embrace, she stopped abruptly in the middle of a meadow. Sweat beading her temple and throat burning, she threw back her head.

And yelled.

She threw all turbulent emotions into it, crying so loud her windpipe protested. The noise became horse and broken before she stopped.

Standing within that moonlit clearing, Kagome caught her breath, tears threatening to spill over.

"Must you make such noise in the dead of night?" a steady voice drawled.

Her chest constricted, breath halting. Shadows peeled off from the trees, a figure revealing itself under the moonlight.

Kagome blinked hard, trying to fight tears as Sesshoumaru stepped closer. She moved back to keep distance, vaguely wary. Shit, she'd forgotten her weapons.

He wasn't an enemy per se anymore but they weren't exactly allies either. Since he'd adopted that human girl, they seemed to be in more of a stalemate. Nonetheless, the caprice of the Killing Perfection's moods were unpredictable.

"M-my bad, I didn't think anyone was around."

"You cried like a wounded animal," his lips curved, as though enjoying the thought. "Take heed, girl; such wailing will disturb demons with keen hearing- and not all are as forgiving as I tonight."

"Right, duly noted," she mumbled, rubbing her arm. Damn it. She'd just wanted a place to cry. Sesshoumaru was the last person she wanted to feel vulnerable around.

Golden eyes slid up to observe something beyond the trees. Turning to follow his line of sight, her chest constricted- glimpsing a trailing soul collector in the sky.

"Inuyasha's dead priestess uses those creatures, does she not?"

"Y-yeah, they're Kikyo's soul collectors."

His attention returned to her face, resting heavily there. It disquieted her until at length, he finally made a noise. "...Hn."

The Daiyouki smoothly pivoted, walking out of her available vision to meld within thick darkness again, but she sensed him linger beneath the trees, perhaps taking a seat.

"Keep the snivelling to a minimum."

Kagome startled, blue eyes widening. The first tear fell- closely followed by the second. Soon a stream of them flooded down her face, and she crumpled to her knees, palm clasped tight over her mouth as she tried not to sob.

She wasn't sure how or why. How she could suddenly fall apart in front of him when Kagome prided herself on not crying in front of anyone if it were possible. The why also remained a mystery- why did he invite her to stay? Sesshoumaru was not a charitable sort. Perhaps his sadistic streak enjoyed the salt of endless tears.

Kagome stayed there, quivering in the moonlit clearing for a good while, grass cushioning her bare legs, arms wrapped around herself protectively. When at last the sobs abated, she shakily stood.

Without a word to the demon who had watched her like a voyer of her pain, Kagome headed towards the village after piecing herself back together.

She couldn't see Sesshoumaru's expression, nor the way in which citrine eyes followed her figure until she stepped out of sight.

---

It wasn't like Kagome cried after every damn encounter with Kikyo, though they did leave her worn and exhausted. She felt mighty proud of not bursting into sobs the second Inuyasha's eyes lingered on her a little too long. But Kagome could bear that. She could bear many things.

It was fine, totally fine. She was fine!

Until she wasn't.

It had been two months since that emotional night and thankfully Sesshoumaru hadn't acknowledged her fine display of despair and teenage hormones. In fact, he seemed a little quieter during their encounters while hunting for Naraku, pinpointing her amidst her friends and eyeing her carefully sometimes.

So it was with mild surprise that Kagome stumbled into him again on one such occasion where she needed a good cry. And then again a few weeks after- followed by another encounter near a waterfall a month later. Every time, Sesshoumaru said nothing. He merely waited a respectable distance away, not particularly looking at, nor acknowledging her sorrow as she let out pent up frustrations.

What should be an immensely private thing had changed. Kagome wasn't sure what to feel about it, especially when he began erecting barriers around the area.

Almost like he was ensuring her privacy while continuing to invade it himself.

"W-why…?" she choked out one evening, sitting upon a log with only the Daiyoukai for company. Inuyasha and the others were none the wiser, sitting back at camp further within the forest. "Why are you here, hanging around? Is it fun for you to watch this?" her anger simmered, misdirected.

Sesshoumaru's lazy gaze slid over to her, reclining at the base of a tree. He huffed, drawing a knee up to gracefully drape an arm over it. "Your wailing is an assault on my hearing, I derive no pleasure from this."

"Then what's the deal? I find it hard to believe you're doing it for me."

"Hn, you are correct, I am not," he freely admitted. "This act of concealment is out of acknowledgement. Warriors must not show weakness in battle, nor to anyone but a select few. I am merely ensuring your wish to hide your pain is successful since you are so terrible at doing it yourself," inhuman eyes pinned her in place. Her breath stalled at their intensity. "Your desire to conceal tears and weakness is unexpected for one as emotional as you."

Kagome picked at her fingers. "It's not out of a sense of duty or warrior pride as you seem to think. I just don't like burdening people with my problems. Only...all this energy piles up and explodes out as anger at Inuyasha anyway, I'm not suppressing or hiding anything at the end of the day," she gave a self-deprecating smile. Letting out a long whoosh of air from her lungs, Kagome turned to him.

"For what it's worth, thanks. For uh- concealing me. I still think it's odd that you're going to all this trouble but I'm grateful."

He arched a brow, unruffled and outwardly placid.

Wiping the remaining tears away, she gave a weak smirk. "Urgh, I blubber so loudly over a guy I really shouldn't be in love with. Kinda stupid."

"Indeed," he drawled without sympathy, glancing away.

"And you're still a jerk," she hummed, smiling slightly. But a weird, considerate one. Was it possible to be both considerate and a jerk?

Sesshoumaru did not look at her, tilting his head back to gaze at the branches overhead.

"You 'blubber' so loud a 'barrier' is necessary in order to keep your privacy. Inuyasha would catch your scent otherwise."

"Can Naraku see us like this?"

"The barrier does not mask us from sight, it merely hides scent. It is effective on Inuyasha and other demons but the spider could easily survey us from a distance."

Kagome sighed, rubbing her eyes. "Gotcha," she murmured, falling into a strangely companionable silence with him, before asking; "have you ever been in love?"

His reply was immediate and crisp; "no. Such things are for fanciful beings."

Biting her lip to keep from mentioning his 'Great and Powerful Father' had fallen victim to such fanciful things too, she hummed.

Sesshoumaru frowned in her direction. "Speak."

"I just think- when you do experience love, it's gonna knock you off your feet."

He sneered, "you think yourself an expert on the subject?"

"Gods no! Do I look like one?" Kagome grinned, gesturing to her tear-stained cheeks.

Sesshoumaru searched her face, visibly relaxing slightly. He tilted his head, surveying his sharp nails. "For what it is worth, if I had an opinion on the matter- which I do not," he assured. "I should think your fanciful 'love' emotion is not supposed to cause such pain. I question your dedication to it."

"My feelings for Inuyasha aren't something I can turn off. Believe me, I would if I could," shifting she gazed up at the stars, smiling gently. "Wow, Ursa Major looks so clear and close tonight."

Youki brushed her senses, her only warning. Soft grass crunched beneath boots as Sesshoumaru joined her on the log, sitting beside her. Mokomoko brushed the exposed skin of her knee. His eyes narrowed. "You are referring to the stars?"

Kagome blinked with surprise at his sudden piqued interest, raising a hand to point them out. "Yeah, a constellation. Ursa Major starts there and ends there," her finger drifted.

Sesshoumaru's blank features became lofty, huffing. "That is the incorrect name for it. Those stars are called Satoko."

"Who told you that?"

"My instructor when I was young. And this collection," he reached out, plucking her hand out of the air and redirecting her point to another constellation, "is Mineko, a volcano spirit."

Her skin burned at the contact, feeling his calloused palm, rough from years of training- clasping the back of her hand. Kagome blinked, feeling strange. Her stomach jumped, and she felt grateful and confused when he released her.

"I-I see! Tell me more about them, are they linked to your demonic heritage?" Kagome asked, flexing burning fingers in her lap.

Even hours afterwards, the sensation of warmth and strong youki flitting over her flesh continued to itch at her skin.

---

"I don't want to talk to you! JUST BACK OFF!"

Inuyasha's expression flickered, open hurt briefly appearing before white ears pinned flat to his skull. "FINE! Go running home again, see if I care!"

Kagome stormed away, hands balled into fists. She didn't call for Kirara to fly her to the well, she couldn't be bothered to haul herself back to the future and continue their long and tired trend of long-distance pining followed by disgruntled reconciliation.

She was tired.

Miroku, Sango and Shippo were tired too, judging from the multiple sighs sounding out behind her.

Before she could step out of earshot, she heard the monk murmuring to Inuyasha, encouraging him to follow her and make up. Likely to save everyone the hassle of another drawn-out spat.

Oh no.

Hadn't anyone listened to what she'd said? She didn't want to be chased in some coy 'let's have a fake argument' way. Real hurt and bone-weary annoyance soured her mood.

Hurrying away, Kagome began to run alongside a stream, jogging through a sparse forest and hoping to put distance between them. So lost in her thoughts of avoiding the Hanyou was she that Kagome burst through a youki barrier without noticing, glancing over her shoulder with paranoia.

By the time she detected wafts of steam brushing her skin, it was too late to stop. She gaped upon facing forward, almost crashing headfirst into a well-sculpted chest.

Long strands of silver against bare skin caught Kagome's dazed attention, gaze travelling up to find golden eyes staring down at her. Sesshoumaru paused half-naked before a hot-spring he'd likely intended on bathing in, tipping his head to one side in a silent demand for explanation.

"Kagome!" a distant voice resounded through the trees.

Panic erupted inside Kagome's heart and she turned to the demon. Her hands latched onto his remaining arm, blue eyes stinging.

"Please..."

She couldn't articulate what she wanted, even though it was so simple. Something thick clogged her throat.

The Daiyoukai lifted his attention to the trees. He then moved swiftly.

Sesshoumaru tossed his red and white hankimono over her, enclosing it tight around her body. It shielded Kagome from sight as her vision became swallowed by white silks.

Kagome jolted as a hard force shoved her down into dewy grass that perspired from heady steam saturating the air. Before she could react to the plains of a lean body pressing against hers, his weight pinning her to the ground, she heard branches shaking. Twigs snapping.

Her loafers were ripped off her feet, tossed somewhere further away. Likely out of sight. She heard them clatter over the sound of her drumming heartbeat, unable to see what was going on.

"What the- Sesshoumaru!" Inuyasha snarled, sounding slightly out of breath. "The fuck are you doing, hanging around here?"

A clawed hand minded the folds of the hankimono apart just enough to expose the side of Kagome's cheek- firm lips pressing against it. She stiffened. Sesshoumaru kissed her skin heatedly, his sigh billowing hot breath over her sensitive skin.

"Clearly I am enjoying myself with a woman. Do not interrupt, whelp."

Kagome could barely breathe, face turning steadily red. She lay frozen, reeling.

"Keh, whatever. Just tell me if you've seen Kagome pass through here."

He must not be able to smell me...

"Can you not keep tabs on a simple miko, brother?" Sesshoumaru purred, his hand gliding over her covered thigh, stroking back and forth. "Did she flee from you? I cannot say I blame her."

A snarl ripped through the hot springs. "Piss off! I'll find her myself!"

Furious sounds of bushes being slashed aside rang out, Inuyasha's swears becoming fainter as he drew further and further away.

Left with a demon straddling her and enclosed in luxurious silks, Kagome exhaled. She blinked, briefly dazed as the cover was lifted from her face, eyes adjusting. Dappled sunlight stretched across Sesshoumaru's face as he lingered close with an unreadable expression.

Kagome swallowed. "Thanks," she managed to say.

She's never been this close to a guy before, well not like this, anyway. Inuyasha carried her on his back or occasionally in his arms if the situation got dire, and they'd hugged. But this felt different.

Sesshoumaru braced himself over her using his one available arm, corded muscles leading down to a tapered waist. He was handsome in an aristocratic, cold sort of way – all hard angles and sharp edges. Her polar opposite. The heat of his bare skin bled through her school uniform, their hips melded together, and Kagome was struck by something painfully obvious that had eluded her until now.

There were...other options besides just Inuyasha.

Clearly, the Hanyou knew this little nugget too, since he flitted between herself and Kikyo.

But really, Kagome hadn't given it much thought. Hojo liked her but was easily dismissed. Kouga liked her but she'd always been too busy to really give him a chance.

And Sesshoumaru?

Her attention was helplessly fixed on him while the demon craned his neck down, scenting her hair.

Sesshoumaru had never been on the table before. Did he even look at her like that?

Golden eyes slanted to meet her, half-lidded. Her stomach did a flip, thighs twitching. Soft pink lips parted, and his attention flew to her mouth, lingering.

Before she could say anything, Inuyasha's voice sounded out somewhere close by again. "Damn it, Kagome! Just come out! Quit hiding!"

Kagome found herself sighing- stilling when she caught Sesshoumaru's dark rumble. His lips peeled back with displeasure, body leaning up and away from hers, climbing off.

Remaining sprawled on the ground for a moment, she calmed her racing heart. Picking herself up unsteadily, Kagome unwrapped the hankimono from around herself, awkwardly folding it as best she could and handing it back.

"I better go."

He inclined his head. "Until next time."

Next time.

Her gut wrenched. The next time she became upset with Inuyasha chasing after Kikyo. Oh wow. It really had become something so commonplace it felt inevitable.

That wasn't right or normal. That wasn't how she wanted to live, was it? Anticipating one crying session after another?

"Actually, let's meet up," she said, setting her shoulders back.

Surprise brightened his gaze. Sesshoumaru's lips twitched, "meet up, hm? You make it sound like an illicit affair."

Her expression darkened, "no. I'm not into that," she snipped, pushing her vindictive mood down. This was not an offer out of petty revenge. She just wanted to see him out of choice for once. "I brought a telescope. Let's use it tomorrow when it gets dark."

He agreed to it, watching her leave in that quiet, interested way he usually did. Kagome glanced back in time to see him partially turned away- hankimono clenched in his grip and lifted to his nose in a careful inhale.

---

Kagome actually felt quite happy about the meeting. Anticipation had raced through her veins during the entire day, though she didn't breathe a word about it to her friends.

After finishing up her food, she'd hung around camp late into the evening, before inching away with a weak excuse.

She didn't notice Inuyasha's keen eyes trailing after her, too preoccupied with hurrying around a nearby waterfall and retrieving her telescope that she'd hidden behind some rocks earlier.

Carrying the heavy thing up to the crest of a decently sized hill, she staggered upon finding the Daiyoukai already awaiting her at the top.

Kagome stopped and stared. She then felt a genuine smile curve her lips. How strange, that he could invoke such a reaction.

"Did I keep you waiting?"

Sesshoumaru lifted his chin haughtily, grunting. "I am not some lost puppy following you around, miko. I sensed your approach from my camp and generously decided not to stand you up."

Kagome grinned. What a big response. Almost like he was lying.

Giggling softly to herself, she arranged the telescope set, angling it up to face the distant cosmos. "Okay, you're gonna love this. I'm going to bore you with astrology and point out zodiac signs."

"These fancy foreign words do not sound boring," he uttered, leaning in close to view the stars with faint amazement, perhaps not anticipating the clarity of their view. Kagome felt his hip brush her side, her cheeks immediately blazing red. She tried to temper her reaction but failed miserably, looking at him briefly.

His placid features were much too close, familiar dark youki humming in the space between them. Comforting. Golden eyes met hers, ever watchful. Waiting.

"Sesshoumaru!"

They immediately flew apart as though they'd been doing something scandalous, Kagome's heart leaping into her throat.

Inuyasha stood a little ways away, teeth on display, hand resting on his sword. "Get the hell away from her!"

"Inuyasha- wait," she tried to cut in, but Sesshoumaru was quicker. Lifting his remaining hand, he fed youki into it, allowing deadly fingers to elongate into murderous talons. However, much to her surprise, he faced Kagome while flexing them.

"I will kill her if I please, Inuyasha," he rumbled. "She is a mere fanciful human."

Blue eyes widened, but Kagome clocked onto what he was doing immediately. It lingered there under his calm features that he tried to harden into contempt.

He was playing the villain. For her.

Likely out of some misguided desire to keep everything at the status quo, because he believed it would be easier on them both if they weren't seen as friends. Everything halted inside Kagome. She felt like she'd been coasting through her days without really questioning it.

"Bastard!" Inuyasha snarled, ripping his sword from its sheath.

With a strange sense of calm, Kagome raised her head. She then stepped in between them both, placing her fingers atop Sesshoumaru's sharp, transformed ones.

"That's enough," she said quietly, lowering his large hand.

"K-Kagome? What're you doing? Get back!"

"I said; that's enough, Inuyasha!" Kagome grit her teeth, tension gripping her fiercely- until it abruptly left all at once, rendering her exhausted.

"We need to talk," she said softly, gazing at him meaningfully.

Inuyasha blinked, lowering his sword as his ears pricked and lowered.

Turning to Sesshoumaru, she smiled weakly. "We're going to have to cut this meeting short, sorry."

"We can always reschedule."

Kagome gentled, a warmth pooling inside her that she hoped to revisit soon. However, the Daiyoukai hadn't made it three steps away before familiar laughter spread over the vast countryside beyond their hill.

Miasma leaked out of the sky, waning flowers on their stalks and killing the grass, rendering it dulled brown.

Naraku appeared in all his true, villainous glory- at exactly the wrong time nobody wanted to deal with him. However, absolutely no one could ignore this fight, as a completed Shikon jewel rested in the palm of his hand.

Kagome's stomach dropped. She automatically accepted her bow and arrows from Sango and Miroku when they arrived, looking grim-faced and out of breath. Inuyasha lifted his sword again with determination blazing in his eyes.

The Final Battle had begun.

---

They say 'time heals all wounds.'

Kagome would like to have a word with whoever 'they' were because this sentiment proved false. Time muted pain. It concealed it under layers of civilian life, responsibilities, family dinners and get togethers with friends, but her deep wound never really healed. The pervasive desire to return back to a life that had been stolen from her.

She couldn't say it had been perfect in the Feudal Era but she still missed it terribly. Missed her friends, travelling, exploring, strengthening her burgeoning powers.

She also missed someone she hadn't anticipated longing to speak to.

After killing Naraku and getting her hands on the jewel, Kagome had made her wish;

'I wish Kikyo would come back to life.'

It had resulted in trapping Kagome in the future, the Bone Eater's Well closing, barring entrance. She'd figured the look on Inuyasha's face had almost been worth it, his gob-smacked expression kind of hilarious.

Perhaps the wish had been an out of nowhere impulse. Who knew. All Kagome knew was that a part of her had died that day on the hill with the telescope- the candle of first love snuffing out. She still cared for Inuyasha of course, she wouldn't have wished Kikyo alive otherwise, but the act said something. They'd never be anything more than friends.

After trying her hand at dating a few boys in class, Kagome had broken up with them and remained single for the better part of a year. There wasn't anything wrong with them, per se, but it had felt disingenuous.

It wasn't them she wanted to speak to.

At the age of 18, the miko got her chance. Inexplicably, and without warning or provocation, the well reopened again one night.

Kagome stirred awake, lured downstairs by the promise of magic. It pulsed strongly like before, so she slid her legs over the rim of the well without fear that it would be a oneway trip.

Leaping down while still clad in her patchwork style pyjamas, dark hair whipped upwards as blue light swallowed her whole.

Immediately the smell of city smoke was replaced with distinct smells of petrichor. Fresh scents guided her feet to land gently on the bottom of the well, looking up at dark, cloudy skies.

Climbing out and feeling moisture lingering in the air dampening her hair, Kagome looked up, breath hitching.

The clearing looked exactly the same. Achingly nostalgic.

It sprawled empty and lonesome, awaiting her in complete silence. Kagome noticed the dirt disturbed around the well from how often she and Inuyasha had travelled through it.

Breath catching, hot tears stung her eyes.

Laughing weakly to herself, Kagome tried to rub them away in vain, more rolling down her cheeks. Unlike the usual times though, these were happy tears. Relief threatened to buckle her knees.

"I'm home," she shuddered.

"...Welcome back."

Snapping her head up, Kagome swallowed an embarrassing noise, warmth melting into her expression. She took a step, and then another, walking over to Sesshoumaru as he stood a little ways away, moonlight highlighting his hair.

"Y-you're here?"

Golden eyes flitted over her face, gentling a touch. He reached out and brushed pale knuckles against her jaw, catching tears upon it. "I sensed you. As usual, you blubber too loud, miko."

Choking on a sob, Kagome laughed, catching his hand and pressing her lips to the inside of his wrist.

Sesshoumaru stiffened, attention zeroing in on her. Kagome held his gaze as best she could with watery eyes, smiling.

"Date me," she stated plainly.

No second-guessing, no 'will they, won't they?' no more pining or questioning. Kagome refused to do it again.

He seemed somewhat taken aback by her forwardness for a moment, before a strange kind of intensity livened his expression. He wound his single arm around her waist, pulling her in close.

"What boldness, Kagome," he purred, lips ghosting the side of her ear. "But you can do better than that. Are you certain that is all you want from me?"

Kagome blushed hotly, shifting to catch his eye and smirk. "I just made it back here after three years. Let me catch my breath," she teased, hooking a hand under his yellow obi. "But...yeah, I might want more soon, you jerk."

Sesshoumaru rumbled with approval, swiftly ending the charade of teasing and swooping in. His lips claimed hers firmly, and it was not a kind, sweet kiss but she didn't mind, pressing herself against him. His tongue delved into her mouth, brushing against hers as a clawed hand snaked up into dark hair, gripping tight.

Smiling against his mouth, Kagome trying her best to keep up with his rough kiss as he bit and sucked her lips, inhaling her scent. He almost seemed elated, kissing her so quick and eagerly, like he'd been starving for it.

Out of curiosity, Kagome slid her palm over his chest, finding his heart racing.

Sesshoumaru broke away to plant heated kisses against her neck. He panted, the hand in her hair shaking with want of her.

Kagome stared, slowly looping her arms around his shoulders. "You...want me?" she said quietly like an obvious revelation. It felt so strange and surreal.

He huffed with amusement against her lips. "Hn, it appears you have made me fanciful, miko."

Brightening and smiling widely, Kagome pushed up on tip-toe. Guiding his mouth down with palms cradling his striped cheeks, she kissed him again, pouring every powerful emotion left unsaid into it.

End

#sesskag #Sesshoumaru x Kagome #skw2021 #sesskagweek2021 #skw2021d1

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nightowlwriting · 3 years

Text

summary: you've always known there's a soulmate on the other end of your injuries. when you're working the victory pit during the harvest close festival, though, it's the furthest thing from your mind. ironically, it's the closest mollymauk has ever been to you.

word count: 4.0k

warnings: canon level violence, mentions of molly activating his swords, canon level allusions to war and corruption

title credit: the steve miller band

note: takes place during episodes 17/18, requested from the soulmate abc list: damage done to a person also translates into their soulmate’s body (cuts, bruises and all).

masterlist - request - support my work? - ao3

Throughout your childhood, you’ve been called blessed. It started with bruises and scuffs. Little things that are perfectly normal for a child to receive and not remember. The problem with your bruises and scuffs was that they were not your own. When you grew into your celestially gifted powers, it started to make more sense.

Your family had stories of soulmates bestowed upon their clerics, but it wasn’t something that had happened in many generations. Nobody was really concerned until the wounds you received from your soulmate began getting worse - deeper, taking longer to heal, more life-threatening. It worried you, and your family, but it pressed you to become a better cleric. To find your source of power and lean into it. You heal yourself each night before bed, hoping that you’re giving some sort of comfort to the person you’re connected to. Even if you have no energy spells, you pull a pearl you were gifted when you left your hometown and press your lips to it and let it fill you with the love and warmth of life and still heal yourself. It’s your nightly ritual and, since you’ve started doing it, you haven’t missed it once.

Except once, but really that doesn’t matter because of how you miss it. It’s the Harvest’s End festival and the Victory Pit, and you’ve been conscripted to work it. You hate working for the Crown, but it pays well and allows you to help people. Your clerical skills and magic get used every day and you help the people that really need help. Still, the inevitable war looming over the Empire worries you. You’re skilled for your age, more so than the other clerics who perhaps have years over you, and War Clerics don’t have the longest life expectancy. After the last time that your soulmate died, and the grief and pain it inflicted upon you, you don’t want to do that to them. You try not to think about the several times you’ve felt their death and resurrections, though, because it worries you.

Most of all, it tells you very important information about them. They’re some sort of adventurer, best case scenario. The worst case, though, is that they’re a criminal. Regardless, you’ve become fond of them. The cuts don’t really hurt as much anymore, but they still pucker and scar when you heal them at night. There have been a few times when you’ve gotten hurt and you know that they’ve received those wounds, so perhaps they know about you as well. You hope they do because it would be awfully lonely to be the only one out of a pair to be aware that there is, in fact, a pair.

Still, your soulmate is the furthest thing from your mind as you funnel people into the Victory Pit. Clerics double as security, mostly because the Guard want to watch the fights more than they want to keep people safe, and you grit your teeth trying to keep your prepared spells at the back of your mind. You have several healing spells in your mind, but a few offensive ones as well. In Victory Pits of the past, you’ve had to use them. Now, you’re just sore and aggravated with the hickey that appeared on your chest last night - that you did not receive yourself. It doesn’t bother you that whoever you’re linked to is getting lucky, but it would be nice if you didn’t have to look at the proof for the next week or so.

Someone stamps on your toe and you bite back your curse, skittering backward and colliding with someone who is cursing. “I’m sorry,” You apologize on instinct, turning and grabbing the person by the arms. You’re momentarily struck by how beautiful they are, but you’re at work. “Are you okay? I’m a cleric working in the Pit today.” They glance down at you, baubles and trinkets swinging from their gaudy horns, and you realize with a start that they're purple. It’s not that tieflings are rare in Zadash, but purple ones are. The group they’re with also has a blue tiefling, a small green halfling, and a half-orc. Truly a strange band of people.

“No, no,” The person you’d run into says, voice smoother than you’d anticipated, “I’m alright. Are you okay, darling?” They smile down at you, completely red eyes smiling with merriment as they settle their hands on your biceps in a mirror of how you’re holding them.

“Please, I ran into you,” You shake your head, “Besides, I’m working. It’s my job to make sure that you’re okay.” You give them your name, telling them to seek you out if they shall become injured.

“Oh,” They sweep you grandly underneath their arm, squishing you into the side and stepping toward their group for a few steps, “I will get painfully injured today, but I will seek you out specifically, darling. My name is Mollymauk Tealeaf, and I am fighting with the Mighty Nein. You may call me Molly, all my friends do. I am a man of many friends, and you are one of them now. Keep your eyes on me today.” He winks and then sweeps himself away with a flourish, leaving you standing and a little flustered.

After that, the Victory Pit starts faster than you anticipate. You're stationed in the Pit itself, one of the more powerful offensive clerics on the roster today when you start to put the pieces together. You're not sure why you didn't notice at first, but Mollymauk - Molly - has a lot of scars. A lot of familiar scars. You trace a particularly deep scar on your collarbone as you watch the first Pit fight and wonder. What are the odds? Could Mollymauk really be…? A horrible thought hits you, and you can feel yourself pale. He's fighting in the Victory Pit today. He's going to get hurt, which will either confirm or deny whether or not he's your soulmate but if he is… Shit, you're in for a rough day. You know that The Mighty Nein is slated for the first fight against an Otyugh. They're nasty creatures, although not really native to Zadash you've still had to heal up some rather awful sucker wounds in your time.

You're glad to see that Mollymauk holds his own in the fight, and stays far away from the Otyugh. It's hard to keep your eyes off of him with the idea that he might be your soulmate and you get the sense that he's a melee fighter more so than a magical fighter in the beginning, but then he activates his swords, and the pain blossoms in your ribs as he drags his blades along his.

There's no question now. Mollymauk Tealeaf is your soulmate. Watching the way he fights and interacts with the Nein during their fight with the Otyugh everything about the injuries you've received from your connection with him makes so much more sense. You actually find yourself… Weirdly proud of your scars, then. You've heard about the Nein, how they're swords for hire and defeated the Fey Spider in the tunnels, but still. Mollymauk seems like good people. Maybe it's naïve to hope on your part because he's your soulmate, but you'll take it until you're proven different. You've been doing things like that for most of your life, and you'll be damned if you stop now. You know you can hold your own, too, so that helps. The next fighters pass in a haze to you, as you stand ready to save someone from death the Banderhobb fight passes with no need for clerics, and the fights with the Giant Crocodile and Ice Troll are much the same.

When the Mighty Nein is back up, your senses fire to life. The next monsters are Winter Wolves, nasty creatures with powerful ranged attacks. You steady yourself against the half-wall you're stationed behind, readying yourself for whatever pain Mollymauk is about to feel. The beginning of the fight is tense, and your fellow clerics watch you curiously as your hands grip tight and relax intermittently on the wall in front of you. When one wolf whirls and releases a nasty, icy breath you heave a sigh of relief that Mollymauk wasn't hit but then the other does the same thing. You feel it more than see Mollymauk get hit, sharp shards of pain washing over your skin so intensely that your eyes roll back in your head and the only thing that keeps you from collapsing is the fervent grip on the wall. Someone lays their hands on you and you feel a swell of magic before you shake them off. "I'm fine," You grit out, "Save your spells for the competitors." Even though you could use the healing, there's a reason clerics wait in the wings at the Pit. It's very possible that someone could be on death's door before the end of the day and if they die because you wasted a spell you'd never forgive yourself.

By the time you fight the darkness from the edges of your vision, Mollymauk is delivering the killing blow to the final Winter Wolf. You're not sure how he's still standing, let alone aware of his body enough to swing his swords like they weigh nothing. Your knees practically knock together as you gather your wits, wiping a hand down your sweaty face. The trials only get harder, and one hit almost took you down. You know you should heal yourself but you're not really sure if your nightly heals affect Mollymauk and, while you have no love for the Empire, it wouldn't be fair if your heals do help him. (And, again, there's the preemptive guilt of maybe not having enough energy for a lifesaving spell. You're just too selfish to use your pearl, too, so you have to make do and conserve your energy.)

The next group comes out and whispers flitter down the row of clerics to you: Owlbears are next. They're awful creatures, nasty when there's only one but two are damn near unmanageable. You happen to know these two aren't even mated, but that hardly matters. It's going to be a bloodbath at best, and at worst there'll be a death. Reaching over the wall, you unhook the latch that keeps it connected just in case you need to rush into the field. The beast-keepers are technically supposed to be the first on the scene, but you're also technically more powerful than they are. You rarely listen to the rules at the Victory Pit, mostly because you're a Crown Cleric and not from the Temple of the Platinum Dragon.

The fight is intense and the clerics next to you barely hold you back when several members of the team go down. They have clerics on their team, yes, but it's hard to tamp down your instincts when you were practically raised by your family for clericdom. It's only when you hear the whispering chatter that the beast-keepers are gathering the magical manacles that you jump into action, flinging open your door and sprinting into the field. The gasp from the crowd barely registers in your mind as you dodge an attack, skidding underneath and stopping next to what looks more like a bloody lump of cloth than a humanoid. The beast whirls on you, but you're faster. You've cast spiritual weapon before it can strike, the air in front of you and the injured party member shimmers and then, the first thing you thought of, a replica of one of Molly's scimitars but three times the size, appears and blocks the strike.

The Owlbear reels back again, going for another, but you're right there to block it. The beast-keepers are going to get an earful from you when you're done with the Pit, but for now, you're relieved that they've managed to subdue the beast and you can focus on the fallen. They're not in great shape, and with a precursory feel of their pulse, they're incredibly close to death.

You put your hands on either side of their neck, close your eyes, and pray. It's not necessarily a religious relationship with the deity that gives you the powers you have to heal, but it's still technically a prayer. The contestant heaves a deep breath, and you can feel the life rush into them from the fold between this plane and the next. The other clerics have gotten everyone else, so you focus on your patient. They probably need two or three more spells before they’re fully stabilized, which is going to burn through either your higher energy spells or all of your lower levels. You grit your teeth as you roll your patient onto the blade of your spiritual weapon, using it as a makeshift gurney. They’re already calling for the next team as if the clerics they’ve hired aren’t already spread thin trying to keep this team from dying. The Mighty Nein are at the doors, holding them open for the clerics, and you barely catch Molly’s eyes as you bring your patient off of the Pit floor and into the waiting room. The scimitar disappears as you lay them on a cot, quickly finding the worst wounds and sealing them with magic, burning through a lot of the spells you prepared and the arcane energy that it takes to cast.

The next beasts are angry and wily - displacer beasts - so you don’t really have time to think about how Molly is lingering near you, trying to find a time to talk to you while you’re trying to keep this person from dying. You stabilize them eventually, but the scarring will be intense. There’s nothing that you can do about that with what you’ve got now. Outside you can hear the next team win against the beasts and stress begins to bundle in your shoulders at the thought of how quickly the Pit is moving. Molly is hovering over your shoulder as you step back and begin clearing the blood off of your hands, despite his group being called out once more.

“That was my sword,” He rumbles, keeping his voice down and stepping even closer to you when you turn around. You track his tail thwipping through the air behind him, either very agitated or incredibly curious. Either could be incredibly accurate, and you don’t really have enough time to parse any information from the rest of his body language.

“Yes, it was,” You want to grumble, but it comes out softer than you intended, “Sorry, but you’re being called and I have to get back to my station so that you don’t die.” Molly tries to catch your arm when you slip around him, but with a promise and a smile you turn back to face him. “Don’t fucking die out there, and then we can talk, okay?” You wish that you could tell him, warn him really, that they’re about to face a Hill Giant. An incredible creature, really, but pushed to a near unreachable limit by the beast-keepers and their prodding, angry spears and arrows. It makes you sick to your stomach, but this is your job. The Empire pays your bills and keeps you fed - they would not tolerate any dissent from you on the matter of the Victory Pit and the treatment of the creatures captured specifically for death, no matter how strong of a case you can make. Instead of telling Molly what he’s up against, you casually brush the back of your fingers against his hand and let your magic make its way into his system. He should be okay, you think, the blessings of a cleric are strong.

Making your way back to your station, you fidget with your uniform. One of your friends - using the term loosely because you’re more like coworkers - catches your sleeve as you pass him. He’s grinning, mischief in his eyes. “You’ve never given a contestant your blessings before, what’s so special about him?”

“I didn’t do anything,” You pull away from Brock, “I just told him that if he wins, we can have a conversation. That’s all.” You shoot him a pointed look and then, after glancing around to make sure nobody else is looking, a wink. Brock grins and relaxes into his station, shaking his head. You’re known to push the limits, but outright break the rules? It’s almost unheard of for you. Everyone knows you’re blessed with a soulmate and Zadash is a bustling metropolis, frequented by the sort of people who get the injuries you sometimes show up to work with. They know you’ll need to stick around to find them, so you’ve only pushed the limits the Empire gives you, not outright shoot past them. By the time you’ve found your station again, the Hill Giant is almost out onto the Pit floor, and Brock has probably figured out why you’re so soft on one particular contestant.

The giant knocks out one of the pillars, roaring so deeply it vibrates in your chest. He’s pissed, rightfully so. The spines sticking out of his body make you sick to your stomach, and you have to look away. Your eyes find the halfling that was with Molly earlier, but as she sprints off toward the human woman, you realize that she’s a goblin. An interesting myriad of people traveling together, but you’ve seen strangers come through your town. She fires off two of her bolts, missing entirely, and you watch one arc through the air and strike off of the helmet of a Guard, who yelps.

You snicker as she takes off again, and the human man fires off his magic. It’s strange to see magic come from another person, especially magic that is clearly learned and not given. It almost makes you wish that your magic was learned instead of bestowed upon you but that would mean losing Molly, who you’re already rather fond of. You’re watching the man try to keep his cool and almost miss the other tiefling casting - a giant fucking lollipop appearing out of the air, smacking the giant, and then flames rocketing out of her hands to hit him, as well. You grin when you realize she’s a cleric, too. You wonder if she has a soulmate, but it would be improper to ask.

When the giant reels back and hurls a large chunk of wall, you suck in a breath. Everything is happening so fast, and Molly… Not only will it hurt to take the hits, but he’ll get hurt. It’s not just about you, but if he goes down so will you, and then you can’t help anyone. You’re almost relieved when the giant turns toward the half-orc, but then Molly is sprinting up toward the giant’s legs, his swords out. He’s a melee fighter, getting right into the thick of it and making your skin crawl. Molly’s swords carve through the giant like butter, making you cringe because the giant is pissed, and Molly won’t have time to get away from whatever is about to happen to him.

When the giant whips around, his eyes are fully black and bleeding down his face. You’re almost certain that’s Molly’s doing, but you don’t really have time to figure it out. The giants club swings up, and then down, and before Molly hits the ground your world has gone hazy with pain and darkness.

The pain and darkness keep their hold on you for what feels like forever. You know that eventually you’ll wake up, but floating in the darkness of unconsciousness you think of Molly. Did someone heal him? Is he okay? You’ve felt the other times he’s died, the way it rips you apart inside, the way you sleep for what feels like days before you wake up. Is this the same way? Has Molly died, even for a second, and you’re left to suffer the consequences? The stories your family told you all ended with soulmates together, no longer bearing the injuries of the other, because of the love that they share and the way they give and take equally. Nobody told you stories of soulmates where one dies over and over again - or at least comes close to doing so rather regularly. You’re still floating in the abyss when you hear his voice. Molly’s voice startles you because normally it’s the deity who blessed you with magic that comes to you, reminding you that everything is going to be okay.

But this time it’s Molly. He’s saying your name, asking you to wake up so that he can see your eyes again. Faintly, as you drift closer and closer to the surface, you can feel the light tracings of fingertips against the crest of your cheekbone and the faint wisp of breath against your hair. He keeps speaking, telling you things that you’re not sure you’ll remember when you finally float to the surface.

That happens faster than normal. When your eyes finally feel light enough to open, Molly is there. He looks a little worse for wear, but you can tell he has at least one healing spell in him. When he realizes you’re awake, a large grin splits his face. “There you are, darling,” He sighs, leaning forward in his chair to be even closer to you, “Scared me for a moment there.”

“Now that I’ve found you I highly doubt that you can get rid of me, Mollymauk.” Your voice is hoarse as you push yourself up, one of Molly’s hands curling around your shoulder to help you sit up on the cot. When you’re upright he moves from the chair he had set up next to your bed to sit next to you, his entire side pressed against yours. “You are a man who is constantly in danger.”

“That I am,” He leans against you, his horn pressing into the side of your head but you don’t mind. He’s warm and nice. The aches in your body numb a little bit just by being near him, but Molly seems like he has a bit of an ego so you don’t mention that. “Do you know why we feel each other this way?”

“Have you heard of soulmates, Molly?” You drop your voice to a whisper and turn your face to him, your lips pressed against his lavender forehead, “My family has legends of them, given to clerics to help them become the best healers they can be. Pushed to their limits by the other’s injuries, but also filled with an overwhelming need to be good enough. To have enough power. To protect, and love, and heal.” You kiss his forehead, hoping it’s not too bold, and let one of your last healing spells flow through his body. The last one you cast on yourself.

“It’s rotten work to love me, darling.” Molly finally says, one hand searching yours out, “But I do feel much better having met you. I feel connected, loved.”

“It’s not rotten work to love you, Molly. I’ve loved you for a long time, and I do not plan on stopping now.” You kiss his forehead again and his head turns, his own lips pressing against the side of your neck as he sighs, “Perhaps your work is not done in Zadash, but it should be soon.” You drop your voice to a conspiratorial whisper so that only Molly can hear you, “War is coming, Mollymauk. You, The Mighty Nein… You should run before you’re conscripted to fight.”

“And you?” He asks, red eyes never leaving yours as he pulls you impossibly closer, “What about you?”

“I… I’ll come with you, if you’ll have me.” You watch the shock flicker across his face for a brief moment, but then it settles into something that you can’t find a name for. “But if not, you don’t have to worry about me. I won’t be conscripted to be a War Cleric, not at first. They’ll take the clerics from the temples before they take me.”

Molly caresses the side of your face with his other hand, a small and hesitant smile playing on his face. “Darling, of course, I’ll have you. The Nein will, too. We’re meant to be together, after all.”

#critical role imagine #c2 imagine #cr imagine #mollymauk imagine #mollymauk tealeaf imagine #mollymauk / reader #mollymauk x reader #campaign 2 imagine #critfic

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kingandfireheart · 3 years

Text

YOUR MATING BOND IS SHOWING: Some underrated Nessian scenes pre-ACOFAS

alternatively titled: how did no one in the Inner Circle accidentally tell Nesta?

I didn't include the big moments (the Cauldron, the Bone Carver, Next Time, Emissary, I'll Come Say Hello, CASSIAN, and Hybern) because they are longer scenes, but these are some small and medium sized moments.

When Cassian can't stop staring at Human Nesta:

Cassian was sizing up Nesta, a gleam in his eyes that I could only interpret as a warrior finding himself faced with a new, interesting opponent.

...

Nesta didn’t bat an eyelash as she studied the handsome features, the muscled torso. Then turned to me. Dismissing him entirely.

Cassian’s face went almost feral. A wolf who had been circling a doe … only to find a mountain cat wearing its hide instead.

...

Rhys gave me a warning look. I gripped Nesta’s arm, drawing her attention to me. “Can we just … start over?”

I could almost taste her pride roiling in her veins, barking to not back down.

Cassian, damn him, gave her a taunting grin.

But Nesta merely hissed, “Fine.” And went back to eating.

Cassian watched every bite she took, every bob of her throat as she swallowed.

...

“That’s very beautiful,” she said. “Is it not—frightening, though? To fly so high?”

“It is sometimes,” Azriel said. Cassian tore his relentless attention from Nesta long enough to nod his agreement.

When Nesta gives Cassian the finger:

He’d given Nesta a mocking bow, and she’d given him a vulgar gesture I hadn’t realized she knew how to make.

Cassian had merely laughed, his eyes snaking over Nesta’s ice-blue gown with a predatory intent that, given her hiss of rage, he knew would set her spitting. Then he was gone, leaving my sister on the broad doorstep, her brown-gold hair ruffled by the chill wind stirred by his mighty wings.

When Cassian comes back from Wings & Embers:

I assumed seeing Nesta went about as poorly as could be imagined, because my lesson the following morning was longer and harder than it’d been in previous days. I’d asked what, exactly, Nesta had said to him to get under his skin so easily. But Cassian had only snarled and told me to mind my own business, and that my family was full of bossy, know-it-all females.

When Cassian declares he'll defend the humans (ACOMAF version)

His voice was rough as he said, “Five hundred years ago, I fought on battlefields not far from this house. I fought beside human and faerie alike, bled beside them. I will stand on that battlefield again, Nesta Archeron, to protect this house—your people. I can think of no better way to end my existence than to defend those who need it most.”

I watched a tear slide down Nesta’s cheek. And I watched as Cassian reached up a hand to wipe it away. She did not flinch from his touch.

When Feyre notices the mating bond:

When I looked ahead, I found Cassian staring back at Nesta as well.

I wondered why no one had yet mentioned what now shone in Cassian’s eyes as he gazed at my sister.

The sorrow. And the longing.

When Cassian tells Nesta exactly what is going to happen to Briallyn:

“You come between a male and his mate, Nesta Archeron, and you’re going to learn about the consequences the hard way.”

When Cassian speaks of his own intentions:

I blew out a breath. “Who else thinks it’s a terrible idea to leave the three of them up at the House of Wind?”

Cassian raised his hand as Rhys and Mor chuckled. The High Lord’s general said, “I give him an hour before he tries to see her.”

...

Cassian’s hazel eyes shuttered as he crossed a booted ankle over another, stretching his muscled legs before him. “I go up there every other day. It’s good exercise for my wings.” Those wings shifted in emphasis. Not a scratch marred them.

When Cassian wants revenge:

Mor’s lips pressed into a thin line, as if she was trying her best not to say anything. Azriel was trying his best to shoot a warning stare at Mor to remind her to indeed keep her mouth shut. As if they’d already discussed this. Many times.

“I don’t blame her,” Cassian said, shrugging despite his words. “She was—violated. Her body stopped belonging wholly to her.” His jaw clenched. Even Amren didn’t dare say anything. “And I am going to peel the King of Hybern’s skin off his bones the next time I see him.”

His Siphons flickered in answer.

Rhys said casually, “I’m sure the king will thoroughly enjoy the experience.”

Cassian glowered. “I mean it.”

When Cassian realizes how beautiful his mate is:

Yes, devastating was a good word for how lovely she’d become as High Fae. And in a long-sleeved, dark blue gown that clung to her curves before falling gracefully to the ground in a spill of fabric …

Cassian looked like someone had punched him in the gut.

When Cassian got out of an uncomfortable situation:

Mor blinked, but confided to me with a wince, “I think we’re going to need a lot more wine.”

Nesta’s spine stiffened. But she said nothing.

“I’ll raid the collection,” Cassian offered, disappearing through the inner hall doors too quickly to be casual.

Nesta stiffened a bit more.

When Nesta wants revenge

“Were they made immortal?” This question went to Azriel.

Azriel’s Siphons smoldered. “Reports have been murky and inconsistent. Some say yes, others say no.”

Nesta examined her wineglass.

Cassian braced his forearms on the table. “Why?”

Nesta’s eyes shot right to his face. She spoke quietly to me, to all of us, even as she held Cassian’s gaze as if he were the only one in the room. “By the end of this war, I want them dead. The king, the queens—all of them. Promise me you’ll kill them all, and I’ll help you patch up the wall. I’ll train with her”—a jerk of her chin to Amren—“I’ll go to the Hewn City or whatever it is … I’ll do it. But only if you promise me that.”

When Cassian is mad at Feyre and lies:

I studied him, the wings tucked in tight, the shoulder-length dark hair. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He stalked past me to the ring.

“Is it Nesta?”

“Not everything in my life is about your sister, you know.”

I kept my mouth shut on that front.

When Nesta shows up to training:

Something drew Cassian’s attention behind me. And even as his body remained casual, a predatory gleam flickered in his eyes.

I didn’t need to turn to know who was standing there.

“Care to join?” Cassian purred.

Nesta said, “It doesn’t look like you’re exercising anything other than your mouths.”

I looked over my shoulder. My sister was in a dress of pale blue that turned her skin golden, her hair swept up, her back a stiff column. I scrambled to say something, to apologize, but … not in front of him. She wouldn’t want this conversation in front of Cassian.

Cassian extended a wrapped hand, his fingers curling in a come-hither motion. “Scared?”

I wisely kept my mouth shut as Nesta stepped from the open doorway into the blinding light of the courtyard. “Why should I be scared of an oversized bat who likes to throw temper tantrums?”

...

Cassian was saying to Nesta, “Seems like you’re a little on edge, Nesta. And you left so abruptly last night … Any way I can help ease that tension?”

When Cassian has manners: (and realizes his mate may never fly)

Mercifully, or perhaps not, Nesta’s retching filled the silence. Cassian gaped at Rhys. “What did you do?”

“I asked him the same thing,” I said, crossing my arms. “He said he ‘went fast.’ ”

Nesta vomited again—then silence.

Cassian sighed at the ceiling. “She’ll never fly again.”

The doorknob twisted, and we tried—or at least Cassian and I did—not to seem like we’d been listening to her. Nesta’s face was still greenish-pale, but … Her eyes burned.

When Cassian helps her calm down:

There was no way of describing that burning—and even painting it might have failed.

Her eyes remained the same blue-gray as my own. And yet … Molten ore was all I could think of. Quicksilver set aflame.

She advanced a step toward us. All her attention fixed on Rhys.

Cassian casually stepped in her path, wings folded in tight. Feet braced apart on the carpet. A fighting stance—casual, but … his Siphons glimmered.

“Do you know,” Cassian drawled to her, “that the last time I got into a brawl in this house, I was kicked out for a month?”

Nesta’s burning gaze slid to him, still outraged—but hinted with incredulity.

He just went on, “It was Amren’s fault, of course, but no one believed me. And no one dared banish her.”

She blinked slowly.

But the burning, molten gaze became mortal. Or as mortal as one of us could be.

When he calls her "Nes" for the first time:

Both males went a bit still. But Azriel sketched a bow—while Cassian stalked for the dining table, reached right over Nesta’s shoulder, and grabbed a muffin from its little basket. “Morning, Nesta,” he said around a mouth of blueberry-lemon. “Elain.”

---

Cassian finished the muffin, licking his fingers. I could have sworn Nesta watched the entire thing with a sidelong glance. He grinned at her as if he knew it, too. “Ready for some flying, Nes?”

“Don’t call me that.”

The wrong thing to say, from the way Cassian’s eyes lit up.

When she flies with him for the first time:

My sister’s face was wind-flushed as Cassian gently set her down. Then she strode for the glass doors without a single look back.

“You’re welcome,” Cassian called after her, more than a bite to his voice. His hands clenched and slackened at his sides—as if he were trying to loosen the feel of her from his palms.

When he rescues her and can't hide his disappointment the she didn't hug him:

He said nothing as Nesta launched herself toward him, her dress filthy and disheveled, her arms stretching for him. He opened his own for her, unable to stop his approach, his reaching— She gripped his leathers instead.

...

Cassian only stretched out an arm for her. As if in a trance, she walked right to his side. His arms tightened around both of us, Siphons flaring, gilding the darkness with bloodred light.

When Nesta is recovering from the library attack and he's an attentive mate:

Nesta looked like she was going to be sick. Cassian wordlessly refilled her glass.

When he's protective and we find out about their height difference

Cassian was staring at Nesta—hard enough that my sister at last twisted toward him. Met his gaze. His head tilted—slightly. A silent order.

Nesta, to my shock, obeyed. Drifted over to Cassian’s side as Amren replied to Rhys, “No.”

...

Cassian casually slid Nesta behind him, his fingers snagging in the skirts of her black gown. As if to reassure himself that she wasn’t in Amren’s direct path. Nesta only rose onto her toes to peer over his shoulder.

When Cassian still isn't back from Adriata:

Nesta was waiting at the breakfast table the next morning. Not for me, I realized as her gaze slipped over me as if I were no more than a servant. But for someone else. I kept my mouth shut, not bothering to tell her Cassian was still up at the war-camps. If she wouldn’t ask … I wasn’t getting in the middle of it.

When Cassian is proud of Nesta:

“I would.” Nesta surveyed us all, her gaze jumping past Cassian. Not to slight him, but … avoid answering the look he was giving her. Approval—more. “It was some distant thing,” she said. “War. Battle. It … it’s not anymore. I will help, if I can. If it means … telling them what happened.”

When Nesta defends Cassian for the first time:

Beron only sneered. “I don’t take orders from the bastards of lesser fae whores.”

...

“That bastard,” Nesta said with utter coolness, though her eyes began to burn, “may wind up being the only person standing in the way of Hybern’s forces and your people.”

She didn’t so much as look at Cassian as she said it. But he stared at her—as if he’d never seen her before.

When Feyre dismissed Nesta but Cassian doesn't:

The door opened, and Cassian stalked in, face grave. The sight of the wings, the Illyrian armor in this opulent, pink-filled room planted itself in my mind, the painting already taking form, as he said, “What’s wrong.”

He studied every inch of her. As if there were nothing and no one else here, anywhere.

But I said, “She senses something is off—says we need to leave right away.”

I waited for the dismissal, but Cassian angled his head. “What, precisely, feels wrong?”

When the Cauldron made Nesta barf and Cassian is an attentive mate

“What’s wrong?” Mor demanded, holding my sister upright as her face contorted in what looked to be—pain. Confusion and pain.

Sweat beaded on Nesta’s brow, though her face went deathly pale. “Something …” The word was cut off by a low groan. She sagged, and Mor caught her fully, scanning Nesta’s face. Cassian was instantly there, his hand at her back, teeth bared at the invisible threat.

“Nesta,” I said, reaching for her.

Nesta seized—then twisted past Cassian to empty her stomach into the reflection pool.

When he touches her forehead:

Cassian stepped in Nesta’s path when she tried to walk past him. Put a tan, callused hand on her forehead. She shook off the touch, but he gripped her wrist, forcing her to meet his stare. “Any one of those human pricks makes a move to hurt you,” he breathed, “and you kill them.”

He wouldn’t be coming—no, he’d be mustering the full might of the Illyrian legions. Azriel would be joining us, though.

Cassian pressed one of his knives into Nesta’s hand. “Ash can kill you now,” he said with lethal quiet as she stared down at the blade. “A scratch can make you queasy enough to be vulnerable. Remember where the exits are in every room, every fence and courtyard—mark them when you go in, and mark how many men are around you. Mark where Rhys and the others are. Don’t forget that you’re stronger and faster. Aim for the soft parts,” he added, folding her fingers around the hilt. “And if someone gets you into a hold …” My sister said nothing as Cassian showed her the sensitive areas on a man. Not just the groin, but the inside of the foot, pinching the thigh, using her elbow like a weapon. When he finished, he stepped back, his hazel eyes churning with some emotion I couldn’t place.

When Nesta watches Cassian in Battle:

Only Nesta strode toward the edge of the tents to watch the battle on the valley floor below. Mor joined her, then me.

Nesta did not flinch at the clash and din of battle. She only stared toward one black-armored figure, leading the lines, his occasional order to push or to hold that flank barking across the battle

...

Cassian was trying. Azriel had lunged into the fray, nothing more than shadows edged in blue light, battling his way toward where Cassian fought, utterly surrounded.

“Mother above,” Nesta said softly. Not in awe. No—no, that was dread in her voice.

...

By the time I strode away, Nesta had already faced the battle once more, rain plastering her hair to her head. Resuming her unending vigil of the general battling on the valley floor below.

When she wraps up his wrist (and when he's an idiot and focuses on Mor)

But Nesta had jolted to her feet, staring at Cassian....But she surveyed his seven Siphons, the dim red stones. And then she said, “You’re hurt.”

Cassian’s face was grim—his eyes glassy. “It’s fine.” Even the words were laced with exhaustion.

But she reached for his arm—his shield arm.

Cassian seemed to hesitate, but offered it to her, tapping the Siphon atop his palm. The armor slid back a fraction over his forearm, revealing—

“You know better than to walk around with an injury,” Rhys said a bit tensely.

“I was busy,” Cassian said, not taking his focus off Nesta as she studied the swollen wrist. How she’d detected it through the armor … She must have read it in his eyes, his stance.

I hadn’t realized she’d been observing the Illyrian general enough to notice his tells.

“And it’ll be fixed by morning,” Cassian added, daring Rhys to say otherwise.

But Nesta’s pale fingers gently probed his golden-brown skin, and he hissed through his teeth.

“How do I fix it?” she asked ...

Cassian slowly sat on the log where she’d been perched a moment before, groaning softly—as if even that movement taxed him. “Icing it usually helps, but wrapping it will just lock it in place long enough for the sprain to repair itself—”

She reached for the basket of bandages she’d been preparing, then for the pitcher at her feet.

I was too tired to do anything other than watch as she washed his wrist, his hand, her own fingers gentle... Cassian seemed too weary to speak as well while she wrapped bandages around his wrist, only grunting to confirm if it was too tight or too loose, if it helped at all. But he watched her—didn’t take his eyes off her face, the brows bunched and lips pursed in concentration.

And when she’d tied it neatly, his wrist wrapped in white, when Nesta made to pull back, Cassian gripped her fingers in his good hand. She lifted her gaze to his. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely.

Nesta did not yank her hand away. Did not open her mouth for some barbed retort.

She only stared and stared at him, at the breadth of his shoulders, even more powerful in that beautiful black armor, at the strong column of his tan neck above it, his wings. And then at his hazel eyes, still riveted to her face.

Cassian brushed a thumb down the back of her hand. Nesta opened her mouth at last, and I braced myself—

“You’re hurt?”

At the sound of Mor’s voice, Cassian snatched his hand back and pivoted toward Mor with a lazy smile. “Nothing for you to cry over, don’t worry.”

Nesta dragged her stare from his face—down to her now-empty hand, her fingers still curled as if his palm lay there. Cassian didn’t look at Nesta as she rose, snatching up the pitcher, and muttered something about getting more water from inside the tent.

Cassian and Mor fell into their banter, laughing and taunting each other about the battle and the ones ahead.

Nesta didn’t come back out again for some time.

When Cassian almost dies, and she's worried sick, and then she looks him over to make sure he's okay:

Nesta stood by the nearest tent, an empty water bucket between her feet. Her hair a damp mess atop her mud-flecked head. Watching us emerge, grim-faced—

“He’s fine. Healed and awake,” I said quickly.

Nesta’s shoulders sagged a bit.

...

Still coated in mud up to her shins, my sister paused on the other side—away from where Cassian now sat. Looked him over. Her face revealed nothing, yet her hands … I could have sworn a faint tremor rippled through her fingers before she balled them into fists and faced Amren. Cassian watched her for a moment longer before turning his head toward Amren as well.

...

Your sister came immediately when I explained what we needed, Rhys said. I think seeing Cassian hurt convinced her not to pick a fight today.

Or convinced my sister to pick a fight with someone else entirely.

When Nesta Scries: No harm no harm no harm

Nesta still didn’t move. She could not use the bathtub, she’d told me. Because the memories it dragged up—

Cassian said to her, “Nothing can harm you here.” He sucked in a breath, groaning softly, and rose to his feet. Azriel tried to stop him, but Cassian brushed him off and strode for my sister’s side. He braced a hand on the desk when he at last stopped. “Nothing can harm you,” he repeated.

Nesta was still looking at him when she finally shut her eyes. I shifted, and the angle allowed me to see what I hadn’t detected before.

Nesta stood before the map, a fist of bones and stones clenched over it. Cassian remained at her side—his other hand on her lower back.

...

With a gasp, Nesta’s fingers splayed wide, scattering stones and bones over the map. Cassian caught her with an arm around the waist as she swayed. He hissed in pain at the movement. “What the hell—”

When Cassian makes an offer most women would not refuse:

“Eat or bed?” Cassian had asked Nesta, and I honestly couldn’t tell if he’d meant it as some invitation. I debated telling him he was in no shape.

Nesta only said, “Bed.” And there was certainly no invitation in the exhausted reply.

When Elain is taken:

“We’ll get her back,” Cassian rasped from where he perched on the rolled arm of the chaise longue across the small sitting area, watching her carefully...

Nesta lowered her hands, lifting her head. Her eyes were red-rimmed, lips thin. “No, you will not.” She pointed to the map on the table. “I saw that army. Its size, who is in it. I saw it, and there is no chance of any of you getting into its heart. Even you,” she added when Cassian opened his mouth again. “Especially not when you’re injured.”

When Cassian declares he'll defend the humans, pt. 2 (ACOWAR)

“Good,” Cassian said, glancing at Nesta. “If I end my life defending those who need it most, then I will consider it a death well spent.

When Cassian was going to say something before the last battle:

Rhys only asked, “How long do you think we have?”

Cassian clenched his jaw, glancing at my sisters. Nesta was watching him keenly; Elain monitored the army from our minor elevation, face white with dread....

Cassian took a step away, but looked back at Nesta. Her face was hard as granite. He opened his mouth, but seemed to decide against whatever he was about to say. My sister said nothing as Cassian shot into the sky with a powerful thrust of his wings. Yet she tracked his flight until he was hardly more than a dark speck.

When they decide to lure away Hybern:

Nesta stared toward that armada, toward our father fighting in it. “Use me. As bait.”

I blinked at the same moment Cassian said, “No.”

...

“He will kill you,” Cassian snarled.

Her hand clenched on his arm. “That’s—that’s where you come in.”

To guard her. Protect her. To lay a trap for the king.

...

Cassian said steadily, “It’s the only shot we have of a diversion. Luring him away from that Cauldron.” His hands tightened on Nesta.

...

But Cassian asked Nesta, “Do you have what you need?”

Nesta nodded. “Amren showed me enough. What to do to rally the power to me.”

And if Amren and I could control the Cauldron between us … That distraction they’d offer …

Nesta looked down to Elain—our sister monitoring the bloodbath ahead. Then to me. She said quietly, “Tell Father—thank you.”

She wrapped her arms tightly around Cassian, those gray-blue eyes bright, then they were gone.

#ACOWAR was FULL of ACOSF crumbs #nesta and cassian examining eachother for injuries is huge #how did the busybodies not say anything about them being mates for TWO YEARS #I love these two #Nessian #a court of mist and fury #a court of silver flames #kp analysis #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar series #mtp

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