#i always love doing these wip searches for words | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

arcielee · 2 months

Text

My body was bruised and I was set alight

Summary: You decide to pay your husband a visit. Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader Word Count: 3.6+ Warnings: AFAB Reader, mentions of Targcest, infidelities, kissing, oral (f receiving), p in v, creampie, overstimulation. Author's Note: Thank you my beloved @zaldritzosrose for beta reading and helping me decide how this arc should end! 💜 This is part 3 of my Only If For A Night, my accidental short-series. I would advise you to read part 1 and part 2, but do what you want. I finished this WIP base on the poll created to celebrate hitting 2k followers! (Thank you, my loves! 💜) This is the final part for the Aemond arc. Title comes from Florence + The Machine. Valyrian translations: ābrazȳrys is wife and dōna ābrazȳrys is sweet wife

You were standing out on the terrace with an iron grip on your chalice, half-drunk, watching the slow rise of the moon and its silver spill streaking out over the dark blanket settling over the horizon. Below, you could hear the swell of the night life for Flea Bottom, the amber glow of manmade lights lining the streets, but your focus remained on the broken surface of Blackwater Bay, the salt air licking your face.

Another somber sigh was followed by another swallow of bitter wine. Favor, you were learning, was something that could change as quick as the currents that now propelled the waters to crash white against the cliffside beneath you.

It was an almost poetic view from your gilded cage, a place where your confinement began eight days prior after a misdiagnosis from the maester. Worry thrummed of your delicate condition, but you knew the only reason you fainted was caused by the constricting corset you happened to be wearing when your husband made his gallant return to the throne room.

You had not seen him, much less spoken to Aemond since that night. It was something of a sinful replay in your mind, and it left you with an ache that the king could no longer sate.

That did not matter since whatever was between the two of you, you knew that you did not love Aegon nor did he love you. It started as something more primal, more insatiable, but it also allowed you a new freedom within the castle grounds.

It was a freedom you wished to keep, and the coupling was pleasant enough. It was why you cinched your waist on that day, another means to entice the king, to hold his attention while the lords of the realm paraded new skirts to try and sway his grace.

You were lovely, but it restricted the air from your lungs, and what little you had was wrenched away with your audible gasp at your husband’s grandiose entrance.

The doors swung heavy when his arrival was announced. Aemond was poised, as always, and his eye searched for you. You felt your blood searing to the surface and your vision narrowing to a pinpoint. The world pitched and you last saw his long gate crossing to catch you, the warmth of his palms moving to lift you into his arms. You felt the rumble of his chest as he called for the maester.

As Aemond carried you back to your quarters, your head lulled against him, eyes fluttering, enveloped by his scent of dragonback and sweat, a woodsy musk that held onto his riding leathers. Your cheeks warmed from his intense proximity, from the steady beating of his heart, and the elder master–who struggled to keep with the prince’s pace–voiced his concerns of a possible fever.

You felt your husband smirk, and you kept your eyes forward.

The handmaidens were stunned to the stone when you entered, watching as Aemond moved to place you on the bed. He seemed well aware of the eyes on you both, and he reached to take your hand, bringing it to his lips, so close you felt his exhale, this ghost of a kiss. He then moved away to allow them to fret and your eyes followed after him, taking in his stilted posture, his hands crossed and rested on his lower back.

The heat of his gaze was melting you into the linen.

“You must rest.” The elder maester was flustering, mistaking the close scrutiny of the one-eyed prince. His skin was blotched with reds as he called crow that you were clearly with child; he was insistent on bedrest.

The blood drained away from your blank expression, a scalding pour into your heart that was slamming against your ribs. You felt sick from his words, muted as the maester turned to offer his congratulations to your husband.

Aemond kept his gaze fixated on you. His jaw steeled with a tension that spread to hold him in place. “You must do as he says,” his tone was leveled, tight, “ābrazȳrys.”

You were commanded to remain in bed, left with a searing panic that stricken your bones and left you pinned to the mattress, a fear that throttled your throat of your paternal doubt for the babe you carried. There was ill-comfort in the memory, a silver haired child all the same–it only churned your insides.

You were isolated as neither your husband, nor Aegon, visited you. Only once did the Lord Hand come by to express his pleasure at the prospect of another princess or princeling to be added to the growing lineage.

No one else came.

But you did not flourish with life. Instead your cycle came with a vengeance, and it was the same damn maester who returned with his sheepish admittance that he may have been wrong. “You can always try again, princess,” his eyes crinkled with his well-intentioned words while your insides curdled with its white-hot pain.

Rest, he insisted once again, along with a cup of wine to help soothe your nerves.

Alone again, the silence was near deafening until you decided to embrace the reprieve from the courts. Your days were spent abed while warmed stones were rotated from the hearth and pressed against your lower abdomen. You had a cup of Arbor Red for breakfast and supper, listening to your handmaidens' gossip about the latest skirts sent to the Red Keep to ensnare the king.

You were not bothered by this, as you felt certain you could reclaim his affection again. And when your moon cycle finished, you requested a hot bath with oils from Essos and rose petals that floated on the milky surface. You asked for your silk finery, adding touches of exotic scents dabbed behind your neck and on your wrists.

After you dismissed them for the night, you slipped on your robe and slippers, moving to the passageway Aegon had shown you.

The torches were lit and low, a soft amber light to guide you. Your hand pressed to the cobblestones and cobwebs, your mind flitting to when Aegon first showed you this secret, how he pressed you against the very same wall, the heat of his body pinning you and his mouth capturing your own–

You blinked when you saw a Cargyll knight posted.

“Forgive me princess,” he said with a pity that shimmered in his eyes. “The king has company tonight. I have been told he will not be interrupted, under any circumstance.”

The White Cloak then returned you to your room, leaving you to pour your sorrow in the chalice you now held. In truth, you were not mourning the inevitable end, but more so the freedom it had allowed you within King’s Landing. You would not fault Aegon–you knew firsthand that his passion was insatiable, notorious throughout the kingdoms. You also knew that the lords were desperate to catch his violet gaze, anything to align their house within the growing Targaryen dynasty.

Your second cup soured your blood and you felt your vexation pouring into your heart, smoldering. You blamed Aemond. It was his fault that his infidelities pushed you to find your own pleasure, and his unjust jealousy kept you isolated–your own handmaidens had been shy to admit your lord husband guarded every entrance during your bedrest.

A dragon hoarding, you fumed.

And for what purpose? He still had not even visited you since the day you were bedridden.

This curiosity burned alongside your ire, something overwhelming that mixed with the wine that flushed your skin. You finished the last bit, grabbing your silk robe once more and throwing open your door to find the other Cargyll knight posted.

He paled. “Princess.”

“I wish to see my husband,” your tone was curt and left no room for negotiation.

The soft clinks of his armor shadowed your steps, stopping once you arrived at Aemond’s door. It was unguarded and you recalled that fateful night. You were frozen, your muscles tensing and ticking before you regained enough control to give a sharp look over your shoulder.

“You are no longer needed.” Your words felt thick on your tongue. The White Cloak was quick to leave and your skirt billowed with your final steps to move and open the door.

Aemond was seated in a leather armchair placed in front of a large, oak desk. He was hunched over with his same studious furrow of his silver brow, a collection of parchment and ink, old books and tomes sprawled across. The glow from the hearth poured golden over him, touching the hard planes of his chest that peeked through his unbuttoned cotton nightshirt, and a yellow hue to his silver hair worn in a single braid, slung over his shoulder.

He stopped and looked up to you, his bicolored gaze focused–one lavender and one sapphire–as though he had been expecting you.

You felt unnerved, the thought of returning to your room fluttering through your wine-addled mind. Instead, you closed the heavy doors behind you. “Lord husband.” It spilled thick from your stained lips, your liquid courage coaxing your steps closer towards him.

He turned to face you, wood scratching the stone floor, his svelte slouch back in the chair that allowed you to see how far undone his shirt truly was. Your eyes trailed, your blood warming.

He smirked. “Good evening, ābrazȳrys.”

It cut through you with the same acidity as the last night he sought you out. Now you were the one unforced in his chambers–pristine and dark and decorated with his ancestry–watching the cruel curl of his lips as he continued. “Perhaps you are lost? I know that the king handles your affairs these nights.”

Your face twisted, blood rising and tears threatening with his chosen words. You managed to hold your tone. “I do not wish for the king,” your voice was soft, “but I wish for my husband.”

He scoffed but it only emboldened you, burning hot through your veins and spilling from your lips. “I come to fulfill what is expected of us, but also for you to finish what you teased the last night we shared together.”

Aemond looked at you, stunned by your boldness, a rose dusting across his sharp features and his lips pursed.

You could not stop. The dam was bursting. “You dared give me a taste of something I did not think even possible within this marriage, and now I want it, I crave it.” Your tone rose. “I want that passion that you tormented me with. I want that same passion that you poured into the queen–!”

You made a soft noise, your fingers flying to touch your lips, to scoop up what was said and swallow it again. The wine betrayed you and all you could do was watch, wide eyed, for how your husband would respond.

Aemond held still, carved marble poised. His fingers touched his chin while his one eye flitted to you and then away. “You have no idea what you are saying–”

It was your turn to scoff. You moved closer, your fingers touching the edge of the desk and following around, forcing yourself in his line of sight. “I saw you.” Your voice cracked with emotion, with a betrayal that ran so hot and so deep, surfacing again in the privacy of his quarters. “I saw you with her.”

You stopped yourself to gather the sorrow that threatened to release, pulling your anger back by the fistfuls and holding it tight behind your ribs; it burned. “I just…” you swallowed. “Well, it does not matter now. But know your actions are why I sought out my own comfort. I admit my sins, but I also know yours, husband.”

Silence settled thick, punctuated with the sounds of the embers, of the drawers opening and paper rustling, the clink of the top of the inkwell placed back. Your eyes were drawn to his slender fingers that fidgeted to straighten up the desk. When he finished, only then did Aemond look back to you, reconsidering you, his severity set beneath the red that now stained his cheeks.

“What is it that you want?” He was not angry, but almost curious.

You had not been asked this before. It was a torrid rush of sequential memories that poured over, pulling you to this moment–your initial optimism when you first came to King’s Landing, carrying your girlish idylls and romanticism that came knitted with the announcement of your betrothal to a Targaryen prince. You mistook his dutiful acts and his diligence for acts of devotion.

How you had wished, how you had hoped that it would become more–!

His touch grounded you, those same slender fingers wrapping around your wrist of the hand resting on the desk. You tilted your chin to look at him, a forceful rhythm of your heart trying to burst from your chest.

You swallowed again. “I am your wife,” you moved closer, closer with your velvet tone. “I am yours, Aemond.

You dared touch him, your hand breaking his hold and your fingers pressing to his chin, following the unmarred side. His lips parted, a moment to understand the affection shown and he surrendered to it. His face turned to your open palm, his breath tickling your wrist. You felt a heat that began to curl at the base of your spine, gooseflesh prickling your skin.

His breath hitched as you leaned forward, allowing your neckline to dip, showing a hint of what was prepared beneath your silk. Your lips touched his ear. “I want you to show me what it is that you truly desire.”

It erupted and he pushed from the desk, his composure cracking and his chest heaving, caging you to the edge with his hands pressed on either side until his knuckles showed white. You remained rooted, unflinching, unafraid to watch as the fire seared throughout, his nostrils flaring with whatever he battled within his mind.

A decision was made with a kiss. Aemond crashed against you with a passion that you were quick to reciprocate. His arms moved to wrap around and pull you into his chest, his heat burning through the cotton, a clash of teeth and lips and his tongue–the same that carved into your cunt with a precision that allowed you a glimpse of the heavens, now curled to pull a moan from the back of your throat.

His mouth moved, hot and demanding, open-mouth kisses that trailed your jaw and nipping on the curve of your neck. You were panting, you were alight. “What I desire,” his voice husked against your skin, in-between the assault of his lips, “I desire your taste on my tongue.”

You mewled, your fingers carving into his shoulder blades to hold yourself upright. His large hands roamed to the softness of your backside, lifting you enough to set you on top of his desk. You were breathless as his fingers dimpled into your plush thighs, splitting them apart to knit his slender waist between, claiming your mouth once again.

Aemond settled into the cradle of your hips, pressing at his seams with a hardness that rubbed against your core. You moaned again, louder, your legs lifting to wrap around him and pull him closer, but he pulled back, kneeling in front of you. “Aemond–?”

His hands tore the silk so your legs would spread further, and you leaned back, propping yourself on your elbows. Your chin tucked to your chest, rapt to watch the black that swallowed the lavender of his eye, the slow rise and fall of his chest, his hummed satisfaction to see that you were bare beneath; the night air was cool against your cunt, your arousal surely glistening in the candlelight.

You pushed up again, one handful of his shirt to pull him closer for another kiss, slower, softer, searching until he groaned against your mouth. You broke away, your lips swollen. “Who am I to deny my husband what he desires?”

His lips curled as he lowered himself, his hands slipping underneath your thighs to hold, moving close enough to lick up your slit. It jolted through you and you shuddered with his kiss to the bloom of nerves above.

“Relax,” he breathed against your sensitive skin, and you rested back onto your elbows.

You watched the shimmer of his hair as his head tucked between, his tongue pressing to split your folds and curling upwards. You moaned, your back arching, and his fingers bit into your thighs, holding as he pressed closer, until his nose rubbed against you in a way that elicited a reborn passion that seared through your veins.

You lifted your legs to press the soles of your feet onto his broad shoulders, and he moved one hand, pressing to the inside of your thighs and trailing closer towards your heat. He suckled his fingers before they pushed into you, a new intensity that curled your toes into his skin.

“Aemond–!” Your hands grasped to hold yourself closer, your fingernails combing through his hair with a light scratch against his scalp.

He hummed against your cunt, pressing his fingers deeper with a delicious stretch, with a familiarity that made you whine. He touched something within you that reborn the very passion haunting you for weeks, something your core craved ever since that night…

Aemond pushed you towards that precipice and your lungs ached with your bated breath, allowing enough for his name to spill like a fevered prayer, begging with your unabandon want. “Please, please–”

It was a delicious tandem of his mouth and tongue and his slender fingers splitting you open, a blossoming release that sparked at the base of your spine, a euphoria ripping through you and pulling you from your body.

Your legs were still shaking as Aemond moved to drape them over the edge of the desk. He towered over you, his sharp chin gleaming from your release. He looked at you. “I believed I married a shy and demure girl from a noble house,” his tone was dark, but teasing. He leaned over you, his eye glittering like the sapphire stone in his scarred socket. “I tried to be careful and courteous, as though you would break.”

You reached for him, your fingers carding through his hair and curling into the nape of his neck, pulling him close for another consuming kiss. Passion rumbled your bones with the taste of yourself on his lips, heating the marrow and pouring into your core once again.

“Break me, Aemond,” you breathed against his lips.

His drawstrings were loosened enough, shifting to press himself to your silken folds, his length spearing you through to the desk. Your body was pliant, wanting, but you still stretched to mold around him. Aemond groaned, another powerful thrust to sheath himself fully into your heat.

You shuddered, your nipples pebbling, and you clenched.

Aemond paused, his jaw tight as he looked you over. His silver hair spilled from the braid, cascading over his shoulders, and he leaned forward to kiss you again, his tresses tickling your skin.

You sighed, you shifted, wrapping your legs around his narrow waist, and he pressed forward, pressed deeper. “Gods,” his head tucked into the curve of your neck, his words rumbling through you, “you were made for me.”

You could only mewl in reply, overwhelmed with the powerful pace he set, sparking bright in front of your eyes as his hip bones bruised against you. It pulled something deeper and you swore it was too much. “Please, Aemond, I cannot–”

“You can and you will, until I am finished with you.” You felt his smile curving against your neck, prickling your skin with the pleasure that thrummed beneath. “But I promise, dōna ābrazȳrys, I will never let you go now–”

He pulled back, his hands grabbing into your hips to hold as he snapped against you. Your cunt suctioned to bring him closer and he complied, a brutal pace that sparked a new euphoria that simmered to the surface. You felt drunk on the pleasure threatening, a slickness that was spilling between your thighs.

“I can feel you,” he taunted, breathless and flushed. His hand pressed to your lower abdomen, his fingers spreading lower until his thumb slipped between your folds, slow circles to your bundle of nerves that increased with his thrusts. “Have you been so deprived, dōna ābrazȳrys–”

You could not hear him, not with how your blood roared in your ears as that passion imploded with a white-hot rapture. You shattered beneath him, a pleasure trilling through your nerves and your veins, spreading to every fiber of your being, a thousand pieces strewn across the oak desk.

Aemond groaned above you, spilling hot, his cock throbbing in rhythm with his heartbeat. You blinked to focus, your lashes wet from your tears. He looked down at you, bending over until his face pressed to your chest, his lips littering you with careful kisses as he softened and slipped from your cunt.

You felt the spill, sticky between your thighs, your skin aflame with every press of his lips. Aemond pushed up, but not before slipping his arm under the arch of your back, pulling you up with him. His hands moved to cradle your face, another kiss to draw your breath.

“Stay,” he whispered, “but only if you want.”

You nodded in a daze, watching as he moved around you: a damp cloth that wiped away his spend, his fingers curling beneath your chin as he placed another kiss on your forehead. He pulled away the last of your silk, and you nestled under his sheets, your body bare and molding to your husband, enjoying the heat that permeated from him and the rhythm of his heart against his skin.

It was a new beginning with the same characters, that which included the damn maester who would later announce that you were, in fact, pregnant.

Only this time, you would hold no paternal doubt for the silver haired babe you were surely carrying.

Only If For A Night masterlist arcie's navi | HotD masterlist

#house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #hotd x you #hotd x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond x reader #my body was bruised and i was set alight

662 notes · View notes

earthtooz · 1 year

Text

x : QUIET LOVE :*+ﾟ

in which: neuvillette doesn't understand human emotion, but a quiet night after a bustling gala with you might help him.

warnings: fluff, gn!reader, pining neuvi but he doesn't know it, quiet walks along the beach at night, gentlemanly flirting bc it's neuvillette, hand kisses lol

a/n: sacrificial fic because neuvillette is not coming home, so i poured my blood, sweat, and tears into this, even if it's not all that. ALSO, this was inspired by a wip on @gum-iie's page (hi gumiie >_<), so i hope you all enjoy !! i tried my hand at the vision i saw.

Gatherings in Fontaine are nothing short of magnificent. The nation of justice will never shy away from a party that reeks of grandeur and extraordinaire, with crystal chandeliers dripping from the ceiling, flowing gowns, and slicked-back hair. With an archon as dramatic as Furina herself, what else can the citizens of Fontaine expect?

Except for a long life such as Neuvillette himself, he has seen this scene one too many times. Gazing out amongst the sea of people, there is an ocean of unfamiliar faces, a sight that doesn’t bring him much peace. It’s not that Neuvillette does not enjoy interacting with humans- even if he’s not so good at doing so, but being amongst so many at once is the unpleasant part.

Despite his distaste for these kinds of bustling environments, he still thinks it’s good manners to attend, even if he will leave after an hour or two.

Yet, it has been half an hour past the two hour mark, and yet the Iudex still has not seen himself out because there is a particular someone that he is hoping to catch the eye of. Someone who is worth all this extra trouble and socialisation.

The melusines frequently run back to Neuvillette, concern and curiosity animated in their expressions as they ask their beloved father figure why he is still present. Their questions get brushed off by the Chief of Justice, who merely thanks them for checking up on him before telling them that there is no need to be worried, he is merely waiting for something. Or rather, someone.

Only at the third hour since the party’s commencement, does he get what he wants: your attention.

“Monsieur Neuvillette!” A voice cuts through the crowd and straight to him, causing him to turn around, eyes dancing wildly around the room to search for the source. He effortlessly finds your gaze and watches as you come closer to him, outfit flowing behind you and he decides that the crystals of the chandelier are no match against the ones that dance in your eyes. You are more radiant than the purest diamond and Neuvillette can’t find it in himself to glance away.

You are perhaps the most ethereal being he has ever seen in his long life.

What Furina promised him has arrived. Neuvillette can enjoy the night happily now.

“Y/n,” he greets, curt and polite, but the smile on his face speaks volumes. It tells a tune of subtle delight and enthusiasm mulled over for the sake of appearances and composition, and it is a melody that you are deaf to. In fact, the melusines are perhaps some of the only souls who can read his silent song of adoration but instead of meddling, they have resigned themselves to the corner of the hall, watching their beloved Chief Justice.

“I did not expect to see you tonight,” you murmur, placing your empty glass of wine onto the plate of a passing waiter. “What a pleasant surprise.”

He wants to say something charming, perhaps something like telling you how lovely you look tonight or how absolutely magnetic you are, but the words fall short and Neuvillette panics briefly, scrambling to continue the conversation. “It is important to keep up social relations, after all. Not attending would be problematic.”

“An utmost scandal for the Iudex, no less.” There is a teasing glimmer in your eye, one that most people keep away from him but you are an exception; you always have been with how you regard him. Many respect him but also fear him, he is revered but avoided by the public, people speak of him but never would do so causally to his face. It is a particular dance that Neuvillette has become accustomed to, and you have slotted yourself in a position that none usually take: right beside him.

He doesn’t completely understand human emotions just yet, but you evoke one that he cannot describe.

“How has your night been?” Neuvillette asks.

“Tiring, fleeting, boring,” you murmur, expression melting into something more fatigued. “I want to leave, monsieur, is that too frank of a confession?”

“No, not at all,” he sees an opportunity and scrambles to get the words out, “may I accompany you or will I be overstepping?”

You blink at him before a small, cheery smile pulls on your lips. “I would love your company, but I only ask that we leave at this very moment because it is getting far too stuffy in here.”

“Then time is of the essence.” Neuvillette extends his arm for you to take and he relishes in the feeling of when you do.

Leaving the venue and helping you down numerous flights of stairs, the lighting and allure outside is far more romantic than it is inside. The street lamps of Fontaine were made for functionality so that no citizen could walk around unassuming and unaware of the darkness, and never were they made with the intent of illuminating anyone’s beauty. Yet here you stand before him, radiant under the warm tones of the lamp with the evening breeze flowing through your hair.

Moreover it is quiet out here. There is no one to bother the two of you, no melusines, no meddling Archon who lives for drama, no loud music and chatter, just you and him, together. It is a contrast so stark that he fears reality will shatter any second.

Naïve to his internal turmoils, you tug at his arm gently. “Let us go for a walk along the river,” you propose. A muted feeling of enthusiasm flows through Neuvillette and he readily agrees to your suggestion, more than happy to indulge in the gentle kisses of the sea breeze on his face.

The stroll is peaceful and quiet, neither of you speak too much but it is not awkward in the slightest. Your gowns trail behind the two of you with each step, dancing in sync with the wind as your slow pace allows the two of you to bathe in the light of the moon.

Although Neuvillette does not want the night to end nor to let you go, the amount of yawns you’ve suppressed since leaving is alerting him of your fatigue, and he’ll feel bad if he keeps you from your sleep any longer.

Finally, with one long yawn that you were not able to shut away, he stops you in your tracks. “Tired?” The Iudex asks.

You look up at him with eyes forced open, wider than they usually would be. “Just a little, but the night has been lovely so far, I’d hate for it to end.”

“Please, if you need the rest then you should rest.”

“Thank you for your concern, however-”

“There will be no objections. Let me walk you home.”

The moonlight casts a shade of melancholy over your features and the last glance you give to the ocean is nothing but full of longing. You surrender reluctantly. “Alright.”

You two make it back to the last aquabus just in time, and you’re the only passengers onboard. There is occasional chatter with the conductor, as well as private conversations, but Neuvillette has no qualms just spending the ride in silence, admiring you whilst you gaze out at the beautiful landscape of Fontaine.

“There are so many stars out tonight.”

He glances away from you. “So there are.” Then he makes a brave leap. “There is one right beside me, too.”

“Me?” Your voice is strained with disbelief and your hold on his arms tightens just a little. There is momentary silence before laughter- a quiet sort of laugh, shy and not at all mocking or condescending. “Thank you,” you whisper, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “I’m very flattered you think so highly of me.”

It becomes quiet again after that but your hand never leaves his. If anything, Neuvillette feels you even more now, your warmth pressed up against his side is addicting, he cannot help but want more of it; he cannot help but want more of you. He wants more nights like this with you, days even- just as long as he can spend some more time with you, he’ll be grateful.

Humans and the complexity of the emotions they feel are something Neuvillette still can’t get a grasp of, but you fill him with something so inherently humane. Sitting beside you on an aquabus that is minutes away from its end is a bittersweet reminder of how little time there is until the evening ends, and this mesmerising evening becomes nothing but a memory. How irrational it is to yearn for something so temporary, but that is what makes it beautiful.

The walk back to your neighbourhood is quick, too quick for Neuvillette’s liking, but the smile you give him when you stop before your door is heartwarming. “Thank you dearly for walking me home, Monsieur Neuvillette,” you begin. “You have been the best part about this lively evening.”

The Chief Justice has never had a way with words, rather, they have always been his enemy, so instead of speaking to convey what he feels, Neuvillette takes your hand instead and places a kiss on your knuckles. A gentlemanly act to many, but he holds and kisses you with such firm intention that it makes you dizzy. It makes you think deeper about whether or not there are underlying intentions to address, and it’s exhilarating questioning what exactly you are to the Chief Justice of Fontaine.

For now, you’ll find contentment in the moonlight dream that was this evening, and he’ll engrave the feeling of you so close to him into his memory.

#neuvillette i am on my knees pls come home #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact fluff #genshin x reader #genshin fluff

2K notes · View notes

goodnightoilcountry · 5 months

Text

jo's nhl fic rec list !

hi - welcome to my attempt at being a fic writer again. i have a wip list in the works but first things first: my fic rec list of all the works i've found and adored.

if you don't know yet, you will know soon that i am such a sucker for angst. i hope you find something new to love from the list below !

how to navigate

i update this list weekly (try to) and place all the new fic recs at the top under NEW.

when searching for a specific player, they will always be listed under their current team.

* updated sunday 1 september 2024 *

weekly note: icymi - i've spent the last three weeks of my life packing and moving to my new place and i'm finally settled! next action item is to master plan my space but we'll leave that for when i've actually got energy to think about it. anyways, i did spent the free time i had intermittently reading here and there. hope you enjoy this small update 🤍

like my selection of fic recs? have a player who's not been featured? let me know and i'll go on a deep dive for you!

NEW

won't you stay til the a.m.? (mitch marner) by @senditcolton summary: New Year’s Eve. A time for celebration of another a fresh start, of new beginnings. But for you, it was just another reminder of all the time you felt like you wasted. And when you share a heart-to-heart with your childhood best friend Mitch, someone who you fell for years ago but never told, will the both of you let another moment pass you by? word count: 3.5k

take five (mitch marner) by @mattybenierss summary: it had been five years since you had last spoken to mitch. heartbroken, you return home and are forced to come to terms with your past. word count: 10.6k

felt like magic (nico hischier) by @laurenairay summary: Nico has been pining for years – maybe this summer is a chance to finally do something about his feelings for you. word count: 2.6k

sweet nothing (quinn hughes) by @sweetteainthesummerx summary: 5 times Quinn knew you were the one, and the one time he let you know... word count: 2.3k

as it was (auston matthews) by @miracleonice87 word count: 1.5k

so tell me to leave (william nylander) by @laurenairay summary: once is an accident, twice is coincidence, and three times is a pattern. You really needed to stop falling into bed with your ex-boyfriend William. word count: 1.7k

somehow still stuck on you (quinn hughes) by @matthewtkachuk summary: navigating the realities of your post break up friendship with quinn is exacerbated by how much you’re not over him word count: 2.4k

need you round (jack hughes) by @star2fishmeg summary: how does one guy go from wanting everything to do with someone, to nothing at all? Jack didn’t know what he wanted until he started losing to Trevor, but maybe that was a good thing. word count: 30.2k

moments in time (jack hughes) by @sweetestcaptainhughes summary: The eight times Jack Hughes showed his love through the ring camera that he didn’t even want in the first place. word count: 3k

FIC REC MASTERLIST

total number of fics: 151

anaheim ducks fic rec list players: trevor zegras

carolina canes fic rec list players: andrei svechnikov - jack drury - pyotr kotchekov - sebastian aho - seth jarvis - tyson jost

colorado avs fic rec list players: cale makar - nathan mackinnon

detroit red wings fic rec list players: jt compher

florida panthers fic rec list players: matthew tkachuk

nashville preds fic rec list players: brady skjei

new jersey devils fic rec list players: jack hughes - luke hughes - nico hischier

new york islanders fic rec list players: mat barzal

philadelphia flyers fic rec list players: erik johnson - jamie drysdale

pittsburgh penguins fic rec list players: michael bunting - sidney crosby

toronto maple leafs fic rec list players: auston matthews - mitch marner - william nylander

vancouver canucks fic rec list players: arturs silovs - brock boeser - quinn hughes

ALL OUR WONDERFUL WRITERS

thank you to all the incredible fic writers on this godforsaken app ! i am always so in awe of how creative people are and am constantly inspired by your minds ! i can't wait to find more of you on here 🤍

@43-hugs @adoristsposts @austonwithan-o @babydollmarauders @bagopucks @bedsyandco @behoright @bitchinbarzal @blueskrugs @bqstqnbruin @cellythefloshie @chewingcyanide @comphersjost @comphy-and-cozy @doc-pickles @eyesthatroll @fallinallincurls @happer08 @hischierdevils @hischierhoney @hockeyboistrash @hockeywhy @hockey-fics @hockey-hoe-24-7 @holy-pucks @hookingminor @huggybug @hugshughes @idontgiveaflyinggrayson69 @islesnucks @itsjusthockey @ladylooch @letsgetrowdy43 @marnerparty @matthewtkachuk @mattyanonwrites @matwith1t @mendeshoney @misshoneyimhome @mrsensitive @nhlclover @ohmyeyesmyeyes @pennylanefics @prettytoxicrevolver @pucksnsticksnhockeyboys @silovsmenot @starry-hughes @senditcolton @silverstonesainz-archive @stormsplurge @sunkissed-zegras @sunnyskiesscareme @sydnikov @thatintrovertedwriter @theemporium @thewintersoldierdisaster @undertaurus @unluckyhoneybee @withwritersblock @yelenasdog @youunravelme

513 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months

Text

All In 12

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: I'm tryna rotate as much as possible.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Her name is Margot. She’s talkative but kind. She guides you through everything with patience. Tells you when to close your eyes and look up, how to hold your head, when to pucker your lips. She even explains exactly what she’s doing and why she’s doing it. Despite her demeanour, you still feel utterly stupid. Rather, you feel inadequate.

Another woman shows up shortly after, as a brush traces the line of your cheek. She introduces herself as Darla, she has a whole rack of dresses lined up for you. Another inward cringe threatens to compress your lungs.

As Darla presents you with options, you find it hard to breathe. It’s all so overwhelming, especially as a third woman, Erica, appears to do your hair, and a fourth, Nia, to tend to your nails. You could faint as you’re pushed, pulled, and prodded from all sides.

“I like the red,” Margot suggests as you hem and haw.

The dresses are all nice but you don’t even know what you’re picking it for. Honestly, none of them suit you. Too much skin for your liking. Not that that stays much; your comfort is jeans and baggy tees.

Erika hums, “what about the teal, lovey? I do think you’d look marvelous with those cutouts.”

“Yes, it is a pretty colour. You have the complexion for it,” Darla remarks.

They’re all so nice but there’s something pitying in their voices. You feel like a child. You don’t belong here. You especially don’t belong with Bucky, apparently, he knows that too. Why else would he have these women plucking and picking at you?

Margot finishes and brings you a mirror. As you see yourself, you blanch. It’s not bad. In fact, she’s done better than you could ever manage but you don’t look like yourself. You don’t feel like yourself. If he wants you to be someone else, you don’t think you can do that.

You feel yourself shrinking. Your shoulders slump and you wilt, stuttering but unable to say a word. Margot touches your shoulder.

“What is it? Hon, have I done something wrong?”

“No, no,” you croak and bring your hands to your throat, “it’s nice. Really nice but... I need some air.”

“Of course, Darl, Nia,” she shoos away the stylist pinning your hair, “let her up.”

The women back off and the fourth watches you from the rack, still holding a sparkly black get-up. You search the room and swiftly head for the door. You let yourself into the hall, fanning yourself with your half-done acrylics. You’re happy at least they aren’t long.

You pace back and forth, watching your feet pass over the pattern of the hotel carpet. You can run. You could just leave right now. The thought only makes your stomach hurt. No, you can’t. Not after he’s gone to all this trouble. You’d hate to seem ungrateful.

You continue your incessant laps back and forth outside the door. You hear footfalls from around the corner and pause. You should go back in before someone sees you. You grab the handle. Shoot, it’s locked. You wiggle it as a shadow appears at the end of the hall. You gulp and peer down.

It’s him. You lean on the door and face Bucky. He wears a dark blue jacket over a black shirt and black pants. There’s patterning sewn into his jacket, subtle spirals all around. His dark hair his combed back to the ends flip out behind his ears and his dark beard glints with silver strands, a patch more obvious on his chin. He’s strikingly handsome. So much so, you can’t understand why you’re there.

His brows form a vee as he nears and he tilts his head, a tick in his cheek, “what’s going on, doll?”

“Um, just... locked out,” you turn the handle again to emphasize your point.

“No, what’s....” he looks at you and gestures up and down with his hand, “no, this won’t do.”

You blink and pout. After all that and you’re not good enough. He raps on the door with his knuckles and there’s some scuffing from inside before Margot opens it. She steps back to let you in and greets Bucky by name.

“This isn’t what I wanted,” he urges you ahead of him, his hand firmly around your arm, “it’s too much. She doesn’t need all this. I told you, just a little enhancement. I don’t want her looking like a Barbie.”

“Sorry, sir, it’s... standard.”

“Doll,” he stops you with him as he plants himself near the racks of dresses. The women watch him anxiously. “What do you think? The make up; you like it?”

You peer around and stare at Margot. She worked so hard and it isn’t that it’s bad work. She made you look gorgeous but you just don’t like all the layers. You slant your mouth one way then the other.

“Be honest,” he insists.

“I... It’s pretty but a bit... heavy?” You eke out.

“I agree,” he lets you go, “I appreciate the hard work, Marg, but I want to see her natural beauty shining. And these dresses...” he turns, “these aren’t right. I said light. I said... Mm, no. Doll, what’s your favourite colour?”

He faces you as you stand in shock. You feel horrible that he’s reproaching them like this. They’ve done all this for you and he’s just going down a list of everything wrong.

“Erm, purple, I guess but--”

“Darla, get her something purple. Lavender? Lilac?” He looks at you for confirmation and you just nod. You won’t correct him. “Erica, finish her hair, something a bit less... stuffy. Margot, clean her face up. Nia, the nails are looking good.” He turns to you and takes you by the shoulders, “and you, all you gotta do is be your cute little self, alright?”

You gulp and nod. You don’t know what to say. He saves you from a response as he brings his hand up under your chin. He leans in to kiss you and your cheeks flame at the awareness of your audience. He pulls back and caresses your cheek before parts completely.

He checks his watch, “don’t got all night.”

He marches off, leaving you dumbfounded. He’s like a hurricane, coming in and blowing everything out of sorts. You look around guiltily.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Margot assures with a smile, “come, let’s get you fixed up, dahling.”

She beckons you over and sits you back down. You give your hand back to Nia to finish the manicure as Erica once more goes to work on your hair. You stare at the wall and let out a nervous sigh.

“That’s cute,” Margot says, “the way he looks at you.”

“Hm, yeah,” Erica agrees, “he definitely has the eyes for ya.”

You close your eyes as Margot gently wipes away the make up with a cool cloth from a package. You shrug, trying not to move too much, “he’s nice. He... did all this. Just for me. I... I didn’t ask for it. I’m sorry he didn’t like it.”

“No, baby,” Nia says, “this isn’t about us. It’s about you. What do you like?”

You open your eyes again and frown. That’s a good question. You lower your gaze to your lap and exhale heavily.

“I’m figuring it out,” you murmur, “I don’t... I don’t get out much.”

“Oh, this must be so exciting for you,” Erica trills, “oh, how fun.”

“I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time,” Nia adds, “don’t be nervous. Just enjoy yourself.”

“Can’t be that hard,” Margot clucks, “on a handsome man’s arm, pretty as a bow,” she cleans her brushes as she talks, “it’ll be a great night. I’m thinking...” she peruses her chest of makeup, “natural tones. A dewy look. Natural, subtle.”

“Okay, uh, yeah,” you agree, “that sounds nice.”

“Hmmph,” Erica hums, “she’s a sweetie, isn’t she, ladies?”

“Nicer than the last one,” Nia cackles.

You stiffen and shift in the chair. You look at the nail tech then Margot as she compares a tube to your face and shakes her head. You push your lip against your teeth and let it flick out.

“Last one?” You whisper.

The women share a look and smile, “well, Mr. Barnes is notorious. Surely, you know.”

“Oh,” you think of the headlines you scrolled through online, “well, yes, I know. I guess... I didn’t catch what you meant.”

“Enjoy it. I’m sure you’ll get a few pretty baubles out of it,” Nia says, “and some memories to long for when you’re old like us.”

“Old,” Margot scoffs, “speak for yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. I know. I’m just... another girl.”

“Oh, dahling,” Margot intones, “but he seems really fond of you, doesn’t he? Maybe he’ll keep ya around a bit longer, eh?”

You just sit there. You knew better than to believe it was anything but the obvious but it’s still a hard pill to swallow. You stare blindly ahead as Margot remoisturizes your skin.

“Didn’t mean to upset you,” Margot says.

“I’m not, I just...” you swallow, “I’m nervous.”

“Mm, nervous? Well, I think that’s what the bar is for. Erica, fetch some of that rose. She needs a glass, Stat.”

Your mouth opens to protest but you think better of it. You’ve already caused them enough trouble. You thank them instead and try not to let your shame burn through. They know why you’re there and they’ve left no doubt in you of the same.

“Make sure to pour me some too,” Margot chirps.

🃏

You stop after one glass. It makes your inside bubbly and eases the tension just enough that you’re not jittering. You feel better but still not certain.

The women confirm your fears. This isn’t going to last. It’s not like you didn’t expect as much but hearing it is all the more real. You’re going to have to come up with yet another lie to tell. This one will hurt the most because it will be at least halfway true; you’re still a loser.

You’ll try to take their advice. You’ll enjoy this night; this once in a lifetime experience. You don’t think you’ll ever be in a casino again in your life. They’re not for you. All of this is just above you. It’s better suited to someone like your sister. You can’t help but wonder why it isn’t Roxie here.

The clock ticks. Well, not truly. The digital numbers count down the minutes as you linger in the suite alone. The gaggle of women left only a few minutes ago but not without a promise that you’re happy. You are, at least with all they did for you.

You approach the mirror, almost shying away from your own reflection. You look nice. You might even call yourself pretty. Your eyes look more brilliant with the subtle lining and the precisely coated lashes; not too heavy. And your lips, shiny but natural, your cheeks dewy with a hint of colour to them.

And the dress. Lavender satin with crystals embedded in the fabric, lines of smaller ones interconnecting the larger stones. You turn and check your figure. You look grown up. It’s ridiculous to think but you do. The heels help, not too high but enough to define your legs.

You turn and tear your gaze away from the mirror. You don’t want to be vain. Besides, you probably don’t look that good. You just look better than usual. The comparison is enough to skew your perception.

As you teeter on the heels, waiting, for what, you don’t exactly know. You can surmise what it will all lead to. What he intends. You can’t deny it any longer. A man doesn’t do all this for altruistic mean and even you aren’t that pitiful. Well, you hope not.

A knock at the door trips you up. Your heart lurches. You’re not ready. But it’s getting late and you know it’s inevitable. You can’t move or speak. You just stare towards the door.

You hear it open. You blink a Bucky’s shadow appears on the carpet and he strides into your sight. Your eyes meet his and his blue irises sparkle as he sees you. He stops and put his hand to his chest. His forehead lines and he bites his lip.

“Wow, doll,” he rasps breathily and slowly steps forward, “you look...”

You press your hands to your sides and give a toothy expression, not quite a smile, not quite a grimace. Sweat speckles along your neck as his gaze bores into you. You’re even more self-conscious as he closes in.

“I don’t know,” you murmur.

“What don’t you know?” He asks as he reaches for you and takes your hand. He draws you near, “huh? Look at you, doll.” He purrs, “you look spectacular.” His other hand grazes down your side and he squeezes your hip as he holds you at arm’s length and ogles you, “mm, damn. You wanna know what I know?”

You peer up at him from beneath your lashes, “what?”

“That you are the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen. I’m a lucky man to have you walking the floor with me tonight,” he drops your hand and frames your other hip, drawing you to him, “I have half a mind to keep you up in this room.”

You choke. Your lower lip trembles and you shake your head, “that’s nice but...” you look away.

“But? You don’t believe me, doll? You think I’d lie?” He challenges.

“N-no, I didn’t say—but--- before---” you sputter and put your hands on his forearms, “there were others and they were prettier.”

“Doll, don’t worry about before. This is now. You aren’t them and I’m telling you, you are beautiful,” he trails his hand up and nudges your chin. You look at him again, your cheeks shaking as you try to smile. “Here.”

He takes your hand, his eyes clinging to yours as he watches you. You can’t look away. Not this time. He leads your hand up his jacket and slips it beneath. He presses it to his chest. You feel the taut muscle beneath and something else.

“You got my heart racing, doll,” he growls. “That ain’t a lie.”

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #casino au #all in #he's a charmer isn't he #marvel #winter soldier #avengers #mcu #captain america

305 notes · View notes

lo1k-diamonds · 8 months

Text

SX Seoul Series | Jungkook Entry 💜 Bubbles (Part 2)

PAIRING: Jungkook/Reader (You can also read it on AO3)

SUMMARY: You wake up the next morning and feelings you didn't want to stir are brought back to the surface. You think he might feel the same way but maybe you jumped to conclusions too soon.

WORD COUNT: 8.3k

GENRE: Exes to lovers, smuuuuuut, angst, making up

RATING: Explicit

WARNINGS: exes, explicit, unprotected sex (stay safe!), you guys fight and stuff gets punched and thrown around, lingering feelings, heartbreak, second chances

PARTS: [1] [2]

A.N. I wrote this story after a while of being unable to focus and write so I hope you enjoy it, I think it turned out fun :)

Masterlist | Masterpost | Scroll my stories on Tumblr | Schedule and WIPs

You woke up in the morning, yet despite the sun’s rays hitting the floor, you couldn't be certain. Were you truly waking up?

You sighed and pressed yourself further back into a welcoming chest. The sheets had a familiar scent, and this along with the tattooed arm enveloping you and the breath fanning your hair made you sure that you were still dreaming. You moved ever so slightly, you wanted to submerge deeper into that dream, and his legs tangled with yours even better as if to tell you you were not going anywhere. It melted you because it reminded you of so many mornings before. So many dawns and sunsets where you’d be tucked in safely inside those arms, with his hum near your ear, his perfume trickling your nose, and you took deep breaths. That was your safety net, the place you rushed to so you could recover, rest, and gain the courage to face the world.

It was enough for you to search for even more. You were sleepy, dreaming, and on the only fluffy cloud in the sky where you wanted to be. So you turned under his arm to face him and your heart instantly trembled. His eyes were closed, but the soft lines of his face were the sweetest thing you had ever seen. You missed those pouty lips, that round cutesy nose, and the swell of those cheeks you used to tease all the time and that made you fall in love whenever delicate dimples would crease. His eyebrows had always been so expressive and now one had a piercing, which didn’t match the two rings adorning his lower lip except that he pierced the same side of his face. But even that didn’t surprise you; when you first met, he said he always wanted to do something, but didn’t know exactly what. You guessed he had figured it out.

You reached to brush his hair aside and felt the two studs on his eyebrow with a feather-like touch — you liked it. You liked everything about him, always had. You knew then your heart was getting loud and you smirked when it became deafening — because he opened his eyes. And in that moment, you decided that reality would only come knocking if you let it. You could pretend it didn’t exist. You could pretend Jungkook was still yours, that he didn’t hate you, that you belonged in his arms again.

You leaned in to nuzzle him and gave him a moment to move away. You were clear — you wanted to go on that ride again and forget everything else, but what about him?

He brushed his nose to yours once and captured your lips with a kiss that fluttered your heart. It wasn’t desperate or crude, it was gentle and warm like when two lovers said good morning. And that was all you needed.

You snuggled closer, embracing him and stretching and sighing in multiple turns. He returned your kiss and held you close, equally invested in that moment with you, away from any pain, anger, or subterfuge. This made you smile, contentment radiating from every corner of you, and it was as if you were in an alternate dimension. You could feel his love again and adore him back and you wanted to make the best of it.

Maybe it seemed against your better judgment, but you broke your kiss with a mischievous smile and turned your back on him. You pulled his arm firmer around you, in case he had silly ideas, and rubbed your ass on his crotch for good measure. The Jungkook you knew didn’t need any explanations or instructions, and indeed, he grabbed you close, grinding his hardening dick on your ass while breathing in the scent of your skin.

His hand came to cup your breast gently and you grinned, feeling elated with the way he was all over you. When he started playing with your nipple to harden it, you bit your lower lip and failed to contain your whimpers. He knew you were sensitive but it never stopped him before.

He started biting and licking down your neck and you were covered in goosebumps, arching your back to give him better access. He kept his sweet torture, but that wasn’t enough for you — you reached between your legs to grab his hard cock behind you and pull it to be squished between your thighs when you closed them. Then you rocked your hips and melted at the groan behind you.

“That’s it,” you cooed in a whisper, clenching around nothing in anticipation. “You’re so hard for me.”

You knew he loved to be coaxed, the same way you loved to tell him how good he felt. He wasn’t stopping, nibbling down your skin and pinching your nipple gently as he rutted you and you bit your lip.

“And I’m so ready for you,” you sighed. “Wont you check?”

Your tone was needy but you never bothered hiding it. His hand travelled from your chest to your core and instantly felt how you were dripping from your folds.

You whimpered, “See how you slide so well?” You meant at the surface, but his fingers sank into your flesh, pumping wet sounds out of you along with needy moans. “Fuck— You know where to go. You’ll feel so good, I promise.”

You felt his smile on your skin as he busied himself pumping you with two digits and getting juicy noises out of you. You moaned onto the pillow, rocking your hips to feel him better both inside you and in between your legs. You loved those sensations, not just the pleasure, but the scent reaching your nose because you were in his bed. You were living a dream and it was absolutely perfect.

His hand grabbed your hip, knowing well you were leaning forward and tilting your ass so he’d eventually slip inside you. The way he was making you crazy for it didn’t elude you, but you were never beyond begging.

“Fuck, baby. Please let me have you, please.”

He froze and you squirmed to feel him, thinking that was him just making you work harder for him.

He moved quickly enough that you didn’t think beyond it — he reached behind him inside a nightstand drawer and got something. You heard the wrap tearing and waited until he was ready. You didn’t let a single thought cross your mind, not now.

He grabbed your hip again and this time his cock pushed between your folds to get inside you, making you moan and lose all strength. He rocked his hips into yours and you gasped, leaning back. You didn’t expect him to grab your hair and arch you further, but you definitely tensed more around him, barely able to catch your breath.

“Fuck— Fuck, I love it when you do this.”

You could feel his breath down your neck. “Yeah? Love it whenever a guy fucks you like this?”

“No, only you.” Your reply was as natural as breathing, giving him all you had. “Always only you.” You were burning inside out, feeling flush not only on your cheeks but also on your chest, hands, and stomach. You reached to grip his arm supporting your hip in place; you were starting to get sweaty but you doubted he minded. You were just looking for more ways to connect with him. “Are you going to tease me? Make me a good girl for you? I always loved to be good so I could earn you filling me up completely.”

His hips jerked off tempo and you only sighed. He remembered for sure what you were talking about.

His fingers dug at your skin, “Yeah? How many times have you begged for a guy’s cum after that?”

“Never. You’re the only one I ever begged to, the only cum I ever wanted. The only raw cock inside me, the only—”

He stopped and pushed you by the shoulder to face him. You were a bit startled but faced him with all the vulnerability you had been showing so far. His eyes were glistening, almost hurt, and your breath shook. You didn’t want that reality, the one in which you hurt him. You wanted to be back a year before when everything was good and sweet.

His eyes were watering up and he looked down. You thought he was running away from you and you were desperate for him to stay, and you looked down too. Before you could speak, you noticed he had his hand around the base of his cock, just frozen like that.

You teared up, “Do it.”

He looked up at you and you saw tears in his eyes as well.

You smiled, “I never had anyone other than you raw. If you want to, I’d love to feel you again.”

He didn’t even blink. You were certain it was an impulse as you saw him pull the condom out and guide himself inside you as if he were a dying man and your core was his salvation. But as you both groaned and closed your eyes with the feeling of being connected again, you couldn’t care. You looked at him with a tear sliding down your face into the pillow and knew that it would all just break your heart in the end.

He must have known it too, because his eyes were glistening and red as he thrust into you at a slower pace. You instantly wanted to beg, but he gripped you closer, jerking his hips into you in a hard yet loving way that melted you to the bone.

“Fuck,” you dragged, trying to look up so you could see him above your legs still bent to the side like when you were spooning. You could feel him all over you again, inside and out in ways that felt like your souls were merging and it had you enter that beautiful reverie. You gripped his arm harder and forced his hand on your chest to squeeze as you moved with him. “Don’t stop. Please, please, please,” you said with every moan, scared that he would pull away and leave you. “Only you feel like this, please.”

“Only me?”

He was breathless, you almost didn’t hear him over your prayers. “Only you,” you confirmed, then you trembled and the words dripped out of your mouth. “I’ve missed you so much. So much,” your voice smothered with anxiety, with the tears flowing from your eyes that you squinted shut.

You didn’t fear that he would reject you or mock you or ignore you, you weren’t thinking. Your heart was hurting and you couldn’t keep it in anymore.

He slowed down and you hid your face under your hands, immediately wanting to ask him not to stop when you felt his breath near your ear.

“Me too. I’ve missed you too, bubbles.” His voice was wavering as he reached to kiss every inch of skin in range, soon after releasing his hand from your grasp only to grab it back and bring it to his lips. “I’ve missed everything. I’ve missed this.”

A sob almost silenced you, but you managed to call for him first, “Kook.”

It was a desperate sound you were almost ashamed to let out, so your hands instantly covered your face again.

He stopped and in a second was pulling your leg under him so he could get on top of you in between your legs and hold you tightly. He leaned down to kiss your hands away as his hips rocked into you gently.

His lips and calls convinced you to uncover your face only to wrap your arms around him and hide in his neck, “I miss you!” You whispered with a lump in your throat. “Please.”

He kissed your red and wet cheeks, down to the salty traces that led into your hairline, “I miss you too.”

Shivers ran down your body as his words emerged a knot of feelings from inside your chest. You were never able to face it, to deal with it, to forgive him or yourself, but his words. The way he was with you, holding you close just like he used to when he loved you. His body was fully connected to yours, maybe even his soul.

You sank your nails onto his back and focused on his weight on you, his soft skin, his scent, and the burning tension in your lower stomach. You knew you would explode soon but you needed to let it out.

“I wanted to see you.”

He kissed your head, “I’m here.”

“I needed to see you,” you tried, but the pleasure sparking inside you was about to steal that chance. So you hugged him closer — a moan was pushed out of you and you could feel your orgasm starting, but you still chirped, “I love—”

You couldn’t finish as you started shaking uncontrollably from the waves of pleasure tensing and relaxing every muscle in your body. You clung on to him, squeezing him so tightly you were surprised he didn’t didn’t break apart. But maybe he didn’t for the same reason as you — he was holding you together.

He waited for you to be done before pulling out and coming over your belly. He didn’t bother separating your bodies and just groaned near your ear as you hugged him close. You could feel the warm substance trickling down the sides of your stomach but you didn’t care. You were never one to be bothered, you were not disgusted by him in the slightest.

He kissed your head and you smiled, waiting and longing for his kiss to travel to your cheeks, then further to your mouth. You tried to control your happiness and kiss him back placatingly, still letting that joy reach corners of you that were dim otherwise.

When he pulled away, you had no idea what would happen, but you were at ease. Because you opened up to him and he missed you back, and even though you weren’t able to tell him properly that you still loved him, you’d surely have another opportunity soon.

That was what you thought and the reason your lips were curved, even when he got away from you to grab wipes so he could clean you. Yet as he did, you noticed he wasn’t looking at you. His jaw was hardening and he didn’t look nearly half as relaxed as you did.

Shit.

He wasn’t done yet when you tried to reach for his hand, but he dodged you and threw the wipe away before putting his legs out of the bed to sit with his back to you. You started shaking.

“Not to ruin your post-nut clarity, but I’d like to talk.”

You chuckled nervously and fumbled with the sheet — everything you said felt risky, and every step you took felt like the ice under you would crack. You feared speaking too soon but couldn’t risk doing it too late. You let those fears drown you once, but not again. At least this time your mistake would be insisting, not letting it slide.

“Nothing to talk about.”

You knew from his tone that he was about to push you away and it made you react. “That’s not true. I said I miss you, and you said it back.”

He didn’t answer; all you could see were his wide shoulders as he leaned forward, supported on his knees, and kept quiet.

You gave him the chance to speak his mind because maybe he needed time and who knew, maybe you did too. But you couldn’t think as you waited, you had no idea what to say. Nothing felt enough, but you wanted to say everything.

He heaved a deep breath and moved a millimeter to get up, and you immediately pushed. “Answer me. Talk to me. Why can’t we have a conversation?”

He scoffed, “That’s rich coming from you.”

You sat up as he got up and searched for clothes in a nearby closet. “It goes both ways.”

You bit your tongue and cursed yourself for reacting instead of thinking first — you didn’t want to fight, you wanted to talk.

You took a deep breath and spoke while he put a pair of boxers on, “Do you miss me?”

He scoffed and left the room and you jumped off the bed after him. You could only grab the nearest tee shirt you saw, black as everything else he owned, and scurried after him.

“Answer me,” you insisted, seeing him in the living room putting pants on. Where did those even come from? “Fucking hell, Jungkook, just answer me!”

“What?!” He exploded, anger brazen on his features, but you didn’t step back.

“Do you really miss me?”

“No.”

You raised your chin and tried to not give away how your heart was cracking further. You couldn’t think or you’d start crying. “Well, fuck you too.” Your voice still wavered, “Don’t fucking lie next time.”

You turned to reach the bathroom and get your clothes so you could leave. Your heart was pulsating with sharp pain and you knew you were seconds away from crying. You needed to get out. Now.

“You’re assuming I—”

“Yeah yeah, no seconds,” you spat bitterly, unsure if he heard you. He shut up, so he did. You grabbed your clothes, “You don’t have to worry about that.”

A sudden noise from behind you startled you so before you could strip, you turned around — he had kicked the bathroom door with so much strength you thought it might have popped off.

“What the fuck do you want from me?!”

“How many times do I have to say it? A fucking conversation!”

“I have nothing to say to you!”

“Fine! You’ll lie anyway!”

You turned your back to him, letting the poisonous anger burn your guts while you got a hang of your dress so you could put it on.

When a loud noise came from the door again, you weren’t even surprised. This time, he punched it and something metal hopped over the floor and rolled away.

“As if you didn’t say those things in the spur of the moment!”

“I didn’t.” Tears ran down your face and you cleaned them quickly, refusing to let the cry take over you. “I meant every word I said.”

“Bullshit,” his voice had so much contempt you almost broke down.

“I don’t care what you believe,” was all you said, then took the tee off. “Just because you lied doesn’t mean I did.”

He saw how your back bent and tensed while you put your strapless bra on. He was shaking in anger but he heard you sniffle and you didn’t sound like you were mocking him. He couldn’t handle it if it was true.

“Don’t joke around—”

“I’m not fucking joking.” You sounded angry now and you grabbed your dress to put it on. He clenched his fists. “But it doesn’t matter, it’s done.”

You put your strapless dress back on, adjusting it so it would cover you as much as possible. You had no way of seeing how angry he was getting at the sight of you wearing that again instead of his clothes, but it was something he would never admit.

“You want me to believe you wanted to see me?”

His voice was derisive and you turned to him. “I did.”

“That you needed to see me?”

He scoffed and you grabbed your heels on the floor. “I did.”

You turned back to him, thinking that maybe now you could actually talk, but he was shaking his head. You saw tears in his eyes before he started laughing and rubbing his face.

“It’s funny, is it?” You asked, filled with contempt yourself. “Why, you didn’t even hit the punchline yet.”

He uncovered his face and his whole expression was a warning.

“What?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest. “If you’re going to mock me then at least do it well.”

His jawline was tensing again but you couldn’t care anymore.

“Come on, where’s the final question? You heard me. You would be running your mouth if you didn’t.” You scoffed, “Though I couldn’t really say it properly, but—”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

For a second you thought he was scared, but you only smirked, “I don’t? You know what? You’re right. Congratulations, you’re right about something and all you had to do was be an asshole.” You stepped towards him to get out but he didn’t move out of the way. “Let me go.”

He shook his head and you ignored all kinds of emotions on his face.

You pushed him, but he didn’t move. “Let me go.”

“No.”

You pushed his shoulders again, but he didn’t budge. You clenched your jaw, upset, and saw that it didn’t bother him in the slightest. In fact, maybe he liked it. You pushed him once more and he tried grabbing your arms, and you struggled.

He won — he grabbed your forearms, “What did you say?” You scoffed and he pulled you closer. “Tell me what was I supposed to have heard?”

“I said I—”

You were ready to spit it in his face but your throat blocked as you looked into his eyes. You were both angry and hurt, and you thought you were above it, but you weren’t. If you said it again, it would hurt infinitely more. But then it hit you — he just used you. He was attracted to you and wanted an easy fuck, and that was what that night was. You were hung up on him like a moron.

Your eyes teared up but you made a decision — it would be easier if he just crushed your heart right now.

“I said I love you.”

He released his hold on you instantly as if you burned and you scoffed. You guessed you did — this Jungkook in front of you clearly couldn’t handle something like that. He was a fuckboy now.

You pushed him again and he didn’t resist, falling to the side and letting you pass. You started looking around — you couldn’t recall where you had thrown your purse.

“I said don’t joke around.”

His voice was barely above a whisper and you didn’t stop. You were throwing sofa pillows around, “And I said I’m not joking. And I don’t lie either, contrary to you.”

“You have no idea what you’re saying.”

You pulled your hair back with a sigh; it wasn’t on the couch. “You’re starting to sound like a broken record.” You continued looking around, maybe in the kitchen? “What does it matter anyway? I get it — why you lied. I was being emotional and you wanted an easy fuck.” You huffed; not there either. “You got it, so you want me to leave now, right? Don’t worry, I want to, I just can’t find—”

He roared and punched something that made the coat hanger fall to the floor. “You talk and talk and talk but you still don’t know what you’re fucking saying!”

You got over your shock quickly and threw your shoes on the floor, “It would help if you fucking talked instead of breaking the place!”

“I can’t fucking talk when you’re driving me insane!”

You scoffed, “Me? Maybe you are just insane.”

He stepped to you with a dangerous look, “Watch your mouth.”

“Why? What will you do?” You rolled your eyes when he only took a deep breath in response. When you looked back at him he was closer and you instantly tensed up, and not in a bad way. He was eying you in that way that had you crazy needy but you stood your ground. “You’re not touching me again.” Your lips pulled in contempt, “Not like you want to. No sloppy seconds, right? So surely no thirds or fourths or—”

He stepped forward, ready to grab you, and you gave him your most disgusted piercing look.

“Don’t touch me. Don’t look at me, don’t even think about using me again.”

You were out of breath, spitting venomous words while your eyes were locked, but in an instant, something wet dripped down your cheeks. You breathed, and instantly you recognized the pain searing your heart. It hurt. It hurt too much.

Your sob had you sucking breaths anxiously and you gave him your back. You didn’t want him to see how much it hurt you.

“I’d never use you.”

“Then why am I here?”

“Because—” He heaved a deep breath. It was complicated and he was so conflicted he wanted to punch something again. But seeing your shoulders move as you contained your sobs, his mind cleared. “Because I wanted to be with you.”

“Right,” you chuckled despite the tears. “Wasn’t fucking in a dark alley enough? Why did you bring me here?”

“To be with you.”

“Say it properly. To fuck.” He didn’t answer and you sucked in a deep breath, “Or maybe… maybe something worse. Not just to use me, did you want to hurt me? Is this some sort of… vengeance or—?”

“No!” He raised his arms to your shoulders but he didn’t touch you. You didn’t want him to.

You grinned but it was painful, “Lying again? Fuck, I never knew you like this.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Bullshit,” you almost laughed despite your crying and sniffling.

“It’s the truth.”

“Why should I believe you?”

He gritted his teeth behind you and gripped his hair in frustration. He was never the best at saying things, he always showed you better. He wished he could turn you around and get that stupid dress off you so he could cover you in his tee shirt again. He wished he could kiss your tears and hold you again like there wasn’t a mountain between you. He wished he could have you lying on his bed again saying those sweet things that shook him to his very core. He wished he could see your smile again as you drank your honey oat milk latte just the way you liked it because he made it for you. Fuck, he wanted that and so much more, but none of it would happen. He still hated you.

“Give me one good reason why you even talked to me back at the club,” you asked, more poised now that you had calmed your sobs and cleaned your cheeks. You turned to face him and he looked almost like he was in pain, but you only blinked your wet lashes. Your nose, eyes, and cheeks were still red but he knew you were crying, there was no point in hiding it.

“You looked beautiful.”

You scoffed, “Right… Beautiful enough to fuck easy, ri—?”

“Stop saying that!” Your assumptions were driving him crazy, but you were persistent.

“Why? Cause you can’t handle the truth?”

“Cause it’s fucking bullshit!” He smacked his fist on his palm, then opened both as if he could shake you to your senses, “You think fucking you is easy? You think wanting you and bringing you here was fucking easy? I gave in! I saw you, you said those things, and I had to have you!”

“You didn’t have to bring me here.”

“No, I didn’t!” He agreed with you and it made him swallow and take a breath from his shouting. “I did it for my own selfish reasons.”

“And what were those? If not to use me, not to hurt me or exact some sort of vengeance,” you enumerated with your fingers perhaps a bit pettily, but you wanted to understand. However, he didn’t seem interested in sharing — he had turned his back on you and stepped away to have space. “Then what for?”

He grunted and rubbed his face harshly before turning to face you, “Why do you complicate everything? I answered you already — to be with you. That’s all.”

You frowned and puffed; for some reason that answer just left you even more unsettled. “That doesn’t make any sense.” He threw his hands in the air and you insisted, “You wanted to be with me? Then why not let me finish blowing you?”

He scoffed and shook his head, “Thought you would have figured it out by now.”

Your frown deepened in anger, but it hit you. “Because… you didn’t want to use me?” His only response was a twitch of his eyebrows. “Then why not let me cum? When you ate me?”

He puffed a breath as his nostrils flared, but he still answered you, “Cause I was pissed.”

“Why?”

“Why?!” Your question made it worse. “Cause you spoke to me like I was nobody!”

Your chin dropped, “What?”

“You spoke like it could have been anyone else eating you and making you crazy and it made me want to tear you apart!”

You were shocked, just looking at him, and it infuriated him even more. He tried his best to keep his cool as he paced the living room — why were you making him feel inadequate? Like he was blowing something out of proportion when it meant so much to him?

“That's— I don't get it,” you tried, confused. “I wanted you to know how good you felt—”

“You called me baby!”

He was shouting again and you blinked, “So?”

“So?!” He kicked the back of his couch. “The most fucking generic term I’ve ever heard! Do you know how many people have called me that? Made me despise them every time!”

“But I've called you that before,” you pointed out, still confused. It was one of your nicknames for each other.

“You called me something else.”

His tone was suddenly sober and you instantly knew what he meant. “Kook.”

“Yes.”

He wouldn’t tell you how much he was hung up on it. He wouldn’t let anyone else call him that, he kicked out any women who tried, and just hearing it from your mouth now gave him goosebumps. It was who he was to you, who he wished he had been for his whole life.

You were just looking at each other while you recalled calling him ‘baby’ in the heat of your shared moments. You never meant it in a general way, you meant it endearingly. But you had called him ‘Kook’ earlier, and remembering it twisted your guts. You sighed and rubbed your eyes for a second — you had decided to crush your heart then and there. You weren’t leaving his place without bloodshed so there was no point in hiding.

“I was scared of calling you that,” you admitted, facing him again despite your fears. “I was scared of exposing myself like that.”

“Well, I did,” his grin was a sneer, but you couldn’t understand. Why would what you called him hurt him if he didn’t care? “So that was like a punch to my gut. Or maybe… maybe you didn't even notice that I—”

“Of course, I fucking noticed,” you blurted out, something akin to desperation on your features. “I noticed and it made me completely lose my mind!”

He leaned forward, gripping the couch’s back, “Not enough to expose yourself to me.”

“I was scared! You still hate me, I was—” Your own words hit you in realization, and you swallowed the lump in your throat. “I was scared.”

He scoffed, “Scared of what?”

“You know what,” you answered, uneasy.

“I do. See why you have no idea what you’re saying? You just blab and assume shit,” he gripped the leather couch and you thought for a moment he could have thrown it around if he wanted to. “The difference between you and me is that I knew who I was choosing.” His features hardened and you fought the urge to look small. “You said you wanted to do this and I took you.”

Your eyebrows twitched, “You’re trying to say I didn’t? Please,” you rolled your eyes. “Because I didn’t call you Kook sooner? You know better than that. I walked up to you, spoke to you, told you I wanted to be with you, came here with you, told you no one is like you, that I missed you, that no one makes me—” You huffed and bit your lip; you weren’t sure about saying any more than you already had.

His eyes were glistening but his grin was almost cruel. “You don’t look so scared now.”

You frowned for a moment before you raised your chin, “No, I guess I’m not. I was until you embraced me this morning and I thought—” Your lips twitched. “But that was fake,” his eyes snapped to yours and you stood still, “right? You lied. You never missed me, so what does it matter if you called me bubbles?” You scoffed but your eyes were filling with tears again, “Why call me that if you never meant it?” You shrugged, “I have nothing to fear anymore. It’s all fucked, I don’t think it can hurt more than this.”

His jaw was clenching hard while you spoke and he walked around. You thought he looked like a ticking timebomb with his biceps rhythmically reacting to his fists opening and closing.

“Well, I fucking wish it did,” he said. “It seems like nothing I do can hurt you, can it?”

“Are you serious?”

“I’m fucking serious!”

“Do I not look hurt to you?!”

“I want you to hurt at least a fraction of what it hurts me!” He punched the couch, but your watering eyes only hurt him more. “But all I managed to do was hurt myself even more!”

“You’re hurt?” You couldn’t hide your skepticism.

“What do you think?! Fuck, you’re so fucking selfish you can’t see anything in front of your nose!”

You crossed your arms over your chest, “Happens with liars. It’s hard to distinguish—”

“Shut up!” He turned to you and you squeezed your arms for comfort. “What does it matter if I missed you? If every fucking word out of my mouth was the truth and I called you bubbles because of what you fucking mean to me? Look at you!” You were shaking now with welled-up eyes. “Acting like a fucking abandoned puppy! You left!”

“What?”

“You left! You were the one who left!”

Your heart shook and you became pale, “That was— You mean—?”

“Yes!”

“But— You—” You were so confused. “You knew I’d leave!”

“What the fuck does that matter?! You said no and you left!”

Your heart instantly halted, “That’s— That’s something else entirely—”

“Yeah, right!” You shook with the venom in his voice. “I was ready, I made my choice, and you broke my heart!”

You were shaking and gripping your hands to soothe yourself, “I wasn’t ready.”

“You said no!”

His tone was accusatory and your chin trembled as you were swamped with old feelings and memories.

Only this time, you took a deep breath and answered back, “Listen to yourself! That day I told you I was going to the US to work for a year and you asked me to marry you! Does that make sense?!”

He had paced to his desk and as soon as you finished, he grabbed his gaming chair and threw it to the ground.

“You said no! You could have said something else! You could have said not yet or let’s talk or— I don’t know, just anything else! But you said no!!”

“Well, fuck, what was I supposed to say?! I had that job opportunity and you were going too fast!”

He sneered, “Fast?”

“Yes, fast! We weren't together for even a year yet!”

“I don't care! I fucking knew I wanted to spend my life with you! And you said no!”

“I said I love you!”

He kicked the chair on the floor, “And it wasn't enough!”

“No, it wasn't!” You stepped forward, wanting to punch something yourself. “Clearly! You’re fucking mad I said no, but what about you?! You fucking dropped off the face of the earth! You knew the dates of my contract, I forwarded the flight information to you, and you never spoke to me again! You didn’t even say goodbye!”

“What goodbye?! What bigger goodbye do you need than rejecting me when I’m on my knees for you?!”

“Stop being so fucking self-centered!” He started laughing, but you were not done. “I said I loved you. I wanted to be with you and you threw a tantrum like a child!”

“A tantrum?” He was still laughing and you’d recognise that bitterness anywhere.

“Be honest,” you breathed. “Would you have come with me?”

His laughter died. “What?”

“You heard me. And if you couldn’t, would you have waited for me?”

His eyes widened like a deer caught in headlights and you let the tears fall from your eyes.

“I never got to ask,” you continued in the silence. “You never answered me again. I always thought that your not answering was your answer. That you never wanted to see me again because if I wouldn’t marry you like you wanted, then you wanted nothing to do with me.”

He finally breathed, “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” You smiled and cleaned your cheeks, “Then why is that the only thing you say? That I said no? I never meant no forever, I never meant that I wouldn’t in the future. But I needed that opportunity to build my career, I needed that sacrifice from you and you turned your back on me.”

“No, I—” His mouth was opening and closing, he couldn’t find the right words. “Because— Because I thought you wanted to just— To just leave me behind.”

“Behind? As if I wasn’t leaving my heart with you? Tell me, did you ever think about asking me? About talking to me?” His lips twitched in hesitation and your lips curved painfully, “Right.”

“I wanted to,” he admitted, but you shook your head in disbelief. “I wanted to but I felt broken. You left me and rejected a future with me, you didn’t want me. What point was there in reaching out to you?”

“I wish you had. Maybe it wouldn’t have worked, but a part of me likes to believe we would have made it. One year was a long time but not the end of the world. For you, I would have done it.”

You nodded and looked at his feet for a moment. None of you would ever know now, but you believed it. You were at peace with at least having voiced that to him.

You looked up at him and saw as clear as day how lost he was. He was gripping his hair with pain across his features, maybe something else. He was still shirtless in front of you, a Greek God in all his glory, yet your eyes couldn’t abandon the soft curls of his hair. Now that everything was out there, you were sort of melancholic. You’d miss him.

“Fuck,” he dragged in a grunt. “Is this what you wanted? To find me again and break me?”

You chuckled, “What the hell are you saying? I never thought I’d see you again. And if I did, I expected to find you married to the woman of your dreams.”

He groaned and rubbed his face before facing you, “You— You’re the woman of my dreams!”

Your lips trembled but you stayed quiet; you had no idea where any of that left you.

“I can’t believe this,” he let out, then scoffed. “No, I’m in too deep now. You could have reached out too. You could have told me all this and asked me before, but instead, you just turned and left. Because you didn’t want me.”

“I called you!”

“For like two days! How long do you think it took to heal my wounded heart?”

“I don’t know! From what I’ve heard, your heart has been more than comforted, you probably healed very fast!”

“Oh fuck off,” he spat with harsh eyes. You regretted letting those feelings surface, but it was too late. “You left me after rejecting me, I was free to do whatever I wanted and screw whoever I pleased.”

“You’re right, forget I said that.”

He laughed, “Nah, that’s just you. Worried about whether I’ve been well-fed or not. Why? Thought that would make it easier?”

“What?”

“I don’t know, to get me crazy again.”

You couldn’t help your lips pulling, “I did drive you crazy.” His eyebrow twitched over a dark gaze and you quickly sobered up. “But that’s not what I meant.”

“You’re fucking incredible, you know that?” He could be spitting those words for all intents and purposes.

“No, I meant that after I called you, I took your silence as—”

“No, no, fuck that. Excuses, all of it. You saw me on my knees and butchered my heart, then left days later for another country. If you cared, you would have done more.”

“You act as if you don’t have arms and legs yourself.”

“And you act like a damsel in distress when you’re anything but,” he had neared you now and you sobered up. “I still hate you, you know.”

Your lips trembled and you looked down with a sour smile. You did realize it, but it didn’t make it any easier. “I know.”

You were focused on mapping your conversation and seeing if there was anything you could tell him that could clarify things when he scoffed.

“No, scratch that.” You looked up and saw him running his hand through his hair. “I fucking hate you and the way you just tried to bring me down to my knees again.”

“I didn’t—!”

“I hate that I brought you here 'cause I wanted to see you here, in my home, as if that could bring back what we once were. I hate that I gave you what you wanted even if it hurt. I hate that I called you bubbles as if you’re still that person. I hate— I fucking hate you, I can’t—”

His voice broke down but you had already heard too much. You couldn’t face him anymore, you were hiding under your hand as your spirit drained in the form of tears.

“I understand.” Your sight was blurry but you knew the way out. You stepped around him, “I’ll leave—”

You weren’t expecting him to grab you and crash his mouth into yours, but you didn��t fight him. You let him kiss you desperately and did the same all while the tears kept streaming down your face.

“Don’t fucking leave,” he whispered to your lips, pressing his forehead to yours. “I can’t stand the thought of you walking out. Not again.”

Your cry was uncontrollable, “But you hate me.”

His hands were firm around your head, not letting you move away, and the only sound you both could hear was you trying to control your sobs. It broke him to see you cry, it always did. He didn’t know what to do. No matter how hard he tried, there was this poison inside him that gushed out every time. It was all breaking apart again, and he wanted everything to go to hell, but looking at you, he knew that wasn’t true.

You sniffled, “If you hate me and I love you then we're not on the same page.”

His heart shook like his world could crumble at any moment. “Don't leave.”

“I have to,” you grabbed his arms and accepted it. “So you can find the woman of your dreams.”

“You’re the woman of my dreams.”

You chuckled sadly, “You hate me, Kook. You’ll find someone better, trust me.”

“No, I don’t want anyone else.”

You brushed his cheek, committing that sweet touch to memory. “You’ll be happy. It’s okay.”

“No,” he gripped you firmly, wrapping his arms around your waist instead. “Don’t leave.”

“Why would I stay?”

“Because I don’t hate you. I can’t,” his voice trembled with tears that didn’t flow down his cheeks, but down yours. “I hate myself for not being able to, for pretending, for even trying when I’m so—”

His voice blocked and you reached for him. “Say it… Please say it, don’t hold back,” your plea shook in your voice and you gripped his shoulders tighter. “If you don’t say it, then I won't know what to believe anymore—”

“Fuck,” he closed his eyes, fighting to the last moment all those conflicting emotions within him. But then you nuzzled his nose, holding him closer. Waiting. You weren’t leaving this time until everything was said and done, and he almost burst it out. “I can’t. I can’t hate you, I love you. I could never forget you but you left me behind and I fucking hated everything. Because I love you, because I lost you, because I was lost and I still am. What the fuck do I do?”

“I’m here.”

“No, you’re not.” He moved away and forced himself to take a deep breath. He turned to you, “You’ll walk out again. I fucked up. We fucked up, but I fucked up. Right? I spent a year trying to hate you, loathing myself for not being good enough. For being so sure you were the one while you discarded me so easily like I was worthless, but I never bothered to hear your side. I never bothered to ask you. You broke my heart… but I broke yours too.”

Your chin was trembling, but you didn’t near him. He seemed to need the space.

“I’m sorry.” He hid his face at your words and your tears treaded down again. “I’m so sorry if I hurt you, I was stupid and immature, and you’re right. I knew my heart was staying here with you, I should have tried to reach out and make it clearer. I knew I hurt you, and after I left, I knew you'd hate me. I should have gotten over myself and told you how I felt anyway. Then maybe I wouldn’t have tried to look for you in everyone else or stayed hung up on thoughts of you and—” He chuckled but it was laced with pain and you shook your hands, “No, I’m not blaming you!”

“I know,” he revealed his face, with red swollen eyes, and wet cheeks. “I’m blaming myself. I spent so long trying to hate you, blaming you for everything under the sun in stupid attempts to make it hurt less. I’m an idiot. And an asshole. Look at how I treated you. I can’t face you without hating my fucking stupidity—”

“Ours,” you stepped forward, hesitant to touch him but with your hands raised nonetheless. “If you want to hate something, then—”

He grabbed your hand and pulled you in, “I won’t pretend to hate you anymore.”

“Then don’t hate yourself either,” you asked as he took your hand to his lips.

“I’ll try… since it’s you asking.”

Your lips trembled into a smile at the way he was gently brushing his lips to your hand. “I’m happy we talked about it. I’m happy to hear that you still have feelings for me though I wouldn’t want to assume—”

“Assume.”

You stayed quiet, hesitantly looking into his brown eyes as he sprinkled kisses on your knuckles.

“Jungkook—”

“Assume, bubbles.” You pressed your trembling lips and he brushed your cheek with the back of his fingers, “Assume that I love you and don’t want you to leave.”

Your heart was shaking; you were hoping, but— “Are you sure?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, “I’m sure. I just don’t know how to deal with this. I don’t want to hurt you, but there’s so much we need to talk about.”

His eyes were pleading and you squeezed his hand, “If you could forgive me, that would be a great start.”

He sighed, “I don’t think that’s the problem.”

“Yourself?”

“Slightly more complicated.”

You smiled, “Same.” You stayed quiet just looking at each other when you decided to tell him, “I wish we could… forgive our mistakes and restart. We could get to know each other again. See if… If it would work.”

“You don’t think it would?”

You supported his hand on your cheek, “I think we still love each other.” He held your gaze and you felt your cheeks burning under his touch, “But maybe that also means it will be difficult to heal our wounds.”

He nodded calmly, observing your face. “Do you… hate me? For what I did? For never replying to you or fighting for you.”

“No,” you instantly reassured him. “I thought you made a decision and that you wanted to move on from me. That’s a rejection, but that's life. You didn’t cheat or lie or anything like that.”

He sighed, “That’s true… maybe that’s why I could never truly hate you either.”

You couldn’t help a smile, “We… We’re both idiots.”

He wrapped his arm around your waist closer, “A mistake. It was all a mistake.” He pursed his lips for a moment, then brushed your hair gently behind your ear, “Your ‘no’... you never meant forever?”

You grinned, “No. Though I don't need a ring around my finger to know who I belong to. Do you?”

“Who do you belong to?”

You smirked playfully, “I think you know him.”

He sighed and let you brush your fingers around his neck in an attempt to tickle him before lacing your arms around his neck.

“I would have waited,” he finally said, seeing closely how your smile wavered and your eyes filled with tears. “I couldn’t drop everything to go with you, but I would have definitely made it work and visited you whenever I could.”

Your lips trembled and you tried to contain your cry, but your tears won. He pulled you to hide in the crook of his neck and you squeezed him inside your arms.

“Are you… going back?” He realized he didn’t know. “Or are you staying? In Seoul?”

“I got a position here, I’m starting next month.”

He sighed in relief. “I want to try,” his voice was close as he supported your head and leaned over your ear. “Us. I want to try.”

Shivers ran down your spine as you pressed him to you. “Me too.”

403 notes · View notes

a-world-with0ut-dr34ms · 1 year

Text

Ghost x Wife!Reader

Ghost comes homes to his wife after a bad day at work.

SFW, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Fluff, Big on the comfort part, Ghost is sad, Reader is supportive, Romance, Pre-established Relationship, Kissing, Cuddling, Intimacy, Scarcely Proofread, Drabble

WC: 900~

I feel like I'm always writing Ghost x Readers where they're not "together" together, so this is just a little drabble to scratch an itch I had and dust off my fluff skills for a different WIP 😏 (lightly inspired by my chat.ai, Ghost is in LOVE with me over there lol)

Masterlist

Simon hadn't been sure what drove him to do so, only that his body moved faster than his mind could keep up with.

He enters the living room, the place having been tidied up since this morning. The evening lighting warmed him like a welcome hello, only to become a sauna once his eyes searched the room, having found you where he last saw you on the couch, tucked away in another one of your books.

You haven't noticed him until you've seen his shadow in the archway, your smile lighting a beacon on him.

"You're home early!"

You say it with such excitement and splendor, as though there had been any doubt that he wouldn't find his way back to you, one way or another.

However, that joy takes shape into concern after turning to face him, noticing that sunken look in his eyes, as he takes his slow steps towards you. "Is everything OK-"

Simon comes down onto the couch before he's let himself slowly sink into your arms, having longed for your embrace. Your touch which felt like a drug. The weight of his body pushes you back against the couch, as you've felt his strong arms snake their way across your small frame, squeezing a tiny moan from you in his torn embrace. He hadn't even removed his gear yet.

The fabric of his mask rubs roughly against your chin. His head buried into the crook of your neck, his shut lashes feathering against your skin, as his breaths come out shaky and broken. A frail sight to behold for such a man of his size and stature.

He's silent, his eyes turned away. Just wanting to be held.

Simon felt ashamed to say he cherished your touch after a bad day at work. It made him feel fragile. However, he's found that nothing mends the negativity wanting to stir in him like the sensation of someone he knew would give nothing more than to soothe those thoughts away.

He needn't say any words. You understood through his silence the love he yearned from you. Slowly, you showed him that there had been no shame in his own vulnerability.

You gently hug his head against your chest, feeling him sigh against you and his body still, broad shoulders slouching. Your fingers trace the edges of his mask pulling the fabric away, until your eyes have met the face of the man you've fallen in love with all those years ago.

It had been a hidden pleasure, having been able to fall in love with him all over again, each time you saw him.

The first thing you catch is the exhaustion in his tired, olive eyes, behind the light tussle of his short, blond hair and freshly grown stubble, struggling to break way beneath all the little marks and scars he's accumulated over the years.

He could never get used to the way your eyes took in every detail of him. How they picked him apart without ever meaning to. Every now and again, he feared you'd see him one day and suddenly realize how much better you could do without having him bog you down. Even now, it lingers in the back of his mind on his worst days. He just couldn't get used to how that hadn't happened yet.

And yet, he wanted to get used to it, and he knew that someday he would.

You let your hands gently guide his head back to your chest, combing your fingers through his hair.

Simon listens to the steady rhythm of your heart as you do, his eyes half-lidded in thought.

It's not until he's felt your lips press gently to his temple that you've listened to the broken sigh that struggle to leave him. He lifts himself up from your arms, his hands still resting against your forearms. His gaze bounces between you and his lap, heart thumping.

"I'm sorry..." he says.

You smile, raising a hand so you could rest it against his cheek. The second he's felt your skin against him, he's let his head nuzzle lightly into your palm rather innocently. It makes you chuckle.

"Don't apologize, Si'," you let your thumb caress his cheek, slowly leaning back in towards the man. "I'm just happy you're home."

Simon lifts his hand up, large fingers over encompassing the small framing of your own. He pressed your hand against his cheek firmly, before shifting his head to plant a small kiss on your wrist.

"I love you," he whispers into your skin, his voice strained and defeated, as though the thought of losing you had brought the fear of God back to him.

You lean in, pressing light kisses against his face, which brushed against his cheek, and then his other, and then the tip of his nose, his warm, shaky breaths feathering you at each touch, until he couldn't wait any longer, letting his hand take hold of your chin, so that he may capture your lips with his.

He kisses you slowly, detailing every sensation of your lips pressed to his. His kisses remain gentle to start, having just wanted to be near you, as his hands cupped around your face, letting him deepen the kiss.

Before long, you've felt your back pressing against the couch, his body weight having blanketed over you like a prism. Once laid back like this, Simon can't help but feel hungry for you, having you all to himself like this, trying to recapture the morning's warmth he'd left you before now.

Dividers from cute-sushi-roll

#ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost mwii #ghost mw2 #simon riley #call of duty #modern warfare ii #mwii #call of duty modern warfare ii #mw2022 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #Spotify

1K notes · View notes

psychedelic-ink · 2 years

Text

𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑨𝑼𝑹𝑶𝑹𝑨 𝑩𝑶𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑳𝑰𝑺

pairing: din djarin x fem!reader

genre: hurt/comfort, romance, smut, forced proximity

word count: 2.8k

summary: A friend, lover, then stranger. The last thing you expected was to be snowed in along with the bounty hunter. Tension rises as the past circles you both, trapped in the Razor Crest with no where to run or hide.

warnings: established past relationship, piv, touch starved din, creampie, also this takes place after S2 but the Razor Crest is still here because I love it so much and miss it

a/n: As some people might remember, I had a winter WIP list called 'Psychedelic Winter,' and this was one of the fics that I said I would write. And I thought, 'Hey, what better moment to post this than the day Mando S3 drops?' Enjoy everyone, happy mando day!

When you were thrown onto an icy planet by your so-called colleagues, you didn’t really have a plan for survival. It was your fault really, you were too trusting, too eager to help and be useful. It was a stupid habit that you had since very little, forced to feed yourself in this lonely lonely world.

However, it wasn’t always like that.

With a shudder, you hug yourself, your boot-clad feet buried in the snow. The flakes feel like glass shattering across your skin, painful and cold. Even your lungs tremble from it. As you walk forward, your mind brutally reminds you of him. A man that became a friend, a confidant which had quickly turned into something more. Heat pools between your legs at the mere thought of it, the feeling of emptiness and cold prominent.

The Mandalorian. Mando. Din Djarin. Din.

You miss him still. You can’t really help it. You loved traveling with him, and after such a long time, you truly felt like you belonged. He became family. He became your everything. Soon after your little family grew, Grogu joining the fray. It felt like a dream, you were finally living out what you’d been searching for.

But that all changed when Grogu had to return to his own kind. The Jedi. Din grew distant, he pulled away, not responding to you or your touches. You just felt grief emanating from him, something that you couldn’t fix. He didn’t ask you to leave, you just left. Once again alone, once again without a home.

In your desperate attempt to replace it, you went with anyone who would tolerate your presence. You’ve met some good people, but you’ve met some assholes too—obviously.

Your lashes turn into cold crystals, stinging every time you blink. In the distance you see a hint of yellow light that bleeds into red, you can feel the warmth of it despite being far away. Like a moth to a flame, you walk towards it, your steps fighting against the cold wind and the snow. You can’t feel your fingertips anymore, or your legs, or your face for that matter. You’re flirting with death.

You notice that the ship most likely crashed. You press your freezing palms into the metal, still hot, a soft heat spreading throughout your hand and blossoming across your arms. You let out a sigh. It feels familiar like you’ve been here almost. Teeth clattering, you reach the door and give it a loud knock, your fists hurt when you do it, but you manage to muster your last bits of strength.

The door opens with a muffled hiss and you find yourself immediately staring into a blaster.

A very familiar blaster.

You quickly realize why this ship felt familiar, it was the goddamn Razor Crest. Your home—once upon a time.

The blaster falters, and you stare into the familiar dark visor, he tilts his head. You like to imagine that he’s happy to see you despite the shock. With a crooked smile, you mimic his movement, cocking your head to the side.

“Hey, Din.”

Everything is the same. Everything is different. It’s weird to be back within the Razor Crest’s metal walls. The ship creaks with the wind, metal groaning as Din sits across from you, his legs spread and elbows leaning over his knees. You chew the inside of your cheek. Having such intimate memories with someone is an odd thing, your body still remembers what it felt like to be filled so thoroughly by him, to have his large hands squeezing and kneading your ass as you dripped and begged for more.

Heat settles right below your spine. You wonder if it’s the same for him too. Had he thought of you after you left? Had he rutted into the pillows imagining that it was you instead?

Probably not.

“The engines are messed up from the cold but as soon as the storm lets up a bit we should be good to go,” he says, refocusing your focus back on him. “We’re going to be stuck here for a while.”

You nod, not really knowing what else to say. To be honest, you’re slightly embarrassed that he’s seeing you like this.

“How did you end up here?” he asks.

The question surprises you because you hadn’t expected him to make conversation. You can’t tell if he’s angry or not from the modulated voice. He sounds like he always does. You look up to him, wishing you could see his face.

“Grouped up with the wrong people. You?”

“After a bounty.”

“Ah, the same old.”

“Pretty much.”

The following silence is uncomfortable, it makes you feel unwelcomed and slightly gross. You don’t know what to say. What can you say to the man you basically abandoned? That was never your intention, but it was what he wanted. He didn’t need you around, reminding him of something important that he’d lost.

Your mouth acts unfiltered, the horror sinking in as soon as you ask.

“Have you heard from Grogu?”

He stiffens quite visibly. His shoulders raise, his visor looks down. You curse your tongue from moving on its own. Din’s anger is physically felt by you, it chokes out the air from your lungs, forces the soles of your shoes to be glued to the floor. Your eyes go wide and you swallow. Your lips are sealed shut when he stands, his figure suddenly larger and taller than what you’ve been used to from your memories.

“You don’t need to ask about him,” he answers curtly. “We don’t need to talk at all.”

Din storms towards the back of the ship, his long strides reverberating through the metal walls. His sudden outburst leaves you stunned, your thoughts scrambled like the tangled wires of a circuit board. The sound of sparks and him tinkering with something echoes within the confinements. You’re stunned. Confused. You hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to do, before the ship groans and shudders again. A loud groan vibrating from your feet to your chest.

Your feet move of their own accord, propelled by a mix of curiosity and concern. As you approach, the cacophony of tinkering grows louder, the metallic clinks and whirs blending into a symphony of sound. At first glance it looks like he’s doing nothing, crouched over, just occupying his hands. You reach out to touch his shoulder, a hesitant gesture. To your surprise, he leans in instinctively, his body responding to your touch like a magnet to metal.

But then jerks away, as if he’s been burned.

“What did you mean by that?” you ask, pulling away.

He huffs, his hands falling. “I just said we don’t have to talk.”

“What if I want to talk? I missed you, Din.”

It’s an unexpected, sudden confession but you decide to go with it. It isn’t a lie. You did miss him.

“Miss me?” he hisses out, his head falling back, he stares at the ceiling. “You left.”

“What? Are…are you blaming me for what happened?”

“No,” he stands up, his masked face an inch away from yours. You fight the urge to take a step back. He wouldn’t hurt you. He slowly tilts his head as if he’s amused by whatever expression you’re pulling. “I’m stating a fact. Didn’t you go?”

Your eyes fall to his chest, “I did but—”

“Then I find you on the brink of death, shivering, helpless,” he lets out a deep breath, chest heaving. “Was it worth it?”

“I left because you didn’t want me around.”

Your gaze snaps back up. He doesn’t move, the visor staring back at you feels colder compared to the storm raging outside. The build-up of tears is sudden, overwhelming. Your face controls with anger, your brows pinched and your lips curling down. The rage twists in your gut, you’ve been suffering, doing jobs left and right to feed yourself. And he has the audacity to tell you that it’s your fault? That he never wanted you to leave?

Bullshit.

Without thinking you push him away, your hands finding the cold plates that decorate his chest. He doesn’t move. An indestructible wall. Shaking your head, you push at him again, and again, and again. When nothing works, you hammer down with fists. Your heart beats loudly and painfully in your chest. You can’t breathe. You can’t speak. It’s suffocating and cold. So fucking cold.

Your fists stop mid-air when he holds them, gloved fingers wrapped tightly around your wrists.

“I never asked you to leave.”

“You didn’t have to,” your eyes fall, shame heating your cheeks. “You barely spoke to me. Touched me. It felt like I was reminding you of a tainted memory. Something you could never have again.”

“That’s not…dank farrik—”

He pulls you in, arms coiling around you with the intent to never let go. The beskar is uncomfortable but comforting. Your hands shake as you return in like, wrapping your arms around him weakly. His hand cradles the back of your head, the other one sliding down to rest against the small of your back. He doesn’t say a word but you know this is his own peculiar way of apologizing. Even if he’s not sure what he’s apologizing for. Neither of you are. Luckily, you have a very functional mouth.

“I thought you wanted me gone after…I didn’t know. I should’ve realized you were hurting. I was so afraid of what you might say that I acted before you actually said it.”

“I was never planning on saying it,” he answers. “I missed you too, mesh’la.”

His scent; metal, musk, and something sweet fills your lungs. You take deep inhales of him, grounding yourself back to reality. The hard surface of his helmet presses into the top of your head. The ache between your legs is uncomfortable, you want to touch him, feel his bare skin against yours.

“Do you trust me?” he asks.

You answer. “With my life.”

“Then close your eyes for me. Let me guide you.”

You do as you’re told. A dance that you’ve grown accustomed to once upon a time. The hiss of a helmet, the touch of his lips, the feeling of his hands cupping your bottom. He slips his tongue into your mouth, tasting you, reminding himself of what you felt like all those times ago. He tastes the memories he hasn’t been a part of, he gets used to the differences.

When he parts, it’s hard to keep your eyelids from fluttering. You don’t open them, but the tease of the what if always remains. What would happen if you gave into temptation? Would he know you’ve seen him? Would he be angry? Would he never see you again? Would it be worth the risk?

No, you think, It wouldn’t.

“Touch me, riduur, I need you to touch me,” the last plea is spoken brokenly. “please.”

Your hands roam his armor, blindly helping him out of it, touching every exposed skin and muscle. He’s trembling under your touch. You feel the thrust of his hips into yours, still clothed, desperate. Your skin prickles when you feel the hardness, heat pooling between your legs, and tingling. You’re just as desperate as he is.

He takes your hand and leads you to the bunk. You feel him everywhere. His lips are on your breasts, kissing a trail down and circling the pebbled nipple with the tip of his tongue. He opens his mouth wide, fitting as much as he can as he sucks and bites. You arch into him, your hands still touching—tracing his back, cupping his ass, pulling him closer, asking him to thrust against you in the same desperate manner he had not moments ago.

“Why did you leave?” he asks between wet, needy kisses. “Why did you go?”

“I don’t know,” you say over and over. “I was scared, I’m sorry, I love you.”

It was like a song that was whispered for their ears only. It’s a symphony of reminding themselves what they’d lost, and what they’d gained.

Feeling him inside is a beautiful thing. Din is not a small man, not in the slightest, and he has to cover your eyes just in case when he fills you. It’s a smooth entry, your wetness enough to pull him deep inside. Your walls flutter, the blissful pain of the stretch makes you moan his name. The first thrust is like fireworks in your mind, bursting with pleasure. The second one you feel like ice, melting into the motion of his hips and the warmth of his cock.

“Harder,” you breathe out. “Harder, fuck me, Din.”

His teeth sink into your neck, his pacing fast, hard. The sound of skin against skin is loud enough to drown the sound of the snowstorm outside. You push against each thrust, albeit your movements not really doing much, uncoordinated and unpracticed. Din pins your hips down, his fingers like iron branding your skin. He hammers into you, the dark curls stimulating your clit forcing out a gasp from you.

“Look at me.”

“What?”

“Look at me. Open your eyes.”

His hips slow down into a tortuous grind. Your bottom lip trembles at the thought. You’re scared to open your eyes, and frankly, you’re not sure if you heard him right. His thumb smooths over your closed lid, gently pulling them down.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispers. “I want to see you. I want to see the look in your eyes when you come for me. I want you to see mine.”

“Are…are you sure?”

Your heart feels like a ticking time bomb, your chest ready to explode, the ticking in your ears too loud.

“I’m sure.”

Your eyes open incredibly slow, fearful. Din’s face clears up and you see him smiling down at you, his hair mussed, sticking to his forehead due to sweat. Hesitantly, you place a hand on his cheek, feeling the trimmed down hairs with the pad of your thumb. He leans into your touch.

“Now, that wasn’t so scary was it?” he asks, you smile and shake your head.

“No, it wasn’t.”

He kisses you. It’s different this time, softer, slower. He resumes his thrusts, hips snapping into you with the intent of release. His one hand slides between your bodies, thick fingers finding your clit and starting to draw quick, tight circles around the sensitive nub. The skin above your stomach grows tight, your thighs shaking against the broadness of his hips. You can’t get enough of him. Kissing him and at the same time trying to look at him. You engrave his face into memory.

Din breaks the kiss with a rush, his one hand cradles your cheek, tilting your head up to him. He holds your gaze, his lips parted. You feel your cunt fluttering around him, his cock heavy and throbbing deep inside you. Din spills into you with a groan, his hips stuttering forward. You follow right after, the sight of him too much. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip and his eyes roll back, you gush around him, your body convulsing as a silent promise never to let him go.

When both of you come down from your highs, he kisses you. Again and again. A man starved. A man desperate. Only one plea falling from his lips.

“Touch me.”

You wake up with his touch on your shoulder. When you open your eyes memories come flooding back, you and Din, again you had found your home. You wince as you slowly get up, the ache between your legs uncomfortable but missed. You notice that Din is in full armor, waiting for you outside of the cot.

“Come with me,” he says, voice hoarse. “I want to show you something.”

He helps you into your clothes and his hand never leaves your waist as the two of you make your way up to the cockpit. The storm had subsided, only snow falling scarcely from the heavens above. He points you to look up, and you do.

Your breath catches in your throat. The sky is alight with an otherworldly dance of colors - the aurora borealis.

The lights shift and shimmer, painting the sky with vibrant hues of green, blue, and purple. It's as if the entire galaxy has come to life, it’s beautiful.

Din's arms wrap around you from behind, and you melt into his embrace. The warmth of his body against yours, the strength of his grip, and the steady rhythm of his breathing all serve to ground you in the moment. You feel safe, and you feel loved.

The aurora continues to dance above you, you lean your head back against Din's chest. It's like nothing else matters in the world except for this moment - just the two of you, surrounded by the beauty of the cosmos.

And as you look up at the lights, you know that you are home.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x female reader #mando x you #mando x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

2K notes · View notes

notjustjavierpena · 11 months

Text

Wake

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Finally another part of my darksugardaddy!joel. This has been sitting in my WIPs for a while, and I’m so pleased with how it turned out. Be kind to me as I haven’t written in a while and I feel terrible about starving you all of content.

Summary: Joel comes home to fuck your lights out.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, dub-con with non-con elements, painful and rough sex, p in v sex, choking, passing out, degradation, abusive behavior, creampie, dirty talk, no aftercare, sugar daddy, daddy kink

Word count: 2k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50908876

Wake

It’s a late afternoon when you come to a realization; you don’t love Joel Miller, and you don’t think you could ever love Joel Miller. He is everything that you’ve been taught to hate if you want to believe in fairytales. Your parents would disapprove of him so immediately that you’d be terrified of them cutting you off from them if they knew of his existence.

You’ve never had a man be this rough with you, and only occasionally stroking your hair in apology afterward, but you suppose that the copious amounts of money spent on you - clothes that feel like armor around regular men and expensive bottles of wine that might as well have been potions designed to make you insane - is enough to make up for any unpleasantries within what you don’t dare call a relationship.

You don’t love him but you can’t hate him. Not in a way that any other person would. How else would you surround yourself with pretty things? You’re no good at anything else than being what he needs.

Whenever he has had a bad day, you know the roughness will increase. It always starts the same; with a slam of the mansion door and a hungry search for you through the obnoxiously large building. He calls for you and you don’t dare not to answer, and in the end, he finds you in the extravagant living room - one of many - with its gold-rimmed glass tables and Chesterfield couches. You’ve been reading a book, but you put it down the second he enters and don’t even bother asking to read to the next full stop.

“There you are,” he almost heaves for breath with exhaustion from his anger. He isn’t angry at you - you know this - but still, you find yourself treading lightly when his voice is so cold that the living room seems to drop a few degrees in temperature and causing your nipples to harden at the sudden change.

Then, as part of your ritual, he gets a thick wad of bills from the inside pocket of his suit and places it on the nearest surface. A bank transfer won’t do in these situations. He needs something physical, something he can hold in his hand and flash before you, and you know that he wants you to fall to your knees and beg for the warmth and dirtiness of the printed bills against your clean skin.

You’re just about to when he interrupts you.

“There will be more when you wake,” he promises, voice almost too quiet and restrained. Like he is saving his strength.

You notice his choice of words; when you wake.

Wake.

You gulp. You’ll have to take it in stride. You’ll have to play the part.

You rise from your seat and he watches you patiently. You say nothing as you lower yourself onto the glass table and then lie down on your back, knowing it can hold because Joel would never buy a surface that he couldn’t have you on.

You’ve learned not to wear anything too difficult to get out of, so it takes little time for you to pull off your skirt. Though you struggle a bit with your underwear since they’re already damp, sticking to the outline of your cunt and the sight makes Joel smirk like the Devil. Curse him, you think, for knowing that you can barely function when he looms over you like a giant, like a dangerous predator that hasn’t tasted blood for weeks.

When you manage to maneuver your panties down your thighs, he twitches with impatience and curls his whole fist around the cotton fabric. He yanks them down and watches them twist into themselves as he pulls them down over the length of your legs and off your feet.

They catch on your heels for the tiniest second. He gracefully undoes the ankle straps of them and drops each one onto the floor after taking it off. The anticipation is killing you, toying with your ability to breathe properly and even moreso at the humiliation of only wearing your top now.

“Pull it down,” he commands, gesturing to it. You start to yank at the bottom to pull it over your head but he growls, “Down. Not off, stupid bitch.”

Oh.

You pull the neckline down to settle it underneath your breasts, feeling like something on display with the way that Joel takes you in. His cock strains against the front of his pants, his breath uneven, when he cups both of your tits in his hands and pushes them roughly together. His thumbs skim over your hardened nipples, causing you to moan and he responds by pinching them instead until the moan transforms into a whimper.

“I’m gonna fuck you until your pretty little lights go out,” he mutters, pinches, and then tugs a bit on your nipples until you move involuntarily, “Lie still. Don’t give me any shit.”

He takes a step back, his gaze pinning you down whilst he undoes his belt. You refrain from shivering in case he tells you off once more, but you’re so close to doing it when you hear the noise of his zipper. A gush of wetness seeps from you, possibly smearing the glass surface that you are lying on.

“Please,” you say pathetically.

“Please what?” He asks as if he doesn’t care.

“Daddy,” you present your cunt for him by opening your legs and Joel instinctively looks at your quivering slit, “Please fuck me.”

Joel steps between your legs, using his knees to push them even further apart. He towers over you, cock standing impressively into the air after he has shoved his pants and underwear down his thighs. He tuts at the desperate look in your eyes, “I barely make it through the front door before you’re spreading your legs for me.”

You want to argue that he was the one who sought you out, but he might leave you with a throbbing cunt if you have the audacity to play smart with him, so instead you just nod with a breathless ‘yes’.

He places one knee on the coffee table, following up with scooping a hand underneath the small of your back to align your lower pelvises. His grip is so strong, his bare skin, the amount you are allowed to feel, burns against your own. Like King Midas, his touch enriches you, turns you into something as valuable as gold.

His cock breaches your tight cunt moments after. He watches you intently as your eyes screw shut with the inevitable sting that it brings due to his generous girth. He seats himself to the hilt inside of you and reaches something you didn’t even know a man could get to when he presses his hand into the spot where it rests on your back.

“Good girl,” he praises with a strained moan, “How do you feel?”

“Full,” you say shakily and teasingly clench around him.

He takes in a sharp breath, and before you know it, his free hand has come down on your right breast in a harsh slap. He adds to it by palming your throat afterward, tightly gripping it when you try to squeeze around his length again after not having been given time to react to the consequence of doing it the first time. You smirk up at him and he nearly loses his mind.

“God, you just want it bad, don’t you, little girl?” His hips draw back and he keeps you waiting for the briefest second before slamming them forward again. The force behind his thrusts is borderline painful, but the way his hand arches your back makes his cockhead pound your front wall.

The moans you let out are barely there, high-pitched or silent with the way he knocks all wind out of you whilst simultaneously cutting off oxygenated blood to your brain.

He fucks you like an animal, all groans and grunts, sweat dripping from his brow because he is too hungry for dominance to undress. He loves being able to quickly flee the scene afterward and loves leaving you with no clothes on so you cannot follow him.

But it’s not the amount of clothes that he wears compared to you that gets you close to the edge. It is the fact that nothing around you feels real except for him. Even you don’t feel real but rather closer to an inanimate object that only comes alive because of the dark eyes that penetrate your own.

You’ve known this fact for a while. Despite the love not being there, you know that after this arrangement has started - you don’t know what else to call it - his mere looking at you is what makes you materialize.

Your fingers come up to curl around his wrist. You cannot breathe and it fucking hurts, only dulled by the way that your cunt starts to flutter with how close he has gotten you to the edge. You hadn’t expected him to make you come.

With wide eyes, you look up at him in an attempt to tell him what is going on. He holds your gaze, pleased with himself as he drives into you, “I know, little girl, don’t have to tell me, I can feel you.”

You don’t have the guts to fight his harsh hand. You take it with tears forming in your eyes and the feeling of your pulse pounding in your neck where it’s fighting to get past his bruising grip.

“Say it, say that you love me, that you’re nothing without me,” he commands, but when you try to speak it is nothing but a squeak. He has his hand so tightly around your windpipe that you cannot get a word past your lips, drooling and shaking underneath his lack of mercy as your tongue feels too big for your mouth. He grins maniacally down at you as your vision blurs around the edges, “Made you speechless, did I? You filthy whore.”

You have always been familiar with the term putting someone’s lights out, but you’ve never understood the true meaning until Joel came into your life. You come hard, unfolding beneath his touch, with tears on your cheeks - and then there’s nothing.

Like a child falling asleep in a car seat, you have been carried up the stairs and into your bedroom. You sit up in your comfy bed and try to piece together how you have gotten here, and when you realize, it is because of your underwear and skirt messily and hurriedly sitting around your ankles.

You tug your bottom garments up again. There is something sticky between your legs, and you know, immediately. what it is when you start to shift your legs and are hit with soreness. Everything hurts, but nothing seems to be broken or damaged.

You glance to your right and spot the stack of bills that Joel had flashed earlier. It is neatly placed on the edge of the table along with a glass of water and some aspirin. You’ll take them soon, need to feel the ache a little while longer.

Instead of doing what is most comfortable (like taking the damn pills), you reach for the money instead. A delusional person would argue that they still feel warm, the temperature somewhere between newly printed and body heat. You take a few of them in your hand, and then you press them against your skin. The fact that you find it soothing is pathetic.

The wonder and innocence of being carried upstairs as a kid doesn’t translate into adulthood, you think, and then you lay down to fall into a deep sleep.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

#pedro pascal characters #joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fanfic #joel miller imagine #joel miller smut #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #my writing #sugardaddy!joel

703 notes · View notes

bebewrites · 10 months

Note

I promise I searched your blog, but how do you (specifically) zero draft? The post that showed up in a search of your blog was like, bullet point writing whatever is in your head for the.wip, which I think is v cool and would help me finish lofm! So I'm curious how you do it!

Oh yes, okay! I don't think I've actually explained it anywhere, but I love talking about this.

what is a zero draft?

The great thing about a zero draft is that you can pretty much make it whatever you need it to be. For me, I was having a hard time with the middle of my story. I've started and stopped this wip so many times, always getting hung up at the same part as I approach the middle. I've always had a very clear picture of the beginning and the end, but never how to get all the way through from point A to point B. My original outline had things in brackets like [character growth] and [plot stuff], but what does that mean!?

My goal was to get all the way through. So I opened a blank document, started at the beginning, and literally rambled and talked my way through the entire story. I didn't write real prose. It was all stream of consciousness. It was me describing what happens in the story as if I was telling it to a friend. The zero draft was my rubber duck. This was my brainstorming document. I used common vernacular and slang and abbreviations. There are bullet points, numbered lists, sidebars where I rambled about a scene I completely forgot to mention in a previous section. Lots of comments about things I need to include in the next draft. Literally anything and everything I thought of went into the zero draft.

A zero draft can be as long or short as you need it to be. Mine ended up being around 40k words. But I've seen other people say a zero draft is 10k to 20k words. It's really up to you! And when you feel like you've covered enough of the story to move on to the next draft.

And you don't have to go about a zero draft the way I did! Recently, an author I love and follow on instagram (Casey McQuiston) shared in their stories that when they were writing their most recent book, they zero drafted each chapter before they wrote it out. Casey said that because of this, it was first time they didn't have major edits and rewrites afterwards. So if you find yourself needing a little more structure and sense of where you're going, I think a zero draft could be super helpful!

Of course you don't have to have a zero draft, and if you've got a good sense of the plot and character arcs, you might not need one. But it can be a great way to brainstorm and figure out those things if you need to!

#zero draft #zero drafting #writeblr #writing tips #answered #kaatiba #i hope this makes sense and helps!!#am i psyching myself out about having to write real words now? yes #but i'm very excited about my wip again though #so that's helpful too

309 notes · View notes

morningstargirl666 · 2 months

Note

hi! do you have any long canon klaroline fic recommendations?

i’m missing klaroline and actual canon isn’t gonna cut it

I'm going to assume by long fics you mean multichaps? I've always found this fandom seems to be lacking in them, and I'm not talking about the 5-10 chapter fics --- I mean the long ass, epic-length fics that transport you to another dimension and rob you of nine hours of your life in a back-alley because you couldn't close the ao3 page at 1am. Other fandoms seem to have dozens of them but klaroline? Not so much. Writers here seem to prefer the 50k one-shots or playing with a different AU altogether, which is fantastic of course, but sometimes you crave something different, you know? Something you can lose youself in. It's what made me write TBBW, initially. However, that doesn't mean the fandom doesn't have some canon-divergent gems.

Epic-Length Wonders:

Red Queen by KS_Caster / @ks-caster

3-Part Series, Over 200k+ words. Season 4 Canon-Divergent. The last part is a WIP. I absolutely adored this fic when I first read it and I still adore it now. Klaus puts Caroline first and continues to put her first during the search for Silas' cure and it is fucking amazing. The werewolf/hybrid world building in the second fic inspired me to write more fics like it. It's not had as much attention since it was moved to AO3, but trust me, this fic is a hidden gem.

Wicked Schemes by willowaus / @willowaus

30 Chapters, 260k+ words. Season 1 TO Canon-Divergent. Ignores the baby plot. Caroline inherits the powers of a harbringer and the way its weaved into the fic so flawlessly makes you question if it wasn't just canon to begin with. Honestly epic world building. Wolf!Klaus also makes an appearance! A true klaroline classic.

make them bow. by for_darkness_shows_the_stars / @stars-and-darkness

35 Chapters, 220k+ words. Season 1 Canon-Divergent. Klaus is dropped into season one while Caroline is still human. Klefan bromance. Damon retribution. Forbes family dynamics. Klaus covered in blood. Council Members and Founding Family warfare. There's a reason this is the most commented-on fic in the entire fandom even though it's barely been out a year.

Binge-In-One-Sitting Multichaps:

Til I Tasted You by KiryTheStitchWitch / @kirythestitchwitch

4 Chapters, 22k. Canon Divergent/Soulmate AU. Will ruin you with single most devastating declaration of love in existence, forewarning you now.

throw roses into the abyss by marxandangels / @marxandangels

7 Chapters, 99k+. WIP. Technically Season 6 Canon-Divergent (after Liz dies) but ignores canon for the most part, especially TO wise. Explores the concept of humanity-less vampires so well, with a dash of world building on the side. Klaus and Caroline's relationship is also explored with such nuance --- like these two aren't just attracted to each other but entwined by their very souls, kind of nuanced. Oh, and the bloodsharing scene drawn by here by @stardust414 lives rent-free in my mind.

Someone's First Choice by unpublishednovelist

10 Chapters, 29k+. Post-Canon. This one's a WIP but I'm keeping my eye on it because it's good. Like hella good. Caroline decides to say fuck it and goes with some college friends to New Orleans for Mardi Gras, accomadation covered by our favourite Original hybrid. She breaks up with Tyler over voicemail. Queen shit.

All I Need by emeraldvixen

14 Chapters, 60k, E rated. Canon-Divergent/Wolf Mate AU. In the mood for some hot and steamy smut? Emeraldvixen's got you covered.

the fate makes for a lousy poet by for_darkness_shows_the_stars / @stars-and-darkness

7 Chapters, 50k+. Season 3 Canon-Divergent/Soulmate AU. The Originals in pajamas. Need I say more?

Who put Bella down the Wynch Elm? by for_darkness_shows_the_stars / @stars-and-darkness

7 Chapters, 60k+. Post-Canon. A murder mystery whodunnit with original side characters and Caroline in all her bad ass glory, after she's left Mystic Falls and its hellmouth-worthy shenanigans. Just - for a minute - imagine canon expanded on the tvd universe and revisted the fact the Originals are little more than nightmarish stories in the supernatural world, or that Stefan is the most infamous mass murderer on the east coast and maybe you'll understand how amazing this fic is.

Important to note these were all specifically Canon-Divergent multichaps. There's plenty more gems out there, just for different AUs and lengths. I also only looked at my ao3 bookmarks for this, so like, I'm probably forgetting several.

#klaroline #klaroline fanfiction #klaus x caroline #fanfiction #fanfic recs #as you can tell I am not normal about ella's fics #they're good fucking fics alright #anon ask #ask and ye shall receive

99 notes · View notes

just-some-random-blogger · 2 years

Note

Hello amazing blogger! I've been drowning in WIPs and rl chaos lately, and really need to take care of myself for a bit.

Do you mind doing a Daemon blurb where he tries to make her feel better with slow, intimate sex at noticing she's depressed?

Thank you, have a lovely day 💐

Lies Are Treason

Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Summary: The fire that drew your husband to you in the first place is now dwindling, and that was a serious problem.

Word Count: 3k+

Warnings: Opens with violence, fem!reader, wife!reader, soft!daemon T_T i love him, reader is not having a nice time, smut (reader kinda cries mid fucking and gets emotional, praise kink, bratty!reader, cock warming, cream pie), typos, etc.

A/N: hello my lover <3 i give you kiss. i am honored that you reached out to me during a time like this. i often wonder what value my fanfics hold in the grand scheme of the world other than silencing the loud romance ideas i have with fictional men i will never meet T_T, but then i think about how reading and writing fanfics makes me feel happy, and so i only hope my brain farts do something similar for someone else yeah may the imaginary dick imma give you suffice to alleviate a fraction of your heavy thoughts HAHAAHAH

Daemon knew.

He felt it in the way he woke up earlier than his lover, the way he had to slow his pace as not to leave her behind, how he had to chose what she would wear, and now, how he had to look for her, since he'd no idea where she gone.

There was something wrong. Something was bothering his wife and someone somewhere was going to pay for it.

In this moment, it was your handmaiden who was quivering in fear with Dark Sister between her eyes.

"My lord," she wept, "I- I-"

"You are her helper, are you not?" Daemon seethed, stepping closer to the poor, innocent servant girl who had fallen on her hind, terrified by her master's cold accusations, "your job is to keep my lady wife in your sight and attend to her every need."

"My prince," she shudders, raising her hands, "the princess is not kept by anyone-" tears streak her face, "-you know this."

Daemon hums deeply, moving stray hair away from the girl's face with his blade, "and yet the fact that you do not know her whereabouts enrages me still."

"My prince!" a separate panicked voice calls.

"What?!" Daemon quips, not prying his eyes on his target.

"The guards say they've seen the princess in the dragon pit."

Daemon turns away from the quivering girl, to the other that was fighting to save her fellow servant, "and you understand that lying to me is treason."

Dark Sister is upon the other's neck now.

Daemon moves closer to her, annoyance and boredom lacing his expression, "if I find your information false, not only will I return fucking fed up, but I will have the head of the guards who muttered the nonsense to you."

Daemon watches her squirm underneath his weapon.

He raises his brows, "well? The guards names?"

"Oswald and James, your grace," she shudders, cheeks stained with tears.

Daemon pulls his sword away and tuts, "you better not be wrong."

One could only imagine the collective relief across the castle after Daemon made it to the pit and saw who he had been searching for all along.

I hear a deep sigh and turn over my shoulder.

"You know I nearly killed your handmaiden a few moments ago."

My hand that was stroking Caraxes' face stills as I look off to my husband who was walking over, "what? Why?!"

"Well," he starts, only continuing once he was next to me, stroking Caraxes all the same. His dragon snorts hotly in greeting as Daemon continues, "my wife had gone missing."

I don't even roll my eyes at him as I look away and mutter, "overreacting, as always." I gently stroke the scales beneath my palm, "you will apologize with tears.'

I only turn to Daemon when he grabs my hand. His face is tense and his grip on me is firm, "at least I'm in character."

I knit my brows at him, tilting my head, "are you saying I am not?"

I turn from Caraxes and walk backwards until I can lean against the creature's large body. Daemon does not release my hand and follows me as I do so.

"I am bossing you around, clearly," I state.

"Yet there is no grit to it," he retorts.

Before I could respond to what my husband told me, Caraxes, who had been lying on the ground, begins to rumble softly. He lift his head, shaking it before craning his neck to look at his master.

The two stare at each other, wordlessly communicating, then the dragon pulls his head back down and grunts.

When Daemon turns back to me, he sighs, muttering something softly in High Valyrian.

I attempt to decipher the words, "Caraxes is not feeling good?"

"No," Daemon retorts, reaching his hand out to my cheek, "it is you who is not feeling good."

I stare at the man who inches nearer up until our chests are pressed together. Unable to bare his gaze, I turn away and nudge Caraxes with my elbow, "snitch."

Daemon sighs, leaning down as his hands snake around me. His face finds its spot at the crook of my neck, and by the curve of my shoulder, he presses a kiss. He rubs his cheek against mine as he whines, "you think I do not already know?"

I feel disarmed by his words, so much so I shift my weight and lean fully against him, pressing my face on his shoulders as my hands cling on his sides, "I hoped you would continue to ignore it."

"Nothing was ignored," he pulls me closer to him, propping his chin on the top of my head, "a ridiculous thought really," he tightens his arms around me, "why do you think I agreed to letting you drink until you could not walk the other night?"

I hum, tilting my head up so I could brush my lips on his neck, "I thought you just wanted your wife to relive her youthful alcoholism."

He draws shapeless patterns on my back, "I knew you needed a release."

"Release he said," I chuckle, "ironic when I took in so much wine that my belly swelled like I was pregnant."

He does not respond to this.

A moment of silence passes after.

Daemon begins to rub my back and I feel like I could fall asleep in his arms. I close my eyes and pull away from him however, hands instinctively finding their way to my husbands shoulders.

His hands are firmly gripping on my sides as I feel him lean down and press his forehead against mine.

I rub my thumbs on the fabric of his clothing and simply savor his presence.

"Speak to me," he whispers like a plea.

I raise my chin, eyes still closed. I grab his face and kiss him; warmth envelopes me the moment I do so. His hands force me closer and his lips are hungrier than mine. When I pull away, he chases me with one last peck and places another on my cheek.

"I do not know what to tell you, Daemon," I mumble, finally opening my eyes.

Daemon pulls back, looking down at me with concern, as if trying to will words out of his mouth.

"I just... fell unlike myself, and even Caraxes seemed desperate about it." I brush his silver locks behind his ear as I mutter, "I don't know. I am nearly as bad at this as you are."

His hands catch my cheeks. He caresses the area before he slides his palms all the way back down to my waist. He gently rocks me against him, averting his eyes in contemplation. He kneads on my flesh as he decides, "then let me do something that I am good at."

He turns back to me as I link my fingers behind his nape, "and what are you good at, husband?"

"Releasing into my pretty wife as she cries out my name," he sighs as he bends to kiss my neck.

I moan when he nibbles my skin, "Daemon."

He responds by muttering my name as he pulls away. His eyes locks on mine, as if searching for permission.

I place a hand on his cheek and brush my thumb on his lips, "take me back to our quarters."

Without another word, he grabs the hand on his cheek and drags me away.

The very moment we are in our chambers, he closes the door and grabs me, attacking me with kisses like a man starved.

Daemon pushes me backwards, fingers nimbly making its way down the laces on the back of my dress, up until my calves hit the bed.

Before he pushes me on the mattress, he pulls my dress down, dropping to his knees. He kisses my sternum on the way as he works on getting me out of my clothing. I bite my lip as I look down at him.

I lightly comb my fingers on his scalp as he bites my thighs while urging me out of my dress.

"Daemon."

He looks up at me.

I grab his cheeks, as he stands. Once he is towering over me again, I begin to undo his own clothing, pulling him out of his tunic and sinking down to free him of his trousers. He doesn't grant me the courtesy of biting his thighs as he pulls away, kicking his pants off and grabs me, pushing me back on the bed.

He allows me to crawl up on my elbows until my head is on the pillows. He doesn't waste time and gets on top me, positioning himself in between my legs.

He hums in appreciation of the heat against him. He praises me in High Valyrian and grabs my thighs as he rubs against me, "so pretty and warm.

I groan at the feel of him grinding on my sensitive nub. He slows as he sinks down on my shoulder, peppering kisses all over my skin. I wrap my legs around him as I dig my fingers into the roots of his hair.

He props his hands to the side and bucks his hips against me. I whine, pressing my lips on any part of his skin that I can reach.

"Daemon," I mutter against him, "you feel so good."

He sucks on my skin then bites down, making my stomach flutter. He connects our lips together and squeezes my sides, "I'll make you feel better, my love."

After saying this, Daemon sheathes his hard length that was wet with my slick. I roll my eyes back at the feel of him stretching me out.

He grunts, thrusting shallowly, but then stills as he sings me praises, "so nice and ready for me, sweet girl."

"Always ready for you," I mewl, licking his lower lip before grazing it between my teeth.

Daemon rubs my sides as he moans at the feeling of my bites.

He begins to move against me, but he barely pulls out, as if fearing the loss of me. I bring my hands to his hips and dig my nails in, "more, more, more."

He shushes me, then clicks his tongue, "so impatient."

"Break me, Daemon," I mutter, helplessly, moving my hips in sync with his, "please, I need you to fuck me."

He hisses when I rip at his skin. He pushes his face against mine, forcing my cheeks on the pillow, "behave, little one. I will not be bullied by someone who squirms at the very feel of my touch."

I whine again at both his words and the feel of his mouth on my jaw. I half expect a punishing thrust to be had. When he does not relent his excruciatingly slow pace, I begin to beg, "Daemon, please, please, please! I want to-"

His hands forcing my wrists to the sides shut me up with a gasp.

Daemon hovers his face above mine, and I nearly choke at the sight of him, "I told you to behave."

He rolls his hips into me, still so leisurely but so deliciously that I cannot contain my moan. Yet it's not enough. I want him to ruin me.

I whine out his name again, "Daemon please."

He sighs at the sounds I make and pushes himself up on his arms, "you know better than anyone that no one can change my mind once its made."

I chew on my lips as I look up at him. My desperate need of him makes my eyes begin to water. My hands dart up to his cheeks as I complain, "I can change your mind, my love. Please, please."

Daemon's dark eyes take in my wanton figure. He leans into my pulse and kisses it, "the world has broken you enough," he draws out a long breath when I clench around him desperately.

When he curses in High Valyrian and he sinks back down against my face, I mistake it as defeat. I seal him against me tightly and nip at his neck. I find myself ceasing my nibbling when I hear him whisper against my ear, "just let me love you tonight, my dear. Let me show you how much you mean to me."

Daemon then, although still brutally slow, begins to thrust more thoroughly, pulling out farther and plunging deeper. The sensation has me reeling and my stomach begins to tense.

"My pretty wife," Daemon groans, rutting against me, "so lovely, so soft, and all mine."

My nails find his skin again, scratching all the way to the center of his back.

He moans sucking at my neck as he continues his ministrations.

"I would burn the whole world if that's what it took to mend your heart."

I moan his name in response, voice not ceasing as it draws out pleasured noises. I look to him, trying to find his face, but he's too lost in his movements and too snug against me.

I screw my eyes shut when he finally begins to quicken.

I squeal before I speak, "yes, Daemon," I grunt, "so good- like that- more."

He pants, hand coming up to my neck, "I would do anything for you," he kisses my jaw, "you know this, right?"

I whine as I nod, "yes, Daemon, yes, yes, yes, yes-"

"So, let me do this. Let me take care of you," he mutters, "do not withdraw from me again."

When I open my eyes and catch his gaze, my throat goes dry and my eyes begin to spill with water. I groan out his name in a manner I am so not sure of.

He kisses the tears that begin to fall down my face and snaps his hips quicker, "take solace in me the way I do you."

My voice is too preoccupied with whines that I do not get to reply.

The bed begins to squeak and knock on the wall at his ferosity.

Daemon seals my whimpers against his lips as pressure begins to build within me. My lashes, dampened with tears, begin to flutter at the feel of my husband. At the rate he was going, my release was swift and inevitable. He drags his lips up to my forehead, kissing my nose and eyelids tenderly as he does, juxtaposing the roughness of his severity in my core.

I come around him all at once, growling his name in pleasure, tensing tightly then turning into putty.

Daemon mutters my name as well, over and over, until I feel his hotness spread inside me. I nearly choke on my spit at the feel of his unrelenting snapping even after the fact.

Just when I think he will not stop, he begins to grow sloppy. I sigh as he eventually halts. By then, I am plainly aware of the feel of his seed overflowing, though he is still snug within me.

Although I am utterly boneless beneath him, I manage to tighten my limbs around frame, absolutely unwilling to free him from where he was. The last of his movement fade and I fell utterly spent of his love.

Daemon presses a kiss on my cheek, hands coming to my sides, "I am here, my love. I will not leave."

Without warning, my lips begin to quiver.

I am suddenly overcome with emotion. I begin to feel my throat and chest tighten as sadness creeps out of me, finally seeing its chance.

I force myself not to cry, but I am powerless when Daemon begins to hush me, "sweet girl, it'll be alright." I am broken by the time he repeats, "I am here."

I bring my hands to his shoulder blades and knead at the area, "I need you, Daemon. I can't be without you, ever. I love you so much."

He kisses me as he nods, "I know. I would go mad without you by my side," he kisses me again, drawing out a long breath before continuing, "I love you like I have not known love before."

He allows me to empty my sorrows against him, comforted by his mere presence in the silence.

Sobs beginning to die down, I turn to him and bring my palms to his cheeks. He lifts his head to look down upon me and brushes his nose against mine.

I repeat, as if I hadn't made myself clear, "I love you."

"I love you," he repeats not a second too late, then kisses my lips, "I love you so fucking much."

I nod rapidly, kissing every inch of his face, "thank you for this, my love," I sigh and readjust my legs around him, "I did not know I needed it."

The vibrations of his laughter cause me to whimper. He places a kiss on the top of my head, "spoiled brats hardly ever do."

"I'm not spoiled," I furrow my brows and pout, "you're the one who grew up..." I moan, "a prince."

His minute hip movements tease out another sound out of me.

I whine in protest, "Daemon, please, I can't."

He clicks his tongue, "see? Pretty girls like you should take what they are given graciously without complaints," he brushes his nose against me, "especially when it is a generous gift from her prince."

I release a sigh once he ends his torture.

"Still," Daemon smirks, "I could not bare to make my wife cry even more."

"You can make me cry, if you want," I mumble as I kiss his shoulder, "just let me stay like this for a while," I rub his back, "I like it when I'm full of you."

Daemon relaxes on top of me and I relish the weight of him.

"I like it when you're full of me too."

#daemon fanfic #daemon smut #daemon x reader #daemon x wife!reader #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen smut #daemon fluff #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x you #soft!daemon #daemon fic #caraxes baby boy #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fanfic #targaryen smut

1K notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months

Text

Winter's King 12

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: have a good weekend.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You stand, still uncertain. You look at the king as he tilts his face up to the moonlight. The silver sheen washes over him with an unearthly glow. He looks lupine, much like your dream.

“Your highness?” You echo again, hands curling around the sides of your skirt.

“Will you continue to disregard my order?” He challenges as his gold eyes meet yours. You wince at the way they shine.

“No, your highness, I am only...” you hush yourself and clamp your lips tight. You turn and search around, numbly walking along the curve of the pond.

He growls as you reach the line of hedges into the next walkway.

“You will want to go much faster than that,” he warns as you hear him stand. “I will allow you some advance...” He exhales as you glance back at him, “ten...” he stares at you, his figure shrouded in shadow from far away, “nine...”

You blanch and tumble backward through the gap. You spin and stagger on your soles, throwing your arms out as your heart pulses madly. Something about his timbre, about his words, has you alight. There is something amiss about him.

You push your legs against your skirts and hurry blindly into the nocturnal void. The moonlight seeps in around the silhouette of leaves as you keep your hands ahead of you to prevent a collision. You try to see through the dark, like silk across your eyes, making out little more than hazy orbs.

You crash into a thicket of thorns and pull away from the rosy bunch. Their scent clings onto you as you turn to the left and dive down the next path. You don’t know these gardens, not like Debray. For all you know, you’re going even deeper.

You hear a step behind you and swirl to face it. You squint, trying to see who is there. Is it the king? Do you want it to be? What does he mean to do when he catches you? What is the meaning of this game?

You plunge back into a sprint, puffing as you pump your arms. You whimper and whine as you slow, legs heavy and feet dull. Where are you going? You don’t like this. You remember a night like this before, how the cold dew of the forest crept up your legs, feet hitting the earth in quick succession, the holler of men and snort of horses behind you.

You stagger and spin back. No, you can’t run anymore. You don’t like this. You don’t like those thoughts. That last night before you were taken to Debray, before you dawned the cap of your bearing. That orphan girl running from servitude.

You walk forward, shaking as you peer back and forth. You wade through the thick grey air. You hear a twig snap and a bush rustle, each noise from a different direction. Perhaps it is a rabbit or a chipmunk. You sniffle and wring your hands.

You must find the king. You will surrender this game and ask that he takes you back to the castle. You trudge over the beaten path and hear the soft trickle ahead. It must be the pond. The silver light blooms brighter as you come upon a space in the hedges.

Suddenly, there is only air beneath your feet. You kick out as something rigid wraps around your waist and lifts you. You wriggle desperately and cry out, your eyes tinging but not overflowing. Your fear has you clawing at the hold around your middle.

“Please, please, don’t hurt me!” You plead as you flail, “please, sir, I’ll go back to the castle--” you choke as the grasp on you slackens but your feet still do not meet the ground. You quiet as you recall your present, that you are not in that forest, that you are far from Debray.

You are sat upon the bench, the silver moon gleaming down on you as it outlines the broad shadow before you. King Geralt faces you, kneeling as you tremble and hug yourself. You put your head down in shame.

“Apologies, your highness, I was lost,” you reach to rub your cheek, flicking back your tears with your lashes, “I got confused.”

“No, it is I who should apologise, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he takes your hand between his big ones, “I only meant to make some fun.” He brushes his touch up your arms and squeezes as you drop your hand to your lap, “little maid, did I hurt you?”

You shake your head, “I was only... delirious. It is too dark out here. I cannot see,” you bite down and look away, “apologies, I did act out.”

“Little maid,” he tickles along your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine, “I would not let you get lost or hurt.” He tilts his hand to cradle your face, his thumb stroking your cheekbone, “what was it you were running from in your head? Who?”

“No one,” you lie. “Just a memory.”

“Memories are not just that,” he insists, “but I understand how they can hurt. Forgive me, treasure, I wasn’t--”

“Your highness,” the sullen voice has the king recoiling. He quickly plants his foot and stands. You rise as well, toying with that word he called you. Treasure. “The queen sends for you.”

Bryce steps out into the moonlight. You look at him then the ground. How long had he been there? How much had he heard?

“The queen,” King Geralt grumbles, “what is it she wants? It is late--”

“She would not say and I would not guess,” Bryce says, “but she screams for it. Like a yowling cat.”

The king sighs and lowers his head. He squares his shoulders and resets his posture. He steps away from you and gestures to his soldier. The king twists around and marches away. Bryce falls into pace with you as you follow. He is silent, you all are.

You approach the castle, guards lurking in the shadows, and are let past the front doors by a sombre pair. Inside, you follow the king through the great hall and up the stairs. You peek over at Bryce as you proceed down the corridor. He gently squeezes your wrist, just briefly, and carries on.

“Your highness,” Bryce speaks as you hear a racket ahead of you; screeching and crashing. “Should I escort the maid back to her chambers?”

“Cursed woman,” King Geralt mutters as he slows, Queen Jazlene’s door just ahead. He pauses and looks over his shoulder, “the cost of a kingdom...”

“Your highness?” Bryce prompts once again.

You echo him and step forward, “I could calm her. Bring some wine--”

“No, she will have no more of that,” the king declares sharply. “I wed her, I put my name next to hers, so it is I shall attend to her. Sir,” he looks at Bryce, “do as you suggest, put the maid in her chambers and I will put the queen in her place.”

“Aye, your highness,” Bryce bows his head and points you back, “come, maid, the night wears on.”

You glance up at the king. His golden eyes are wrought as his gaze holds yours for only an instant. You see the hesitation bob in his throat before he turns away. You mirror him and follow Bryce back along the corridor.

As you climb to the next floor and continue down another corridor, Bryce slows. He stops as he gets to the door and faces you. He takes a breath as he looks you up and down.

“It’s treacherous here in the summer kingdom,” he says, “but that will not change on the road. Mouse, you keep yourself well.”

“Thank you, sir, I am fine.”

“Aye, you do not take my meaning but you do not take the king’s either,” he puts his hand on his belt, “his favour might do you fine in this moment, but it is dangerous. Let not others notice so they may not envy it.”

You grimace and shake your head, “what do you mean?”

“Your little games do not need an audience. It is no tournament.”

Your chest sinks and your skin speckles. Is he accusing you of something?

“I... I haven’t done anything untoward. I would not, sir--”

“You may not,” he intones, “but we are all ruled by the will of the king.”

“Sir, the king is married to Lady Jazlene--”

“And we both see how they fare,” he states bluntly. “Carry my words with you, do with them as you may, but I could not leave them unsaid.”

Your eyes gloss and your nose tingles once more. He’s mad. Truly, he can’t think you and King Geralt. A maid and her master.

“I would not,” you repeat.

He huffs and nods curtly. He turns to the door and unlatches it, “go, rest your head while you can.”

“Sir Bryce--”

“I am bid protect you by the king,” he pushes the door inward and rests his hand on the frame, “not from him.” He looks past you, as if through, “little mouse, I do hope I am wrong as well but I know better than to depend on that.”

You shudder and tug at the end of your sleeve. You slump and drag your feet through the doorway. You stop, just inside, “good night, sir.”

He grunts and pulls the door shut. Your lip trembles as your heart races, just as it did in the garden. He is wrong. He must be. You saw yourself how the king is trying, he even said it was the queen he meant to game with earlier. It was only that she was too unwell. He said it!

And he goes to the queen’s chamber that night. He is not there. He has not been disloyal. The matter is not your concern. You serve wine, you lace gowns, you braid hair. You are only the maid.

⚔️

You return to the queen’s service the next morning. The world is a bit more familiar as you help her into her gown and twine her hair into an elaborate coif. Servants pass in and out of her chambers as they prepare for the royal party’s imminent departure.

“Why can we not keep this capital?” Queen Jazlene whines, “but my husband does insist on return to his frigid homelands.”

You say nothing as you sift through the old monarch’s jewelry chest. You present to her successor each gem, brooch, and chain. She has yet to turn any away though you wonder if there would be room in her already bustling luggage. Perhaps the cart will be a touch more crowded on your ride north.

“And yet my husband did come to me,” she boasts, “I think... hmm, well, perhaps this marriage won’t be so turbulent.”

You show her a cuff and she snatches it. She puts it on her wrist, turning her arm this way and that, as she oohs and aahs. She wiggles excitedly.

“I recall this piece. One year, when I came with father to court, the queen wore this cuff. You see the emeralds. I remember she was so proud of it even though all the court knew it was only gifted to her by her husband to distract from his mistress,” she trills, “oh, how foolish. But the old queen was so boring. It is a wonder the king didn’t dispose of her, who can blame him for taking an amour?”

She sighs and looks at the mirror, “and she wasn’t half so pretty as me.”

You remain silent, continuing to sort with her endless approval. You don’t think there is a single trinket she could ever turn away. You don’t see the need for so many of the same thing. Some stones are brighter than others but why not keep the brightest and do away with the rest.

“As I was saying,” she goes on, “last night when the king came to me, he was... almost meek. That man. Can you imagine? I admit I was distraught after the day I suffered but he listened and we spoke.” She strokes her fingers as she admires her oval nails. “There are some southern lords who will come north as well, some northern to stay behind. He says it will help us acquaint the two kingdoms into one.”

She drops her hands and pushes her shoulders straight, “he is wise. I suppose I should heed him if I am to be a good queen.”

You are want to agree but to do so aloud may be taken as insult. She might have done it sooner and saved herself some trouble. Yet it isn’t your place and you haven’t the wisdom of a queen. You’re merely a servant.

“Once I give him an heir, he will have to listen to me too. Yes, I will do what mother could never. Give my husband a son,” she drags her hand to her midsection, “I think last night...” she flutters her lashes dreamily. Her suggestion makes you squirm. Her and the king’s relations are hardly your concern. “It was better,” her voice is brittle, “even if...” she peers around and clamps her lips. She narrows her dark eyes, “close the door.”

You obey. You come back to her and return to your previous task. She reaches in to pluck out a string of pearls.

“He puts me on my stomach,” she whispers, almost as if she thinks you won’t hear, but she is speaking to you. There is no one else in the room. Perhaps she is only embarrassed that she has only to the courage to tell a maid. “And he behind me so I can’t see him and... he can’t see me but... but if he could...” she toys with the pearls, “if he’d just look at me, he might like it better.”

You lift a pair of medallions earrings and she ignores them. She tosses the pearls back in the chest and stands. You back away.

“He won’t let me touch him otherwise,” she mulls as she paces. “But he is warming. It is early, isn’t it? And compared to the first night... I don’t know. It will get better. It must.”

She quiets and stands by the window. Her anxiety is palpable. It’s uncharacteristic. You’ve never seen her uncertain of anything yet you can understand it. She is soon to set off to a new life and to brave a long road. When she reaches her destination, she will be a true queen. When you get there, you’ll still be a maid.

“I’ll go to him tonight,” she says and raises her head, “yes, yes, I will go to him and try again.” She spins and smirks at her grand idea, “maid, I must find something to wear for him. Well, nothing very much,” she remarks coyly, “but I will need a robe. Yes, I saw a satin one in the queen’s closet.” She swallows and stands as straight as she can, “my closet.”

You diligently cross the chamber and search the wardrobe. You find a white satin robe stitched with gold and silver. You turn to show the queen. She giggles and claps her hands.

“Wine,” she says, “I must find some courage too.”

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #the witcher #series #au #medieval au #winter's king

295 notes · View notes

newpathwrites · 5 months

Text

I Love it All (Din x f!reader)

“My body is just so…” you closed your eyes, disgusted with yourself. “It’s so… soft… and saggy… literally everywhere…”

He huffed in response, clearly expressing his disagreement. “You mean you’re middle aged…”

Summary: You’re unhappy with your body, and Din is having none of that.

Notes: I don’t know if this is any good - I got this idea and wrote it in a rush instead of working on my WIPs 🤫. It was supposed to be a chaste thing, but for some reason I couldn’t stop it from heading the sexy route. I’m still not very comfortable writing smut, so this is very vague and nondescriptive, and I may have rushed a bit through those parts. This is absolutely not my best work, but I’m trying to follow the advice of all those reassuring Tumblr posts and put it up here, anyway.

Warnings: Non-descriptive sexual content, negative thoughts about one’s body.

Word Count: 1.1k

Read on AO3

Main Masterlist

————————————————————

“Why are you so focused on my worst features?”

Din froze, hand halting its gentle exploration over the skin of your stomach, eyes searching your face.

“What does that mean?” he asked in an unexpectedly dark tone.

Did you really think any of your features were anything less than perfect? Or did you think he believed so? That idea was downright offensive.

“It’s just…” you started hesitantly. “Your hands always seem to gravitate toward the ugliest parts of me…”

“You have no ‘ugly’ parts, Cyar’ika,” he replied quickly.

“We both know I do…”

He looked at you with a mixture of concern and confusion. “I do not… I think every inch of you is perfect.”

“Well, maybe you only think that because it’s me…”

“Yeah. Is that not the same thing?”

Stars. He could be so sweet sometimes without even trying, but he was missing the point.

“You know what I mean, Din,” you sighed, pulling the robe tightly around your body, clearly trying to hide yourself.

“I really don’t, actually.” His hand snaked around your shoulder to rub your back over the fabric. “Explain it to me.”

“My body is just so…” you closed your eyes, disgusted with yourself. “It’s so… soft… and saggy… literally everywhere…”

He huffed in response, clearly expressing his disagreement. “You mean you’re middle aged…”

You opened your eyes to look at him. “It’s not attractive. Don’t try to tell me it is.”

“Alright, look,” he began, pulling your hands away from the fastenings of your robe and exposing your upper half. “I appreciate the softness…a lot...” He squeezed once before running his fingers over your breast, thumb passing over your nipple and eliciting a small gasp. “Sure, you look a little different now than fifteen years ago, but… I like that we’ve aged… it means we managed to survive this long together…”

You craned your neck up to kiss him once in agreement. “That is true, but…”

He cut you off abruptly with his mouth once again on yours. “Let me finish, Cyare. I’ve got your whole body to cover here.”

He didn’t wait for a response before adjusting your bodies so that you lay flat on your back below him. He peeled off your robe entirely and ran his mouth down your neck and chest while gently groping your breasts.

And then he moved on, kissing down your abdomen until he reached the soft rolls of your stomach. “It makes me happy to see that you’re not skin and bones like you were when we met. We’ve done well for ourselves - we’ve never gone hungry since, and we should be proud of it.” He ran his hand softly over your stomach. “This is evidence that you’re healthy and nourished, and it’s beautiful on you. I’d like to remind you that I have plenty of this, too.”

He smirked as he laid his lips there, and you allowed a small giggle to escape. It was true - and you loved that little bit of fat he’d accumulated there.

His mouth continued down until he reached the band of your underwear, eyes looking up at you for permission.

You nodded, and he peeled them down your legs. “You worry about this, too… don’t you?” he questioned as he ran his fingers through the soft curls of hair there.

You looked mildly but genuinely pained as you responded with mock despair, placing a dramatic hand over your eyes. “Even my vulva is sagging, Din!”

He laughed. At least your mood had improved. “It’s just aging, Cyar’ika. A similar part of me is sagging, too.”

Your eyes sparkled with amusement. “It’s not the same. Those sag at baseline…”

He laughed again as he lowered himself to the floor at the foot of the bed, kneeling as he pulled your body closer to the edge of the mattress..

“I love all of it exactly as it is. Okay?”

You nodded. He’d made his point.

But he was not done. His fingers had continued to caress the sensitive skin there, heightening your slowly building arousal.

He placed light kisses on your thighs, purposely focusing on the parts he knew you disliked, hoping to prove to you that he really did care for every part of you, wrinkles and sags and all.

Meanwhile, his thumb found the most sensitive part of you as he reluctantly pulled his mouth away to move back up to the head of bed.

You immediately reached for his face, kissing him deeply through whimpers of pleasure. “I like your sagging parts, too…”

His chuckle was soon replaced by a low groan as your own hands clumsily reached down into his sleep pants to return the favor.

Your efforts were uncoordinated as you fought his clothing, but as the waves of your orgasm abated, he took it upon himself to kick off the offending items, readying himself over you.

“Slow,” you told him emphatically as he filled you. “I want to tell you everything I love about you, too.”

“If you say so…” he huffed with strained humor.

You reached up to run your hands through his curls as you spoke against his mouth, delighting in his slow and gentle movements. “You’re self-conscious about the gray… and the creases on your forehead… and the patches in your beard, but it all looks so good on you, Din. You’ve only gotten more handsome with age.”

He could only groan against your lips. He wasn’t sure he believed that, but stars did he appreciate that you thought so.

“And your scars - they tell your story, and I’ll never tire of tracing them to remember that you came out on the other side to me.” Your fingers found the well-healed gash on his neck. He hated that one in particular, but you loved it because he survived.

You were becoming a bit breathless now, too, the pleasure building again as he kept to your instruction to go slow. It was a wonderful kind of torture.

“And that little roll of fat on your stomach… I’m the only one privileged to even know it exists… and I love that…” you said between small gasps.

He was really straining with effort now, your words having their intended effect. His forehead pressed against yours as his thrusts became a bit more forceful even at this languid pace. “I don’t think I can hold back anymore, Cyar’ika…”

“Then don’t, love.”

This was one of your favorite parts of him - the one that allowed himself to lose control with you.

No more words were spoken as you moved together at a more steady rhythm, and the release was that much more incredible because every bit of self-consciousness about your aging bodies had melted away in the process.

“Do you really like my scars?” he whispered against your neck when he finally went slack against you. Ah, so he was insecure, too.

You pulled back to look at this face, smiling adoringly.

“I love your scars.”

____________________

Thank you for reading!

#soft din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #body positivity #newpathwrites

111 notes · View notes

tj-dragonblade · 5 months

Note

For the title ask game - I'd really love to read more of the 1889 rain kiss fic 🥰🥹 I'm so weak for all the anguish and drama 1889 entails

Ah, then let me share with you from closer to the beginning of this thing, where the anguish and drama are strongest!

He centers his attention on this nightmare, to feel out the shape of what frightens Hob so, what about him frightens Hob so. For it is about him, that much is plain to tell; there are few dreamers to whom he is known such that he could be dreamed about, and it tickles at his awareness when they do. It is but the smallest effort to find Hob and step into his Dream, a mere gesture to dismiss the diligent nightmare, his faithful subject, who was directing the dreamscape. It is no effort at all to slip himself into his own shade within the dream, to face the reality that Hob fears him, some part of him, no matter his own feelings on such a revelation. It is not unexpected, after all; he is a creature to be feared, respected, admired perhaps, but not befriended, not sought after for his companionship. It was inevitable that Hob should see this, particularly now that Dream has given him a name, the briefest explanation of function, greater frequency of meetings in which he can observe and discover Dream's faults. (He does not delude himself. He had not expected it to happen so swiftly; Hob is kind, and forgiving, and welcoming in ways that make Dream yearn—but no. Hob was always going to see.) (He was always going to lose Hob's regard.) He is in the New Inn, standing at their table, turning away as Hob rises to follow. "Dream, wait, please don't go—" There is fear in Hob's voice, reedy terror and trembling desperation. Dream does not stop. Dream continues to storm angrily from the pub, as expected of him, as sewn into the fabric of this nightmare. Hob grows ever more distraught as he calls behind him. "I'm sorry, forgive me, I beg you don't go don't leave me—Dream, please!" The last is very much a sob. Enough. He stops, turns. Hob blinks at him from a tear-stained face. Dream plucks at the threads of the scene around them, searching for the words or actions that had transpired before his arrival, but there is nothing. "And for what should I forgive you, Hob Gadling," he intones, improvising while he feels out the shape of this nightmare. The question takes Hob off guard and his brow furrows, his lovely wet eyes blinking several times. "I…I…I did something wrong? I offended you, I made. I made you leave." It is hazy, non-specific in the manner of dreams, but that in itself is very telling. Dream has changed the prescribed course of the dream and Hob's mind is unsure what to do with the shift. Hob is so very different, here, in the grip of his nightmare; he is physically smaller, his usual confidence nowhere in evidence. He is anxious, terrified, wide-eyed and uncertain and trembling, and while Dream had stepped in with the resigned expectation that he would find Hob cowering from the full horror of understanding what Dream is, the true shape of Hob's fear shines startling and unexpected before him as he reaches for it. Hob does not fear Dream. Hob fears losing Dream.

(Previously-shared snippets can be found in the tag!

WIP Title Ask Game

#askmemes #TJs Writing #Sandman #Dreamling #wip: 1889kiss #fun fact this has also acquired the unofficial designation of #The Uke-fied Hob Fic #which is not really accurate and very much an exaggeration #but also not inaccurate ahaha 😅

85 notes · View notes

spicy-pears · 1 year

Text

𝕯𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖇𝖆𝖉 𝖒𝖆𝖓

warnings: forceful smut.breeding/impregnation.stalking.biting??(okay he may have tried to eat you). sexual vulgarity.over stimulation.branding.torture?

Pairing: Johnny slaughter x Female reader. [Sorry Leland lovers, maybe sometime this spooky season]

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨: 1-𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒚. 2-𝑯𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝑹𝒖𝒍𝒆𝒔. 3-𝑬𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒆𝒔.[WIP].4-𝑫𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒍'𝒔 𝑭𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚 [WIP].

Word count: 3k

[Thanks for stopping by! This is my very first smut post. So all likes and critique are truly appreciated❣️]

𝙹𝙾𝙷𝙽𝙽𝚈'𝚂 𝙿𝙾𝚅

"Good night! Or should I say good morning, Austin Texas! It's officially 12:00 am. August 29. We got some good news for you guys tonight-" the radio turned off abruptly with the rough turn of the dial, causing it to harshly click. The car became eerily silent, And time began to stand still. Johnnys gloved hand tightly gripped his steering wheel. head held down deep in thought, while his jaw began to clench. His tense body showed a man deep in battle with himself. His sharp inhales and deep rumbling exhales, reminiscent of a hungry animal or beast. His mind slowly being engulfed with a fuzzy, static, ringing sound. A sound that drowned everything else out, a sound that let him know he needed to hunt.

His dark eyes studied the blood-stained cloth, firmly held in his right hand. He tried his best to settle the unrest inside his mind and body. But finally gave into his loud flagrant desires. Bringing the cloth to his face, he took in the distinct scent of his new obsession. The hint of your natural sweetness, the lingering smell of your perfume, and the distinct copper signature of your blood. All of this together brought him into a high, causing his needy cock to harden and throb. his eyes grew endlessly dark with hunger. His breath now in the rhythm of a heated pant as he pulled away from the cloth.

After maria, he made sure to be careful. He didn't take you home right away, he wasn't going to lose another. He waited and played his cards right. By dating your hopeless friend, getting closer to you without notice. He managed to snag your beloved charm bracelet, a photo of your beautiful doe eyes and sweet smile, and now your blood. Unfortunately collecting and waiting was over. You were now in a perfect position for him. And he surely didn't give a damn about your loving fiancé. There you stood, in the dark. Your eyes dashing to see the source of each unexpected sound. While you held your bleeding hand waiting and waiting for your friends. They won't be back any time soon, he made sure of it.

AUGUST 29, 1988 TIME: 12:30 AM

The humid Texas air was slowly getting to you. You started to feel the time flying by. And with the passing moments, the texas night heat only grew stronger. Letting out an anxious huff, you battled with your better senses. You know you should sit still and wait for the girls to come back. But you felt uneasy, as the men coming into the bar had a open view of you. They gawked, whistled, and even took second and third glances while walking by. You began to feel like a rabbit in an open field. While Ignoring the male bar goers as best as you can. You noticed a figure standing 10 feet from you, gaining your full attention. It stood in the back alley of the bar, where the light didn't reach. You couldn't tell who it was or what they were doing, but after you stared for a little while longer. The figure titled its head mockingly. letting you know this wasn't delusion or Texas heat, this was reality.

You tried to swallow down the fear bubbling up, but your dry throat made it impossible. Your hand began to tremble lightly. You knew the hotel was a block and a half away,if you ran. You could try to page someone, but your pager was in friend's missing bag. As you quickly cycled through your mind, you felt hope wash over you. Your fiancé always gave you a switch blade for outings, which you thankfully kept this time. Frantically you began to search for it, feeling on its holster that wrapped around your thigh. Suddenly you heard it, "switch!", your knife being flicked open. Your eyes slowly looked up with dread,watching the figure waving at you with your knife in hand.

Then it all clicked, the only person close enough to take it, was johnny. Refusing to let him get you easy, you nodded at his shadowy figure. And without wasting a second you turned around and took off for the hotel. Last you saw of him; he took off stalking into the wooded area amongst the trees. While you decided to run down the clear sidewalk under the streetlights. You didn't scream, you didn't cry, you saved your energy for running. Your legs felt heavy, feet started to feel numb, and your chest ached from it pounding with each stride. You felt safe following the streetlights and sidewalk, until there were no more. Before you faced the wooded area of a park, an area with no trail, no railing, and no intention of life traversing. You knew by cutting through the park. The hotel would be closer for you to reach.

Hearing branches snap, dry leaves shuffle, and rustling bushes drawing near. you cared nothing for the concept of caution and ran into the wooded area.

If only you were more cautious.

Realizing pretty quickly the area you bravely ran into, turned into a downwards slope. You carefully tried slowly traversing down the slope sideways. Regardless of how careful you were, all footing was quickly lost. under the soft, muddy leaves, and dew-covered grass. With no control of your body, you began to slide down quickly into a full body tumble. Plunging down the slope, for what you felt was 8 feet from the ground. Your back finally collided hard with a tree at the bottom of the uneven slope. The forceful collision caused an audible coughing fit from the pain and exhaustion of your lungs.

"Tsk, what a damn shame... here I thought you were a tough one. I must admit you put up a good effort. None of the other girls ran as fast nor far as you did. Oh! I assure you!" Johnny would crouch down next to his prey and chuckled at your pain. While you laid there pathetically, he took out his harvesting blade. And with a quick snap of his wrist your dress came clean off. Leaving you bare to him and the low rolling night breeze. "You know, I thought your fiancé would have been somewhat smart. Being a cop and all...obviously not a good one. I was on your trail, during every little moment of your trip." His taunts continued. Quickly and clumsily, you tried to collect your tattered dress. Your effort proved to be of little use, with the shredded mess. "Hell, I think I know more about you than he does. Born in New Orleans green eyes like your mother, but sure do have your fathers' spirit." He got up following close as you writhed in pain. Pathetically crawling away from him, attempting to hide your naked frame from his gaze. He observed how weak you became, relying on all of strength left in your fingertips and arms. Johnny cruelly pressed his foot against your injured and bruised back. Stopping all pathetic attempts then and there.

While you laid there it became painfully clear, that you were dealing with a psychopath. A handsome face, scars excused as the marks of a hard-working farm hand. Staring you excused as shyness, every red flag you foolishly excused for your friend's happiness. Realizing what he was, you devised your survival plan. They say killers hate rejection.so you'll accept every kiss,every touch, even fall in love if needed be; you were going to live.

He suddenly took his foot off your back, his footsteps growing faint, yet petrifingly close. Snatching this opportune time, you continued to crawl away. He watched you from afar, with a assumed expression. Spending your time crawling to nowhere, johnny patiently bided his time. For the warm orange flame flickering under his eyes, was just picking up. So caught up in your hopeful efforts, and devising your plan. you missed the lingering trail of smoke. You carelessly disregarded every firey sign of inpending torture, and you were going to pay for it dearly.

"oh no? leaving already?" johnny's tone was filled with mocking empathy. No matter how hard you tried, your effort didn't get you far. With a few steps, Johhny was above you again. Once again his smothering foot met your back. leaning down, he purposely put his weight onto your weak back. "Boy, aren't you a sweet sight? I'd hate for you to run off one day, but if you do. let's make sure a kind soul can bring you back home.". His words were purposely vague, he could feel the confusion swirling and sinking heavy in your stomach. In his hand held a brass "J" branding iron, that your poor eyes didnt notice.

A harsh stinging slap to your ass, caused your body to jolt forward under Johhny's boot. your teeth gritted in pain, as it eased into a stressed exhale. only a second of peace was given to you, before your eyes widen with hot tears. Burning heat plunged into the flesh of your hip, seeping down to the bone. As the sensation raised up to your chest, your mouth opened to let out a shrill agonizing scream. before it could ring through the night air, Johnny's hand met your mouth. Quickly choking out your heart-rendering cries. Over stimulated with pain, your body begged for rest. He smirked as your body fell limp, your chest softly heaving with shock.

What have you done to earn this nightmare? you were raised as a church girl. Maybe you partied a bit too hard to be considered devout. But you were still a virgin, attended every sunday service, and treated everyone with love. How were you now prey to the, "bad man" Infront of you?. In your fog, you yearned to look into the eyes of the man towering before you. The night sky and lazy clouds swallowed all light, not a single star nor the moon was shining for you. Deep down without making out his face, you just knew johnny was grinning with hunger. "Hey there! "He suddenly come face to face with you. His hands firmly grasping your wrists. You saw his face clear as day now. The sadistic yet playful smile on his face, coupled with the gentle caressing of your cheek. Brought to you a uneasy sense of comfort.

"Don't cry sweetheart, ill try to make this quick." He closely observed your eyes, for any signs of opposition. you never seen a man nor animal, With such endlessly devoid eyes in your life. Johnny chuckled at your mindless deer in head lights expression. He brought his thumb to you bottom lip, feeling the delicate plush of it. Soft grazes became harsh once he grasped your chin, yanking your head up to his attention. His thumb no longer gently tracing, it now pressed hard against your lip in a rough pinch. Suddenly your haze lifted, you began to realize your position. Your head moving around, taking in your helpless environment.

Your frantic display of fear brought out a deep groan of pleasure out of johnny. The groan trailed off into a deep sadistic chuckle. That almost drowned out the soft bell like sounds of his unbuckling belt. A growl rumbled deep from his chest down to your stomach. He perched himself on your mid-section to stop any attempt of escape, encasing your small frame between his knees. With each squirm you caused his body to rock and grind against you. lighting would strike you down, if you said you didn't like his hard length throbbing against your skin. "Look, look at me!" He snapped at you. Your frightened efforts to not look at him, Slowly wore down his patience. His right hand which held your wrists together. Forced them above your head, he hadn't yet forgotten your wounded hand.

Maliciously his fingertips applied pressure on the fresh cut, the feeling made you swear his fingers were deep in your wound. which made your skin began to crawl with disgust. The Increasing pain caused you to cry out and arch back, in an attempt to get his weight off of you. He allowed you to arch your body, he reveled in how you moved for him. "Oh? Needy, aren't you? For a devout little church girl." He relished in teasing you, while his now bloodied fingertips traveled up your thigh. Finding purchase between your legs. Fingertips running up your thoroughly soaked panties, teasing your covered slit. Although his fingers were now coated in your sweet juice, He desired more from you. Suddenly, johnny's head become lost between your legs. He'd use is teeth to delicately pull your panties to the side, giving his fingertips free range to slowly push into your tight gummy entrance. He made sure to leave a intense fluttering sensation coursing up your spine. He leaned up to you, as you let out a soft moan. He parted his lips as yours did, letting out a pleased groan of his own. He took a moment to relish in your shameless state. Before grabbing the soaked lace mess and greedily ripping it off with little to no effort.

Your eyes widened as you tried to close your legs, hiding yourself as best as you could. "Oh sweetheart, don't tell me you don't want me to fuck you? With how wet you are?" His bare calloused hands gripped your thighs bruisingly tight, no longer caring what you do with your hands. Impatiently yanking your body down to meet his hips. His length throbbing against your pussy, as it radiated your heat covering his shaft with your slick. "I hate to tell you, but I have to fuck you now, since you begged and all" before you could even plea for him to stop or fight back. The air was taken out of your lungs, as you moaned out. Hot tears welled in your eyes. He pulled you down forcefully flush onto his cock, not caring you were unexperienced.

You watched his wild ravenous grin, as the strength of his hips made each thrust deeper and rougher than the last. He loved watching the tears roll from your eyes. Mesmerized by your moaning lips begging for his kiss. Johnny figured he'd give you this one kindness. Your soft moans would be choked out from you, as his large hand gripped your neck firmly. Bringing your needy lips to his, he gave you the passionate kiss you oh so desired. You found yourself running your fingers through his hair, which he hated. He began to smirk through the kiss and rewarded you with a keen vengeful bite to your bottom lip.

Your sweet blood, lingered on his tongue like liquor. Bringing him to a high, his thrusts grew needy and cruel. He lost himself, in the taste of you. Once he broke the kiss, you looked on at his shark like eyes in horror. Before you knew it, his hungry lips now wandered to your shoulder. A radiating source of your intoxicating perfume. Soft Fuzzy static began over take his mind, he knew what he wanted. And couldn't control his primal instincts. His body tensed, his muscles flexed and hardened, face buried deep into your neck hiding his internal struggle. He'd let out a animalistic grunt, a hopeless warning for you. A blood chilling scream rang from your weak throat. Johnny hungrily sunk teeth deep into your flesh. His mind now completely flooded with the roaring static. hearing your cries and french curses, faintly in the back of his mind.

"Fuuck!" johnny pulled himself out of his haze, his gaze darting to his left hand. Realizing he unknowingly took his knife out during the fog. Begrudgingly, he pushed his knife away from your body. Resisting the strong urge to kill you, atleast not yet. Instead he began to take in the sight of you. A broken mess, panting like a well fucked whore. He'd steady his position with his hand besides your head, now resting his weight on his arm. A frustrated whine echoed from your chest, demanding release. He felt your tight little pussy clench around him, your body ready to cum without his permission. His eyes glared deep into yours, his thrusts now mercilessly deep. greeting the very depths of you, abusing your cervix with his controlling strength. "You tight greedy whore-" He grunted, as you defiantly closed your thighs. Johnny smirked and decided not to go easy anymore. he pressed your thighs back against your chest. Thrusts bottoming out, as your core now ached against the girth of his length.

"J-...Johnny!" With the needy moan of his name. You finally broke, cumming on his thick punishing length. You began to tremble, as the wave rode through your body. You sweet inexperienced doll, you thought once you came it was over, not just yet. you began to stare down at the mess of your bodies, you watched as his cock stroked in and out of your gushing mess of a pussy. Mercilessly pumping out your cream, while your aching pussy wrapped around tight. carelessly you dared to drag your fingertips down his sweat covered torso, down to the base of his working cock. Luckily, he was too high off the feeling of his rushing edge, to punish your touch. His body pressed heavily on yours, he savored each sound your crying, messy body made. His body soon raised up again, his leaning head back getting a full view of you. Eyes sitting low, while his tounge wolfishly licked the dried blood off his smirking lips. You felt his fingertips digging deep into the plush of your ass. Which gave into his wake, bloody scratches and crescents from his nails adorning your ass.

"Take it! Take it!" His voice dripped with a carnal venom. His pace now sloppy against the twitch of his cock. Each twitch reminded him of how defiantly tight you were, not allowing him to stretch you even a centimeter more without a challenge. With a satisfied deep hiss, he claimed you. Filling your assaulted cunt with his hot thick seed. You panted with relief , Your body lightly trembled with each breath you took, until your nerves eased for him.

"Oh? sweet as a kitten now, aren't you?" he lazily pulled his satisfied cock out of you. He chuckled at your sweet face, before turning his attention to fixing himself up. Somewhere you found the strength to pull yourself up, weakly sitting on your tired knees. You began to admire the shape of his face, eyes tracing each scar, your chest fluttered at the mere presence of him. He didn't know what he was going to do with you, let alone a child. But that was the price to pay, he planned on selfishly keeping you as long as he could. His strong arms, carefully wrapped around your chest. Pulling you into his arms, practically cradling you like a feral kitten. "It's time to bring my prized catch home."

CHAPTER 1 END

Chapter 2 preview:

"Do you remember?"

Your eyes fluttered open, to the familiar melody. The upbeat romantic song that played during your wedding, bringing you a warm feeling of safety. The safety you cherished when you were finally found,finally free. But it was strange, your lazy eyes caught the time. 3:15 am, why would he play this so late?

"Do you remember how it all began?"

You remember your husband's disappointed confusion at his broken record player. Which now played eerily off key, deep and slow. Why would he play music on it now? Lazily your feet shuffled against the carpet. And unexpectedly met the soft rattle of your son's comfort blanket. Now Perplexed, you examined the small bat covered blanket. Abruptly, the flashing blue and white lights of your TV caught your full attention.

"I bet you remember, I bet you remember"

You felt the fear on your fingertips, as they glided against the wooden stair railing. Holding your breath, in a attempt to stop your heart from beating so violently. With each braved stair, your skin crawled with a stabbing chill that only increased. Untill you stopped half way, there he was. Your baby boy, being held by a shadowy stranger.

"Da-da!" The sweet babble from your baby boy, brought you so much dread. He could never piece his babbles into a clear "Pa-pa" or "Da-da", To your husband's dismay. But now sitting on the knee of a stranger, he joyfully rang out his new found word

The stranger leaned down, playfully shaking a teddy bear. While the baby sucked on his knuckles feeling truly entertained. Dark eyes slowly cut from him to you.

"Does mama remember me?" You knew that build, those eyes, and that damned intoxicating southern twang. With no more stairs to stall the inevitable, you now stood in Johnny's open veiw. You watched the corners of his mouth, curl into his signature devilish grin."Well, Hey there sweetheart!"

"Do you remember the time, when we first fell in love?"

#johnny slaughter x reader #johnny slaughter x oc #johnny slaughter #tcm johnny #texas chainsaw massacre #tcm game #tcm smut

323 notes · View notes