#never once have i ever expressed interest in that sort of thing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kooffeecup · 3 months ago

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bridges we almost burned 𓇼 𓂂 ˚ ◌

when you see your boyfriend giving ride to the new intern frequently because he thinks it’s convenient, something snaps inside you.

genre : angst, romance

pairing : jungkook x reader

★ requested by a reader

banner made by me

picture credits to the rightful owners

You stood outside Jungkook’s house, your arms crossed as the cold evening breeze nipped at your skin. You had been waiting for him, eager to finally spend some time together after his long work hours.

But instead of his usual solo arrival, your eyes locked onto something that made your stomach twist, Jungkook’s car pulling up, and stepping out of the passenger seat was a woman.

Daun.

The new intern at his company. The one you had heard about in passing, the one he had casually mentioned before.

You watched as she smiled, thanking him before walking toward her house just a few doors down. Jungkook remained in the driver’s seat for a second, running a hand through his hair before finally stepping out. His eyes widened slightly when he noticed you standing there.

"Hey, baby," he greeted, his tone light, but there was something in his gaze,like he knew exactly what you had just seen. You tried to swallow the lump in your throat. "You gave her a ride?"

Jungkook sighed, shutting his car door. "Yeah. She lives nearby, and I was heading this way anyway."

"Right," you nodded, biting the inside of your cheek. "And how many times have you done that?"

He hesitated for a second too long. "A few times," he admitted. "But it's not a big deal, baby. She’s just an intern, and I was just being nice."

Your stomach churned at his choice of words. "Not a big deal?" You let out a short, humorless laugh. "Jungkook, I’ve been waiting outside your house for an hour, and I found out you were out giving another woman a ride home? You never even mentioned this to me."

He stepped closer, his voice softer now. "I didn’t think it was something worth mentioning. You trust me, don’t you?"

You met his gaze, searching for something, anything to ease the ache in your chest. You did trust him. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. That didn’t mean the sight of them together, so casual, so comfortable, didn’t leave a bitter taste in your mouth.

"Did she ever ask you for these rides, or did you offer?" you asked. Jungkook’s jaw tensed. "She asked once when it was raining, and after that I just figured it was convenient since we were heading in the same direction."

Convenient. You hated that word.

"Would you be okay if I got rides from some guy at work regularly and never told you?" You tilted your head, watching his expression shift.

Jungkook exhaled sharply. "That’s not the same."

"It is the same," you cut in. "And you know it." Silence stretched between you both, heavy and suffocating.

"Are you jealous?" he finally asked, his voice gentle. Your lips pressed into a thin line. "I don’t know," you admitted. "Maybe I just don’t like feeling like I’m the last to know things about my own boyfriend."

Jungkook reached for your hands, rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles. You exhaled, trying to sort through the emotions tangled in your chest. Jungkook’s grip on your hands tightened slightly, his brows furrowing. "I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to hurt you. I’ll stop if it makes you uncomfortable."

You let out a slow breath, pulling your hands away. "Don’t stop just because you think I have a problem with it, Jungkook. Stop when you realize why it’s a problem."

His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to say something, but you didn’t give him the chance.

"And no," you continued, your voice calm but firm, "I don’t get jealous." You took a step back, the weight in your chest slowly lifting as realization settled in. "I just lost interest."

Jungkook’s expression dropped. "What?" You shook your head, turning on your heel. "I’ll see you around."

You didn’t wait for his response. You didn’t care to hear whatever excuse he’d come up with next.

Because the truth was, the moment he hesitated, the moment he justified it instead of understanding, something inside you just… faded.

And you weren’t going to beg for clarity when he should have known better.

Jungkook stood there, frozen, watching as you walked away. His heart pounded against his ribs, his mind scrambling to process what had just happened.

"Wait " He took a step forward, but you didn’t stop. You didn’t turn around. You didn’t hesitate.

For four years, you had loved him. You had trusted him. And yet, in that moment, as you walked away, it felt like you weren’t leaving in anger. You were leaving in indifference. And that scared him more than anything.

Jungkook exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He wanted to chase after you, to explain, to make you understand that it had never meant anything. That Daun was just…nothing. But would that even matter now? Would you even believe him? Or worse… had he already lost you?

He clenched his jaw, fists tightening at his sides as he watched your figure disappear down the street.

For the first time in years, Jungkook felt a kind of fear he wasn’t sure he could fix. Jungkook stood in the same spot long after you disappeared, his breath uneven, his heart hammering in his chest. He pulled out his phone, fingers hovering over your contact. He wanted to call. To text. To say something that would pull you back. But what would he even say? That he didn’t mean to keep things from you? That it was just a ride, just convenience? Would that even change anything?

The words echoed in his head like a haunting reminder of what he had just let slip through his fingers. A sudden rush of panic surged through him. He couldn’t let it end like this. So he ran.

His feet pounded against the pavement as he chased after you, his lungs burning, his mind screaming at him to do something, anything, before it was too late.

When he finally spotted you, you were about to get into your car. "Wait!" he called out, his voice breathless. You stilled but didn’t turn around. Jungkook swallowed hard. "Don’t just walk away like this."

You sighed, gripping the car door. His chest tightened. " Let me fix it."

You turned then, finally looking at him. And what he saw in your eyes made his stomach drop, emptiness. Not anger. Not sadness. Just… nothing.

"You don’t get it, Jungkook," you said quietly. "It’s not about Daun. It’s about you. About the fact that I had to stand there and watch you hesitate. Watch you defend something that you should’ve already known was wrong."

He shook his head. "I wasn’t thinking"

"Exactly," you cut in. "You weren’t. And I’m tired of waiting for you to start."

Jungkook felt something crack inside him. "Please," he murmured, taking a step closer. "Don’t do this. Don’t leave."

You exhaled, a slow, tired breath. Jungkook’s breath was uneven as he stood in front of you, desperation clear in his eyes. "Please, don’t just walk away like this."

You sighed, rubbing your temple. Your body was exhausted not just from standing outside his house for so long, but from the weight of this entire situation.

"I’m tired, Jungkook," you said, your voice calm but firm. "I waited outside for you for over an hour. I just want to go home and rest."

He opened his mouth, but you held up a hand before he could speak.

"We can talk later. When you finally get it."

Jungkook’s jaw tensed, frustration flashing in his eyes. "Get what?"

You exhaled sharply. "Exactly."

You didn’t wait for his response. You turned, got into your car, and shut the door.

Jungkook stood there, watching as you drove away, the sinking realization setting in.

You weren’t running away. You weren’t giving him an ultimatum. You were just… done waiting for him to understand something he should’ve known all along.

—

Jungkook sat at his desk, unable to focus. His fingers hovered over his phone, rereading the last message he had sent you late last night, one you never replied to.

His office felt colder today, quieter, even with the usual background noise of employees moving around. But all he could think about was you.

The door suddenly knocked, and before he could answer, it opened.

Daun.

"Good morning, sir," she greeted with a small smile. "I brought the reports you asked for."

Jungkook barely glanced up, his mind elsewhere. "Leave them on the desk."

She hesitated for a second before placing the files down. "Um… I just wanted to say thank you again for the rides. It really helped me out."

Jungkook’s jaw clenched. The rides. The same ones that led to the situation he was in now.

"Yeah," he muttered, rubbing his temple. "Don’t worry about it."

She shifted slightly. "I hope your girlfriend wasn’t too upset about yesterday…"

Jungkook’s eyes snapped up to her, sharp and unreadable. "That’s none of your concern."

Daun’s smile faltered. "Oh right. Sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep."

Jungkook exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "It’s fine. Just, just go." She nodded quickly and left, the door clicking shut behind her.

Jungkook leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. He hated the way things felt right now, the way he didn’t even know if he’d see you today, if you’d even want to talk.

His phone buzzed suddenly, and his heart jumped. But when he looked at the screen, it wasn’t your name. It was a meeting reminder. Jungkook exhaled sharply, shoving his phone into his pocket.

You said you’d talk when he finally got it. And the truth was he did now. But was it too late?

—

Jungkook sat in his car, gripping the steering wheel, his mind heavy with thoughts of you. The whole day had been suffocating, meetings he couldn’t focus on, calls he ignored, and the weight of your absence pressing on his chest. He checked his phone for the hundredth time. Still nothing from you.

A knock on his window pulled him from his thoughts. He turned his head and saw Daun standing outside, smiling.

He rolled down the window, his expression unreadable. "What?"

Daun blinked at his cold tone but quickly recovered. "Oh, I was just wondering if I could get a ride home again."

Jungkook exhaled slowly, gripping the wheel tighter. This, this was the moment. The moment he could make the right choice. He didn’t hesitate this time.

"No."

Daun’s smile faltered. "Oh… are you heading somewhere else?"

"No," Jungkook said flatly. "I just don’t want to." Her face fell slightly, and she shifted awkwardly. "Did… something happen?"

Jungkook let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, Daun. Something did happen. And I should’ve realized it sooner."

Daun swallowed, sensing the shift. "I didn’t mean to cause any trouble between you and your girlfriend"

"You didn’t," Jungkook cut in, his voice firm. "I did." For the first time, he saw it clearly. You weren’t upset about the rides. You were upset that he never even considered how it would look. How it would feel. He had been blind, careless. And now, he might have lost you for it.

Jungkook sighed, rolling the window up without another word. Then, without sparing Daun another glance, he drove off. There was only one place he needed to be right now. With you.

Jungkook drove with one hand on the wheel, the other gripping his phone, debating whether to call you. But he knew words over the phone wouldn’t be enough. He needed to see you.

When he reached your apartment, he hesitated for only a second before stepping out of his car. His heart pounded as he rang your doorbell.

Seconds felt like hours. Then, finally, the door opened. You stood there, looking exhausted, your arms crossed as you leaned against the frame. Your expression was unreadable. "What do you want, Jungkook?"

He took a deep breath. "To talk. Properly this time."

You sighed, rubbing your temple. "I told you, I’d talk when you finally get it."

Jungkook nodded. "And I do now." His voice was quieter this time, more certain. "You were right."

You raised a brow, waiting. He exhaled sharply. "It was never about the rides. It was about me not realizing how it looked. How it felt. How I should’ve never made you feel like you had to stand outside waiting for me, watching me drop off another woman."

Your fingers tightened slightly against your arms, but you didn’t say anything.

Jungkook stepped closer. "I should’ve understood the second I saw your face last night. And I hate that it took you walking away for me to get it." His voice dropped. "But I do now. And I’m sorry."

You studied him for a long moment. "So what now?"

"I stopped giving her rides," Jungkook said instantly. "Not because you told me to. But because I finally understood why I should have stopped in the first place."

Your gaze softened just a little, but you didn’t let him off that easily. "And what if I never said anything? Would you have realized it?"

Jungkook’s jaw tightened, guilt flashing in his eyes. "Maybe not right away," he admitted. "But that’s the problem, isn’t it? That I was too blind to see it on my own." He swallowed hard. "But I see it now, and I swear, I’ll never make you feel that way again."

Silence filled the space between you. Then, finally, you let out a slow breath. "You really get it now?" Jungkook nodded. "Yeah. And I don’t want to lose you over my own stupidity."

You stared at him for a moment longer before finally stepping aside. "Come inside."

Jungkook didn’t hesitate. He stepped in, knowing this wasn’t an instant fix but it was a start. And this time, he wouldn’t take it for granted.

Things weren’t instantly perfect, but there was progress. Jungkook had been more mindful, more present. He made sure to communicate, to show you not just with words but through his actions that he truly understood.

But there was still a lingering tension, a gap that hadn’t fully closed.

That evening, you sat on the couch scrolling through your phone when the doorbell rang. You sighed, standing up to answer it. When you opened the door, Jungkook stood there, holding a small bag in one hand and a guilty smile on his face.

"I know you’ve been tired lately," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "So, I brought dinner. Your favorite."

Your brows raised slightly. "You brought food?" He nodded. "And I swear I didn’t just order from anywhere I went all the way to that one place across town because I know you like it best from there."

You studied him for a second before stepping aside. "Come in."

Jungkook entered, placing the bag on the table. He glanced at you, hesitant. "How have you been?"

You sat down, opening the takeout containers. "Fine." It was a simple answer, but he could tell there was more beneath it. Jungkook sat across from you, watching as you took a bite. When you didn’t say anything else, he finally spoke.

"I know things still don’t feel the same," he admitted. "And I don’t expect one apology to fix everything. But I just want to know is there still a chance for us?"

You put your chopsticks down, looking at him seriously. "It’s not about whether there’s a chance, Jungkook. It’s about whether you’ll keep understanding even when I don’t have to explain things to you."

He nodded immediately. "I will." You sighed, leaning back slightly. "Then we’ll see." Jungkook didn’t push for more. He simply nodded, accepting that trust wasn’t rebuilt overnight.

But as he sat there, watching you eat, sharing quiet conversation, he felt something he hadn’t in days hope.

And he was willing to do whatever it took to make things right.

Jungkook had been consistent. He didn’t just say he understood he showed it. He made sure to be more present, to check in with you without making it feel forced. He was more aware of the little things, more careful with his actions, and most importantly, he didn’t let you feel like you had to spell things out for him.

You were at your apartment when your phone buzzed. Jungkook.

Jungkook: Can you come outside?

You frowned slightly but grabbed your jacket and stepped out. When you reached the parking lot, you found Jungkook leaning against his car, his hands tucked into his pockets.

"You’re acting mysterious," you said, eyeing him. "What’s going on?"

Jungkook pushed off the car, opening the passenger door. "Get in. I want to show you something."

You hesitated for a second before sighing and slipping into the car. He didn’t say much as he drove, but his hand reached for yours, squeezing it gently. It was the first time in days that he had done something so natural, without hesitation.

After about fifteen minutes, he pulled into a small, quiet spot overlooking the city skyline. The view was breathtaking, the soft glow of the city lights stretching far into the distance. You turned to him. "Why did you bring me here?"

Jungkook exhaled, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel. "Because I’ve been thinking a lot about us. About how close I was to losing you." He turned to look at you, eyes serious. "And I don’t want to be that guy who just assumes things are fine now. I don’t want you to just settle for us being okay. I want you to feel secure. To know that I see you, Y/N."

Your chest tightened. "Jungkook "

"I love you," he said, his voice unwavering. "And I never want to make you feel like you have to question that again." The weight of his words hung in the air. You looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the sincerity in his eyes.

For the first time in weeks, you let out a small, genuine smile. "I love you too," you admitted softly.

Jungkook exhaled a breath. Slowly, he reached for your hand again, lacing his fingers through yours. This time, you didn’t pull away. And in that quiet moment, with only the city lights as witnesses, you both knew this was the beginning of something stronger.

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seungkw1 · 9 months ago

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love me right — ksy

♡ pairing: roommate!hoshi x afab!reader ♡ theme: smut [18+ mdni], humor ♡ wc: 4.1k ♡ warnings: oral (f. & m. receiving), unprotected piv sex (do not do this), multiple orgasms, a lil spit play, head pushing, thigh riding, somnophilia, cum eating/swallowing, cumming in pants, like 2 seconds of angst, praise kink, hs is down bad for reader, gendered pet names (baby, good girl, pretty girl, etc), bit of fluff at the end ♡ a/n: this is part 2 to make me !! finally got this written hope yall like <3

Ever since you sort-of-accidentally had sex with your roommate for the first time, he’s been nothing but a fucking menace.

Not in a bad way - no, despite the fact that he's kind of an actual insane person he's always been and continues to be a very considerate and agreeable roommate. There's no problem with your living arrangements.

The problem is how fucking insatiable he has become.

You previously never thought there could be such a thing as too many orgasms, but Soonyoung really is testing your limits. You've never had so much sex in your life - and you're not mad about it by any means. But your roommate-turned-friend with benefits is absolutely, utterly, wholeheartedly obsessed with having his entire face buried in your pussy at all possible times. And you love every second of it.

Sure, sometimes your clit kinda feels like it's gonna fall off. Most of the time you've barely recovered from the last set of two, three, four orgasms (the current record is six, a record he's determined to beat) before he’s back between your legs again. But the constant cunnilingus leaves you more sensitive than ever before - and the more you squirm beneath his tongue and scream and cry as he takes you to paradise, the more it gets him off. One time you were wailing his name so much that he actually came in his pants, fully hands-free. The man simply worships you.

You've had various kink-related conversations over the past couple months of nonstop boinking, as these things come up. You wouldn't necessarily say Soonyoung is into anything too crazy (besides the occasional burst of tiger roleplay, anyway), but so far he's been enthusiastically down for everything you've expressed interest in. He’s the very definition of matching one’s freak.

“You know what would be hot?” Soonyoung asks you one day, approximately two minutes after you woke up and emerged from your room.

“Good morning to you too,” you tell him through a sleepy yawn.

“What if,” he continues anyway, “hypothetically, I were to wake you up one day by eating you out?”

“Soonyoung is it nine in the morning,” you reply as you give him a dull glare. You go to make yourself a cup of coffee, but he extends a full mug to you. You take the cup - it’s fresh, piping hot.

“Oh, thanks,” you say, surprised by the kind gesture.

“So?” he prods, eagerly awaiting your reply.

“I mean, yeah, I wouldn’t be mad about that,” you answer with a small shrug.

“NOICE,” he exclaims, pumping his fist in the air.

“BUT-” you quickly add. “That cannot be an everyday thing.”

“Right, of course not,” he agrees with a nod. “Soooo, when can I try it?”

“Well, I can’t tell you that,” you reply straightforwardly. “It’s supposed to be a surprise, that would like, defeat the whole point.”

A wide grin spreads across his face, but he shakes it off right away, playing it cool.

“Okay cool, well I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, grabbing your hand and shaking it vigorously. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

You roll your eyes at him.

“You’re so fucking stupid,” you gibe, but your face cracks into a smile. He pulls you in and kisses you.

“Love you too.”

You freeze.

You may have been intimate with him more times than you can count, but your relationship is strictly casual. You only kiss when you're fucking, and the words I love you have never once been uttered by either of you. You know he probably was saying it facetiously, but the way he said it was so nonchalant. So… realistic. You stare at him for a second, not knowing how to respond. His smile slowly drops.

“Oh, sorry,” he apologizes. His ears immediately turn red with embarrassment.

“No no it’s fine,” you babble, trying to backtrack. “I just wasn't expecting…”

“I was just kidding,” he responds. Then his eyes widen. “I mean not like that, it's not that-”

“It’s fine!!” you quickly interject before he can say anything else. “I know what you mean.”

“Sorry,” he murmurs again. He suddenly realizes he's still holding onto your hand - he swiftly lets go.

“Thanks for the coffee,” you tell him politely with a smile, trying to change the subject.

“Of course,” he replies, trying to smile back at you, but you can tell he's still sulky. He departs from the kitchen without saying another word. He emerges from his room about a minute later in athletic gear, his gym bag slung over his shoulder.

“Off to workout already? I thought you were going this afternoon” you inquire, but he's already breezing past you.

“Yeah, Mingyu just texted me and wanted to meet earlier,” he answers as he grabs his keys.

It’s a bad lie, and you both know it. But you don't press him further.

“Okay, have fun!” you say cheerfully. But an air of tension remains.

“Thanks,” he replies, turning back to glance at you for only a brief second.

“Hey,” you say softly. “Soonyo-”

He's out the door before you have a chance to finish even saying his name.

You stand there for a few moments, staring at the front door, wondering if you've just fucked everything up. You didn't mean to, of course. You were just so taken aback by the stupid L word. It's not something you ever expected to hear coming from Soonyoung’s lips, not about you anyways. But now it has you thinking. Was he simply joking around? Or does he actually have… feelings for you?

A small blip of a thought enters your mind: and do you have feelings for him?

You push it away before you can think about it any further.

The next few days are undoubtedly a bit awkward. Soonyoung is clearly avoiding you - not in a malicious way, but he just so happens to have business elsewhere whenever you're at home.

You're mildly annoyed, but more so you're feeling gloomy about the whole situation. You never meant to do anything to push him away - near-constant fucking aside, Soonyoung truly is a good friend. And now you find yourself missing him.

After an entire week of this nonsense, you decide to confront him. You pretend to be going to sleep, anticipating that he’ll spend some time alone in the common area. A few minutes later your hunch is confirmed when you hear the tv come on, its volume low. You quietly open your door and sneak into the living room. You approach the couch slowly from behind - when you arrive at it, you jump around and plop down next to Soonyoung.

“FUCK,” he yelps, nearly jumping out of his seat. “You scared me!”

“I'm horny,” you tell him bluntly, scooting up next to him. “Let me suck your dick.”

Soonyoung stares at you, looking into your eyes that are now mere inches from his. You can tell he desperately wants to say yes, but he resists. You give him a flirty look, trying to entice him.

“Pleaseeeee?”

“Well, I was gonna watch a movie…” his sentence trails off, unfinished. He tries to shift his focus away from you, but his eyes keep flickering back to yours.

“Seriously?” you ask, crossing your arms. “Since when do you turn down head?”

“Y/n…”

You wait for him to continue, but he doesn't.

“Yes?”

He looks you in the eyes again, then sighs.

“I dunno, I’m just not in the mood right now,” he finally answers. He looks away sullenly.

“Are you okay?”

He looks back at you. He clearly wants to tell you something, but he hesitates.

“About the other day…” he finally speaks. He pauses, in case you have something to say. You don’t; he continues.

“I didn't mean to make things weird. When I said that I loved you.”

“You didn't,” you assure him. You note that he didn’t say anything about it not being true, but you try to ignore that right now.

You take his hand in yours, patting it softly. He looks at you, surprised by the gesture.

“I was being weird, that's on me.”

His mood cautiously lightens. “You sure?” he verifies.

“100%,” you say with a nod. He smiles at you.

“Now will you please put your dick in my mouth?” you request again, looking into his eyes seductively.

A smile creeps onto his face.

“I mean if you're gonna be this fucking hot…”

You give him a mischievous smirk. You tug at his tshirt; he immediately takes it off. He groans as you grab his dick through his sweatpants, his cock starting to harden instantly in response. One thing about Soonyoung - you can do the bare minimum and he’ll have a boner within five seconds. You lick your lips, stroking him slowly through the soft gray fabric. He lets out a deep exhale, relieved by your touch - it had only been a week, but he missed you badly. He craved your touch, craved how insane you make him feel. He drops his head back, his legs spreading as he settles into the couch, shifting his pelvis up so you have full access to his groin. You rub your hand over the thick bulge, squeezing and pulling lightly, causing him to let out a pathetic-sounding moan. He is putty in your hands.

About a minute more of your over-the-pants handjob and Soonyoung is rock fucking hard. You slide off the couch, taking to your knees between his spread thighs. You pull at the elastic waistband, tugging it down over the pulsating bulge in his underwear. You place your mouth on him through the fabric, letting him feel your lips, your hot breath on him.

“Stop teasing me,” he begs after you plant several more kisses on his clothed dick. “Please.”

You gaze up at him, your eyes filled with lust. You reach into his underwear, retrieving his cock, prompting further pathetic moaning. He is leaking with precum - you take him in your fist, stroking up and down at a pace that he finds painfully slow. You place your lips atop the head, lightly sucking up his juices. He cries out as you then swirl your tongue over his tip.

“Aaaah,” he groans, his voice turning gravelly.

You grab his balls and take the rest of the head into your mouth. You hollow your cheeks as you begin sucking on it slowly - each motion of your lips long and drawn out. Saliva accumulates in the back of your mouth - and an overwhelming wetness accumulates in your underwear.

You draw your head back, gazing up at Soonyoung submissively. You collect your saliva, spitting it onto his cock - it trickles downwards. Wrapping your hand around his girth you spread it over his full length, coating his cock with your spit.

“Oh wow,” he mutters, nearly going cross eyed. You take his cock in your mouth once more, swallowing more and more of him until his entire length is down your throat.

“Goddamn baby,” he growls as you bottom out. You begin to bob your head, sucking him off. The sounds being made right now are grotesque - slurping and gagging from you, moaning and grunting from him. But it's only turning you on even more.

“Ohh that's a good girl,” he grumbles as he pets your hair. You increase your pace - saliva coats your lips, dripping down your chin, spreading across your face. The utterly sloppy head has Soonyoung writhing beneath you, babbling unintelligibly as his orgasm draws near.

“Feels so good baby.”

“Fuck you’re so hot.”

“Pretty girl sucking my cock so good right now.”

His other hand ventures to your head, holding you down as his hips jerk and shake. Your throat aches from him fucking it, your eyes well with tears - but your clit throbbing against the stickiness that has flooded your panties proves how much you fucking love this.

“Ohhhhhmygoddddd,” he groans through gritted teeth. “Fuuuuck, y/n… I’m gonna cum…”

He pushes your head down as he releases, giving you several hard thrusts as his cum spurts down your throat. You let him fill you up, eagerly swallowing each burst of his load. His hips slow as his climax wanes. His arms plop onto the couch cushions, his body sinking into the sofa as his body relaxes. He drags one hand to your face, grasping your jaw gently as he slowly pulls you off of his sensitive throbbing cock. He wants to look at you so bad, see that pretty little face with those pretty swollen lips covered in both your juices - but his energy is too drained to even lift his head.

“C’mere,” he pleads softly.

You pull yourself back up onto the couch, pressing your body closely against his. You lay your head on his shoulder as your fingertips delicately trace up and down his cock - it pulsates at your touch.

He turns his head to face you, his nose brushing up against yours. He lifts one hand, tenderly cradling your cheek.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, his voice low and husky.

You feel a pang deep in your stomach. You've been scared to admit it this whole time, but at this point it's undeniable: you are falling in love with your roommate. And god do you want to kiss him.

“Yes,” you whisper, the word hot and breathy against his lips lingering before yours.

Soonyoung grabs your face with both hands, pulling you deep into his kiss. His lips hungrily lock onto yours, his body stilling except for his chest, rising and falling with slow, heaving breaths. He kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you, holding you tightly, refusing to allow any physical space between you two. You want to stay here for all of eternity.

Slowly, your mouths part - he gives your bottom lip a few more tugs before letting go. His forehead rests against yours, both of you exhaling deeply in tandem. His hands drop to your waist, touching you gently as the warmth of his breath greets your face. He looks into your eyes as he holds you.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?”

You nod. Quickly tucking his remaining erection back into his sweats, he takes your hands and pulls you up with him, kissing you with each step as you stumble together into your room. You plop onto your bed, pulling Soonyoung on top of you. He rolls over, holding you snugly against him, your legs tangling together as he starts making out with you again. Your aching cunt presses against his thigh as you wrap your legs around him; you begin to grind your hips slowly.

“Wait,” he pauses. He reaches for your shorts, sliding your pajamas and panties off of you. You kick them the rest of the way off, discarding them somewhere on the bed, your shirt quickly joining them. He yanks his own pants off; you straddle his thigh again, your soaked cunt greeting his skin.

“Oh my god,” he groans. “It’s so fucking wet.”

Your hips begin again, dragging your pussy up and down his thigh, your juices spreading everywhere. You whimper at the stimulation, riding Soonyoung’s thick muscular quads as he wraps his arms around your torso. You cling to him as he draws you in close, his mouth wandering to your neck to plant a string of small kisses on the delicate skin. Ceaseless moans escape you as a fire builds in your gut, the burning pleasure of your climax rapidly approaching.

“Fuck I’m gonna cum,” you cry out as you frantically get yourself off on Soonyoung’s thigh. You feel his cock growing hard again - it presses into your belly as it strains against the fabric of his underwear.

“Cum for me babe,” his low voice speaks softly into your ear.

Desperately grinding your pussy on his thigh, you finally release. You scream his name as you cum, legs trembling as your body shakes with vigor. Soonyoung holds you tight, kissing your cheek lovingly as you orgasm in his arms.

“That's my girl,” he murmurs as he kisses your lips. You begin to come down, but your head is still spinning from the overwhelming stimulation. You try to catch your breath, slowing your breathing as Soonyoung rubs your back - but his touch and the warmth of his body sends you into a deep state of relaxation. He whispers something else to you, but before you can even process what he's saying, you are fast asleep.

You’re awoken the next morning by loud, moaning cries.

Still half asleep, you begin to register a familiar bodily sensation. Only when you pry your eyes open and see Soonyoung situated between your legs, do you realize you’re the one moaning. His face is buried in your pussy, licking you slowly, tasting you, savoring every moment of having his tongue in your cunt.

He lifts his eyes, noticing that you’re now conscious.

“Soonyoung what the fu- ohhh,” you question, but are cut off by his lips attaching themselves to your clit.

“Good morning beautiful,” he mumbles into your cunt, refusing to take his mouth of you for a second.

“Oh my god,” you groan. “I forgot I told you you could do this.”

He pauses, looking up at you.

“Do you want me to stop-”

“NO,” you shout, louder than you meant. You lift your hips, putting your folds back in his mouth. He smiles into your cunt, eagerly resuming eating you out.

“Good,” he replies, barely audible as his tongue begins working into your hole again.

Your back arches as his nose presses into your clit, making it throb desperately. He flattens his tongue, licking you all the way up, then swirling around the sensitive bud.

“Ahhh,” you cry out involuntarily. “You’re gonna make me cum already.”

This only eggs him on further. He wraps his arms around your thighs, grasping you tightly as the tip of his tongue quickly flicks over your clit.

“How- fuck, how long have you been down there?”

He glances up at you again, sticking his tongue out exaggeratedly as he continues licking you.

“I dunno, like five minutes maybe.”

“Five?!” you proclaim as your head falls back onto the pillow. You run your fingers through his hair. “That’s it?”

Soonyoung smirks, planting several kisses on your pussy.

“You were already soaking wet when I got here,” he informs you. “Must’ve been dreaming about me.”

“Oh shut the fuck up,” you pretend to be annoyed with him, but the moans escaping from your lips undermine your facade.

“C’mon, you like it,” he teases.

“Yeah,” you admit. “I do.”

He grins widely. “Good girl.”

His praise and the way his tongue is now circling your clit send you over the edge. You whine as your orgasm approaches - loud, pathetic sounds filling the air as he sucks and slurps between your thighs.

“Don’t stop,” you beg.

The sensation builds and builds, making you squirm beneath him as every nerve in your body erupts with overwhelming delight.

“Oh fuck- I’m cumming,” you shriek as you reach your high. You cum on his tongue, long and hard - riding out your orgasm on his face accompanied by loud, unabashed cries of pleasure. As your body starts to relax, you release the tight grip you didn’t realize you had on his hair, stroking his head as he softly laps up your release.

“Come here,” you tell him softly, but he doesn’t move. He seems to be even more relaxed than you are right now.

“Just a second,” he responds through deep breaths, his body sinking into the bed.

“Oh my god, did you…”

“Cum in my pants again?” he finishes your question for you. “Yeah. I did.”

He lifts his head, his eyes glazed over in post-orgasm bliss.

“You’re so hot, I couldn’t help it,” he says with an amused grin.

Finally able to move, he rises - his underwear visibly filled with cum. He crawls back up to you, plopping onto his back right beside you. He peels the ruined underwear off, tossing them aside, then stares down at his own mess.

“Lemme just, um…”

He goes to get up, intending to go clean himself off, but you pull him back onto the bed.

“I got it.”

You scoot yourself down, positioning your face near his groin. Slowly you begin to lick his own cum off of him.

“Jesus fuck, y/n,” he groans, his voice deep and low. “You’re filthy.”

“Don’t act like you don’t think this is hot.”

“Oh I do,” he says proudly. “Very fucking hot.”

He strokes your hair as you clean him up. As you finish he pulls you back up, laying you on top of him as he wraps his arms around you once more. Both of you are sweaty, and the embrace is nearly too warm - but neither of you want to move.

You lay there in silence, your head tucked comfortably into his shoulder, peacefully listening to the songbirds chirping as warm morning sunlight filters into the room through the blinds. Soonyoung is breathing so steadily that you think he's fallen asleep underneath you, but eventually you hear your name softly muttered from his lips.

“Hey, y/n?”

“Hmm?” you reply sleepily without moving. Soonyoung caresses your back, dragging his fingertips gently up and down over the soft skin.

“What are we?”

You lift your head, propping yourself up by your elbow. You look down at Soonyoung - he gazes up at you, waiting for your response.

“I don’t know,” you answer after thinking for a moment. “What do you want us to be?”

He reaches for your face, stroking your cheek gently.

“I wasn’t lying the other day.” He stares into your eyes. Despite the fact that he literally just had his face buried in your pussy, it feels overwhelmingly intimate. Your stomach churns anxiously.

“I really do love you.”

You knew he was going to say it, but your heart skips a beat anyway. Hearing him say it out loud, hearing him confess his love to you - it’s a thought that previously scared you. But you no longer fear confronting this reality. Now that you’re here, it feels comfortable, it feels right.

“I’m sorry if that makes things weird between us, but it’s the truth,” he says timidly. “I just can’t deny it any longe-”

You cut him off with a kiss.

You kiss him for far too long - but it’s never long enough. When your lips part at last, you gaze at him lovingly, a big, cheesy grin growing upon your face.

“I love you too, dummy.”

He stares back at you, mouth agape. He finally processes your words, his face lighting up with excitement.

“Really??” he asks you in awe.

“Really really,” you nod.

He embraces you with explosive enthusiasm, making you yelp as he rolls over on top of you. You giggle as he gives you a series of rapidly-placed kisses all over your face.

“Stop itttt,” you cry through your laughter. “That tickles!”

“Sorry,” he says with a big goofy smile. “I’m just really excited.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” you say as you grab his boner that has quickly returned.

He beams at you. “What can I say, you make my dick happy.”

“God, you’re such a dork,” you tell him as you roll your eyes. But you guide his tip to your entrance, shifting your hips to take him inside you.

“Ohh fuuuuck,” he mumbles, his eyes rolling back into his head. He starts slowly sliding his overstimulated cock into you, grunting when his whole length is inside. He rests, unmoving.

“You good?” you ask him.

“Yeah, just trying not to cum immediately,” he says, grinning.

“Soonyoung, you are crazy.”

“Crazy for you,” he says with a kiss.

You spend the rest of the day in bed together, making out, fucking, napping - anything, so long as you don’t have to leave his side. Soonyoung, being Soonyoung, tells you he loves you no fewer than 12 more times.

“So,” he asks as you intertwine your fingers with his, holding hands after he goes down on you for probably the fourth time today. “Does this mean I can call you my girlfriend now?”

You try to answer, but you’re trying to catch your breath after your millionth orgasm.

“Hmmmm?” he pesters.

“Gimme a… fucking second…” you mumble, pushing him away playfully. He gets right back in your face.

“I’m not hearing no…” he says, kissing your nose.

“Oh my god, yes, Soonyoung. The answer is yes.”

He grins from ear to ear, then wraps his entire body around yours, clinging to you like a koala.

“Yayyyy!" he replies as he nuzzles his face into you.

“You know,” he says after a few moments of silence. “I’m pretty hungry…”

“You better mean real food this time,” you tell him sternly. “I don’t think I could handle any more orgasms today.”

“Yes, real food,” he chuckles. “Shall I order delivery from that Thai place you like?”

“Yes please, I’m fucking starving.”

“You got it, baby.”

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dollarbils · 6 months ago

Text

tell me i’m your only fan | b.eilish

billie eilish x fem!reader

context. your most active fan on onlyfans soon piqued your interest as she became something much more.

warnings. phone sex, ofstar!reader, (i probably made up half of the features on onlyfans)

request masterlist

regardless of the public opinion, you quite liked your job. you’d made the switch to onlyfans just recently, finding it a much more comfortable platform, and most importantly: much more profitable.

most of your ‘fans’ so to say were the regular dynamic of people you’d expect. rich, older men with nothing better to spend all their money on. but curiously, a huge part of your audience was women. in particular one woman. your favourite, you’d call her. she’d been subscribed for about a month now, consistently watching your uploads and streams. often taking the spotlight as well, sending gifts and paying large amounts of money for personalised content. but what seriously did it for you, was when she bought your entire wish list five minutes after you’d published it, requesting a special ‘unboxing’ of everything she’d bought you.

naturally, it didn’t take long for you to start talking. it was difficult to remember she was one of your fans, your conversations straying far away from anything you’d ever talked to a fan about. she seemed to care about you, take interest in your personal life. and once you’d gotten wrapped up, it was almost too easy to get attached.

“god just keep speaking, baby.” her voice was almost a whine, as she relished in your soft laughter and emotive expression.

“how are you always turned on?” you remarked somewhat as a joke, knowing it was true though.

“i’m talking to the woman i jerk off to, i think it’s justified.” she never failed to be bold, often taking you by surprise.

“well you’ll find my recent uploads have been the outcome of what some would call a ‘muse’. you’re quite sexy yourself, babe.” she groaned and it went straight to your core, the familiar pulse settling in.

“jesus. it’s like your tryna make be bust a nut in my pants right now.” the masculinity to her words only made them more filthy, urging you to rile her up some more.

“i won’t deny it.” she chuckled, a momentary pause before she sighed.

“i bet you tell that to all of them, huh? your fans, they all think they got lucky, that your reserved for them.” her words stung quite a bit, knowing the truth was far from it.

“hardly, it was pretty stupid of me to give you my number. i’d take it as a sign that you did get lucky.” she almost scoffed at your words.

“i’m going to need to cut back on the glazing if your gonna act like this.” she was serious now, testing the waters before committing.

“oh yeah? tell me what’s so wrong with my behaviour.” a low sound from the back of her throat revealed the success of your words. clearly it was turning her on.

“you’re really testing me, baby. you can’t even imagine what i’d do if i was there with you right now.” you felt a pool in your underwear forming, liking how this was going.

“please, tell me.” her breath hitched, her confidence faltering slightly. but when she spoke again you’d never have questioned her confidence.

“i’d treat you like what you are. a fucking slut.” her filthy words only turned you on more, your skin tingling at the sound of her heavy breaths through the phone speaker.

“oh yeah? and what are you gonna do about it? you’re not here, you cant stop me from doing anything.” she chuckled, a mocking tone following.

“oh please angel, it’s cute you think so. i bet your hand is doing some filthy things as we speak. am i turning you on, baby?” your hand stopped at your lower stomach in an act of a sort of shame, your breaths quickening.

“i’m guessing the silence means i’m right. don’t deny yourself babe, touch yourself for me.” you couldn’t help but follow her demands, seeking your own pleasure along with your submission.

“fuck.” she laughed softly, again, enjoying the vocal effect she was having on you.

“you’re gonna kill me angel.” a smile formed on your lips, as you continued pumping your own fingers into your heat.

“tell me i’m your only fan.” her words were seductive, a plea to recognise her as more than a fan.

“you’re my favourite fan.” your reply seemed to satisfy her as she sunk deeper into her mattress, the sheets ruffling through the phone as she bit back a moan.

“are you close?” she mumbled, evidently riddled with her own sweat release.

“fuck, y-yeah.” you stuttered, the heat of the moment taking over, fogging up your senses.

“i like that title, favourite fan. sure seems well deserved, doesn’t it.”

“more than well deserved.” you huffed, slightly out of breath as you chuckled into the phone.

part 2

#billie eilish #billie eilish fic #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish gf #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish x you #billie eilish smut #wlw post #dom!billie #billie eilish request #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish fluff #lesbian #wlw

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yesimwriting · 11 months ago

Text

Midway

a/n a small-ish fic of someone comforting aegon bc i feel bad for him 😭

Summary: You did not choose to be Aegon's wife, and yet you seem to be the only one choosing to be there for him during his recovery.

Warnings/info: forced marriage turned to awkward, subtle pining masquerading as uneasy friendship, vague descriptions of life threatening injuries, canon compliant incest (reader is rhaenyra's daughter)

read part 2 here: A Matter of Timing

----

Hushed whispers, as stale and sterile as the fresh gauze being stretched and pulled taut against his skin. The rasp of his breathing scrapes at the air that manages to pull itself into your own lungs.

"It is..." Alicent stalls, her gaze never leaving her eldest son, "A lot, I know." Her eyes are wide, glossier than you've ever seen them. An odd sort of empathy presses itself against your chest, making a full breath feel like even more of a fantasy.

Your sympathies and courteously vague expressions of understanding and mutual hurt are things Alicent has no use for. She's tolerated you like an inherited dress that doesn't quite fit, only begrudgingly acknowledging you when surrounded by family.

These days, her barely there tolerance for you has grown even weaker, considering the reports your handmaid had delivered to you of Alicent's attempts to convince the council to lock you away after your mother's retaliation to Aegon's coronation. An imprisonment only prevented by Aegon's command.

She lets out a breath, her attention briefly dropping to the ground before settling on you. "But you are his wife."

A fact she's only come to accept because of your blood. As Rhaenyra's daughter, your marriage had been a compromise, a final attempt at merging a divided family before your grandsire's passing. If your mother had known how quickly Aegon's supporters would have pushed him towards the throne...

You nod your head slowly, dismissing thoughts of yourself. For the first time since your union, the context of your arrangement does not cloud all else. "Yes."

There had been no attempts made to gloss over the extent of Aegon's injuries. For once, the heart of the Red Keep prioritized reality over projecting strength and invulnerability. The maesters had warned you, had detailed the damages left behind by the flames and the fall. An attack strong enough to kill a dragon.

"I um...I tried to visit him earlier, when he first returned." The surprise of your own honesty is an afterthought, a barely there thing attempting to occupy the little space left in your mind. "They said he was not yet stable."

Alicent is silent, some distant quality hollowing her stare as she watches the maester. His movements are succinct, precise as he quietly instructs a maid to bring him a salve left on the table. How many times in these last few days has he gone through this process? How many more times will a maester need to dress Aegon's wounds and rebandage him?

"Stable seems relative." Alicent blinks, her attention returning to what's directly in front of her. She turns to face you. "I trust that you'll sit with him, keep him company after the maester is finished."

Aegon's thoughts on your company have shifted several times throughout the short time you've been married. He often goes through periods of indifference followed by fleeting displays of interest that feel eerily close to companionship. Not quite a friendship or a romance, but something warm and comfortable. Mutual glances shared over supper, peaceful moments in the hall, occasionally crawling into the other's beds at night like children that cannot find sleep on their own.

Some skeptical part of you wonders if Alicent's sudden interest in your wifely responsibilities has more to do with punishing you than caring for Aegon. You doubt she considers you some great source of comfort in her son's life. At least you don't mind the thought of staying here, away from prying eyes and whispers that your privileges within the Red Keep should be restricted until the realm is no longer so divided. "Of course."

She nods once. "There--there is much to be decided upon in Aegon's absence." Alicent lets out a rigid breath. Perhaps Alicent really does want to know that someone's with Aegon. "I should go."

"I will keep him company, your grace."

With that, Alicent spares Aegon a final glance before turning to leave. You remain near the entrance of Aegon's bedchambers, far enough away to not impact the maester and his work.

You watch the process openly. Aegon's burns and other injuries are meticulously cleaned, white cloth stained dark as it is dragged against his skin. Salves and balms are lathered onto his wounds, concoctions meant to promote healing and ward off infection. The final step of the process involves the freshly cleaned wound being rebandaged.

The maester works at an expert pace, treating Aegon's body in sections. Before you know it, he's stepping back to assess the results of his efforts. The maester then looks over at you.

You've never been in a position to be responsible over someone so injured. Are you meant to...dismiss him? Approve his work? Ask something? "Is he..." Well seems like a terrible overstatement. You force yourself to take a few steps forward. "How is he?"

He briefly presses his lips together. "Much more stable than he was previously, your grace. I am afraid that I cannot yet predict much about his recovery. As of now, the priority is preventing infection."

You allow your gaze to fall onto Aegon. There's something about the way he's lying there, immobile and broken and smaller than he should be. "Right. Well, thank you."

The maester nods, "It is my honor, your grace."

He begins to gather his supplies before leaving. At the maester's absence, the maid that had been assisting him turns towards you. "Is there anything you need, your grace?"

You briefly consider sending her out for water or asking her to bring you a book you left in your own apartments. A menial task would ensure her return, which would mean you'd have a temporary reprieve from being alone with Aegon like this. "No, I'm alright. You are free to go."

She nods at the dismissal, "Thank you, my queen."

Queen. The title that belongs to your mother in her own right, not as a position inherited towards marriage.

The girl leaves, her quiet footsteps nearly drowned out by Aegon's unsteady breathing. You watch her until she's disappeared through the doorway, and then for awhile longer. When you can no longer justify your silence, you step forward.

Standing so close to the foot of Aegon's bed tugs at something deep inside of you. He is so still, so without defense. Like this, he does not seem like a man desperate to cement his position, or the person you never wished to be bonded to in this way, or even the only one who you allowed to enter your apartments after news of your brother's death arrived at the Red Keep. Now, he only seems like a boy trapped midway between where he lies and death.

Though bandaged and burned, the entirety of Aegon's features have not been destroyed. The shape of his nose, the part of his lips still familiar. His hair had not been a priority, and while the maester did brush it back to work on him, the disheveled strands have fallen forward again.

You move away from his bed's edge with careful steps. Before you can overthink the act, your hand moves to his forehead. As gently as you can will yourself to, you unplaster the hair stuck to the oily salves on his forehead. Your fingers catch themselves on silvery knots. You begin to pick apart the largest tangles as best as you can without a comb.

It's not an easy task, sweat and product cementing the knots into place. "I'd hate it if no one brushed my hair." The words come out on instinct, the desire to justify your proximity the way you would if he was awake. In all honesty, you're not sure if he can hear you.

The process is slow and clumsy, nails separating strands for you to comb through. Up close like this, you can almost pretend that this is restful for him. He still doesn't look well, but from here you can focus on his shut eyes and parted lips. Your hand drifts away from his hairline, fingertips fluttering over bandages and brushing against unmarred skin.

Something awfully sentimental attempts to claw its way up your throat. "I'll go get a comb." You pull your arm away from him. "I'll--I'll be back, I promise."

You take a single step back before turning your back to him. The maester deemed him stable, which means that he will not spontaneously pass if left alone for a moment. You'll only leave to fetch a comb and maybe a book so that you have something to read aloud. He's never loved your novels, but it's the only way you can think to keep him com--

A soft sound, so gentle and brief you could almost convince yourself you imagined it if it wasn't for the distinctness of the word. Your name.

You stall. Perhaps you misheard something else, maybe a stuttering of his breathing or the room settling. You turn.

He remains unchanged--body in the same position it's been in this entire time and eyes still shut. The supposed whisper should be dismissible.

You step forward, voice fragile as you ask, "Aegon?"

For a moment, pressed between the audible strain between his breaths, a faint optimism pulses through you. Weeks of being a bride, a queen of the realm hated by all those around her, and your only form of protection has, ironically, been the man that's bound you to this place.

The hope fluttering in your stomach quickly morphs into something closer to dread. He is not awake. He is not well enough to call for you or any--a shift, a turn of his outstretched hand so small and inconsequential you likely would not have noticed if it was any less needed.

Ignoring the blurring edges of your vision, you move towards his bedside in quick strides. Without thinking, your hand finds his. "I know that this union is not one you entered willingly. I am also aware of the fact that you know I did not ask for this either." You've not often held Aegon's hand, but now you're glad for his tangibility. "But you--you have not been cruel. You've actually been surprisingly patient, even when I have given you reason not to be."

His palm is warm against yours, the familiarity of it strangely assuring. The few times you've laid together for the sake of duty, the heat of Aegon's skin had been one of the few aspects of the process that you were reluctantly drawn to.

"At times, you have been kind..." You blink in an attempt to dismiss the stinging behind your eyes. "Friendly, even." Your hold on him tightens. "And I miss that. I--I miss our friendship."

The grief in your chest is a hybrid thing, made up just as much out of your empathy and fear as it is by your hurt. It's a sensation so dizzying, you nearly pour your panic out to him. You have to bite your tongue to avoid asking him to not leave you alone here.

Tears are beginning to prick the corner of your eyes when you feel his fingers bend around yours. Aegon squeezes your hand with a barely recognizable force.

He's--he's awake. "Aegon?"

His hold on you does not falter as a faint sigh escapes his lips, a midway of his own.

- - - -

a/n not to offer a part 2 to everything i write but i have an idea for a second fic that’s connected to this so if ur interested lmk :)))

#hotd #hotd x reader #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon the second x reader #aegon the second #aegon #aegon targaryen #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader

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rollingeevee · 5 months ago

Note

You mentioned that a darling has little chance of escaping, but little does not exactly imply none at all.

If so, in what scenario does a darling have any, even a little bit chance of escaping a Beast? If there is truly none, is there possibly a way to at least gain some sort of control or set proper boundaries?

The only chance of escape isn’t even really… escape. As stated previously, the bond forced by a claiming bite from a Beast will always incapacitate a darling when they’re trying to run and always guide the Beast to their darling. No matter where they are, how far or how long they have run, the Beast will know where they are, and could retrieve them at any moment they desired. Shadow Milk especially loves to play around with this. He’s a trickster who loves to play games and fuck with the minds and perceptions of others. Perhaps you find a new attempt to escape, and you take it. You run and run as far and fast as you can, and while the bite stings, it’s bearable. Perhaps you flee to another continent. You reunite with your family. You settle back into your normal life. And as time passes, the bite’s pain dulls and dulls until it’s not there anymore. It seemed the effects wore off. You’re free! You’ve done it!

What you don’t know is that it was all orchestrated by Shadow Milk Cookie. He purposely created an opening for you to escape and dulled the effects of the bite as you ran. He knows exactly where you are, and he’s been watching you… Luring you into a false sense of security, allowing you to rebuild your confidence, to get a taste of the freedom you’d lost! All so he can enjoy the expression of despair on your face to the fullest when he rips it all away from you. Oh, you thought you’d actually gotten away? That he would never find you? Tsk tsk tsk… Oh, you silly silly itty bitty mousey dear~ He just wanted to permanently break your spirit and make you realize that you’re his, now and forever~

I went off on a tangent there- other than that, the only other means would be… by the Beast letting you go. If, for some reason or another, they no longer wish for you to be their darling, they’ll remove their bite and, in a rare show of mercy, let you go. Don’t count on this ever happening though. You’re more likely to be rescued by a Witch than you are to be set free. While Beasts are capable of being impulsive, they take claiming a darling with their bite rather seriously. A cookie has to catch their attention and then keep it for a decent amount of time before they even consider biting. Throughout this time, they observe. They test. They challenge. Are you truly deserving of their bite? Because oh yes, they view it as a privilege to be bit by them. It’s only after their interest has been solidified and then begins to spiral into obsession that they feel the desire and the need to claim through a bite. Given all that, to say the likelihood of them letting a darling go once they’ve claimed them is nonexistent is a bit of an understatement-

——

For the second part of your question, setting boundaries is a challenge and requires patience. Really, the only way to gain some semblance of control and be able to set boundaries is to return affection to the Beast and build a mutual bond. When a darling is unwilling, rebellious, and the only thing tying them to their Beast is the bite, the bond can be viewed more as parasitic in a way, and primarily exists out of obsession. Not only that, but the more you fight, the more power and control a Beast is likely to exert over you. If you begin to return affection, either through stockholm syndrome and as a means to survive or out of genuine love, a Beast will slowly become more willing to be cooperative, just as their darling is. When this stage is reached, boundaries can begin to be set. However, it’s less of you putting your foot down and more negotiating with your Beast to be allowed a lil more breathing room.

#Eevee Answers #Beast Bites #cookie run kingdom x reader #crk x reader #cookie run kingdom #yandere #yandere x reader #shadow milk cookie x reader #shadow milk x reader

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boneblushed · 2 years ago

Text

Is it chill that you’re in my head?

synopsis your best friend James isn’t sure why he’s so angry about the fact that you’re going on a date with someone else.

wc 2.6K

“He’s looking over here,” James sings under his breath, his brown eyes full of mirth. He’s balancing on the spindly hind-legs of his library chair, the Potions essay he’s supposed to be doing laid out in disarray.

You send him a reproachful look. “You’re being malicious.” When you turn back around to face Davey Gudgeon’s table, there’s a split second of eye contact before he ducks his head down abashedly, his cheeks a brilliant rouge.

He has a crush on you, apparently. Sirius and Remus had overhead him talking about it on his way down to breakfast this morning—about how prefects rarely escaped unscathed after sharing something as intimate as a Saturday night duty.

James Potter, your best friend and a royal pain in your ass, finds this revelation abso-fucking-lutely hilarious for some reason. Asshole.

“Au contraire,” he murmurs, the grin on his face audible, “I’m being a world class wingman.”

The look on his face is downright dangerous. He waggles his eyebrows at you suggestively, unperturbed by the frown on your own, a warning. Easing forward until each hind-leg finds the ground with a resounding thud, he cups his hands around his mouth, whisper-shouting, “Oi! Gudgeon!”

Davey Gudgeon reddens further, a feat you didn’t think was possible until now. He glances over at James dismally, a furtive expression on his face. “What?” He mouthes, sending you this weak half-smile. It’s sort of sweet, almost contagious. You find yourself smiling back at him on instinct.

“Come over here, you bludger,” James chastises, like that’s the obvious next step. To be fair, it probably is to him — he’s never shied away from flirting with the girls he fancies, a self-proclaimed dating aficionado with way too much chat for his own good.

Davey hesitates, his nervous gaze flitting to you momentarily. He looks as though he wants to do just that, but isn’t sure whether his crush on you is reciprocated. Sweet.

He has gentle eyes, too, pretty juniper with bright specks of burnt ochre. A nice head of brown hair. If it was cold outside, you bet he’d offer you his Quidditch jersey without hesitation.

You think you need sweet, all things considered. You’ve known James Potter all of seven years now, had a wretched crush on him all of five, and never once has he indicated that his aforementioned expertise could ever extend to you.

It’s high-time that you gave your pathetic heart a rest.

“You’re making him miserable,” you mutter, ever-reproachful.

Davey hasn’t moved yet, though you’re sure he wants to, his hands braced on the table in front of him apprehensively. He keeps looking between you and James, surveying his options; in order ease his anguish, you decide you’d better make the decision for him.

You push your chair back and stand up, it’s spindly legs scraping against the vinyl floor forebodingly. James looks up in surprise. “Where r’you going?”

“To Gudgeon’s table.”

“Why?” James urges, perplexed. He half-stands too, his features a smidge less mirthful than before.

“So you’ll stop,” you reply, frowning down at him.

He raises his arms in surrender. “I’m stopping.” A pause. In the beat that passes, his assessing gaze falls over you in paces. “You’re not… you’re not keen on him too, are you?”

You think on this, cocking your head to one side. “I don’t know. Maybe? He’s kinda sweet.”

“But he doesn’t even have the balls to come over here and ask you out properly,” James whisper-shouts, mildly exasperated.

You’ve never once called him sweet.

He’s had this tragic crush on you for all of seven years, and never once has he been on the receiving end of such a fond adjective. He’d only made a fuss over this Davey situation because he was sure it was just a jibe — no way someone like you would be interested in a guy like Gudgeon, no way you would even entertain the possibility of more than friends.

Right?

James wants that more than friends thing with you, bad. This morning, when Sirius’d brought up Bludgeon’s crush on you—sniggering violently—he’d snuck a glance at your features to ensure that it wasn’t reciprocated. He’s sure he’d caught a bit of second-hand embarrassment, though maybe it was actually just tender hearted diffidence. Maybe Davey fucking Gudgeon had something that he somehow didn’t.

Right now, James’d give up his head boy badge and Quidditch captaincy to acquire that something. His chest hurts terribly. He runs his sloven fingers through his unkempt hair, sending you another look of bewilderment.

“Because you’re here,” you reprove. “Course he’s not going to come over when the James Potter is taking the mickey out of him.”

You say his name like it’s an insult. James’ heart plummets. “I’m not — he’s welcome to come over,” he argues quietly, chagrined. “Besides, he’s going to have to get used to me if he wants to be your boyfriend.”

“Why?” You frown. “I always bugger off when you’re with another girl.”

“That’s different,” James insists, frowning in tandem.

“How’s that different?”

They aren’t you, James thinks vaguely. His poor heart blunders for the umpteenth time this afternoon. “None of them are girlfriends.”

“Not for lack of trying,” you mutter. James swears he hears a hint of spite in your tone. “Doesn’t matter, anyway. M’going over.”

James slumps back into his seat reluctantly. He knows that you’re right, begrudging as that revelation may be — he is always flirting with one girl or another, though that’s more so to pass time than anything particularly serious. Never you. You’d see right through him, anyway. Besides, the last time he tried, it’d been so disastrous you’d assumed he was joking.

It’d been at that Halloween party they’d had in the Gryffindor Common Room last year, firewhiskey flowing and sweet treats piled atop every surface.

You were wearing this gorgeous, albeit bemusing, costume of a Muggle someone — Wonder Woman, or something, James didn’t quite understand it. Showing a lot of skin. Your pretty eyes were accented by rouge glitter, lips all glossy, and your exposed limbs and bare waist had eased his heart right into his throat.

And James Potter didn’t often find himself lost for words, but it appeared as though this party was one of those exceptions.

“Woah,” he’d murmured, wolf-whistling lowly. He was in this ridiculous, Babbity Rabbity costume (courtesy of Sirius, who was a cackling pot), feeling entirely out of place when you looked so beautiful. “Christ, Y/N, who’re you meant to be? The hottest muggleborn at Hogwarts or something?”

You’d rolled your eyes then, because no way he was serious. “Don’t tease, James. Did you guys manage to snag any cauldron cakes?”

He’d been too busy to insist his sincerity, fond gaze travelling down your bare limbs, slow. Lingering on the wafer of exposed waist between your corset and skirt. He’s still agonised by the want to touch your soft skin; that wretched Hogwarts shirt tuck has prevented this from happening.

“By the fire,” he’d answered after a beat, dazed.

And when you’d fallen out of earshot, James’ eyes still trained on your figure, Sirius and Remus’d come up behind him, the latter wearing Muggle-manufactured fangs. (Supposedly, he was meant to be a vampire.)

“You’ve got a tragic affliction, James,” Sirius’d tutted under his breath, faux-apologetic. “How’re you somehow able to flirt with every girl in this room except the one that matters?”

“Shut up,” he’d muttered back at the time, though as he thinks back on it now, he realises that Sirius was right.

For some reason, with you, he always manages to say exactly the wrong thing. He watches Davey scramble to straighten as you near his library table, the heat on his neck rising until his entire face is in a flush. And you’re smiling as you sit down beside him, this sweet, unabashed smile that looks too much like feelings reciprocated. Something in James’ ribcage cracks, an ugly emotion springing forth from within it. But he’s immobile, hands on the table and furrow in his brow, agonised by the fact that you’re looking at Davy all fond, not him.

Never him. You ask a question—James is trying his best to lip-read, but it’s difficult not to get carried away staring at your mouth. Davey nods, and then reddens some more. Then you stand up, feelings-reciprocated smile on your face as you walk back over to the table you’re sharing with James.

“He looks pleased,” James mutters grumpily.

You frown. “You don’t.”

“You’re doing charity work,” he answers, ignoring the insinuation. “You know that, right?”

“James,” you sigh, “you’re being unkind.”

“Because he’s punching.” But James knows this is unfair. He’s pretty sure every bloke in Hogwarts would be, if it was you and them.

—

“James,” Sirius calls, bemused. “You coming mate?”

Its autumn in Hogsmeade, and they’ve reached a cross roads.

The path to the left of them leads to the Hog’s Head Inn, one of their favourite haunts in the village due to its relative unpopularity. To the right, where James is glancing furtively, the cobblestone pavement takes them toward the Three Broomsticks. Where you are. With Davey.

Remus shares a knowing look with Sirius. “Think he’s in the mood for one of Rosmerta’s butter-beers, actually.”

James groans, scrubbing his calloused palm down his face slovenly. He knows exactly what he’s insinuating; Remus always has been the most astute of the lot. “Don’t bloody start.”

Sirius grins then, reaching for James and throwing an arm around his neck. “Reckon you’re going to need something stronger than butter-beer if you’re planning on watching Gudgeon snog your girl.”

His heart plummets. There’s that ugly emotion again, rearing its contemptuous head at him. “Wormtail’s there too,” he tries, shoving Sirius off. “We should go say hi.”

“Oh yes,” Sirius allows, his brown eyes full of mischief. “The one Marauder with a girlfriend. You after some tips, mate?”

“Cut him some slack, Sirius,” Remus chastises, though there isn’t much fire to his tone as he says it. “Reckon he’s miserable enough about the fact that the one time he fancies a girl she isn’t interested.”

James frowns, sending the pair of them a look of determination. “Look, shove off, both of you.” The crease between his eyebrows deepens further, keenly resolute. “I just want to check on her, alright? Make sure that bludger isn’t pulling anything funny.”

“Right.” Sirius nods soberly. “Or snogging her to death.”

“Fuck,” James groans again, his insides squirming. “You’ve gotta stop putting that image in my head.”

He turns toward the path to his right, the cobblestones plush with Autumn leaves, when he spots your figure in the distance and freezes. Coming closer. You look beautiful in this matter-of-fact, effortless way that makes James’ heart stutter; your pretty eyes are alight with mirth as you catch his gaze, this fond smile on your lips that makes him want to kiss you. Bad. He swallows thickly, his chest a pathetic mess.

Sirius and Remus must spot you too, because the pair of them beginning walking backward toward the Hog’s head, their eyebrows raised in tandem.

“She isn’t with the bludger, Prongs,” calls Sirius, a knowing lilt to his tone. “Now’s your chance.”

“My chance?” James asks, distracted.

“To snog her, you idiot.”

But James doesn’t hear him. Partly because the wind’s picked up, mostly because it’s difficult for him to concentrate on anything but your growing closeness.

Once you’re within earshot—more of you to agonise over, exposed waifs of skin like a siren song—he stumbles forward clumsily.

“Y/N,” James breathes out, pleasantly surprised. “Where’s Davey?”

You grimace, looking over your shoulder furtively. “I’ve just escaped him.”

James’ stomach deflates, relief washing over him in waves. He raises his eyebrows playfully. “Escaped?”

“Don’t,” you warn, frowning sternly. “He… he’s alright, really. Just doesn’t really know how to hold a conversation.” You grimace again. “Or take a hint. Like, at all.”

“Yeah? Why’d you say that?”

“Well,” you begin, and then you shiver, moving closer to James without meaning to. “Christ, Potter, you’re a really good wind shield, y’know that?”

“At your service,” he murmurs, inching forward too. “You were saying?”

You gaze up at him, the rough planes of his face ever present, and you’re struck by the revelation that he doesn’t need an old Quidditch jersey to keep you warm. He’s a furnace of body heat and cedar-wood cologne.

“Well,” you continue, voice low, “after two butter beers and absolutely zero chat, I’d sort of assumed that he’d have realised that this just isn’t going to work.”

“But…?”

“But,” you grimace, “he asked me out again.”

The way your features twist as you say it, as though that’s the last thing you want to do, wrings any residual jealousy he may be feeling right out of his stomach. He’s struck by this suddenly, overwhelming urge to caress your jaw and pull you closer.

“And let me guess,” James murmurs, grinning fondly. “You said yes.”

“I said I’ll see.”

“I worry all this charity work’s going to be the death of you, Y/N.”

You crinkle your nose up at him, punching his chest playfully. “Don’t you start James Potter.”

James raises his arms in surrender, still grinning. His gaze lifts above your head to take in the footpath behind you, and he finds himself looking right at the burly figure of Davey Gudgeon trudging toward the pair of you.

“Bloody hell,” he mutters, raising his eyebrows. “You weren’t kidding about him not being able to take a hint, huh?”

You furrow your brow, looking over your shoulder bemusedly. When your head whips back around to face him, your eyes are wide and a little tortured, dappled by the warm, orange hues of Autumn. A damsel, James’ thinks, dazed, as if that’s a normal thought for a eighteen-year-old bloke to have. He’s already spiralling over kissing you and it’s been all of five minutes.

“Is he looking over here?” You ask, your voice low.

James’ eyes dart back to Davey. “Uh, yeah?”

“Good.”

You wrap your arms around his neck hurriedly, leaning forward and pressing your lips against his. James takes a second to recalibrate, his poor heart a mess, but when he does, he’s quick to circle your waist and pull you closer, his strong arms firm and torso warm on your figure. It’s a deft kiss, chaste as it is agonising, though kiss enough for him to memorise the feeling. The buttery taste of your lips, the perfect way they appear to mould against his.

It’s a tandem emotion — you’ve revelling in this kiss far more than you should, the arduous pressure of James’ lips on your own. He’s going to leave a mark. He tastes like sugar quills and feels like the death of you, his sloven hands pressing into the bare skin of your waist.

When you do finally pull away, your cheeks are warm and you’re a little breathless. “S’he still there?”

A beat passes. James doesn’t look up.

You mistake his pause for unease, and grimace abashedly, looking away from him. In hindsight, you aren’t sure what possessed you to kiss him like that — you want to pretend it was to stave Davey away, but your traitorous heart says otherwise.

God, you think, it was a really good kiss. If only James liked it as much as you did.

If only you knew.

“Sorry,” you add in a hurry, still grimacing. “I — I wasn’t thinking, I just didn’t want Davey to come over here and I —”

“Y/N,” James interrupts, his voice rough, gravelly around the edges. “Stop talking.”

You let out a breath. “Why?”

“I want to pretend you kissed me because you wanted to, just for one more second.”

“What?” You ask, your eyes wide. “Why?”

James thinks, isn’t it obvious? He’s still marvelling over how perfect your mouth is.

“Because,” he admits quietly, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.”

You don’t know what to say to this. Your still chest to chest with less than an inch between your figures, and you can feel your poor heart struggling to free itself from its cage. “You have?” You say, suddenly bashful.

James nods. His pupils are a little blown, his unkempt hair a mess, and he keeps his gaze trained on your lips as though he’s being paid for it. “And listen,” he murmurs, reaching forward to thumb over them softly. “Don’t worry about Davey Gudgeon.”

“Why not, James Potter?”

“Because I’d sooner die than let that bludger bore my girl to death again.”

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter oneshot #james potter imagine #marauders era #James potter fanfiction

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vaguely-concerned · 7 months ago

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the things it adds to both of the characters involved that lucanis used to have a thing for viago could not have been more tailor made to be for me. literally the ideal thing to come out of this game for me personally and specifically and spiritually. I mean I'm teia x viago trash until the day I die and nothing will ever change this (and with the best will in the world and even the power of lucanis' big beautiful soulful eyes, that would never have worked out even if viago DID somehow understand he was being propositioned. which I'm not convinced he did. the mutual 'so. snakes are pretty cool huh. and. knives. also' awkward energy without someone of teia's charisma and people skills involved to mitigate it... it would have been dire), but on so many levels I find it so incredibly charming for what it says about them both that the (one-sided) attraction was there once.

what's more, it means the man about whom this legendary paragraph was written:

Viago was not a typical Antivan. He liked facts—checklists, numbers, precise measurements. Heart palpitations, clammy hands, tight pants—Viago did not like these things. In fact, he would go so far as to say he hated them. Mild curiosity was his favorite mood.

has got some of the hottest coolest deadliest people in thedas down so catastrophically bad it's got them acting unwise. teia had to wait a UST-drenched decade for him to be ready to take his fucking gloves off for her. and she did!! the tetchiest most neurotic least approachable little vetinari knockoff of a man you ever saw has game for days and days and lives rent free in heads for years. in eight little talons viago consistently feels so inadequate up against dante and it's like. man I'm shaking you by the lapels you have what he'll never have. the ability to bewitch body and soul with your terrible personality and long thin legs. do not waste the gift you've been given go get her she's waiting!!!

(lucanis is really good at reading people, so I wonder if maybe he saw through all of that to some of the steadiness and incredible capacity for warmth and tenderness in specific interpersonal relationships you see viago have with teia when he finally opens up enough, and maybe that was part of it. either way it's so perfect that both he and teia have regarded viago with this affectionate intrigued amusement. lucanis still seems pretty fond of him in a 'viago continues to be exactly himself no matter what else happens or goes wrong. comforting universal constant' sort of way, he brings him up quite a lot in party banter.)

you've seen lucanis' game in this day and age, arguably or at least hopefully older and wiser -- can you imagine how catastrophically bad it must have been back when he presumably handed viago, most paranoid man in thedas all years running, a knife like this expressed everything it needed to. people give him so much shit for the cake moment being his big romantic lock-in, but considering where we started that is GROWTH and I for one am so proud of him fhsdkjaf.

also I wonder at what point vis-a-vis that whole Situation teia and viago met for the first time, leading us to ask... just how much was it a matter of lucanis simply being ignored out of a lack of interest on viago's part (tbf, not entirely unlikely). how much was it lucanis truly not managing to make himself understood. (all but certainly. literally how would one understand that. I think it says some sweet things about rook and lucanis' dynamic that they -- somehow -- DO pick up what he's putting down in a similar scenario presumably b/c they know him pretty well by then haha.) how much was it viago interpreting the romantic move as a death threat from one of the most dangerous people alive and freaking out. (1000% and indubitably.) and how much was it andarateia steal-your-girl cantori turning up and thus setting off whatever spectacular, volatile, awesome-in-the-original-sense chemical reaction between the substances of her and viago's souls that goes on to this day and makes everything else kind of a side note at best. a gentle mix of several of these things, perhaps. ...god I love all these characters so much

#dragon age #dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age: the veilguard spoilers #dragon age spoilers #lucanis dellamorte #viago de riva #andarateia cantori #teia x viago #it's so good to see the characters from extended media get the love they deserve now that everyone is getting to know them btw #like yes hello. this is teia and viago. I would do anything for them. thank you all for joining me in being willing to do anything for them #we are in fact all Correct about this #thinking about younger lucanis anxiously contemplating how to best make his feelings known and settling on THAT.......#it fills me with such an unspeakable aching tenderness for him haha. most autistic guy in thedas truly just trying his best #his best is extremely weird but no less earnest for it #like I think he's naturally just like that and then you get the severely undersocialized aspect from how caterina raised them #and here we are. but he is everything to me still

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mydearestbeloved · 8 months ago

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Chapter 5 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW:

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

It was supposed to be a peaceful—boring—day. You yawned and stretched your arms above your head, feeling the tension in your muscles ease as you walked back from the raid you had been sent on as support by the Hunter's Association. Healing a few injuries here, casting some support spells there—typical stuff. A cozy evening of spoiling your children at your Gardens awaited, and maybe you’d even treat yourself to some well-deserved rest.

You let your guard down for just a moment, something you rarely did outside your domain. And perhaps, you shouldn’t have.

The first thing that went wrong was the collision. You hadn’t even sensed anyone nearby, which should have been impossible. Your senses were too sharp, finely tuned from years of surviving the system’s trials.

The second thing that went wrong was that you stumbled backward from the impact—an almost absurd realization, given your strength and agility.

You could’ve been able to catch yourself immediately, but before you could react, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, steadying you.

The third—and most unsettling—thing was the face that came into view as you were pulled flush against the person. Your eyes shot up, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze. Stormy grey eyes stared down at you, too close, too familiar.

There, standing before you with an unreadable expression, was Sung Jinwoo.

Your mind went blank for a split second before you quickly masked your surprise with a polite smile—a customer service smile, the one you used to deal with awkward situations. What the hell was this situation? A K-drama plot twist? You fought the urge to groan. There was no way he would recognize you. You had worked hard to stay anonymous, to keep your involvement in his life strictly hidden. This was just an unfortunate run-in, surely—

And just as you were about to step away, you felt it—the familiar tug in the back of your mind.

Damnit, you cursed internally, your blood running cold.

"'Trial Player,' huh?” Jinwoo’s voice was calm, almost casual, but there was a dangerous curiosity in his tone. The strange glint in his once stormy eyes, now glowing in a sharp blue, set your nerves on edge. “Interesting title.”

Of course, the system wasn’t done. It never was.

[Dear Trial Player, (Name).

Be careful not to spill your secret to Player Sung Jinwoo,

else you may find the penalty... quite costly.]

[To not disrupt the predestined events of this world too much, things that should be kept a secret by the Trial Player include:

- True origin

- Prior knowledge of this world.]

[Reminder to watch your words, Trial Player.]

You swallowed hard, mind racing. You were treading on dangerous ground. The glint in Jinwoo’s eyes wasn’t the detached curiosity of someone stumbling upon a stranger; it was the look of a predator that had cornered his prey.

“It’s… complicated,” you managed to say, trying to buy yourself some time as you mentally sorted through your options.

“I have time.” His voice was as calm as ever, but the weight behind those words made it clear—he wasn’t going anywhere, wasn’t going to let you go, until you explained yourself. And of course, he had. You knew his schedule better than anyone else—You hold back wince; you sounded like a stalker just now.

His eyes never left yours, and the weight of his stare was almost suffocating.

Your eyes darted around the street. Too open. Too public. If you were going to spill even a fraction of the truth, you needed privacy. “...Follow me,” you said, steeling your nerves. There was no escaping this encounter now, but at the very least, you could control where the conversation would take place.

Jinwoo’s lips quirked up in the barest hint of a smile, as if he’d already won. He let you go, didn’t ask questions, didn’t press you further—just nodded, as if he had expected nothing less than your cooperation. He fell into step beside you, his presence both comforting and unnerving at the same time.

---

You sat across from Sung Jinwoo in a small, secluded café, your fingers nervously tracing the edge of your cup. It was peaceful here, or at least it was supposed to be. The gentle hum of conversation, the scent of freshly brewed coffee—under any other circumstance, this would be the perfect place to relax.

But the man sitting in front of you wasn’t just any ordinary guy. He was Sung Jinwoo, and not the E-rank, sweetly awkward and adorable version of him you once quietly helped. No, this was the Jinwoo who had been through hell and back, the one who had grown stronger, and the one who was currently giving you the most piercing stare you had ever been given in your whole life.

You weren’t afraid of him, but you weren’t naïve enough to think this would be an easy conversation, either.

God, why couldn’t it be the E-rank him? At least that Jinwoo wouldn’t be giving you this much of a hard time.

[Choose your words carefully, Trial Player.]

You clenched your jaw at the system's ever-helpful reminder.

Jinwoo was watching you intently, sipping his coffee as he waited for your answer. His questions were understandable—he was the protagonist of this world, after all—but each answer felt like walking a tightrope, balancing half-truths and white lies. Years of surviving in this world had changed you, turned you into someone far more cautious and guarded than the girl who had first been dropped into the dungeon all those years ago. But you hadn’t expected to have to use those skills on him of all people.

“Look,” you started, choosing your words carefully. “There are things I can’t tell you—things I’m not allowed to tell you.”

His eyebrow raised slightly, though he pushed further on that matter, for now.

“This ‘Trial Player’ business. What does that mean?”

You bit your lip, carefully considering your next words. You had to walk a fine line here. “I had a role to play before you became the system’s player. A trial run of sorts.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “So, you were meant to take my place?”

“No.” Your response was immediate, a bit too sharp, perhaps, but you needed him to understand that. “I was never meant to take your place. I was… a beta tester for the system. Nothing more.”

Jinwoo’s gaze bore into you, as if weighing the truth of your words. The silence stretched, tense and heavy, until he finally spoke again. “And now?”

“I... don’t know.” The only truth you let slip.

“I suppose you’ve been watching me for a while now,”

Your heart skipped a beat. So, he did know?

As if knowing what you wanted, Jinwoo then mentioned the system. Apparently, his system had become unnecessarily chatty—and vague—about you after his awakening. You shouldn’t have been surprised. Just because the system hadn’t forbidden you from helping Jinwoo in small ways didn’t mean it would keep your actions secret forever.

“Paying the hospital bills,” he continued, his eyes locked onto yours. “Items arriving at my door when I needed them. Heals when there was nobody around.”

Your customer-service smile faltered, a tiny fraction at the edges of your lips. He had figured it out. There was no point in denying it. “...Yes.”

You were out of your depth now, there was no turning back.

"So," Jinwoo leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving yours, "how long have you been helping me?"

Your fingers twitched. "For a while now," you answered, purposefully vague. Not a lie.

"Years, then."

You nodded, biting back the urge to say more. He didn't need the specifics.

"And why?" His gaze was steady, but there was a flicker of something behind it—curiosity, maybe, but also wariness.

You had expected that question, but it didn’t make it any easier to answer. Why had you helped him? The official answer was because he was the protagonist of this world. But deep down, it was more than that. You admired him—his strength, his perseverance, and the way he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders without complaint. Somewhere along the way, admiration had blurred into something deeper, something more personal.

"I just... wanted to help," you said softly, your fingers tightening around the cup in your hands. “The system... didn’t give me much of a choice from the moment it chose me as the trial player. And perhaps it had turned a blind eye; helping you—it felt right." Another half-truth, but still rooted in reality.

Jinwoo studied you for a long moment, his gaze intense. You could almost feel the gears turning in his mind, trying to figure out whether you were a threat or an ally. He didn’t press further, which was almost worse. Silence stretched between you, heavy with unsaid words and unanswered questions. You wished you could explain everything, tell him the truth without the system suffocating you in response, but you couldn’t. So, you settled for half-truths and hoped they would be enough.

Then, out of nowhere, the conversation took a turn.

“Let’s keep it that way then,” Jinwoo’s voice was casual, almost too casual, “you’re joining my party.”

Your mind screeched to a halt. “Wait, what?”

“I said,” he repeated, leaning forward slightly, “you’re joining my party.” There was something in his tone that left no room for argument, but it didn’t make any sense. Jinwoo had always been the lone wolf. Solo raids were his thing. He didn’t need healers anymore—not with his own incredible healing factor.

“No—”

“I’m not asking.” And you berated yourself once again for being weak to his eyes, especially the current glowing ones. That beautiful, beautiful blue hue.

“Why? I mean, you don’t need me.”

Jinwoo’s eyes narrowed slightly, catching onto the strange phrasing, and you suddenly felt the invisible tightness around your throat. Watch your words, Trial Player, the system’s voice echoed in your mind, a third reminder today that made your blood pressure spike every damn time.

The system wasn’t just blocking you from outright saying it; it was suffocating you, a warning wrapped in discomfort. You cursed yourself internally.

Jinwoo answer interrupted your thoughts, “Let’s just say… I’m curious. About you.”

Oh. Oh. What did you expect? This wasn’t about your healing abilities. He was suspicious of you. He knew something was off, and now he was keeping you close—keep your friends close, and your enemies closer, and all that.

But you weren’t his enemy, were you?

You opened your mouth to argue further, but just as you were about to speak, the system chimed in again.

You let out and internal scream. Seriously?

"...I guess I don’t have a choice, do I?" You said, your cheeks were starting to hurt from forcing a smile throughout this conversation as you selected the only option on the screen.

Jinwoo smiled faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "No, you don’t."

---

After discussing the details for your future joint raids, you watched Jinwoo’s back as he turned to leave, you couldn’t help but feel a sinking sense of dread. You were trapped. Whatever game the system and Jinwoo were playing, you were caught in the middle. And now you were officially part of his party.

You sighed, slumping back into your chair. It was supposed to be a peaceful day. You should’ve known better.

[So, how have you been? ~]

“Shut it.”

---

The partnership was, for lack of a better word, complicated.

Jinwoo noticed it was a word often associated to you.

The more time Jinwoo spent with you only made things murkier. You were a puzzle wrapped in a riddle, and no matter how many pieces he tried to put together, he was always left with gaps. It was frustrating, but it also intrigued him in a way that nothing else had since he became the Player.

Jinwoo was suspicious—he couldn’t afford not to be. Jinwoo never imagined having someone like you beside him, much less allowing it. For the longest time, he had preferred working alone—solitude was safer, simpler. He didn’t have to worry about anyone getting in his way or betraying him. So, naturally, he had kept you under close observation, convinced that the cost of keeping you around would be more than just the unease gnawing at him.

From the start, Jinwoo had believed that taking you along would mean a decrease in his own growth. Experience was precious, and dividing it was a risk he was prepared to accept—but you had assured him that wouldn’t be necessary.

"I won’t take any exp from you,” you’d said with a quiet confidence that he hadn’t known how to trust. “I’ve got a feeling it doesn’t work like that for me anymore."

He’d been skeptical, of course. Experience was everything to a player, and he’d been prepared to lose some to keep you around. But as the weeks went by, he found your claim to be frustratingly true. No matter how many monsters you felled, it was only his system notifications that pinged, announcing increases in his experience points, his level bar that filled up, not yours, as though the system recognized you as an extension of him.

It was as if you just weren’t there.

He didn't know whether to be relieved or more suspicious. What kind of player didn’t gain EXP? It didn’t fit with the rules, and Jinwoo was nothing if not a careful observer of the patterns around him.

---

The material rewards, however, were a different story.

There was a strange way you treated the remains of the fallen monsters. At first, he hadn’t paid much attention to it; after all, every hunter had their quirks. But you would always linger after the fights, almost reverently inspecting the bodies, picking through the materials they left behind. When he finally asked you about it, you had given him that infuriatingly cryptic smile.

“Do you mind if I take whatever you don’t need?” you had politely asked one day, the first time out of the many in future raids to come. “I promise it won’t go to waste.”

“What do you even need them for?” he had asked, watching you examine the remains of a C-rank goblin with almost childlike fascination.

“Hmm…” You’d glanced up, meeting his gaze briefly before turning back to the material in your hand. “Think of it as... research.”

He’d agreed, more out of curiosity than generosity. And every time he did, he could have sworn he caught a glimmer of excitement in your eyes. It was an expression so genuine and bright that Jinwoo found himself taken aback. What exactly you were doing with those materials, he had no idea, but you seemed genuinely grateful, almost... happy. And Jinwoo found it oddly endearing every single time.

The guarded woman he fought beside every day for the past few weeks by now—the one who always hid herself behind walls of practiced calm—suddenly looked more humane. A person delighted over something so simple.

“Thank you, Jinwoo.” you said softly as you packed away pieces of monster hides, bones, and crystals with precision. The way you spoke his name felt different than when others said it. Like it was laced with something unspoken, something almost... familiar.

For a moment, he’d thought he might be able to catch a sliver of truth from you. But then, as quickly as it appeared, your guard returned, and you slipped back into your composed, impenetrable self.

---

Yet, for every discovery he made about you, new questions took root. The way you spoke to the air when he couldn’t see your system window was one of the strangest things he’d observed. It wasn’t like how he interacted with his own system—a cold, mechanical guide that answered in emotionless text.

He had come to terms with it, which made it more puzzling when you, on the other hand, seemed to have a strangely conversational relationship with yours. It was as though you were talking to a real person rather than an AI. And there were times he swore he heard you bantering with it. The fact that he couldn’t see it, that he couldn’t know what it was telling you without you telling him, left him on edge.

While you could see the familiar blue screens of his own system at all times, yours sometimes seemed to exist in an entirely different realm. He didn’t have enough information to even confirm you had the same kind of system he did.

One evening after a raid, after you had muttered something to the empty air beside you, Jinwoo couldn’t hold back his curiosity any longer. The two of you were taking a break in the clearing of a forest-like dungeon, waiting for the mana in the air to settle. His shadows patrolled the perimeter, leaving the two of you in relative isolation.

“You’re… talking to it, aren’t you?” Jinwoo asked, as you finished your quiet exchange with your invisible companion. “The system, I mean.”

“Hmm? Oh.” You paused mid-motion, halfway through tucking away the latest monster core you’d collected, s if you hadn’t just spoken aloud to someone—or something—that only you could see. You glanced at him, something unreadable flickering behind your eyes before you looked back at the core in your hands.

“It’s not quite the same as your system,” you said finally, your voice almost too soft to hear over the rustling leaves. “Let’s just say we have a complicated relationship.” You paused, seeming to search for the right words. “Yours is… a guide, yes? Cold, instructive?”

He nodded, and you seemed to weigh your response.

“Mine is… let’s call it more opinionated.”

Jinwoo raised an eyebrow, clearly unsatisfied. “You mean to tell me that your system has a personality?”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Something like that.”

He muttered, narrowing his eyes. “You know more about my system than I do, and yet I can’t even see yours most of the time. Feels like a rigged game.”

“You mean the same way my kills count towards yours instead?”

Fair point.

“You could say I know it pretty well. And… it knows me.” Your tone was careful, and he realized he’d learned something more about you in that one sentence than in all the raids you’d fought together.

It was almost as if you wanted to be honest—desperately so—but something stopped you every time you got close to revealing too much. It seemed less like a power play and more like you were protecting something—maybe even protecting him. But that didn’t make sense.

Still, Jinwoo could see glimpses of genuine loyalty in your actions. The more he witnessed this, the more he felt torn, unable to decide if you were an ally bound by strange circumstances or a threat with motives he couldn’t yet see.

End Note:

Unedited Draft of [013/10/2024] -

The later parts of this chapter (where it switches to Jinwoo's p.o.v.) are originally part of the next chapter, but I substitue them with a new fight scene.

#solo leveling imagine #solo leveling #solo leveling x reader #sung jin woo x reader #sung jinwoo x reader #sung jinwoo #solo leveling jinwoo #yandere sung jinwoo #only i level up #reader insert #x reader #fem reader #fanfiction #fanfic #solo leveling fanfic

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fatuismooches · 8 months ago

Text

Dottore and his segments get a taste of their own medicine after giving you a job of your own. (In other words, you ignore their need for attention in favor of your work, they get pouty, just like you did.)

As of late, a peculiar sight had made its way into the lab. Actually, peculiar wasn't even strong enough of a word for the agents to use. They had nearly tripped over their feet once they saw the new area of their working quarters in the lab.

In addition to their Lord Harbinger's desk (that was shared amongst the segments depending on the day), there was now another desk on the opposite side of the room, and the cute decorations on it were quite noticeable. Photo frames and stationery. A comfortable and plush chair with a blanket that dropped over it.

... A plushie version of the Harbinger that laid on Dottore's desk, commissioned by you to motivate him.

(A side thought - the number of desks the Doctor had was something to wonder about. One in the lab, one in the office, one in the bedroom - no wonder things were always scattered around the place. But that was something for another day...)

And most importantly, you, Dottore's spouse, standing next to their Lord, rocking back on your heels nervously as he introduced you as their new co-worker.

—

It all began when you approached your husband with a very simple request.

"Dottie, I want a job!" You said with enthusiasm, smile as wide and proud as ever. The scientist paused his work and turned to look at you with a blank expression.

"... A job, you say?" You only puffed your chest out more at his confirmation.

"Yes, a job. I mean, being your lover is already a lot of work for my poor back, but I want to actually work with you! With your research and stuff, like the old days!" Your excitement was completely serious and were it not for your health, it would have been infectious for the scholar. Rarely did he ever meet anyone who was truly interested in his work. But of course, certain restrictions have held you back for a long time now.

"We've already been over this. My work is too dangerous for you," the Doctor sighed as he turned back around to continue whatever he was doing.

"I know, I know, but I meant other kinds of stuff. I've been thinking like... a desk job! It doesn't have to be anything dangerous! I could... sort papers for you? Oh, and you have one of those fancy stamps, right? I could stamp them too! I could rewrite your notes... ah, and the best part - I could help you write reports too! You always liked my essays, didn't you?" You were doing your best to provide Dottore with a convincing case, snuggling up against his firm back. Only another sigh escaped your husband, not really that convinced.

"Come on..." you inhaled his familiar scent, tinged with that laboratory smell that never seemed to go away, but somehow brought comfort to you. "I've been so bored lately... and lonely," you muttered the last part pointedly. "I just want some work to take my mind off things!"

Indeed, there was always limited entertainment and pastimes to occupy yourself with. It was especially boring on days you couldn't get out of bed, or when no segment could afford you attention...

"And you know what, I could give those agents of yours some writing tips, too!"

Yes, there had been many times his employees were not up to his standards, despite how many of them fawned over him (for some odd reason)...

"And I'll be helping you too! It's good for everyone."

Of course, you always felt rather good about yourself if you managed to help him, being the Second Harbinger and all...

"I suppose I shall give it some thought-" Before the man could finish his sentence you started squeezing him tightly while hopping in delight.

"Oh, thank you! So, when do I start? Do I get one of your huge desks too?"

"I didn't say yes yet, darling."

"Shh... we both know what you mean!"

—

And that was how you now clocked in at "work" every day with the agents (later than normal, but you had special privileges.) It was daunting at first for the poor souls, even the ones who secretly admired you from afar (being in the fan club and all.) Even though initially you were merely sorting papers, you were the most important person in that room.

However, soon enough, going to work in this dreary lab became a lot more cheery thanks to your sweet demeanor. Somehow, the atmosphere had become a lot less tense since the last time the segments visited.

The agents had little to no problem speaking to you like a normal person, after you had graciously given them tips on impressing the Harbinger.

"Psst..." you were hovering behind an unsuspecting agent, reading the report she had for Dottore, who jumped at your whisper. "You know, he might click his tongue if you give him that." Although her mask covered her face, you could see that half surprised at how you popped out of nowhere, and half agreeing with your words. Perhaps she felt comfortable enough to spill the situation to you.

"I-I am well aware of that," she deeply sighed, "but no matter what I write, my Lord always seems to be unsatisfied..." You patted her shoulder in sympathy. Having worked with Dottore since the Akademiya days, you knew very well of his distaste for certain things.

"Well, that's why I was hired, friend! To make his and your life easier! See, look here, that's a no-no, he wouldn't appreciate those details, mhm, but this needs to be elaborated on more, uh huh..." Of course, being the good spouse and employee you were, the report was converted into the best one that had ever landed on the Doctor's desk.

On your lunch break, they provided you with some juicy gossip about anything they could get their hands on (the fan club had long reaches, apparently.) Frequently you had to debunk things about Dottore... (the handbook was swiftly revised.)

Needless to say, things seemed to be going well. You looked happier. Motivated. Having new "friends" as your company (that still watched their mouth around you after a single glance from the segments.)

However... an issue arose after a while. One that seemed entirely stupid and impossible.

Now that you were so caught up in your work, when the segments finally had some spare time to come to you, they were... rejected. Yes, they had come to you, fully expecting your devoted attention and kisses that you always gave them without hesitation, but now turned away. (Even more embarrassing, sometimes in front of the agents who kept their eyes glued to their strange chemicals.)

—

It was Omega, of all segments, who was turned away first. The most confident and charming of the bunch left uncharacteristically silent. He had come up behind you and traced his hands against your neck, always being the one who had no shame in touching you. You only softly giggled at the sensation and caught his hand in yours.

"It seems you've been busy for a while, dear." In truth, it was mostly you seeking him out and not vice versa, but the segment hadn't seen you invading his office in a while. The space had gotten too quiet without you.

"Mhm! But I can't imagine how much work you do. My desk is nowhere as cluttered as yours," you smiled as you felt the segment kiss your lashes.

"What do you say to a break with me?" Omega offered, already knowing what your eager response would be.

"Nah, I can't right now."

...

Your words took a few seconds to process through his head.

"Pardon?"

"I have all this work, 'Mega, and other people need my help," you shrugged your shoulders as you swung your legs. "But don't worry. I'm sure we can spend some time later!" You kissed him on the cheek and pulled your chair in before continuing your work.

Omega, the greatest segment, was reduced to a blankly staring man who had been deprived of his lover's attention for the first time.

He was irritable for the rest of the day.

—

Beta was next, the poor thing.

You were always the one he blew off steam to, always willing to listen about his gripes and complaints, offering him consolation in the form of kisses and soft words.

However, you hadn't come to visit in so long, the segment was all pent up and now the agents were beginning to fall victim to him.

Fine then - he'd seek you out. Not because he needed you or missed you or anything of the sort. You were just... halting his progress with the lack of your presence. Yes, that was it.

And so the scientist, donning his grand pink bow tie, swung by your desk.

"So this is where you've been? How boring." Beta was not a segment that you'd want to do paperwork. He much preferred to be hands-on.

"Ah, Beta!" You brightened in delight at seeing one of your lovers. "I missed you!" At least you were always honest about your feelings.

... But to cut a long story short, Beta faced the same conundrum that Omega did.

Someone got turned into a floating Ruin Machine that day.

—

By now all the segments had experienced being turned away from work. Alpha's signature scowl had become permanent. Zandy was pouting the whole day as he missed his parent. Foxttore kept to himself with a pathetic sopping wet eye. His segments were fighting with each other inside his mind, a great nuisance.

All because you were too absorbed with your work to pay them any attention.

... The Doctor was now realizing that it sounded like a very familiar tune sung by you. So this was what you felt for days on end? Now, it was easier for him to understand why you were always upset if you were ignored too much.

Still, it was mortifyingly embarrassing that his segments were reduced to this pitiful state just because you rejected cuddles a few times. Regardless, it was up to him to solve the issue. After all... he missed you too. He wanted you to be around him more often again.

And so the Doctor made his way to his beloved.

There you were, all cozy on your seat as you sorted through some papers. Really, he had no clue you'd be this productive, to be honest. At least it was proof that your health hadn't gotten worse, considering how well you were handling this.

"Aren't you the one who kept saying to take breaks?" His voice made you jump a bit, having not heard him walk up.

"It's you, Dottie! I was wondering when you'd come around. And of course, I take breaks, Dottore. I have lunch with the other agents!" Ah, another party that's been hogging your attention.

"You know, this job has been pretty fun, Dottore! Everyone's real nice, we make jokes, I get to write about interesting things..." You continued to go on about the research and while usually he'd be intrigued by your findings, this time he had enough.

Dottore picked you up like a long cat as you squealed from the sudden grasping.

"What are you doing?!"

"You're coming with me," was his cut and dry response as he lifted you into his arms.

"B-But I have to work on the big report for Pantalone!" Dottore's eye twitched at the mention of the banker.

"Someone else can."

"But I-"

"I'm not listening to anything you say further," he plainly said as he walked with you cuddled into his chest as you gawked at him.

Could he be... jealous? A wee bit lonely? You kept your guesses to yourself as he eventually bought you back to his room and laid you on his bed, not even saying anything to you before sitting at his desk.

Did he simply miss your presence that much? You felt a bit bad neglecting your lovers that much. But to be fair, they kinda did the same... sometimes. You got up to console your silly husband, who was just a man in your hands.

"Hey... I missed you too, dear husband... but I had to make sure no one stole the title of best assistant from me!" Dottore only sighed at your foolishness.

Of course no one could ever replace you.

"I know you'd rather die than admit it... but don't worry. You're lucky I'm sensitive to your feelings," you teased as you kissed the top of his mask. "I'll pay more attention to you and the segments, before they cause another headache for you, love. You'll give me some vacation time off, right?"

You laughed at your own joke before Dottore pulled you into his lap, biting down hard on your neck.

—

"Beloved, would you care to join me in discussing your work?"

"You fool, they're obviously coming to my lab to activate a new Ruin Machine."

"But [Name] is supposed to play with me today!!"

"As if, they're far too busy to join you all with your silly games."

"You all will stress them out with this arguing. Now, why don't you join me for a cup of coffee instead?"

"Grr, gr gr, grr!"

It was good to be loved so deeply.

#smooches talks #dottore love notes <3 #fragile reader <3 #dottore x reader #just lots of fluff I whipped up as a mini apology for being inactive. >.<#idk if this seems random but i love this scenario #reader simultaneously feeling like they're helping zandik while also keeping their mind off sad things <33 #dottore happy seeing u happy but then gets jealous bc now ur glued to UR desk... unfair. tch... (he's a hypocrite)#divider by cafekitsune

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sash4esk0 · 1 month ago

Note

Vi with a virgin reader, who is nervous and also insecure about her body and vi is just sooo soft with her

╰┈➤Just You and Me ･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Tags: (watching) Pornography, soft, plot withought porn, fluff, comfort, dating AU, insecure reader, virgin reader

The rain pattered softly against your window— another day trapped inside because of the unfavorable weather. You were currently curled into your girlfriend’s side, legs tangled, and faces dimly illuminated by the blue light coming from Vi’s cracked MacBook— half-watching some dramatic television, though neither of you was really paying attention.

You’ve been dating Vi for a few months now. It’s been easy in that complicated, thrilling way. like your body relaxes when she’s around but your heart keeps skipping beats anyway. You’ve kissed. You’ve made out. But she’s never pushed things further, and you’ve been grateful for that even though you’re starting to think about it more lately.

On the screen, a straight couple starts hooking up. Apparently it was important to the plot but gods if it didn’t make you queasy. It was sloppy, fast, and awkward and luckily the scene changed just as you started to shift beneath the blanket you and vi shared. She glances over her shoulder at you, scarred lip curling into an amused smirk as she finally breaks the silence.

“Gods- who even kisses like that? They’re just mashing faces-“ She mutters, shaking her head in disapproval, clearly unimpressed.

“Right- it’s just so… aggressive.” You chuckle but it comes out drier than you intend. You’re nervous and your attentive girlfriend picks up on it all too easily.

She glances over towards you once more , clicking the spacebar to pause the current scene, clearly more interested in your take. “Yeah? You not into that sort of thing?”

You pause for a moment, Licking your lips thoughtfully before responding. Unsure.

“I don’t know.. it just looks like it hurts more than anything.”

Vi tilts her head, watching you now instead of the paused screen. “You ever actually watched any, like…y’know, actual porn?”

Your cheeks warm, and you force yourself to look away for a moment. Heart thumping like a jack rabbit in your chest. Trying— and failing— to play it off.

“I mean… not really. Not the whole thing. Mostly just skipped through.”

Vi grins a little at your awkwardness but doesn’t make fun, it was part of what she liked about you after all. “Wanna try? Just to see if it’s as dumb as that scene?”

You hesitate for a long beat but then nod hesitantly. “Okay. Just… don’t laugh at me.”

She leans over, nudging you gently with her shoulder, icy blue eyes warm with teasing affection in a way that melted your inhibitions instantly. “Never.”

*✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It takes some searching through sketchy websites— but you both eventually agree, clicking on a video that looks vaguely professional. It starts off simple, two girls in some sort of office setting- it almost seems like a genuine TV show for about the first thirty seconds, then it was all fast paced— blazers hitting the floor, spanking, rough hands, and moans so wanton you had to resist the urge to cover your ears. Your stomach tightens as your shoulders tense. You keep watching but you’re not into it. You’re trying to understand it.

“…Hey,” she says softly, reaching to pause the video, one girl frozen mid orgasm. “You good?”

You nod too quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, I just… is that what it’s actually like?”

Vi turns to face you more fully, one knee bent up on the couch, expression softening like clouds passing in front of the sun.

“…Not always,” she says carefully. “It can be like that, sure. But it doesn’t have to be. Why?”

You bite your lip firmly, eyes flicking down to your hands in your lap. You pick at a thread in the fuzzy blanket. You weren’t planning to say anything tonight. you hadn’t even thought about saying it. But now, with Vi sitting so close and looking at you like that, not judging, not pushing, the words start to rise up on their own.

“I’ve never… I mean, I haven’t…” You stop and start over. “I’m a virgin.”

You feel your girlfriend still beside you, not shocked or angry, just listening.. harder.

You rush to keep going, as if saying it fast enough will make it easier.

“I guess I’ve been kind of avoiding stuff because I didn’t know how to bring it up. And it’s not that I don’t want to—I mean, you—it’s not that I don’t want you. It’s just…”

Your throat tightens with emotions you’d hardly realized you’d kept bottled up. Warm tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

“I don’t really like the way I look. Or how I’d look, you know… like that. Without clothes. Up close. I’ve always felt kind of awkward, and I guess I got it in my head that maybe you’d think it was weird or be disappointed or something.”

You finally glance up, expecting discomfort or pity or worse — but Vi’s face is so gentle it nearly undoes you. A snort sniffle escaping you as you fought to stay composed.

She doesn’t speak right away. She just reaches out slowly and tucks a bit of hair behind your ear, her fingertips lingering at your jaw for just a moment. Almost like she’s afraid of you pulling away.

“You really thought I’d be disappointed?” she asks quietly, almost like it hurts her to think it.

You nod, barely.

Vi lets out the softest breath, like she’s trying not to overwhelm you with how much she cares. Her voice drops low, steady, and warm as a kiss on the cheek.

“Hey. Look at me.”

You do. Being met with the softest most genuine smile you think you’ve ever seen. She’s forgotten the computer now to face you fully. Her hands moving down to hold yours in her own.

“I think you’re beautiful. Exactly how you are. And that—what you just told me? That means everything to me. You don’t have to rush anything. Ever. But if we do go there someday, I promise it’ll be nothing like those videos. It’ll be us. And I’ll take care of you.”

She gives your hand a light squeeze, those faint freckles on her cheeks scarcely visible in the dark lighting.

“No pressure. No performance. Just you and me.”

Author’s note: Hello readers! Thank you for all the requests! I wasn’t expecting to get absolutely FLOODED with requests but I’m trying my best to get them all done! Also do I continue my pitfighter vi x bartender reader series or just drop it and focus on new ideas??

#vi x reader #fanfic #vi arcane #x reader #i’m going insane #vi fluff #vi smut #arcane #arcane fanfic #request #short drabble

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hivemuthur · 3 months ago

Text

Okay, admittedly I kinda got some brain issues and forgot that Viktor was supposed to be shy in this, so he is not :v But yeh, I'm mish-mashing things again, here's how it went:

Ebb and Flow

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! okay I'm gonna say this once: this has a lot of ass in it. It also has Viktor being pegged, but he is sort of a power bottom and sort of not, I truly do not know who acts as who here. Also rimming and fingering. These are all my sins, for now :v

word count: 4K

author’s note: THANKS Reagan, I had no interest in pegging in my life and now I DO. If you receive anonymous threats it's my boyfriend :') But fr, thank you @a-babe-without-a-name for trusting me and being so brave and making me brave in the process lol. And Anon, uh, what can I say, if you had something cute in mind, sorry for disgracing your request like this. Also I know it's not Freakday yet. That's it, I have nothing to justify this.

—

It’s hard to decide which phase of getting to know someone is the best. The beginning is, of course, exciting—thrilling in its novelty—caught between the pressure of doing your absolute best without overdoing it, and the giddy pleasure of peeling back the layers of someone else, who’s doing exactly the same.

But then, when the dust settles and a few things fall into place, there’s the feeling of mutual agreement—the ever-growing filling each other’s gaps phenomenon, the question of where I end, and you begin quieting the turbulent waters. That’s when the real unpeeling begins.

So when Viktor asked for the first time, you weren’t surprised. It felt akin to pride—or maybe accomplishment—the way the question landed: unabashed, trusting. A noncommittal offer at first, something for you to think about, though it had long been foreshadowed by the press of his ass into your face and the sounds his mouth made, etched in your brain as favourites.

The conjoined open-heart surgery—where you are both the one doing the slicing and the one being sliced open—started long ago. Possibly that one time Viktor’s tongue strayed from your clit, lower, then even lower, and didn’t stop. You gasped, hips stilling. That’s when he said, “Relax. It’s nice, trust me.” Seeing your expression—caught between curiosity and complete bafflement—he added, “Do I have your consent or not?”

And you’re still not sure if it was the eagerness in his eyes or the virtue of his tone that convinced you. But you nodded and shifted, hugging your legs beneath the crease of your knees, and let him in.

Since then, a few more things have been uncovered—scrubbed clean, one layer at a time. For Viktor, it was the revelation that you were willing to go anywhere, as long as he was holding your hand. For you, it was the quiet surprise that he was never opposed to your wandering fingers—one, sometimes two—so long as he could pay you in the currency of startled gasps and broken moans.

Another realisation, more private: having your face hugged by his ass cheeks, your nose breathing in the scent at the base of his spine, your mouth planting soft kisses where his flesh was most tender—that has become one of your most sacred places to dwell. To breathe in those spaces that no one else has wandered into—absolute blessing.

How has this gone from gentle teasing and suggestive purrs to this—you’d lie if you said you hadn’t the faintest idea. Somewhere between Viktor’s breathy touch me and the first time he said, “that feels good,” until it finally became a carefully weaved, “how would you feel about…”—that’s when expectation began to root itself in your mind. Slowly, at first, like a seed pressed into the dark. By now it’s bloomed into something very much alive and kicking.

You’re still in your safe space, for now—on your knees, hands firm on Viktor’s angular hips, thumbs spreading one of the very few soft venues of him open. Your neck aches from the angle, but it’s a dull thing, drowned out by the heat licking at your belly. You hold him there, balanced carefully against the dresser’s edge, and your tongue glides another slow, reverent circle around his entrance.

He twitches, shoulders rippling compulsively every time you hum. One hand braces against the top of the dresser, the other curling back to sink into your hair. He grabs a handful of it, the contrast between wood and softness under his fingers adding to the tension burning through his spine. And oh, he doesn’t mean to, but he pushes you in, unable to help it.

“Mmnh…” Viktor breathes, his hips shifting—subtle, barely-there, but still chasing. “You’re… very good at this.” His voice stumbles over a moan, turned more breath than words. “Do not—don’t stop.”

You hum in response, a sound that makes his thighs tense and one heel lift just slightly off the floor. He’s trembling—such a small gesture you might miss it, if you weren’t pressed this close. You lick again, flatter this time, then push the tip of your tongue in, just a little breach, feeling him shudder and moan, soft and high.

The harness at your hips feels heavy, weighty with promise. The cock attached—a beautiful unfleshed contradiction of confidence and untested nerves—rests against your thigh, forgotten for the moment, though you’re achingly aware of it. And Viktor is too. You can feel it in the way his grip tightens in your hair when your nose brushes the base of his spine. In the way he looks over his shoulder, mouth slack, eyes dark with something hungry and unsure all at once.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, a sliver of laughter in it—tender, breathless. “On your knees for me.”

It’s not mocking. It’s not even cocky. If anything, he sounds… grateful. Awed. Like he’s marvelling at you as much as what you’re doing. And you, flushed and panting and so far gone on him it’s disgraceful, bite the inside of your cheek and let your hands roam up his back, steadying him as he begins to tremble in earnest.

“Relax,” you murmur, a smile positively wicked blooming on your lips. “It’s nice, trust me.”

That earns you a shaky breath, then a choked little chuckle. “You are horrible,” he says, and pushes back into your mouth again. “But do not stop.”

He won’t come from this alone, and you know it. Refusing to ease his untouched cock, you hear it slap against his stomach each time his hips roll into your mouth. And for Viktor—oh, were he guaranteed that this sweet torture would remain endless—he’d probably be ready to forsake the feeling of coming altogether.

You place one last kiss on his entrance—tender, a parting promise—and then slowly rise, hands trailing up the back of his thighs, his hips, his waist. He breathes out shakily and turns to look at your glistening mouth, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, his lips already searching for yours.

His arms come to drape around you and the kiss he gives you is slow—unhurried, deep, full of gratitude and something dangerously close to worship. He tastes like breathlessness and want, and when his arms slip around you, he pulls you in until your bodies meet flush. His cock, sticky and blushed, presses insistently against the base of your stomach, nestled next to the firm ridge of yours, and he gasps softly into your mouth as the two rub together.

“Come,” he murmurs, voice low, one hand sliding down to trace the length strapped to your hips. “Bed.”

Before you can tease on how needy he is, Viktor leans into you on the way to the bed, one arm slung around your shoulder, the other braced loosely at your waist, letting his weight drag a little with every step. It’s not weakness—just indulgence. A touch of deliberate drama, maybe. You let him, eating up the way he holds you, like you’re a pillar he trusts not to crumble.

When he sits on the mattress, it’s with a slow exhale, legs parted, back propped on his elbows. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, mouth red and slightly parted, a smear of damp sweat curling the hair at his temples. He’s all flushed skin and brash silence, stretched out like some self-satisfied portrait. His cock rests heavily against his thigh, still slick, twitching slightly as he watches you.

You hum, tilting your head as you drink him in. “You’re so pretty.”

He scoffs, the corners of his mouth curling. “It’s my job to tell you this.”

You reach for the nightstand, fingers curling around the bottle of lube. “Well, why don’t you get on with it then?”

But before you can move back between his legs, he seizes your wrist and pulls you in hard, thighs snapping around your hips as he traps you flush against him. His mouth finds yours in a rush—eager, a little desperate—and he moans against your lips as he grinds up into your stomach.

“You are so fucking pretty I cannot bear it,” he mutters, voice hoarse and aching. “My beautiful girl.” His grip is firm and loving, the kind that says stay. The kind that says please. A hand brushes the hair off your face, gentle, reverent, and you are momentarily rendered stupid, unable to remember who’s in charge.

Then your gaze drops, and you remember. You settle between his legs again, kissing the inside of his thigh as you reach for the bottle. The click of the cap sounds almost obscene in the quiet, broken only by Viktor’s breath. You tip a bit into your palm and rub it between your fingers first, letting it warm, your other hand resting over the jut of his hip.

Schooling your face into something resembling composure, you find it hard to stop the insistent twitch of your palm. Heart pounding in your chest, between your ears—the only thing anchoring you is the sound of air leaving and entering Viktor’s mouth.

His mouth cracks into a shaky smile even as his brows knit together, his whole expression a portrait of disbelief and pleasure. “You’re being too gentle,” he says, voice catching. “It’s unfair.”

“Should I be mean?”

He watches you, hand curling slowly around his cock, just enough to stroke himself through the growing ache. “No. But you don’t have to be so delicate.”

When your fingers trace lower, back to where he’s still soft and sensitive, he gasps, his back arching slightly. You take your time, pressing against his entrance. His stomach flexes, sucks inward with every stroke until finally, you ease one finger inside and pause there, letting him breathe as the tight ring of muscle takes you in.

You glance up at him. He already looks wrecked—blushed and damp and trembling, his abdomen fluttering with each breath. “I’m not sure this is allowed,” you murmur, nodding toward the hand working at his cock.

“Would you look at that,” he pants, mouth twitching. “A little bit of power and already bossing me around.”

“I’ve learned from the best,” you reply, pressing in a little deeper. He groans, hips shifting toward your hand. “How was it?” you continue, in a tone that tries its best to sound teasing, though a needy breath trembles somewhere in the back your throat. “You don’t come unless I’m inside you?”

“Something like that,” he grits out. “Except I don’t recall being quite this cruel about it.”

You laugh softly, leaning in to kiss the top of his thigh. “I’m only doing what I was asked for,” you whisper against his skin. “I live to serve, remember?”

Viktor lifts his hands in mock surrender and places them firmly on the sheets beside him, fingers curling into the linen like he’s bracing for impact. His chest rises with a slow, trembling breath.

“See?” he says, voice warm and hoarse. “I am being good.”

“Oh, are you?” you ask, tone laced with false doubt as you twist your wrist slightly. His legs shift wider in response. “You think this earns you something?”

He tilts his head toward you, hair stuck to his temple, a faint sheen of sweat along his collarbone. “I’m going to need more,” he says, low, raw. “You cannot expect me to behave for this little.”

“You’re terrible at bargaining,” you say, but oblige anyway.

Your fingers retreat briefly, only to return with a second joining the first, the stretch making his body tense and then melt all over again. He moans, soft and ragged, thighs twitching around you as he exhales hard through his nose. “Fuck,” he breathes, “that’s—yes. Just like that.”

You keep the pressure steady, curling your fingers just enough to draw out a strangled sound from deep in his throat. He tries to rock down into it, restrained only by the grip he maintains on the sheets, as if letting go would undo him.

“You’re trying not to move,” you murmur, watching him. “Why?”

“I don’t trust myself,” he pants, eyes barely open, lashes damp. “You’ll mock me.”

You smile, slow and wicked. “Probably. Especially if you come just from my fingers.”

“Wouldn’t that ruin your plans?” he manages, the corner of his mouth twitching into something close to a smirk. But it falters a second later as your fingers stroke just the right spot, and he jerks against the bed, cock twitching on his belly.

“Oh no,” you murmur, breath ghosting his hip as you press a kiss just above it. “I’d love to see it.”

“How perverted,” he says hotly, voice straining around the edges. “What if I beg you to touch me?”

“Begging might get you places,” you reply, dragging your fingers just a little deeper, a little slower. “And I’m speaking from experience.”

Viktor huffs, a laugh or a moan—it’s hard to tell. “Would you like to know why that is?”

You nod, slow and silent, unable to say anything else with your breath caught in your throat.

“Come closer,” he says, propping himself back up on his elbows, eyes gleaming with heat. You lean in, bracing your arm beside his ribs as he curls one hand around the back of your neck. He pulls you in until your mouths nearly brush and then tilts his head, lips skimming the shell of your ear.

“Because there is nothing better,” he whispers, “than hearing you beg for something I’m dying to give you.”

Your breath remains trapped, heart thudding so hard you feel it behind your eyes. But before you can say anything, his mouth finds yours.

“It makes me feel seen like nothing else in this world,” he murmurs against your lips. “ So please, my beloved. Fuck me.”

“Viktor.” It’s all you manage, the word falling out of you, completely stunned.

You retreat slowly, fingers easing out with care, slick sounds swallowed by the silence between your breaths. He shudders beneath you, chest lifting as if to follow your hand. A flush climbs up his throat, eyes lidded and glassy.

You reach for the bottle again and squeeze more lube into your palm, warming it between your fingers as before. He watches the movement like it’s sacred. Like you’re sacred.

You coat yourself thoroughly, breath slowing with the weight of focus, slick pooling warm on your hand as you spread it with care. Then, guiding yourself into place, you line up against him. One palm cradles the bone of his hip, grounding you both, while the other steadies at the base, the head of your cock nudging gently at his entrance.

You pause there, just breathing. Just watching him. Viktor’s thighs tense, the muscles fluttering beneath your touch. His eyes are on yours now, wide and bright, mouth parted around the beginnings of a gasp.

And then you press in—the give is slow, tight, perfect. He sucks air in sharply, his head falling back against the pillows, a wrecked sound pulled straight from his lungs.

“Ah—” His voice falters, body taut for a breathless moment. His hand flies to your forearm simply to hold onto something—someone. You freeze there, barely in, overcome by the heat and pressure of him. He’s trembling and you’re trembling with him.

Your chest aches with how much you feel—how much you want to be careful, want to be good, want to do right by the way he’s opening for you like this. The sheer vulnerability of it has you blinking hard, something heavy and electric pooling low in your belly.

“Is it—” you start to ask, but don’t finish.

“I’m okay,” he says, voice tight against the wall of his throat. His thumb strokes your skin. “It’s just—God—give me a second.”

You nod quickly, staying exactly where you are. Letting him adjust. Letting yourself adjust. All cockiness flees you, replaced by something quieter, heavier. It settles low in your gut and swells in your chest—there’s no better word for it than love, and it rings in your ears like a vow.

Viktor draws a breath through his nose—shaky, but deeper now. When he opens his eyes and finds yours again, there’s no hesitation. “More,” he says. “Please.”

So you give him more.

Another inch. Then another. He gasps, knees drawing in slightly, heels digging into the mattress for purchase. His head tips back against the pillows, mouth slack, eyelids fluttering shut. You watch every shift, every flicker, every tremor. You don't look away, not even when he moans—low and guttural and unguarded. It rolls through him, and he presses the heels of his palms hard into his eyes, arms trembling.

“Viktor?” Your voice barely carries. You pause, hand smoothing over his thigh. “Is it too much?”

He shakes his head, breath catching, too overwhelmed for words. You lean over him, close enough to rest your forehead against the damp skin of his temple.

“You have to tell me,” you whisper. “I can’t feel you the way you feel me.”

He exhales shakily, nodding once. Then—still breathless, still reeling—he manages, “Ha—I bet you wish you could.”

You go still, lips parting in soft surprise. Your brow lifts, eyes wide, caught between awe and a laugh.

“I know,” he groans faintly, like he’s already regretting the joke. His voice breaks around it. “I know.” He swallows hard, and when he speaks again, there’s nothing but raw, naked need in his voice. “Don’t stop. I want you.”

You begin to move only when you’re sure—only when his breath steadies, and he nods faintly into your skin. Each shift of your hips is cautious, shallow. His body yields, warm and trembling beneath you, and you’re aware of every inch of him: the way his thighs tighten around you, the curve of his hands along your spine, the flutter of his pulse where your lips brush his neck.

“God,” you whisper, hardly meaning to speak aloud but can’t help yourself, “you are so pretty like this.”

Viktor exhales a long breath, and his hands find your waist, grip seeping whatever he can’t choke out into your skin. His cock is trapped between your bodies, slick and twitching against your stomach with every draw of air, every subtle motion.

His voice finds you in a ragged whisper. “Please,” he says. “Fuck me, baby.”

The words root you in place. Not with boldness, but something softer. You nod slowly, pressing a kiss just below his ear, and begin again—inching, rocking into him with care and wonder. You listen more than you speak. Each sound from him draws your next motion.

“You’re doing so well,” you murmur eventually, when he’s wrung out beneath you, brows drawn tight with the weight of pleasure. “I hope you know that.”

He doesn’t answer with words—only a breath, nearly a sob, pulled from somewhere deep.

Chest to chest, your foreheads nearly touching. It’s not rhythm that drives you now, but reaction—his body guiding yours, his grip flexing on your hips. You shift one hand to his thigh and squeeze gently, and that’s when he speaks again. Quiet. Defeat admitted. “I think it’s time for me to beg for you to touch me, love.”

“What’s stopping you?” you mutter in his ear, taking that little advantage. And Viktor shudders out a laugh, shaky and breathy but earnest all the same.

“Please,” he hums into your neck, “please, touch me.”

You push yourself up, settling on the balls of your heels. Your temporary cock strains at the new angle, and Viktor’s eyes take a stroll around his skull. He reaches out for your hand in a gesture that would have you melting weren’t you melting already—over the sight of him. His knees relaxed apart, lips outright bitten into ruby, hair wild, strands shaped by dampness of your bodies and eyes nearly entirely vacant, you being the only occupant. Absolute vision.

Your fingers thread with his first and you let them rest there a moment, held between you, heart ticking out of rhythm at the way his grip tightens. The need, both quiet and loud, unspoked by his mouth but thundering in his fingertips, seeps into yours. Then, gently, you draw his hand downward, and Viktor follows, trustful as ever.

You guide him to himself, his hand curling around his cock with yours layered over it. Your touch adds warmth, rhythm. He gasps, his hips twitch, thighs trembling on either side of you.

“That’s it,” you whisper, watching the tension ripple up his abdomen. “Just like that. You are doing great.”

His head tips back, neck long and flushed, lips parted in stunned silence. His other hand fists in the sheets beside him, knuckles bone white until red spills over his skin, right beyond the joints.

You lean in to kiss the inside of his thigh, never breaking pace, your strokes patient and steady. Every flicker of his body draws your attention: the way his legs twitch, the way his belly flutters with each breath, the tremble that grows stronger with every pass of your hand over the head. And suddenly you profoundly believe in every praise he’s ever told you because truly having someone like that beneath you is a sight to behold.

Then you shift, subtly, just enough to press deeper inside him—and that pushes him to the edge, where you either break or fall. He arches once, a ragged, punched-out sound spilling from his chest. Your name, maybe, or just a noise—you can’t tell.

“Please,” he says again, and it’s barely a word now, just a breath catching on the edge of a moan. “Please don’t stop.”

Like you would dare. You stroke him faster, cock so hard you’re certain it borders on hurting. His whole body draws taut, thighs shaking, mouth falling open—and you feel it under your hand, under his, the one giving pulse as Viktor comes hard, spilling between your joined hands, over his belly, ribs jutting out, stomach contracting through the aftershocks.

You ease your pace gradually. Let his hand go slack beneath yours. Let him breathe, let his seed cool and turn thin where it drips from your fingers.

Running a hand down the centre of his navel, you carefully pull out and gasp—not knowing why, only that it’s something you’ve seen him do, every time he retreats and leaves you empty.

When his eyes flutter open again, glossed and wide, you’re already there—by his side, nuzzling his face into your neck, your knuckles brushing damp hair off his forehead.

He’s so utterly spent. Worshipped to the point of being boneless. For a moment, all bravado is lost somewhere between shuddery breaths. Despite the wet evidence of your shared perversion dripping down his stomach, he presses it to yours and kisses your throat with his mouth open, each breath warm against your skin.

“What is it that you usually say?” he mutters, the smile already curling under the words. His tone is teasing, but there’s a layer of exhaustion that makes it softer, naked.

“Thank you,” he says, lips brushing against the curve of your jaw. “Thank you,” he repeats quieter, this time next to your ear, his breath warm and shaky, still trying to catch up with the aftermath.

You laugh softly, pulling his hair back. “Did you like it?” You ask, again—same as he always asks. Not missing a beat.

“Eh, it was alright,” he replies, his lips curling up as he pulls back to look at you, eyes gleaming, but the way his features softened is giving him away.

“I see.” You smile, leaning in just enough to brush your lips against his once more. You’d swat his chest, but somehow don’t have it in you. “No way of fucking that attitude out of you, huh?”

He lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head in mock disapproval. “I can’t say,” he murmurs. “Maybe you have to try again.”

One layer less, you think to yourself. So many more parting you from the core of him—and some part of you doesn’t want to get there. The journey, after all, being the best part of it.

#my writing #viktor arcane #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader #viktor x reader smut #viktor smut #viktor x gn!reader #viktor x oc #arcane #arcane fanfic #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor nation #requests

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fuckedupfate · 2 months ago

Text

⭑𓂅 . ☘︎ ܁˖ ﹕ SAFETY NET.

leading roles ﹕ dean winchester , f!reader

notices ﹕ swearing dean trying to ignore the fact he's in love fluff author's entry ﹕ this has been in my wip folder for WAY too long, but it's now here! made this while listening to safety net by ariana grande over and over again (i think i listened to it at least forty [maybe fifty] times) so i could get the vibe correct. so let's pray it helped and worked.

it isn't a secret that dean has trouble opening up, letting someone in. especially when that someone is of romantic interest. someone who he looks at and he feels his heart skip a beat, shoulders relax, expression soften. something he hasn’t felt for so long. and he wasn't even aware of it until he caught himself looking at you for longer than a second. or two. he looked at you for ten seconds. admiring you, head tilted to the right, eyes full of admiration, affection, and.. love? love? dean winchester looked at someone with love in his eyes? he was shocked himself, going into a deep rabbit hole of confusion and fear that he, for once in years, was falling in love.

but he was. as much as he wanted to fight it, wanted to deny it and push it away, it was there. even if he hated it to be true. love. it was there. every time he looked at you. of course, he cared for you. of course he cared, and got worried, when you were hurt. or upset. or something happened. it didn't mean anything that he always felt inclined to help you. to grab anything that was out of your reach, to make sure you came out of fights unscathed, or without any major injuries. he’d hate himself if he let you get hurt.

he saw the way sam looked at him after he, too, saw dean zone out while watching you. he saw it. the way sam raised a brow, gave him the ‘what was that about?’ look after dean—may have—gone a little overboard about you not getting hurt or putting yourself into a dangerous situation. he knew sam knew. he knew that sam saw the way he looked at you with complete and utter affection. softness. care. love. that fucking word again. love. he hated that he felt this way. he couldn’t get attached to you—no, he couldn't. because he knows how it’ll end. like it always does—you’ll be targeted. you’ll be hurt. killed. taken away from him. like everyone else he's ever loved, or decided to get close to. so he always chooses to never get close—even if he wants to. especially with you.

but you’ve got him hooked, lined, and sinkered. despite all of his worries, fears, and paralysation, he was falling further and further. falling into a love with someone where there wasn’t a safety net for him to land into. there was no surface. no landing point. no stop. not even a pit stop. each and every day—without his permission—he finds himself slipping. falling at a speed faster than light and sound itself. getting sucked in by every single thing about you. your smile. your eyes. your hair. how you hold yourself. your confidence. every.single.thing. he tries, so desperately, to push you away, to keep you at arms length. not wanting you to get close to him. because he’ll be responsible if something happens to you. for if you get hurt. physically, emotionally, and mentally. every single way. he could scar you. lash out and hurt you. make you never want to get close to him ever again. he could lose you. you. and he won’t be able to save you, won’t be able to keep you safe, won’t be able to make sure nothing ever hurts you. and he hates it. it’s so unfair—and he’s the first man to ever know about unfairness. it’s his life. every thing in it.

he’s unfair. cursed.

he sits at the the table inside the bunker’s library, scrolling aimlessly on his laptop, searching for some sort of crisis which has happened so he and sam could potentially have a case on their hands. it’s been quite quiet lately within the supernatural world, so he doubts there’ll be anything. just as he’s roaming through the different websites and news outlets for anything, he hears footsteps. not heavy ones like sam’s, or ones that sound like cass’, no. they’re softer, more quiet, calculated. they’re your footsteps. he can tell. and as soon as he knows that you’re walking towards the library, his heart quickens without his permission, breath hitching slightly, and his mind races with what to say if you talk to him.

a small smile graces your lips as you catch sight of dean. “whatcha doing?” you ask, head tilting to the right ever so slightly as you continue to walk, walking closer to him before you’re sitting down across from him at the table. shit. you’re sitting down too? his mind races, clearing his throat slightly to make sure his voice sounds as normal as he can make it. “just.. looking for a sign of any cases.” dean responds, voice even and sounding as it always does, but perhaps it’s a little softer? hopefully you don’t catch onto it. but what is he thinking? of course you’ll be able to hear it. damnit.

“find anything?” you ask simply. and god it’s such a simple question, but for him? everything you say is more than simple. everything to him is a gateway for his brain to ramble with thoughts, for his body to fill with different feelings and emotions, for his heart to quicken, and for his eyes to glisten with admiration whenever he looks at you. fuck. fuckfuckfuckfuck. he gulps slightly, managing a small, rugged nod. “yeah—yeah.” it’s a complete lie, and when he catches that, he’s quick to backtrack. “no. no. actually. no. i didn’t. nothing out there, apparently.” he so badly wants to look at you, so badly wants to admire you, see the way your eyes are on him, see the way you’re looking at him. not sam. not some random person. him. but he doesn’t. he can’t. not with how he’s acting. not with how his heart is pounding and rushing blood quickly throughout his veins.

he doesn’t see it, but he swears he feels the way your eyebrow raises at his response, at how quick he had spoken. he swears he can feel the way you’re letting your gaze flick over him, skeptical on what is going on with him, because he knows he is acting odd. acting differently to his usual self. get it together, dean. “..right.” you finally say, voice laced with skepticism and confusion, maybe even a hint of amusement. “and.. everything’s alright?” you ask, head tilting to the right slightly as your gaze remains on him.

his heart skips another beat—which is like the fourth time in the few minutes you’ve been sitting there with him. he takes a beat of a moment before nodding slightly, clearing his throat once again and offering you his, watered down version of, signature smirk once he’s—finally—glanced up from the laptop screen and met your eyes. “perfectly fine, sweetheart.” he manages, ignoring the way his heart drops to his stomach when his eyes meet yours.

you let out a quiet huff of amusement, nodding slightly as the corners of your lips twitch up into a small smile. you don’t push it, even if you can feel that there’s something off with him. “alright.” you hum and slowly get up from the wooden seat you have been sitting at, tapping the table with your fingertips before walking away and out of the library.

and once you’re gone, it feels as though a weight has been lifted off of his chest, finally allowing for a normal amount of air to enter his lungs. finally allowing for his heart to slow down and go back to normal. finally allowing him to breathe. finally allowing for his brain to quiet, but not as much, because he can still smell the lingering scent of your perfume. the lingering presence. your voice echoing inside his mind. fucking hell.

as you’re sat in the backseat of baby, talking with sam, dean is sat in the driver’s seat—driving, of course—but his mind is elsewhere. focusing on how your voice sounds. how he can smell your perfume. how he can hear the soft riffling of book pages from the book sat on your lap, which he found that you fiddle with mindlessly whenever you’re not reading it. in all honesty, the sound of sam’s voice is just a background sound in his mind, muffled and deafened by the workings of his mind, so he can completely focus on yours and yours alone. even if he doesn’t mean to. even if he doesn’t want to.

he can feel you lean forwards, leaning into the front of the car’s space, arm reaching over in sam’s direction, trying to grab ahold of the bag which sits in his lap. keep it together. together, dean. keep.it.together. he forces his eyes to not stray from in front of him, from off the road before them. he hears the rustling of the paper takeout bag, hears you protest against sam’s disapproval of trying to grab the bag, hearing the quiet laughs which come from you. he then hears the sound of victory you make when you’re successful in grabbing the bag, laughing at sam and beginning to eat the fries which are inside. much to sam’s (faux) annoyance. on the road. keep your eyes on the road.

eventually, the impala comes to a stop outside of the outer entrance of the bunker. sam moves, opening his door and getting out, the door shutting shortly after. along with your own door. dean is quick to get out, watching sam walk down the steps and to the door, and he stops you before you can. “wait—” he manages to get out, gently grabbing your wrist, causing you to turn and look at him. calm and collected, dean. ease it out.

you quickly glance down to his hand wrapped around your wrist, but you quickly avert your gaze back up to his eyes. you tilt your head, raising a singular brow at him. “mm?” you hum out, looking at him confused and expectantly.

he takes a shaky inhale, glancing away for a moment. don’t be an idiot. god, don’t do this. just.. “i—fuck.” he mumbles, running a hand through his hair before letting it fall back down to his side. this is such a bad idea. push her away, go inside. don’t do this. he can’t bring himself to meet your eyes, afraid of what your expression will be like, even if it’ll be the softest expression ever. he can’t bring himself to do it. he can’t look at you. it’ll just make everything harder. make speaking harder. make his heart beat quicker. make his mind ramble on quicker. “i just—i—” he’s never felt like this. well, sure, he’s felt his heart be like this before, and his head, and the blood rushing through his veins, and the hardness of breathing. yes, of course he’s felt like this. but this is more than he’s felt. more than he’s ever felt with his not so little crush on you. he doesn’t even think he can call it a crush. it’s like an obsession. a need. a longing. he yearns for you.

what makes it worse is that you don’t speak. you haven’t said anything. it’s as if you’re trying to let him take his time, let him do all the speaking. he doesn’t know if he hates that or if he’s grateful for it. he’s on a line of confusion. at a stop in the road, and he can only go one of two ways. tell you how he feels, tell you the truth. risk getting closer to you. risk being with you. or he can lie, say something about something random. ignore his feelings. risk not being with you. risk never being able to touch you. risk never being able to feel your love, feel your softness. feel your lips against his.

“i need you with me.” he manages to blurt out, words quick but sincere. and it’s easy for you to see that he is being sincere, you can see it in his averted gaze, on his face, in his tone of voice. your expression softens, though your confusion doesn’t disappear exactly. “i’ve—i’ve been—” he stumbles over his words, unable to figure out how he’s supposed to tell you how exactly he feels. he’s never been a sharer, never been one to be vulnerable, never been one to tell a woman that he wants to be with her. that he needs her to be with him. “i can’t let you go. i—i can’t—you feel good with me. i feel good around you. i’ve tried to ignore it. tried to ignore how i felt. but fuck. you’ve got me feeling things i have never felt. you’ve got me thinking things i’ve never thought about. and i’m terrified. i’m scared of what i feel. of what i want to do. of what i want between us.”

he knows he’s oversharing, but he’s started and now he can’t stop. everything he has been keeping inside, locked and shoved away, never allowing to escape the depths of his mind. it’s all coming out, all at once. and he can’t stop.

“i’ve tried to avoid it. tried to convince myself that it’s all in my head, and i feel as though it is. i—” he cuts himself off, exhaling quietly. “i don’t know how to do this. all i know is that i want to do this. i want to be with you.”

after a few moments of silence between you and him, after you’ve stayed silent for some time, he finally dares to let his eyes drift over to you. finally allowing for his eyes to meet yours. to see the expression on your face. to see the way you’re looking at him.

he sees your lips part, and both relief and dread wash over him. he’s scared. what if you don’t feel the same way? what if he has just blurted out all of his feelings, all for you to say you don’t think that about him? what if you don’t want him back? his fear, heavy and poisonous, fills his veins. freezing his blood, making his heart stop.

“it’s not in your head.” you say. words and voice soft. truthful. sincere. not at all a lie, nor a cruel joke you’re wanting to play on him. but he has second guesses. concerns. doubts. and you see that, feel it rolling off of him in large waves. “it’s real, dean.” you add on, in hopes to reassure him. in hopes that he relaxes and trusts you. “i feel the same way. i’ve felt scared too. worried that this won’t go well if i let it happen. worried that i’ll tell you too late and you’ll have moved on from me.” your words are so impactful. to him, they’re more than a simple confession. it’s an arrow into his heart, allowing for the fear which froze over him to break and thaw. letting his heart beat, blood rush through his veins.

he finds himself stepping closer to you, his hand which he forced to stay by his side finally moving. finally drifting up and pressing against the soft, warm skin of your cheek. he lets himself feel. for the first time for years. he just takes you in. takes in the feeling of your skin beneath his. takes in the warmth and comfort which washes over him. takes in how much he truly feels for you.

“never let me run away.” he all but whispers. voice soft within the silence of the night, mixing in with the soft breeze which is felt against skin, brushing through hair. “i won’t.” you whisper back, giving him a wave of hope to wash over. a small smile now tugging at his lips.

his lips then meet yours. soft, warm, safe. beginning to feel the same thing he’s been dreaming of ever since he started falling down the abyss of love. he doesn’t ever want that safety net to come. he wants to let himself fall so far down the way that he can’t get back out. that he can’t let himself push you away and run.

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