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bethanysnow · 11 months ago

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So me and @lonelystczennie have been working on a project for a while now that is both of our babies. Around the time the Korea Elle shoot happened for Hyunjin, we both showed interest in this concept. I wouldn't have been able to write this without @lonelystczennie she is one of the best writers I have seen and I love her dearly. Everyone should follow her BTS account @7ndipity

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★Yandere!Hyunjin x Fem! Reader.★

---slow burn, obsession, College AU!, pinning, eventual stalker, Fluff/eventual smut????/there is a sprinkle of angst. ---

3.3k wrds. CHAPTER ONE

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Y/n sat in a chair in the theatre hall of SNU between classes. The room was large, and the red plush seats were a sight to behold at least in comparison to the underfunded American theatre she was accustomed to. They had just finished Romeo and Juliet for the fall and far on a facade balcony was where their Juliet stood and uttered the famous line “where for art thou Romeo-” Of course in Y/ns opinion she could have done it better.

That was the problem with the South Korean society, or more so any society as far as she was concerned. It was about who looked the part, not that they did it well.

Getting up on stage Y/n started to gather. A music stand, a chair, a folder of monologues she had put together. Holding her imaginary audience captive she readied herself…

“To be, or not to be, that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles

And by opposing end them. To die—to sleep,”

It was here in this soft moment that Y/n could be herself, be loud, be obnoxious, be in her own little corner of the world where no one would see. She meandered around the stage, using its size to her advantage. Her mind cast back to the years at theatre camps, high school productions, anything to get her hands on stage…where she could be anyone she wanted to be. At least in theory.

“-No more; and by a sleep to say we end the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks

That flesh is heir to: 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;

To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there's the rub: For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,”

While she wasn’t insane, she knew where she stood in the world. She knew what people thought when they looked at her. It was hard to miss, but somewhere in the mean girls brimstone there were glimmers. Glimmers of what might be, what could be..what should be.

“Must give us pause—there's the respect that makes calamity of so long life. For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, Th'oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of dispriz'd love, the law's delay, The insolence of office, and the spurns that patient merit of th'unworthy takes,

When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death, The undiscovere'd country, from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will, And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of?

Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all, And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, And enterprises of great pith and moment

With this regard their currents turn awry and lose the name of action.”

The crowd was silent, jaws agape at the performance that befell them. Until it was a trickled down noise, starting as a low hum, but grew to a roar of applause, A tony! One shouted, Encore!! Brava Brava!! Another yelled from their seats. In the space between classes Y/n got to hold onto her dreams.

Silly Y/n, dreaming big dreams…

The door to the theatre opened and like a lightbulb flickering out. Y/n turned finding the head director of the art department walking in.

“Ah! Y/n, you here to pick up some costumes?”

“Oh uh- yea! Just making sure folks didn’t just leave them behind after last show…” Quickly taking the music stand to the side of the stage, it was in reality where Y/n had to stand her ground. So, she batted the stars away and swallowed the butterflies, getting off the stage to grab her bag. Maybe this year’s Musical would be more fun…

Hyunjin slowly followed Jisung across campus towards the art building, watching the dry, faded leaves skitter across the pavement ahead of them, caught in the wind, his hands stuffed in his pockets in an attempt to fight off the growing autumn chill.

Why had he agreed to this?

When he joined the drama department, he hadn’t realized just how much time and effort it actually entailed from him. He didn’t know much about how any of it worked actually, he had signed up mainly just to appease his friends and to get them to stop worrying about him so fucking much…

“I didn’t know this place was here.” He’d commented as they’d navigated their way through the crowded cafe, sitting down at one of the few available tables.

“How have you not noticed it, it’s like two blocks from our place?” Changbin asked.

“I don't know, I just haven't.” He mumbled, taking a sip of his coffee. It was surprisingly good.

“You need to get out of the house more.” Changbin commented.

He didn’t argue with his roommate, though he didn’t necessarily agree with him. Nowadays he spent most of his time holed up in his room, painting, but he was okay with that. That seemed to be the only thing that made him happy anymore, the only thing that held any real spark for him.

It was quiet for the briefest moment before Jisung suddenly piped up.

“Hey, why don’t you sign up for the theatre department? Most of the guys are already involved in some way, so it’s not like you won’t know anybody." Jisung suggested, referring to the rest of their group of friends.

“I’m not an actor.” Hyunjin said flatly.

“You look like one though, that goes a long way.” Changbin stated, swiping a cookie from Jisungs plate. “The rest, you can learn.”

“And there’s more than just acting involved.” Jisung adds. “There’s writing and production, wardrobe and set dressing, music-”

“You could paint sets!” Changbin offered, earning a side-long glare from Jisung.

“We just finished the Shakespeare production too, so it’d be a good time to join before we start planning for the spring show,” Jisung added.

“Why do I feel like you rehearsed this?” Hyunjin asked. They glanced between each other guiltily.

He knew what they were doing, they just wanted to get him out of his room, out of his apartment, out of the headspace that he’d been living in these past few months. They’d tried a few similar tactics in the past, and while he appreciated the gesture, he really didn’t see much point to it. He didn’t see much point to anything anymore if he was being honest. Still, he knew they wouldn’t relent until he agreed to something.

“I’ll think about it.” He offered, satisfying them for the moment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now, as he trailed behind his friend, he felt a weak flutter in his chest. Anxiety? Probably, but there was also something else, something faint, more pleasant. Excited? He hadn’t felt excited by much since-

No, no. We’re not thinking about that anymore.

He shook his head, quickly following Jisung through the door of the auditorium. Maybe they were right, maybe a change of scenery would be good…

The auditorium was abuzz at SNU. That winter was to be the planning and prep phase for the spring musical, and every theatre geek on campus was somewhere in that room trying to live out their slice of life anime dreams.

Y/n was in the back of the theatre typing on her laptop, busy working herself away already for what she had planned this quarter. Her theatre friends, Chan, Seungmin, Felix, Han, Jeongin, Changbin, and Minho all tended to arrive late. Leaving her to babysit the freshmen if the art director wasn’t in.

This year as part of his senior project Seungmin was going to direct and produce the Musical with the help of his friends. She was glad to be part of it; just didn’t think being late necessarily set a good example for everyone that was new.

The doors to the side stage opened and sauntering in was her band of misfits. Or at least that's what the group chat was called.

With a…new person in tow. His shoulders risen to his ears and yet his gate was sluggish. Shuffling and looking at the ground. Y/n found herself walking down the aisle to the white fold out table with stuff for the crew putting her bag down.

“So glad you cared to join us- oh great leaders~” She bowed dramatically to Seungmin and Chan. She laughed and rolled her eyes at Seungmin flipping her off.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s just get on with this.” He said, trailing after her down the aisle.

The light peal of laughter drew Hyunjin’s attention, his eyes flicking up from the floor, quickly scanning the group until he found its owner. She was turned partially away from him, but he could still make out part of her features. Round apple cheeks, bright eyes that disappeared into half crescents as she smiled, her whole body moving as she spoke animatedly with Seungmin about something. He didn’t realize he had frozen, staring at her, until she looked up and met his gaze.

“Um, hi?” She offered, looking at him curiously.

“Oh, Y/n, this is our friend, Hyunjin. He just joined the group. Hyunjin, this is Y/n. She’s in charge of keeping us from accidentally setting the building on fire.” Han said, gesturing between the two of them before quickly snagging the chair closest to Minho’s, as per usual.

“Don’t pin that kind of responsibility on me!” She shot back before offering a warm smile to Hyunjin. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you.” He said quietly, finding himself unable to look away from her.

“Alright, should we get started?” She nodded slightly before turning back to the rest of the group.

After rousing games of zip, zap, zop, freeze and change, and traditional ice breakers for the lonely extrovert, Y/n found herself sitting in the audience scrolling her phone while the rest of the crew bickered over what to do in earnest. Her eyes drifted to the new boy.

…Hyunjin?

His face was a lack luster pale like he hadn’t seen the sun in over two weeks. But his eyes were an abyss. No real emotion, seemed to be dragged here by their friends. Which- was how they got her to come in the first place; now it's their 3rd show season all together. His clothes hung on his body like a wire frame in a department store. Out of place, but far more expensive than the financial aid in her bank account could dream of. Catching his eyes, her own fell back to the screen in her hand. Maybe her cheeks were red from the smut she was reading earlier, or just being stared down by a dark prince type.

Y/n had gotten used to living in and around very attractive people. It was the land of the Idol.

There were enough plastic surgeons to go toe to toe with the number of Walmart’s back home. Everyone had someone they wanted to be, to look like, to sound like, to replace.

There just was no one like Hyunjin…He was who boys put up on their wall as inspiration, and girls put on their wall to admire. She dreaded to think what came to mind when she was caught looking.

~~~~~

“Beautiful, ethereal, the human incarnation of a Renaissance Goddess.” Every word or phrase that came to mind didn’t seem to do justice to the woman sitting just a few seats away from Hyunjin. ‘Y/n.’ Her name danced around the inside of his head like a lyric from a forgotten song, foreign and yet somehow familiar. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying several times to redirect his attention towards his friends, who were clearly in the middle of some heated argument, Jisungs voice echoing loudly through the hall in frustration, but each time, he found himself drawn back to her.

He couldn’t understand it, every little thing she did seemed to hypnotize him. The way her fingers danced lightly across the screen of her phone, brow creased in concentration as she read, sending occasional curious glances in his direction, sending a small jolt of electricity through his system every time her eyes locked with his, even for the briefest moment.

His heart thundered in his chest; mouth dry as his mind raced to figure out what he should do. Should he try to strike up another conversation with her? What would he even say? Every time she glanced in his direction, his mind went completely blank. Maybe it would be better for him to keep his distance? He didn’t know how long he sat there like that, observing her from afar, before Chan suddenly spoke up.

“Y/n, I need another adult!”

She jumped slightly at the sudden use of her name, making the glasses she was wearing slip a little further down her nose. Cute. He bit back a grin, watching as his friend approached her.

“Can you please explain to them why Dracula is a severely overdone production right now and how-”

“Actually I really like Dracula,” She interjected, stopping Chan in his tracks. “I think it’d be a great idea for the spring production. “What do you think, Hyunjin?” He froze as she suddenly glanced over at him.

“I-” He stuttered, his stomach doing somersaults at the way his name sounded slipping from her lips. “I think it would be good.” He managed to agree, causing her face to light up in a triumphant grin as she turned back to Chan.

“See? Majority vote wins.”

“What do you mean you wanna do Dracula? It’s cringey-” Chan exclaimed.

“Says the man who at my birthday went on a tirade about how aegyo is cute and it should be embraced…sir you are a master of cringe- embrace ego death it wouldn’t be that bad for you” Y/n laughed. Still, her eyes glanced at Hyunjin, hoping he didn’t mind that she brought him more into the conversation. Her hand reached up and pinched his hyungs cheek. “-plus, vampires are hot- if you don’t think you could pull off being a sexy vampire just say so”

Chan's eyes widened and he gasped in faux horror. Y/n smiled triumphantly looking to Seungmin with a raised brow, silently asking for his thoughts.

“Director!!” Han yelled clinging onto Seungmin's arm trying to force him into receiving his love and affection “Mom said it's okay! Let’s do sexy vampire show!”

“I told you to stop calling me that!” Y/n yelled back pulling Han off.

While they all ended up bickering about the ethics of sexy vampires, Changbin’s eyes found Hyunjins. Staring at Y/n as she manhandled Han to get off their mutual friend. Was…that a blush on his cheeks?

There was a light in his eyes that Changbin hadn’t seen in so long.

It was a welcome change, maybe with some encouragement, Hyunjin could find his way back to himself again. Or- that was the hope at least.

Hyunjin looked up from his middle-distance stare to see Han chasing Y/n around the stage and her dodging his antics.

“!would-” “-yoU” “QUIT-” “IT?!” She shrieked bobbing and weaving from the younger’s attempts to grapple (he would say hug) her. A small smile teased at the corner of his lips as he watched her interact with his friend, admiring the grace and agility she moved with. I wonder if she dances-

“Alright that’s enough, Han!” Chan called, finally managing to capture the hyper younger man in a tight bear hug, allowing rehearsal to get underway at last. Chan eventually catches Han, and play rehearsal could truly start.

Y/n sat in an auditorium seat in the front row, while the rest of the boys spoke to the incoming freshmen for that year. Explaining Dracula, what it entailed and if they were uncomfortable with it to go now, no hard feelings, but best for them to see just who they could work with.

~~~~

It was a rather daunting undertaking, but Y/n planned to be in charge of costumes and wardrobe for the year's productions at SNU, and hopefully for the coming seasons as well.

Not by choice of course, but rather had resigned herself to the fact that the cost of auditioning, the cost of being good, but not good enough, the cost of being ensemble as great as ensemble is, was too much. She had a skill set that was fit for behind the scenes work, might as well embrace it. The boys were getting names, contact information, and the like as Hyunjin decided to test the waters, coming over to sit near Y/n, keeping an empty seat between the two of them so as to avoid potentially making her feel crowded.

“So,” He cleared his throat awkwardly, catching her attention. “How do these things usually go?”

“Well,” She sat up a little straighter. “Once we figure out the main production team, we start working on things like set designing, auditions, wardrobes-” Hyunjin’s attention began to drift as she spoke, her hands capturing his focus with the way they moved and flitted about as she spoke, leaving him transfixed. “What department are you interested in joining?” Her question shook him out of his daze, his eyes snapping back up to meet hers.

“Uh, I don’t know yet.” He said. “What department are you working in?”

“Costumes.” She answered with a small, amused grin.

“I might try that then.” He said quickly.

She laughed, or more chuckled. Almost one could think she just cleared her throat, but the smile on her face would prevent the assumption. It was enough though. Hyunjin had fireworks in his soul blowing off and he didn’t know how to stop it. Not that he would want too of course.

“You should audition though! Everyone should give it a shot; you won’t know what you don’t try.” Y/n said in an attempt at being encouraging to the newcomer.

“Are you then? Going to Audition?”

“Nah- not this year, It’s Seungmins project, I wanna support him best I can and that is with costumes.” She smiled and leaned back in her chair.

Looking at Hyunjin Y/n couldn’t help but notice the bags under the boys eyes, the flat expression wore thin and the smile he dawned was tired. Her heart ached, but not in pity, it was in recognition. She knew what it was like for the lights to go out behind ones eyes…thats what happened when she moved to South Korea.

The main 7 that adopted her brought her back to life and now there was Hyunjin. In a similar position to where she was, and maybe with some musical theatre shenanigans he would find his way back to wherever he fell off.

“Y/N do you think you could get the phantom costumes from freshman year?!” Seungmin raised his voice above the chatter. Her head whipped to the sound of her name and rolled her eyes. “What do you think?!” She shouted back only to bow her head at Hyunjin briefly to go join his friends little circle that had been made. Leaving him, to watch her walk away.

Hyunjin watched her join their other friends with a faint pull in his chest as she went. “Y/n”, everything about her seem to draw him in, though he couldn’t quite place the reason why. Was it the bright flash in her eyes as she spoke? The warmth that colored her cheeks as she laughed? Her very being seemed to exude a warm, calming quality that he hadn’t experienced in another person before. He shook his head, looking away from the others as he tried to collect himself.

Was he seriously this infatuated with her after only a half hour?

It wasn’t impossible, he knew he tended to be rather intense when it came to these types of things, he’d been told that more than once in the past, but something about her seemed to strike a different chord within him.

thank you @lonelystczennie for being my writing partner.

Tag List: Open

@kaciidubs @itsseohannbin @ldysmfrst @frenchkisstheabyss @daydreams-after-dark

#Hyunjin x reader #yandere!Hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #stray kids #college AU #slow burn #Dracula #phantom of the opera #Hyunjin x plus size reader #Hwang hyunjin x reader #plus size reader #fat reader #chubby reader

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ceilidho · 1 year ago

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sirius c

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 7; ghoap x reader) [tags: noncon, implied cheating (in the context of Ghost's refusal to be a negotiation king lol), very nsfw] masterlist

No one tells you what to do when you finally notice the larger animal watching you from the thicket.

It's been awhile now, you suspect. So long that it's managed to follow you all the way home.

Now they insist on helping you around the shop while you try to work. Try being the operative word. It’s hard to get much done with Simon scaring off all the customers and Johnny dogging at your heels, practically glued to your hip. You briefly consider stabbing him with the snips but then think the better of it. Simon’s stare follows you too closely for you to think you’d get away with it.

Plus, after this morning—you cut that thought off at the root lest embarrassment make your eyeballs burn right out of your head. Despite the fact that he never brings it up, you can’t shake the thought that Simon knows. His face is just as expressionless with the mask off, which rests like a heavy weight on the kitchen table, imbued with a meaning too potent, too loaded, for you to fully digest or, really, understand in any concrete way.

But the glint in his flinty eyes flirts with amusement. Brushes close to it.

“What?” you snap, eggs dangling precariously from your fork.

His stare hasn’t wavered once since sitting you across from him. He doesn’t smirk nor snicker, but you can feel the laugh like a phantom limb that aches until you try to scratch it. He has a face carved from marble or granite, subject to some horrific fate. A statue pulled down from its pedestal and hauled into the river, now dragged out waterlogged and barnacle-crusted. Something terrible happened here and now something else wears its face.

His knees knock against yours under the table again, forcing one leg to spread to accommodate him. You stare at the elbow resting on your table as he chews off the end of a strip of bacon.

He doesn’t say anything, but you know he must have heard you and Johnny in the washroom earlier in the morning. Simon hadn’t even attempted to feign sleep when you’d come out flustered and turned around, stomach in knots.

You can’t even look at Johnny for help because he stands behind the two of you at the counter, no space for him at your small kitchen table. Your life isn’t built to accommodate two men of their size; it’s hardly able to hold space for just the one.

Nevertheless, they stretch it to fit their needs.

Begrudgingly, you have to admit that Simon does help you out around the flower shop. He fixes the door to the supply closet that always jams, hoses down the sidewalk in front of the store where someone vomited near the entryway the night before, and even gives you a couple hours alone to yourself when he drags Johnny with him to do the bouquet deliveries.

They come back with coffee in takeaway cups and pastries in a waxy bag and you nearly moan when you notice the label on the cup. Coffee from the good coffee shop across town. You actually moan when you sink your teeth into an almond croissant and then blink your eyes open wide when you hear Johnny groan in response.

You steel yourself to keep your knees from knocking together.

It’s been a week since you saw him last. Hard to believe. You’ve been distant, rightfully so, contemplating the state of your relationship and coaxing yourself to the brink of texting him that it’s over, only to give up at the last possible minute. The tides receding again.

You don’t think about how much you missed him.

Since this morning, you’ve been on edge. Half tempted to corral Johnny into your apartment upstairs for some alone time. You don’t think Simon would allow that though, whether out of some sadistic glee in seeing you squirm or out of jealousy. It doesn’t seem unlikely. He acts like Johnny is his to do with what he pleases, and Johnny beams up at him like the sun and lets him.

You hadn’t realized there had been a third person in your relationship. Now it feels like his presence has always been felt. You can’t imagine Johnny without the half-shadow cast over his face.

All day, you wait for Johnny to break. Part of you hopes that it’ll be sooner rather than later. Unless he’s been entertaining someone on the side—and, for reasons unbeknownst to you, you discount that thought the second it comes to you, sure that you’d know if there was another woman—it’s likely that he hasn’t fucked in a week. He acts like it too, hovering close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his body. Every accidental step back comes with a chance of landing straight into his arms.

When you touch his arm gently to ask him to help you move a heavy flower pot, he looks down at you with irises gone black, ready to fuck on a dime. It’s not the right place or time, and you’re still tremendously pissed at him for letting his superior grope you in front of their whole platoon or whatever, but you’ve also gone a week without his dick, and you’re starting to think that your pride shouldn’t get in the way of good dick.

But then he looks over at the hulking figure haunting the doorway and draws back. The shadow on your relationship again. The tension breaks. Even though he postures and flexes when he helps you move the flower pot, it doesn’t come with an invitation to sneak away to your apartment upstairs. Johnny grits his teeth and holds himself back because Simon tells him to; because, in Simon’s own words, he’s a good lad.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask Simon when Johnny goes to take a leak, but he just stares at you with eyes still darkened by poorly wiped off eye black.

The oxygen is sucked out of the room when it’s just the two of you. He’s imposing from afar, accentuated by the innate knowledge—gleaned just from looking at him, nothing more than that, just the size of him in his line of work—that he’s the most dangerous thing around, but with no one else to hide behind, you can’t help but feel like a trapped animal.

“Means he knows who’s in charge,” he says.

Like that’s supposed to tell you anything.

The air still crackles with tension when Johnny comes back. He glances around almost nervously, pupils dilating.

“The two of ye finally gettin’ on?” he asks.

There’s a moment where you consider ripping the veil down and saying, no, we aren’t, Johnny. You quisling. You can see exactly how uncomfortable I am. It’s more than visible; it’s oozing from my pores. You’ve let a wild animal into my house and now it won’t leave. In fact, it’s pissing on my sheets to mark its territory. You let it in knowingly, and even though you know something’s wrong, you’re letting it get worse.

Simon’s smile is severe and whetted when he cuts off your train of thought. “Reckon we're getting on like a house on fire, eh?”

You can’t muster more than a weak smile and nod in response to that.

Around mid afternoon, a regular client calls in with a large, last minute order. You accept it because it’s nothing you don’t already have in stock, but it means you have to close the shop early to work on her order and then load up the van to drive to her place to drop the flowers off.

“I’ll come with you,” Simon grunts when you flip the sign and tell the two of them about your plans.

You freeze, a shudder rippling down your spine. “That’s not necessary—I can do it myself.”

“Don’t care.”

“I do it all the time when you’re not here!”

“It’s not up for debate,” he says, eyes going hard. Daring you to argue.

You’ve been getting the sense all day that he’s been trying to corner you, trying to get you on your own. You evade his efforts like a prey animal, but all that does is make him work harder for it.

You look to Johnny for any kind of reassurance, someone to back you up and agree that you’re more than capable since you do this all the time, but he just grins from behind the counter where he helps cut lengths of cellophane and ribbon for the bouquets. “Aye, hen, let him help. Ye cannae carry all of that yourself.”

Your brain clicks back on when you’re barrelling towards your client’s place at breakneck speed, far too fast for a residential road. It’s not you driving though. Simon has himself parked in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel and the other dangling loosely out the window. His driving makes your stomach churn, nausea brewing. You bone-knuckle the grab handle reflexively.

“Could you slow down?” you hiss out through clenched teeth.

Simon ignores you until you start to scroll through your phone to distract yourself. He transfers the hand on the wheel to jostle your knee with his free hand. “Eyes on the road.”

“I’m not even driving you,” you squawk, heart thudding in your chest when his hand doesn’t lift off your knee.

“Tell me when to turn, doll.” The pet name makes your stomach jump. When he says it, his hand tightens over your knee, thick fingers with scraped up knuckles curling around, the width of his palm wider than your kneecap and you stare down dumbly, rabbit heart careening at the same speed as the van.

You’re so dumbfounded that you nearly miss the street. He takes the turn suddenly when you mention it instead of making the sensible call to go up the next street and then come back down, and you swear and yell when he nearly takes the van onto the right two wheels.

The sweat is still dripping down the nape of your neck when he parks in front of the client’s venue.

Simon ignores any attempt of yours to help unload the van. All you can do is watch helplessly as he carries multiple arrangements into the venue at once, leaving you to handle the contract and payment collection. The situation is spiraling rapidly out of your control.

Your client, a housewife about a decade or so older than you, eyes him as he passes with two flower pots tucked under his arms.

“I didn’t know you changed staff,” she murmurs, eyes following him into the next room and lingering on the backs of his thighs when he bends down to deposit the flower pots, making the material of his pants strain tight around his glutes and hamstrings.

“I didn’t,” you protest, shaking your head. “That’s—he’s my boyfriend’s coworker. Um, his boss, I mean. I think. He’s just helping out for the day.”

“Well, I know how I’d like him to help out,” someone else giggles. One of the venue staff, judging by her uniform. Even your client titters at that.

Simon’s more approachable with the mask off, it seems. Still verging on the preternatural, but at least without the mask he seems more human. All six-foot-five-inches of him, arms and legs packed with a generous helping of muscle and fat; a square jaw must be appealing to any sex-parched person within range. It makes your jaw clench.

“Here’s your receipt,” you grit out before ripping it off the payment terminal and handing it to her. She blinks at your dour mood, unused to a less than professional version of you, but that’s what Simon’s presence does to you. Sours you right up. A lemon squeezed right into the mouth.

He’s posted by the van when you come out still scowling and itching for a row. He frowns at the look on your face. “Fix your attitude. You’ve already upset Johnny enough.”

You halt in your tracks, dumbstruck. “I’ve upset Johnny?”

“Yeah. So fix it before we get back.”

You’ve officially reached your limit. All day, you’ve been waiting to go nuclear, bad mood settling deeper and deeper into you because you’ve never been good at managing your anger. The audacity to blame you for this whole situation nearly makes you lose your head.

Simon looks almost bored when you stomp up to him and stab a finger into his chest. You pointedly do not let yourself focus on how little his chest gives beneath your finger. “All of this was your fault for sexually harassing me in the first place. I don’t even think you were ever sorry for that—this all just feels like some fucked up attempt to break me and Johnny up.”

He stares down at you. “You think I want Johnny for myself?”

Heat flares under your collar, but you push on. “I do. And you know what? You can have him. I don’t need this. Johnny clearly values your approval more than mine anyway or none of this ever would have happened once he caught you groping me in broad daylight. If you want him so bad, nothing I do is going to work, so why even bother? He’s yours. The both of you can fuck off when we get back—I’m sick of having you in my space.”

The tirade leaves you panting by the end of it, and then you look into his eyes.

You wonder if it’s a universal phenomenon to sense the moment when you’ve made a grave miscalculation. It must be. The feeling is overwhelming; for you, it throbs in your very bones.

Simon’s expression never changes, but the light behind his eyes starts to flicker in a different way, and you are suddenly conscious of him not just as a man but as a man paid to kill. A professional at that. At least a dozen bodies under his belt and likely more, and yet you stand chest to chest with him like you’re somehow tougher than that; like all those bodies mean nothing, like his knife hasn’t quenched its bloodthirst ad infinitum, like his arms haven’t felt a neck crack until it’s become a habit, an easy kill, a morning fix.

You’ve never felt more like meat than under his gaze.

“Get your ass in the van,” he commands, and you listen because your mouth has gone dry and you understand now, somewhere deep in your reptile brain, a little creature hissing at you to turn and run, that he doesn’t warn. He just does.

Humiliation festers under your skin when he buckles you in. Your mouth opens on a smart remark until you catch a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye and it’s all anger leaking tar, mafic lava dark and flowing, smooth and lobed and striated with hellfire.

You think at first that he’s just going to drive you home. Your words might have offended him, but the lack of refutation makes you think that at his core, he must agree. Simon is just another man with an unholy allegiance to ego, an ugly incarnation of desire and pride that you might have briefly mistook as a person as complex as yourself until he snuffed that inkling right out with a hand on your ass.

Then, lost in your thoughts, you miss when he pulls over and puts the van in park.

You hear the click of your seatbelt, but your head doesn’t have time to turn before Simon hauls you over the center console and into his lap, a hand already clamping over your mouth to muffle your scream.

“I’ve had enough of the fuckin’ attitude, girl,” Simon snarls into your ear, shoving his hand down the front of your pants without any preamble, the stretchy jogger fabric not putting up any resistance. “I haven’t got the patience for it. We’ll sort you out and knock these stupid notions from your skull.”

You must shriek under his palm because his fingers tighten, digits pressed into your jaw to the point of aching. It’s hard to tell under the white hot fear that washes over you, nearly blinding you.

If it bothers him to find you dry under your panties, he doesn’t say anything. Calloused fingers spread your labia wide and trace over your clit lazily, trying to coax the slick out of you. You squirm in his hold, desperate to somehow wriggle out, but Simon chooses now to give you a glimpse of his strength, holding you tight to his chest. No matter how much you squirm, there’s no way out of his hold. Shouting behind his palm doesn’t help either; Simon just curls his hand tighter over your mouth.

Horror blooms in your chest when your core starts to warm up at his touch. The first traitorous bead of wetness nearly has you apoplectic with rage. His fingers saw up and down over your slit until he thinks you’re wet enough to handle two fingers shoved knuckle deep.

“Enough of that,” Simon grunts when you yelp and knee the underside of the steering wheel in your haste to get away. “It’s just two. You’ve been fucked before; you can take it.”

Your knee aches from slamming into the steering wheel, but it’s nothing compared to the ache of his fingers stretching you open, the skin around his knuckles delicate and febrile. For all his flaws, Johnny loves getting his mouth on your pussy before trying to cram his cock in, addicted to the taste of you on his tongue when he’s got you folded in half and taking his dick like a champ. Simon seems like he wouldn’t mind railing you in the back of the van without any prep whatsoever.

“Can’t wait to break you on my cock,” he growls, his breath hot over your neck, and lust stinking up the van so bad that the air is nearly rancid with it. Sulfuric. “You think you’ve had it rough with Johnny? You don’t have a fuckin’ clue what you’re in for with me.”

His hunger is a noxious, billowing cloud. Miasma like. It threatens to smother you. His shaft is hard under your ass, evident when he thrusts his hips up. Your ensuing yip makes him grunt, gratified, like his pleasure comes part from your shock.

“I’m not explaining this shit anymore. This is the way it’s gonna be from now on—no discussion, no arguing, no nothing. It’s not up for negotiation.”

Simon’s fingers piston into you without remorse, brutal hunger foisted off on your body. You again try desperately to push away from him, almost levitating out of his arms until he forces you back down and bites down hard over your clothed shoulder. The horn stays silent when you try to honk it, mocking you somehow. You wonder if anyone would hear your muffled cries from beneath Simon’s hand if they happened to pass by, or if they’d chance a glance into the van and see the devil himself playing with your pussy in his lap and keep on walking.

Your body plays you for a fool though, sweltering under his touch. When he growls in your ear, your pussy clenches up nice and tight, and slick drips down your inner thighs.

A third finger nearly makes you choke on your gasp. You go quiet after that save for the occasional whimper, all of your energy concentrated on accommodating his fingers, each as wide as almost two of yours. A fourth almost doesn’t feel fathomable, but then he sinks it into you and every thought leaks out of your head.

“Christ, you’re a dream when you shut your mouth, aren’t you, doll?” Simon breathes, nosing the corner of your jaw. “Johnny picked a nice little cunt for himself.”

He doesn’t pick up on the irony somehow. Even shaking in his lap, your brows furrow at his words, a barb on the tip of your tongue until a glob of slick leaks from you and wrenches you back out of your head.

He clicks his tongue against his teeth all condescendingly when your breathing goes hitched and panicked, so close to coming that you feel a hairsbreadth from it. When you jump at the sound of his tongue snapping in your ear, he chuckles, the broad chest at your back shaking with his laughter.

“There we go,” Simon murmurs, rubbing a soothing hand over your belly. “Tired, eh? Just need to come and have a nap. I know Johnny left you hanging this morning. Poor girl.”

You hadn’t even noticed that he’d dropped his hand from your mouth to your stomach, but there’s nothing to do about it now. All you can do is lean back against him and stare at the fine, blond hair on his knuckles as he drags it over your belly button in slow, languid strokes.

“Oh god—” you groan when he thumbs your pearled clit and sinks his fingers in as deep as they’ll go, your hole stretched too tight.

Sweat beads on your hairline. It feels like tears might be leaking down your cheeks, but it’s hard to say. The only thing you can do is focus on not coming apart at the seams.

The air in the van is moistened by your breath, the windows almost completely fogged up. Your lower back aches from arching into his hand. When it comes out in a sob, he tells you he’ll have Johnny massage it when the two of you get home.

“It’s always gonna hurt a little with me,” Simon says, and you almost mistake it for apologetic until he pulls you into an open-mouthed kiss that makes you twist your neck and ignores the way you whimper into his mouth.

You nearly black out when he finally makes you come, your head tipping back and resting on his shoulder. You tense in his grasp and open your mouth on a soundless moan when your walls spasm around his fingers. Nothing you can do but let it happen. Like splintering down the middle. It hits you so hard that your belly cramps.

Shame hits you so much harder. A half second after, like the sky splitting open and a voice thundering down, you know what you did.

Your leg gives a feeble twitch when he pulls his fingers out, his palm soaked with your juices. You’re a limp mess of sour sweat and come in his lap, reeking of sex musk and a warm, spicy scent.

You squeal and jolt back to awareness when he pushes a finger back in, sensitive to the point of pain. “Simon, I can’t—”

“Hold still; m’not done yet,” he cuts you off, irritation layered in his voice again.

You don’t have to endure it for as long this time at least; he paws at your overworked sex and pants in your ear like a bear. Luxuriating in the soft, wet folds of your pussy. His touch isn’t clumsy, but it feels like he’s making up for lost time. It almost makes you wonder how long he’s wanting to get between your legs, but that thought evaporates when he reaches further down to press his fingers against the rim of your other hole, chuckling into your hair when you clench up.

Then, after a few minutes, he pulls his hand out of your joggers and pats your belly with his wet fingers, leaving dewy strands of your juices on your skin before helping you back into the passenger seat. You don’t even have it in you to protest when he buckles you in again. You even accept it when he leans over to plant another wet kiss on your mouth, one with too much tongue and too much teeth, come drunk and aching for any kind of affection.

“Sweet as pie, eh?” Simon rasps, eyes half-lidded and heady. Almost lovesick. “Couldn’t have asked for better.”

You stare at the side of his head as he drives the two of you back to the shop, eyes glued to his cauliflower ear. Rough son of a bitch. Brute strength hewn into his bones, covetous need in his veins.

And this is what your boyfriend thought was appropriate to bring home.

He stops one more time to feed his cock down your throat before you make it home. Your tongue curls around the mushroomed head of dick when he drags your head down, the wiry hair at his crotch tickling your nose. The scent of him here is pungent, musky. Old lichenous rocks and rust like blood on your tongue. You’re so pliable that you hardly even gag when it touches the back of your throat.

His come is still hot and tacky on your tongue when he pulls you into his lap to let you cry it out, wiping up your tears with a rough thumb. It’s a while before you manage to settle down again.

Johnny’s still beaming behind the counter when you come in, Simon at your rear to keep you from running, his hand planted firmly at the small of your back. You can barely look your boyfriend in the eye. You’re afraid he’ll see it plain as day on your face, hair mused and lips swollen from sucking his lieutenant off in the van on the drive home.

“The two of ye have a good time all by yourselves?” he asks, either deliberately ignoring the obvious or naively trusting. You don’t know which would be worse.

You can hear the dry grin in Simon’s voice. “We had a nice chat, didn’t we, doll?”

All you can muster is a weak smile and croak, “Yep. We did.”

You hold off a flinch when Simon’s hand slips down and grabs a handful of your ass.

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #ghost/soap/reader #ghoap x reader #ghost/reader #ghost x reader

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scarluna · 6 months ago

Text

Y/N, a gifted but self-conscious graphic designer, lands a job at Jeon Enterprises, a powerhouse ruled by the sharp and controlling Jeon Jungkook, whose ruthless perfectionism hides behind an enigmatic façade. Though admired and feared, Jungkook targets Y/N’s insecurities, using them as weapons against her.

Beside him stands his best friend, Min Yoongi, a sly and unpredictable force whose hot-and-cold behavior leaves Y/N questioning his motives.

Tangled in a web of cold authority, teasing games, and unspoken desire, Y/N must navigate a dangerous love triangle where ambition and emotion collide, threatening to unravel everything.

Pairing: Jungkook x Fem!Reader x Min Yoongi

Genre/Tags: plus sized reader, enemies to lovers, ceo!jungkook, graphic designer!reader, mafia!yoongi

Link to the other chapters: ACT I / ACT II / ACT III / ACT V / ACT VI / ACT VII / ACT VIII

Chapters: 4 / ?

Chapter Warnings: mature language, bullying, slow burn, enemies to lovers

A/N: Rollercoaster of sh*t.

ACT IV.

My head swam, but not from the alcohol this time. Of course, he owned the hottest spot in town. Why wouldn’t he? It was so… him. Dark, magnetic, and pulsing with an energy that felt alive.

I tilted my chin up, caught up by the warmth spreading in my chest. “You could’ve led with that, you know. Saved me the shock.” My words came out more sassy than I’d intended, but the moment they left my mouth, I realized I didn’t care.

Yoongi’s smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it sharpened. “And miss that reaction?” He shrugged. “Not a chance.”

Hoseok snorted beside me, nudging me playfully. “You’re a natural at this, Y/N. Keep him on his toes.”

I ignored Hoseok, my eyes locked on Yoongi’s. “So, what’s the deal? You walk in here like some dark prince, surveying your kingdom, and then just… what? Decide to mingle with the common folk?”

That earned me a genuine chuckle. Low and rich, it sent a ripple through me that I wasn’t prepared for. “If I didn’t know better,” he said, his tone almost teasing, “I’d think you were flirting.”

I rolled my eyes, though my cheeks burned. “I’m just calling it like I see it. Besides,” I gestured around, nearly knocking over an empty glass in the process, “you’re the one interrupting our little party.”

Yoongi leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Trust me, I’m not interrupting. I’m improving it.”

That stupid smirk again. He was too smooth for his own good.

I crossed my arms, standing my ground—or at least trying to, given my slightly unsteady balance. “Bold claim. Care to prove it?”

His gaze darkened, a spark of something unreadable flashing in his eyes. “Careful, Y/N. I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

It was a challenge, plain and simple. And I was tipsy enough, bold enough, to take the bait.

Yoongi’s gaze lingered on me for a beat longer, the smirk on his lips softening into something dangerously close to intrigue, before he straightened up. “I’ll leave you to your… festivities,” he said, his tone casual but his eyes still locked on mine. “Don’t wander too far.”

And just like that, he turned and disappeared into the crowd, his presence like a phantom that left behind a trail of chaos.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, only to be jolted by the sound of Rya scooting closer. “What the hell was that?” she squeaked, her wide eyes darting between me and the direction Yoongi had gone.

Hoseok, ever the life of the party, burst into laughter, slapping his knee as if the entire exchange had been the highlight of his night. “Oh, this is gold. Y/N, I don’t know what you’re drinking, but you need to have it every time we go out. That was legendary.”

I flushed, suddenly feeling the heat of their stares more than Yoongi’s. “What are you talking about?” I asked, trying—and failing—to sound nonchalant.

Rya gaped at me. “Are you kidding me? You were, like, full-on flirting with Min Yoongi. The Min Yoongi! Who owns this place! And he flirted back!”

“That wasn’t flirting,” I said quickly, though my voice wavered just enough to make my protest unconvincing.

“Oh, please,” Rya shot back, recovering from her shock to grin at me like she’d just uncovered a scandal. “He was looking at you like you were the only person here. And don’t think I didn’t catch that little breathy moment you had when he leaned in.”

“I did too!” Hoseok chimed in, his laughter subsiding into a knowing grin. “You might as well have swooned. It was like watching a scene from a K-drama.”

“I did not swoon!” I hissed, but my cheeks were betraying me, burning hotter by the second.

Rya leaned in, her teasing grin turning downright mischievous. “So? What’s the plan? Are you going to play coy, or are you going to see where this goes?”

“There’s no plan!” I groaned, covering my face with my hands. “It’s not like that.”

“Right,” Rya said, drawing out the word like she didn’t believe me for a second. “And that’s why you’re still blushing.”

“I’m not—”

“You are,” Hoseok and Rya said in unison, and I groaned again, this time into my hands.

Rya gave my shoulder a playful nudge. “Don’t worry, Y/N. We’ll make sure you’re ready for when Prince Yoongi decides to return for his damsel.”

“I hate you both,” I muttered, though I couldn’t stop the small laugh that bubbled up despite myself.

Hoseok raised his glass. “To Y/N, our fearless leader in the art of unexpected seduction!”

Rya clinked her glass against his with a giggle, and I shook my head, knowing there was no escaping their teasing tonight.

The night continued to spiral into a haze of drinks, laughter, and teasing. I couldn’t quite remember how many cocktails I’d had, but the warm, dizzying buzz was taking over. Hoseok kept encouraging me to try new drinks, and I, in my tipsy confidence, couldn’t say no. At some point, I realized my tolerance was slipping, and I needed a break from the noise and chatter.

“Alright, I’m calling it,” I muttered to Rya, who was currently nursing her own drink with that playful grin still plastered on her face. “I need a minute. Just a quick breather.”

“Good call,” she said, her tone teasing as always. “Let's go get some fresh air, princess.”

I took a deep breath and tried to steady myself as I pushed myself to my feet, a little unsteady but managing. The motion of the crowd around me made my head spin, and I began to make my way toward the back of the bar, where the balcony on the second floor awaited.

Rya followed without hesitation, catching up to me as I stumbled out onto the balcony, the cool night air hitting my face and doing little to clear the fog in my head. The balcony overlooked the main entrance, the buzzing energy of the bar below a stark contrast to the calmness of the night sky above.

I leaned against the railing, taking a deep breath. The city lights twinkled in the distance, and for a moment, I almost felt like I could breathe again. Rya stood beside me, lighting up a cigarette. The first drag she took made me blink in surprise. I hadn’t expected her to be a smoker.

“You smoke?” I asked, my voice a little more slurred than I’d intended.

She shrugged, the cigarette hanging between her fingers. “Only when I’m stressed or need to think. Never really felt like it until tonight.” She gave me a sidelong glance, a knowing smile pulling at her lips. “I think you might’ve had a little too much fun tonight.”

I laughed weakly. “Maybe,” I admitted, feeling the buzzing in my head intensify with each word I spoke.

We both stood there in silence for a moment, watching the cars passing by below. The cool breeze was refreshing, but my mind couldn’t seem to quiet.

Rya took another drag from her cigarette, the smoke curling into the air. I could feel her eyes on me as the silence stretched on, but I didn’t know what to say. It was strange, talking to someone who wasn’t part of the world I used to know.

I leaned my elbows on the railing, staring down at the street, my thoughts swirling. “You know, this is weird,” I started, trying to make sense of the jumble in my head. “I’ve never been good at places like this. Clubs. Bars. I don’t know… it just feels like everyone’s always so... confident.”

Rya didn’t say anything at first, just continued to smoke, as if waiting for me to go on. When I did, my words came out more in a rush, as if I couldn’t stop them.

“I used to have this group of girls I called my friends. We’d go out together, but it was never real, you know? Everyone was always smiling at each other, acting like everything was fine, but... behind the scenes, it was all about tearing each other down. I felt like I was invisible half of the time. They only kept me around to make themselves feel better because I was the fat one and they weren't. I just felt... useless.”

I sighed, feeling a bit foolish for spilling all of this out to someone I barely knew. Rya didn’t seem surprised, though. She simply leaned against the railing beside me, flicking the ashes from her cigarette.

“Sounds like they were garbage people,” she said bluntly, without a hint of hesitation.

I blinked at her. “Yeah, well… I didn't know it at the time. I just kept thinking if I stayed, they’d notice me, or that maybe I wasn’t... that bad.”

“You’re not alone in that,” Rya said quietly, her voice softer now. She paused before speaking again, looking out over the railing as if gathering her own thoughts. “I think a lot of people feel that way at some point. Like they don’t belong, or like they’re just filling space.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that. It wasn’t like I expected her to understand completely, but somehow, hearing it from her made me feel a little less crazy. A little less... alone.

“I guess that’s why tonight feels different,” I said after a pause, the words coming out softer, more vulnerable than I meant them to. “For the first time, a stranger actually... came up to me. Asked me to dance. No one’s ever done that before, not like that. I don’t know why, but... it feels like maybe I’m not invisible, you know?”

Rya’s gaze shifted to me then, her eyes softer than they’d been a moment ago. She let the silence stretch for a beat before she smiled. It wasn’t one of her teasing, playful grins. It was something more genuine.

“You’re not invisible, Y/N. Maybe it’s just taking some time for you to see it too.” She took a last drag of her cigarette, letting out a long exhale before tossing it over the side of the balcony. “But don’t let it take too long. You deserve to feel like you matter—like you’re seen.”

I felt a lump form in my throat, and for the first time in a long time, the words I’d wanted to say but never had a chance to were finally coming to the surface.

“Thanks,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “Really.”

She just nodded, her face lighting up with a kind of warmth I wasn’t used to, and I felt something shift inside me. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was something else entirely, but in that moment, with her standing beside me, the weight I’d carried for so long felt just a little bit lighter.

We stayed there for a while longer, the cool breeze calming the storm in my chest, and I let myself simply... be.

Rya and I made our way back into the club, the heat and noise almost overwhelming after the cool air outside. We weaved through the crowd until we found Hoseok sitting in the same booth we had claimed earlier. He was still chatting with Yoongi, who I now realized had been there for a while. He must have arrived earlier while we were outside, though I hadn’t noticed him.

I hadn’t expected him to be the owner of this place. Whilst tipsier earlier, I had came to that realization earlier when he visited us and it surprised me more than I wanted to admit. He didn’t look like the owner, or at least, not like any owner I’d ever imagined. There was something about his sly like fox presence that made him seem more like a mysterious figure who didn’t really want to be noticed.

As we approached, Hoseok greeted us with a bright grin. “Ah, there you are! It took you long enough!”

“We are here now,” I said, not quite ready to dive into anything more. My gaze flickered over to Yoongi, who was sitting back in his chair, relaxed but with his eyes fixed on me. I wasn’t sure if he noticed me looking, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that his presence was like a shadow hanging over everything.

“You guys good?” Rya asked, taking her seat beside Hoseok as if nothing were unusual. I stood for a moment, unsure of what to do next. My glass was almost empty, so I motioned to the bartender for another drink, trying to focus on anything but the magnetic tension I felt from Yoongi.

Rya turned her attention to Hoseok, as usual, but I could feel Yoongi’s gaze on me like a weight. I was hyperaware of every step I took, every breath I made. His presence made my pulse quicken, but I couldn’t give him the satisfaction of showing how much it affected me.

Hoseok, blissfully oblivious to the tension between me and Yoongi, kept up his cheerful banter. “I swear, every time I see you two, I get more and more worried about your liver,” he teased, nudging Rya playfully.

Rya laughed. “We’re fine, Hoseok. Don’t worry about us.”

I couldn’t stop my mind from wandering back to Yoongi, and the more I thought about him, the more the atmosphere in the club felt charged. I had come here tonight for a fun distraction, not to get wrapped up in whatever unspoken connection existed between him and me. But there it was—always lingering in the background, impossible to ignore.

“Y/N, you’re drunk,” Yoongi says, leaning back against the couch with that smug grin plastered across his face. His eyes glint with amusement, the kind that makes my already warm cheeks burn hotter.

“I am not drunk,” I declare, pointing a finger at him dramatically. Okay, so maybe my hand wobbles a little—fine, a lot—but still, I’m holding my ground. “I’m just... delightfully loose. You, on the other hand, wouldn’t know a good time if it hit you in the face.”

His smirk deepens. God, that smirk. “Delightfully loose? Is that what we’re calling this?” He gestures vaguely at me, and I glare at him—or at least I try to glare.

“Yes, and you’re lucky to be in the presence of this level of charm,” I shoot back, crossing my arms. It’s supposed to be dramatic, but I nearly knock over my drink, so the impact is somewhat lessened.

Yoongi just laughs—a rare, low chuckle that makes me want to both punch him and grin like an idiot. “You’re a mess.”

I huff, sitting up straighter. “A delightful mess. Don’t forget the important adjectives, Yoongi.”

He shakes his head, looking at me with that infuriating mix of amusement and fondness. “You’re gonna regret this tomorrow.”

I scoff, tossing my hair over my shoulder like the dramatic queen I absolutely am tonight. “Future me is tough as nails. She can handle it.”

“Uh-huh,” he murmurs, leaning closer now, his face annoyingly smug—and annoyingly close. “You’re fun when you’re drunk. Did I ever tell you that?”

“You’re always fun when you’re around me,” I retort, narrowing my eyes at him. “Which isn’t often, by the way. You’re too busy being sly as a fox.”

He raises a brow. “Sly as a fox?”

“Yes,” I say, leaning into my sass. “Like some sly fox lurking in the shadows, pretending to be all mysterious, but secretly just waiting for someone to feed your ego.”

That laugh again—soft, deep, and way too satisfying to hear. “You’ve got quite the imagination.”

“And you’ve got quite the ego,” I quip, smirking triumphantly. But before I can revel in my win, Yoongi shifts closer, the warmth of his presence suddenly tangible. My breath catches, and I hate how I feel my sass faltering under his gaze.

“You’re impossible,” he whispers, his voice quieter now, like the moment’s shifted without me realizing it.

“Impossibly charming,” I manage, my voice smaller than I’d like, my cheeks heating up even more.

From the corner of my eye, I see Rya grinning like a Cheshire cat, her phone raised. “Oh my God, you two, stay just like that.”

“What? No—Rya!” I protest, my voice going high-pitched and ridiculous, but before I can move, there’s the telltale click of her camera.

Yoongi doesn’t even flinch. In fact, he chuckles, the sound so soft and close it sends a shiver down my spine. “Let her keep it,” he says, looking at me like he’s amused by my flustered state.

“But she’s going to use it against me!” I protest, trying to reach for her phone.

“Don’t worry,” Rya says, laughing as she holds the phone out of reach. “This one’s for memory purposes. You’ll thank me later.”

“Ryaaa!” I groan, but before I can fight back properly, Yoongi’s hand gently catches my wrist.

“Seriously,” he says, his tone low, almost... fond? “Let her keep it. Might be worth remembering tonight.”

I blink, caught completely off-guard by the softness in his voice. His dark eyes meet mine, and suddenly my mind’s gone blank. All the witty comebacks I had lined up? Gone. Just like that.

“I—yeah,” I mumble, the words slipping out before I can think. “Maybe it is.”

For a moment, the world seems to shrink around us, his face close enough that I can see the faintest crinkle at the corner of his eyes.

And in the background, Rya? She’s probably grinning like an idiot because she just captured something that wasn’t meant to be caught.

I finally snapped myself out of the haze and glanced at Rya. “Let’s go dance,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

Her eyes lit up. “Now you’re speaking my language!” she said, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the dance floor. I followed her eagerly, trying to push Yoongi from my mind as we joined the crowd.

As the music thumped in my chest, the mood shifted, and I started to let go. The music was slow, sensual, and I found myself following Rya’s lead, moving with her in time with the rhythm. I wasn’t focused on anyone else in the room—just the music, just the beat, just the moment.

But then I felt it again. That familiar, heavy weight of someone’s gaze on me. I looked up and met Yoongi’s eyes across the room. He was watching us. Watching me.

My heart skipped a beat. He didn’t look away this time. His gaze was piercing, intense. And something about the way he looked at me—like he saw right through the act I was putting on—had my chest tightening. The air felt thick, charged with something unspoken, and I felt exposed, like the whole world could see my vulnerability.

Rya must have noticed my shift in energy, because she leaned closer, her lips curling into a sly smile. “You know he’s still watching, right?”

I swallowed, trying to shake off the nervous feeling rising in my chest. “I know,” I muttered, though I was anything but casual about it. Every part of me wanted to pull away, but I couldn’t stop myself from being drawn to him.

Rya gave me a knowing look. “If you keep looking at him like that, you’re gonna end up in trouble.” Her words made me feel even more exposed, but she didn’t stop grinning.

I turned my attention back to the music, trying to lose myself in the rhythm again. But as much as I tried to ignore it, I could still feel Yoongi’s gaze on me, lingering like a weight on my shoulders. The heat from his eyes made everything feel heavier, more intense. It was as if the music wasn’t enough to drown out the way he was looking at me, the magnetic pull between us too strong to ignore.

As the night wore on and the effects of the alcohol finally began to hit me full force, my limbs felt heavy, my steps wobbly. Rya and Hoseok had been keeping an eye on me, and it wasn’t long before Rya grabbed my arm with a concerned look.

“Alright, party girl,” she said, her voice firm but affectionate. “You’ve had your fun, but it’s time to call it a night.”

Hoseok appeared beside her, nodding. “Yep. Before you start serenading the entire club with your ‘delightfully loose’ energy.”

I groaned, my head lolling against Rya’s shoulder. “I was having fun,” I mumbled, but I didn’t resist as they guided me toward the exit. The cool air hit me like a wave as we stepped outside, clearing my head just enough to realize how far gone I was.

“Let’s get her home,” Rya said to Hoseok, who fished out his phone, probably to call a cab.

Before he could, however, the door behind us opened, and Yoongi stepped out into the night. His expression was unreadable as his gaze landed on us—or maybe just on me. “You leaving already?” he asked, his tone casual, but there was something in his voice that made me shiver.

Rya crossed her arms, immediately on guard. “Yeah. She’s had enough for one night.”

Yoongi’s eyes flicked to me, and I couldn’t decipher the look in them. “I’ll take you all home,” he offered, his voice calm but firm. “It’s late. Safer that way.”

Rya and Hoseok exchanged a skeptical glance. “I don’t know…” Rya started, clearly not thrilled about the idea of leaving me in his care.

Yoongi smirked slightly, his confidence frustratingly unwavering. “Relax. I’m not going to do anything. I’ll drop you both off first. She’ll be fine.”

“Will she?” Rya challenged, her sharp eyes narrowing.

“Rya,” Hoseok interrupted, putting a hand on her shoulder. “It’s late. He’s sober, and we’re all here. It’s probably better than waiting for a cab.”

Rya hesitated but finally relented with a sigh. “Fine,” she muttered, shooting Yoongi a pointed glare. “But if you try anything—”

He held up his hands in mock surrender, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “Scout’s honor.”

With some reluctance, we all piled into Yoongi’s car. Hoseok and Rya sat in the back, with me in the passenger seat, my head leaning heavily against the window as the cool glass soothed my overheated skin. The drive was quiet at first, the hum of the engine almost lulling me to sleep.

Yoongi dropped Hoseok off first, who gave him a wary but grateful nod. Then it was Rya’s turn. Before she got out, she leaned over the seat, glaring at Yoongi. “I’m trusting you with her,” she said, her tone deadly serious. “Keep your hands to yourself.”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow, amused. “You’re awfully protective.”

“She’s my best friend,” Rya shot back, her voice firm. “And I’ll hunt you down if you try anything.”

Yoongi chuckled, the sound low and infuriatingly confident. “Noted.”

Rya turned to me, squeezing my hand. “Text me when you’re home, okay?”

I nodded, too tired to do more than mumble, “I will.”

Once Rya was gone, the silence in the car felt heavier. I shifted slightly in my seat, sneaking a glance at Yoongi. He was focused on the road, his expression unreadable, but the air between us was charged, thick with unspoken tension.

“You don’t have to take me home,” I mumbled, my voice softer now. “I could’ve taken a cab.”

“I know,” he said simply, not looking at me. “But I wanted to.”

Something about his tone made my heart skip a beat. I turned my gaze back to the window, watching the city lights blur past, but I couldn’t shake the awareness of him beside me.

“You’re quiet,” he said after a moment, his voice breaking the silence.

“Just tired,” I replied, though it wasn’t the full truth. My thoughts were racing, filled with the way he looked at me earlier, the way he always seemed to carry himself with that infuriating mix of arrogance and mystery.

“You’re not as tough as you act, you know,” he said, his voice softer now, almost contemplative.

I turned to look at him, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He glanced at me, a hint of a smirk on his lips. “Just an observation.”

I huffed, crossing my arms. “You don’t know me well enough to make observations.”

“Maybe not,” he admitted, his tone annoyingly calm. “But I think I’m starting to.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and for a moment, I didn’t know how to respond. My pulse quickened, and I hated how easily he got under my skin.

When we finally pulled up in front of my apartment, he parked the car and turned to me, his gaze steady. “Go inside. Text your friend like you promised.”

I nodded, fumbling with the door handle, but before I could get out, he spoke again.

“And Y/N?”

I paused, looking back at him.

He leaned slightly closer, his voice low. “You’re fun when you’re drunk. But you’re even more fun when you’re just you.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks, and for once, I had no witty comeback. Instead, I mumbled a quick goodnight and practically bolted out of the car, my heart racing as I fumbled for my keys.

As I stepped inside my apartment, I couldn’t help but glance out the window. His car was still there, idling for a moment before finally pulling away. And even as I closed the door behind me, my mind was still spinning, the memory of his words—and that look in his eyes—seared into my thoughts.

The next morning, I felt like death warmed over. My head throbbed with a relentless rhythm, and the sunlight streaming through the curtains made my eyes squeeze shut in protest. I groaned, rolling onto my side.

“Ugh... Hades,” I mumbled, squinting toward the edge of the bed. Sure enough, my little fluff ball of a dog was perched on his usual spot near my feet, his dark eyes fixed on me, ears perked in expectation. His tiny tail wagged as soon as I stirred.

“I know, I know,” I muttered, pushing myself up with far more effort than it should’ve taken. My mouth was dry, my muscles heavy, and my thoughts even heavier. “Breakfast first. Then I can hate myself for last night.”

Hades hopped off the bed and trotted ahead of me, his soft white fur bouncing with each step. By the time I reached the kitchen, he was already circling his food bowl, giving me a look that said, Hurry up, human.

I chuckled weakly, filling his dish and setting it down. “There. Happy?” I watched as he dove in, his tail wagging like I’d just given him the world. At least one of us was having a good morning.

While Hades busied himself with his food, I stumbled into the bathroom for a much-needed shower. The hot water did its best to melt away my hangover, but the memories of last night refused to wash away so easily.

By the time I made it back to the kitchen and poured myself a cup of coffee, my nerves were already fraying. With Hades trailing close behind, I shuffled out onto the balcony, cradling my mug like it was my last lifeline.

The crisp morning air helped a little, enough to jolt me out of the lingering haze of sleep. Hades curled up near my feet, his fluffy coat glowing in the soft sunlight as he rested his head on his paws.

I leaned back in my chair, taking a slow sip of coffee. For a moment, I let the stillness of the morning lull me, the warmth of the mug grounding me. But it didn’t last long.

Like an unwelcome tide, the memories from last night started flooding back.

The club. The drinks. The banter with Yoongi. My stomach twisted as flashes of my drunken antics resurfaced—the sass, the dramatic finger-pointing, the teasing.

“What the hell was I thinking?” I muttered, covering my face with one hand. Hades perked up slightly at the sound of my voice but settled back down when he realized I wasn’t going anywhere.

The memory of Yoongi’s smirk, his low chuckle, the way he’d looked at me—all of it came rushing back, vivid and unrelenting. My cheeks burned as I remembered calling him a sly fox and declaring myself a “delightful mess.” The mortification was almost enough to make me curl up into a ball and stay there forever.

But what really made my chest tighten was the car ride home. His words, his gaze, the way he’d said, “You’re even more fun when you’re just you.”

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. Why couldn’t I just forget about it? Why did that moment, of all things, have to stick with me?

The insecurities hit like a freight train, each one louder than the last. Did I look foolish to him? Did I come off as desperate? What if I’d ruined everything—whatever this was?

Hades shifted at my feet, letting out a soft whine, and I reached down to scratch behind his ears, needing the comfort. “It’s fine,” I told him softly, more to myself than to him. “It’s not like he’s going to bring it up. Right?”

Hades yawned, clearly uninterested in my crisis, and rested his head again. I let out a shaky sigh, sipping my coffee and staring out at the city.

I had no idea how to face him again. But no matter how much I panicked, I couldn’t stop replaying his words in my head, over and over again.

“You’re even more fun when you’re just you.”

Why did that have to be the part I remembered most?

I swirled the mug absently, staring at the skyline but not really seeing it. The memory of Yoongi’s smirk lingered in my mind, sharp and clear. The way his eyes had glinted with something unreadable, something that made me feel... seen, but not in a way I could understand.

And what if it was all just a game?

My stomach twisted violently at the thought, the unease clawing its way up my throat. What if Yoongi had just been toying with me? Testing how far he could push me before I broke? It wouldn’t be the first time someone had done that, the memory of teenage taunts and cruel laughter surfacing like ghosts I thought I’d buried.

What if he wanted to see if the fat girl would fall for his charms?

I felt sick. I set the mug down with shaky hands, clutching the edge of the table as if it could anchor me. My cheeks burned, but this time it wasn’t embarrassment—it was anger. Anger at myself for letting him get to me, for letting my guard down, for letting his words and his smile burrow under my skin like they had any right to be there.

Fucking hell, Y/N. Why did you let this happen?

I buried my face in my hands, the sharp edge of panic building in my chest. What if he laughed about it later? What if this was nothing but some joke to him? A story to share with Jungkook tomorrow at work?

Oh, God.

Was he going to mock me?

I could already picture it: Yoongi leaning back in his chair, smirking as he recounted the night to Jungkook. Talking about how easy it was to get a reaction out of me, how I’d blushed, how I’d been drunk enough to practically fall into his lap.

My breathing hitched, anxiety tightening its grip on me like a vise. I pressed my hands to my face, trying to will the spiral to stop, but it didn’t. The thoughts came faster, louder, each one worse than the last.

What if tomorrow at work he made some sly comment, dropping hints that only I would catch, smirking when I squirmed under the weight of it? What if Jungkook looked at me differently, pitying me for falling for Yoongi’s charms? What if—what if—

“Stop it,” I whispered harshly to myself, my voice trembling.

But the damage was done. The doubts had sunk their claws into me, and no matter how much I tried to shove them down, they lingered, festering like an open wound.

Hades whined softly at my feet, nudging my leg with his nose. I looked down at him, my chest tightening further. His dark eyes stared up at me, his tiny head tilted, as if asking, Why are you upset?

I reached down, stroking his soft fur with trembling hands. “I’m fine,” I murmured, though the words felt like a lie.

But I wasn’t fine.

I was panicking, spiraling, drowning in a tide of insecurities that felt too heavy to swim against. And no matter how hard I tried to push the memories of last night away, they clung to me, stubborn and sharp, refusing to let me forget just how vulnerable I’d been.

And how foolish I’d been to let myself believe, even for a second, that Yoongi might have meant any of it.

The Monday morning commute was a nightmare. Traffic was a mess, and I could feel the anxiety building with each minute I was stuck in place. My stomach twisted in knots, and by the time I made it to the office, I was already on edge. The weekend had been long and uncomfortable, and I was not in the mood to face everyone—especially Yoongi.

As soon as I stepped through the door of the office, I immediately felt the weight of all those eyes. The hum of the usual office chatter felt deafening.

I kept my head down as I walked toward my desk, hoping I could just blend into the sea of busy workers. I didn’t need anyone noticing me today. I didn’t need anyone talking to me.

I quickly sank into my chair and buried myself behind my computer, praying that I could get through the day without any awkward interactions. The worst part was that I could feel it—the tension in the air, thick and unspoken. The what ifs from the weekend were still swirling in my mind, and the fear of being the subject of office gossip made it hard to focus on anything else.

Just when I thought I might finally be safe, I heard the unmistakable sound of Rya’s footsteps approaching. My heart dropped into my stomach.

“Y/N,” she said, her tone already heavy with something I didn’t want to hear. “We need to talk.”

I looked up, already feeling a rush of dread. “What’s going on?”

Rya’s eyes were filled with concern, and there was something else, too—something I couldn’t quite place. She hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “The picture of you and Yoongi… the one I took that night… it’s been uploaded to the company website.”

My blood ran cold. I could feel my face drain of color as I scrambled to process what she was saying. “What?!” I hissed, glancing around the office. Sure enough, a few people were looking in our direction, whispering to one another. I wanted to shrink into my chair, but it felt like all eyes were on me.

“What do you mean it was uploaded?” I felt the panic rising in my chest.

Rya sighed, crossing her arms. “I don’t know. It just appeared there. Some anonymous source uploaded it, and now… well, people are talking.”

I stood up so quickly that my chair nearly tipped over. My hands were shaking as I scanned the room, my eyes darting from one person to the next. I could feel the heat in my cheeks as the realization hit me: someone had posted the picture of Yoongi and me, and now it was out in the open for everyone to see.

“Did you do it?” I asked, my voice rising. Rya’s eyes widened, and she immediately shook her head.

“Y/N, no! I swear to you, I didn’t do it!” she protested. “Hoseok didn’t either. We’d never—”

I couldn’t stop the surge of frustration. I knew I wasn’t going crazy, but there was only one person who had been there with us, who could potentially have access to the photo. “Then who else was there, Rya?” I spat, my hands clenched into fists.

She blinked in surprise at the sudden heat in my voice, but I could see her starting to piece things together. “Wait… you don’t think… Yoongi, right?”

The truth hit me like a ton of bricks. It was the only explanation that made sense. He had been there, and he was the one with the power to upload it. I felt my blood boil. Of course it was him.

I stormed down the hallway, my steps growing faster as I approached the balcony. I knew exactly where to find him—Yoongi was always there, cigarette in hand, leaning against the railing, as if the world outside could fix whatever thoughts were swirling in his head. But when I threw open the door, I wasn’t prepared for what I saw.

Jungkook was standing there, his hand gripping Yoongi’s collar, his face tight with anger. My heart sank, and for a split second, I didn’t even know how to react.

“Jungkook, what the hell—” I snapped, my voice sharp with confusion and frustration.

He turned to face me, his expression a mix of upset and disbelief. "You—" he started, cutting off mid-sentence, his gaze flicking to Yoongi, still holding him by the collar. "This picture, Y/N. You don’t get it. It’s going to ruin the company’s image!"

I could feel my pulse quicken, anger boiling in my veins. I hadn’t even had a chance to process what was happening before Yoongi spoke up, his voice low and mocking, as always.

"Relax," he drawled, taking a long drag from his cigarette. “I did not upload it. Not like you had much to worry about, though. The way you looked that night... You sure your friends are as real as they seem?”

His words hit like a slap, each syllable laced with venom, and I could feel my stomach churn in disbelief. The nerve of him, mocking me like this—mocking everything I’d been through. The image, my friends, all of it.

I was so angry, I couldn’t even speak. Instead, I just stared at him, every part of me wanting to explode. How dare he act like I was the one causing problems when he was the one toying with my life?

The sting of Yoongi’s words hit harder than I ever expected. It was like a punch to the gut, and I could feel every bit of my frustration and hurt boiling over. How could he say something like that? How could he act so differently now?

It felt like all the walls I had put up around myself were crashing down. I had trusted him. I had thought maybe, just maybe, there was something real between us. But now—now he was just mocking me, belittling me, throwing all of my emotions in my face like they meant nothing.

Before I could even think, my hand was moving, slapping him across the face with all the force I could muster. His head snapped to the side, but the cold expression didn’t falter. And then, without thinking again, I shoved him hard—his cigarette flying from his hand as he stumbled back.

“Go to Hell.” I choked out, my voice trembling with rage and hurt.

Without giving him a chance to respond, I turned and stormed off the balcony, my chest tight and tears already starting to blur my vision. I couldn’t hold them back. They burned, hot and relentless, as I ran down the hall to find somewhere, anywhere, to hide.

I ended up in a bathroom, locking the door behind me. My legs gave way, and I collapsed onto the cold tiles, sobbing uncontrollably. I didn’t care anymore. Nothing mattered. My entire body shook with the weight of it—the betrayal, the pain, the confusion. Why did he have to hurt me like this? Why did he have to make me feel so small?

I spent what felt like hours on the bathroom floor, crying until my throat ached and my eyes burned. My makeup was ruined, my emotions shredded, and I couldn’t even think straight.

Eventually, after what felt like a lifetime, I managed to pull myself together enough to stand and wipe my face. I wasn’t ready to face anyone, but I knew I had to. I took a deep breath, wiped away the last of the tears, and stepped out of the bathroom.

As soon as I did, I froze. Rya was standing there, her posture tense, her eyes full of regret. My heart sank.

"Y/N, wait," she began softly, stepping closer. "I—"

“What do you want, Rya?” I cut her off, my voice hoarse from crying. I wasn’t sure I could handle another person adding to my mess right now.

“I need to explain," she said, looking like she was about to cry too. "It was me. I—I sent the picture to Hoseok, and Hoseok... he sent it to his co-worker."

I felt the room spin, the anger and confusion flooding back all at once. "You did what?" I asked, my voice trembling with disbelief.

She nodded, her eyes full of guilt. "I’m so sorry, Y/N. I didn’t think it would get out like this. It was a stupid mistake. I should’ve never sent it. Please, just... please understand. I never meant for any of this to happen."

The words didn’t feel real. I just stood there, my mind racing, my heart sinking deeper into my chest. So much had been messed up already. So much had been done, and now... now it was all just crashing down around me.

I didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to hear Rya's apologies or explanations. I couldn’t. It was too much, and right now, I just needed to be alone. The last thing I wanted was to stand there and listen to her make excuses for what she’d done. So, without another word, I turned and walked away from her, heading straight for my desk.

My steps were heavy, each one feeling like a punishment as I walked through the hallway. I didn’t care who saw me, didn’t care about the mess I was. I just wanted to go back to my desk, to find some semblance of control in the chaos.

As soon as I reached my cubicle, I collapsed into my chair, my hands gripping the edge of the desk as I tried to steady my breathing. I could feel the weight of everything pressing down on me. My heart still ached from Yoongi's words, and now, the fallout from Rya’s actions, the picture… It was all just too much.

But the relief of sitting at my desk didn’t last long.

Tina’s voice cut through the air, sharp and mocking as she approached me. "Well, well, look who’s back," she sneered. “Had a nice little breakdown, huh? That photo was a real treat. It’s almost cute how hard you tried to pretend you had it together.”

I didn’t even look up at her. I couldn’t stomach the idea of interacting with someone like her right now.

But Tina wasn’t done. She moved closer, her voice dripping with venom. "You know, Y/N," she said, her tone laced with cruelty, "I don’t know why you even bother. People like you? You’re never going to be loved. A fatty like you will always just be a joke."

The words hit me like ice water, cold and suffocating. I could feel my stomach drop, my chest tightening with the sting of her words. Every single insult she hurled felt like it was carving into my skin, one cruel word after another.

"People like me?" I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper, unable to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. "What does that even mean?"

Tina chuckled, a sound so bitter it made my skin crawl. "It means exactly what I said. You’re never going to fit in, Y/N. Not with your body, not with your face, not with any of it. No one’s going to look at you the way they look at someone who actually matters."

I felt every word sink deeper into me, like poison that was seeping into my soul. I couldn’t even breathe. The thought of her judging me, of everyone judging me, it was too much.

I felt myself shaking, not from anger, but from the hurt that felt too heavy to carry. It wasn’t just her words. It wasn’t just Tina or anyone else. It was everything—the picture, Yoongi’s mockery, Rya’s betrayal—and now this, this new low I hadn’t even anticipated.

My hands clenched into fists, but even that wasn’t enough to stop the tears from spilling over. Tina had done it—she’d finally broken me.

I was still sitting there, trying to gather myself, my hands trembling as I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand. I could feel Tina’s eyes on me, her cruel words still ringing in my head like a broken record. I was trying so hard to keep it together, to not break completely, but every attempt felt futile.

Then, suddenly, I heard it—Jungkook's voice, sharper than I’d ever heard before.

"That’s enough," he snapped, his tone unlike anything I had ever heard from him. I looked up in surprise, my mind trying to process what was happening. His eyes were fierce, his jaw clenched as he stepped between me and Tina, standing protectively in front of me.

Tina scoffed, but there was a hesitant look in her eyes, as though she hadn’t expected Jungkook to speak up like that. "What, are you going to play the hero now after you were mocking her too?" she sneered, but her words lacked conviction.

"One word," Jungkook shot back, his voice like ice. "One word and you will get dismissed effective immediately."

He stood tall, unwavering, until Tina finally huffed and walked away, clearly unwilling to challenge him further. As she turned on her heel, I could hear her mutter something under her breath, but I didn’t care. All I could focus on was Jungkook now.

He turned to me, his face softening a bit, though there was still a tightness in his expression. He knelt down in front of me, his presence oddly comforting despite everything I had been through today.

"You okay?" he asked quietly, but his concern was evident.

I shook my head, unable to find the words. There was too much going on inside my head, too much hurt and betrayal. I couldn’t trust anyone right now—not Tina, not even Rya or Yoongi. I couldn’t tell him that though. "Come to my office," he had whispered and before I could reply, my feet were dragging me there, following behind. He made sure to close the door as I sat on the soft cushioned sofa near his desk.

He didn't say anything nor pushed further. Instead, he walked to the side, pouring a glass of water and took out his handkerchief laying in one of his pockets. He returned and placed them in front of me, his movements careful, like he was trying to give me space but still offer some kind of comfort.

I glanced at the glass of water and the handkerchief. oddly enough I noticed red /JK/ initials on it. Funny.

I knew he was trying to help, but part of me didn’t know how to accept it. I didn’t know how to accept help from anyone right now. Everyone seemed so fake, so full of hidden motives, and I felt like I was surrounded by nothing but lies.

"Take it easy," Jungkook said, his voice calm and gentle. "You don’t have to stay here. If you need some time, take the day off. Go home. Just… take care of yourself, alright?"

I looked up at him, feeling a mix of emotions—gratitude, suspicion, confusion. It was hard to trust anyone at this point, especially when I had been betrayed so many times today. I didn’t know if I could leave, if I could just walk away from all of this, but… it did sound like the right thing to do.

"You don’t have to figure it out all at once.." he answered, noticing the pain in my eyes.

He took a step back, allowing me the space to make my own decision. He didn’t push, just stood there quietly, waiting for me to come to my own conclusion.

I could feel the tears starting to well up again, but I didn’t want to break down in front of him. I needed to pull myself together.

I nodded slowly, still uncertain, but willing to listen for my own sake. "Okay. I’ll go home."

I let out a shaky breath, picking up the glass of water as my hands trembled. For the first time today, I felt like maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t completely alone. But even then, there was a nagging feeling in the back of my mind, telling me to be careful.

Trusting anyone right now seemed impossible.

320 notes · View notes

iheartmira · 2 months ago

Note

Hi there! I noticed your shadow milk fics and I must say, I quite enjoy them! They show his characteristics and how downright sadistic and masochistic he can be. (When he wants to be, that is.)

But I have one request of my own for all the plus sized readers. Do you think you can do a shadow milk x plus size fem reader who had recently got her heart broken by her ex, and shadow milk uses this as an opportunity to court her in a sense? While also making sure the jerk doesn’t come back into her life again? :]

It’s okay if you don’t want to do it! :D

"his gift to you" - shadow milk cookie x reader

‪‪✧︎‬‪‪ ‪‪✧︎‬ ‪‪✧

shadow milk cookie was many things: a trickster, a villain, a nightmare draped in jester’s silk. but patient was not one of them.

and yet, for you, he waited.

he watched as you sat at the edge of the spire’s illusory balcony, shoulders slumped, eyes cast downward. the weight of heartbreak clung to you, dragging you down like shackles, and oh, how it infuriated him. why should someone as divine as you be reduced to this? over a cookie so utterly unworthy?

unacceptable.

so he made himself known.

"tsk, tsk, what a tragedy!" his voice lilted through the air, smooth as silk, curling around you like a phantom embrace. he strolled toward you, his long coattails billowing behind him, his staff tapping theatrically against the floor.

"a love story cut so cruelly short… woe! despair!" he clutched his chest dramatically, letting out a mock sigh. "why, i may just shed a tear-"

you shot him a look, unimpressed.

he smirked. ah, good. you still had some fight in you.

he seated himself beside you, but not before conjuring a velvet throne from the shadows. he had a flair for the dramatic, after all. his many eyes gleamed in the dim light as he studied you, drinking in every curve, every dip, every perfect imperfection that made you you.

"tell me, my dear," he purred, propping his chin on his hand. "what exactly did this pitiful excuse of a cookie do to you?"

you hesitated, and for a moment, he thought you wouldn’t answer. but then, in that voice he adored, soft, weary, tinged with the remnants of something fragile, you told him.

and oh. oh, how furious he was.

he didn’t show it, of course. no, he kept his smirk, his playful lilt, his air of nonchalance. but his fingers twitched, his jaw clenched, and deep within the shadows of his cascading hair, his hidden eyes burned.

"well, that simply won’t do," he tutted, shaking his head. "what a blundering fool! to let go of you? phah!" he chuckled, tapping his staff against the ground.

"no worries, doll. i'll make certain they don’t come back like a stray gnat. consider it my gift to you."

your brows furrowed. "shadow milk cookie-"

"ah, ah, ah!" he pressed a finger to your lips, grinning. "no need to thank me." he spread his arms theatrically. "and you, my sweet, deserve only the grandest of affections!"

his gaze dropped, lingering, appreciating.

"they never truly saw you, did they?" his voice dropped, losing its usual teasing lilt. it was softer now, silkier, curling around you like a whispered secret. "not the way i do."

you stiffened, but he only smiled. he leaned in, impossibly close, his many eyes gleaming with something dangerous.

"no matter," he murmured, reaching to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering for just a second too long. "you’ll see soon enough, my dear…"

his smirk stretched into something sly, knowing, utterly possessive.

"…i’m so much better at this game than they ever were."

✧︎‬‪‪ ‪‪✧︎‬ ‪‪✧

‹𝟹 ‎ ⠀⠀ˑ˚₊ ·⠀interested in requesting? check out my pinned!

#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #cookie run x reader #crk #crk x reader #shadow milk #shadow milk cookie #shadow milk crk #shadow milk x reader #shadow milk cookie x reader

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prettyshinnythings · 2 months ago

Text

The Offering. Chapter 5

Story Idea: What if Sauron had been successful? What if he'd taken all of Middle Earth and obtained everything he ever desired? What if he still desired something more?

Warnings: This chapter is 18 plus. Contains smut, language, and an arranged marriage.

Chapter is unedited!

Pairings: Sauron x Reader

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5:

I awoke in agony.

Covered in sweat and exhaustion.

My eyes opening quickly and without a moment to adjust.

A gasp falls from my lips when my eyes open as I come back to life once more. A flood of memories flickers in my mind as I come to. Images of what happened flash across my mind in quick succession, my body overstimulated with how much information that pulsates through me.

There had been an attack on my husband... The spear destined for him I had taken in his place.

'I should be dead.'

I think to myself as I recall the pain I had felt the moment the pointed end had pierced my body. I feel the phantom pain move through me right where the blade had gone through my chest. The pain worsening when I sit up from the bed I had been laying in. Absent mindedly my left hand reaches out to touch the spot on my chest, feeling the bandage that now covered where I had been struck. It is a good sized bandage, white cotton that binds my chest together. It is so tight that I feel as though the bandages alone are what are keeping me together at this very moment. I breathe in a shallow breath, unable to breathe any deeper because of the pain. I glance down at the bandage again and that is when the silver band on my ring finger catches my eye. It is a beautiful ring, silver with a red oval stone centered on the band. It is elegant and unlike anything I have ever seen before.

"I made that for you little one."

My husband's voice sounds from somewhere within the room. I had been so focused on my pain and the memories that brought me to this moment that I had not properly taken in my surroundings. Slowly, I peer up from the ring and find him standing mere feet away. He stands straight, his eyes studying me closely. I cannot read the expression on his face nor the tone of his previous words. I look at him in caution before pulling my gaze from his to the room we are currently in. Wherever we were, it was a room that I had not yet seen before this moment. I recognized the stone work of Sauron's castle and the gothic architecture of his home, but this must have been a room I had to explore in my few days as his wife. My eyes meet the firelight across the room, the fire of a forge. My husband's forge was beautiful, so beautiful that I knew it could rival that of Lord Celebrimbor's forge from the second age. I knew nothing of my husband's craft, but I could appreciate the beauty of the room. Momentarily I wondered if he had placed the bed in here to watch over me as he worked.

There is a silence that hangs between my husband and I as I dare to look upon his handsome face once more. His expression still unreadable. I open my mouth to speak, but he puts his hand up to stop me.

"If you ever think about putting yourself in my path to stop another assassination attempt on my life again I shall punish you thoroughly."

He scolds me and I cannot help the confusion that flickers across my face and the instant frustration the builds within me. Was he seriously angry with me for defending him? For risking myself to save my own husband? I see red as I look at him.

"Are you truly angry with me for saving you? I did it out of love Mairon."

The tone I use with him is foreign and I can tell by the glint in his eyes that he does not know what to make of my outburst. I was a compliant wife. A quiet wife. But at this moment I cannot understand how he could be mad wih me. For a moment he mentally debates on how he will respond to me, eyes looking me up and down. After a moment more of consideration he strides across the room, bridging the gap between the both of us. Only stopping when he has reached the side of the bed.

"I understand why you did it little dove. But do you have any idea what I would do if I ever lost you. I am a Maia, we are much harder to kill, but elves..."

He pauses looking away from me, his jaw tight and his eyes filled with devastation.

"... Elves are easier to kill and I do not want a world that does not have you in it."

My breathing hitches at his words. The frustration that had built up within me is extinguished with a few words. Instantly, I feel bad for immediately reacting with anger. I had not considered how he would feel if I died. I guess a part of me thought he would replace me with another wife. There was nothing about me that was extraordinary, but it appeared the he truly did care for me. Reading my mind, he shakes his head and sits beside me on the bed, his hands in mine.

"I more than care for you (y/n). I would do anything for you. I would set this world aflame if you asked. I would give up everything I had worked so hard to build if you asked. What we have is more than love, there is not a word the fully captures the complexities of what we have."

He finishes speaking with desperation in his eyes. A desperation for me to understand him and the way he felt. The way I knew I would feel if I ever lost him. It was the very reason I had pushed him away from the spear and took it in his place.

"I am sorry. I did not mean to worry you. I love you Mairon, I just wanted to protect you."

He gives me a smile, the lines by his eyes crinkling. He gently rubs his fingers along mine as we hold each other's hands. He leans in to kiss my forehead as his fingers toy with the ring on my finger.

"There is mithril in this ring, it is was once healed the great tree of Valinor. I made sure to infuse it with the metal I used for your band. It is what healed the last of the infection that you have been fighting. The poison on the spear blade got into your blood and clung on for dear life as you fought against it. The nurse maids used all sorts of elvish medicine to get the infection out. They got most of the infection out, but after a fortnight I knew there was only one other option I had to get the rest of it out. So I made this ring and I'll ask you not to take it off in case anything like that ever happens again. Promise me?"

I mull over his words, my brain moving a million miles a second as I realize he had said I had the infection for a fortnight. Which meant I had been out of commission for over two weeks at this point. I could not believe the time I had lost nor the bitterness that I felt deep within me. I had two weeks of my life taken from me.

"I promise."

Is all I can say as I dare to look back at him, our eyes locking together. He sees the devastation on my face and I know that he feels for me. I see his chest heave up and down as be breathes a deep sigh, pulling me in against him. Wrapping me in an embrace whilst he rests his head atop mine. He is warm and comforting and I am beyond thankful that he saved me.

"Do not fret my darling wife. The elf responsible has paid or maiming you..."

His voice is darker when he says this. It is a sharp contrast to the softness of his touch.

"... He was publically excuted for all to see. Burned like a witch at the stake. A warning to anyone who might think of harming you and I. He shall never harm you again little dove."

There's an underlying tone of madness in his voice. Something that should have concerned me, but it did not. All I could think about was how much I believed that the elf had gotten what was coming to him in the end. He attacked his king and queen so he suffered he consequences. And though a part of me mormally would have felt bad that a death of any kind had occurred, I could not bring myself to care.

If someone wanted to harm my king then they deserved to burn for it. And next time I wanted to be the one lighting the match. The thought causes my husband to chuckle darkly as he holds me tight.

"Careful darling..."

He rasps before pulling back to look at me, his lips mere inches from mine. Something about the way my dark thought excites him and I can see it in his eyes. There is a touch of darkness within me that he is fascinated by, a thread he wants to pull on so he can see me unravel.

"...Thoughs of revenge can lead to corruption."

My breathing hitches when he whispers the words. His eyes a few shades darker than they had been before. How was it that he could arouse me so thoroughly without making a move? I felt as though we were connected within our minds in a way that was stronger than it had been before I had been injured. As if my action had proven my loyalty and now he was willing to fully let me in. I cannot help but smile at the thought, my hands reaching out to touch either side of his face. Normally I let him initiate the touches we shared as if he would deny me if I did not wait for his initiation. But this time I felt braver, more comforable with the man before me. He does not pull away when I touch him, instead he leans into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed as my fingers trace along his jawline.

"My love, you corrupted me the second you fucked me with your cock."

I whisper the vulgarities in a sweet breath, my eyes fixated upon his face. I note the smirk that tugs at the corner of his lips when I say this. His sweet compliant little wife daring to utter such naughty words. I feel as hough I am seeing him for the first time, his clean shaven face is soft underneath my fingertips. I find myself inching closer until my lips are against his, slowly we kiss as if we are afraid that I might break into a thousand pieces. A gasp falls from my lips as his hands find my hips. He is gentle as he manuevers me where he wants me, my legs on either side of his hips, his covered cock directly below my covered sex. Intentionally cautious, he breaks the kiss and leans his head against mine. His breathing is uneven and hungry for more.

"We should not keep going. You are still weak from the attack. I cannot take advantage of you when you are still healing."

He sounds so sweet when he says this, his words are a clear contrast to his body. He holds me to him, his bulge straining against my sex. We both know what we want, injuries be damned.

"I want you Mairon. You are not taking advantage of me if this is what I want."

My voice maintains its whisper as we stare at each other in quiet hunger. Our breathing still uneven. I can see that he wants to protest, but I can also see how badly he wants this as much as I do.

"Please."

I ask as sweetly as I can muster, my hands moving from his face down to his chest and then lower. His eyes more intense with every movement that my hands make lower along his body. My hands stop at the top of his trousers, my fingertips tracing over the button of his pants.

"You little minx. How am I supposed to do what is right when you ask so sweetly?"

I keep my wide-eyed gaze as I undo the button. He lifts his hips when I pull the fabric of his trousers down, his cock freed from their confines. I cannot help the smile that plays on my lips when I see how hard he is. In hesitance I look up at him to make sure that it is okay for me to do what I suddenly feel compelled to do... Put his throbbing cock in my mouth. He looks at me and really thinks it over, contemplating whether he wants us to continue or if he means to shut this down before it goes any further. I can feel him in my mind as he probes around before making his decision.

He does not say a word aloud before nodding for me to continue. Maintaining eye contact I shimmy down his legs so I have better access to his cock. It is only once I am comfortable that I lean forward, tongue lightly licking up the length of his member. I am slow as my tongue toys with him, licking up and down before guiding him into my mouth. His hands move to my hair and a low groan brushes past his lips as I take him as deeply as I can. My tongue darting over his swollen tip, tasting his pre-cum as I work my mouth.

"(y/n)."

My name comes out of his mouth in a heated moan, I watch him closely as he leans his head back against the headboard of the bed. His eyes close and a look of bliss overtakes his handsome face. This was the first time I had ever been brave enough to do something like this with my husband and now that I have seen his reaction, I knew I already could not wait to do it again. He seemed competely at my mercy in this moment. Vulnerable and powerful at once. When I lick over the tip of his cock once more, his jaw clenches and his hips buck up. He thrusts himself deep into the back of my throat as I continue sucking him. A few times he thrusts himself so deeply into my mouth that I gag, but it only turns me on more. His hands move to lace themselves in my hair, gently tugging at the strands as the two of us fall into a rhythm. My mouth is all to happy to match his movements and I can feel that he's nearly ready to fall over the edge.

"I am going to cum (y/n) and I want you to swallow every last drop."

A chill moves up my spine when he speaks, his tone cold calculating. A deviation from the softness in his eyes as we stare each other down, neither of us stopping what we are doing whilst we do this. I cannot verbally response, but he can see my response in the way that I look at him. That I am hungry for whatever he wants to give me. His thrusts are deep, in my mouth. As far as I can handle, but he is cautious with me as if I will break if he moves any quicker. But I just focus on the ways my tongue can tease him, my tongue tracing over the veins in his cock as he finally spills over. His cock twitches as he coats the inside of my mouth with his spent seed. I swallow and lap every drop that twitches into my mouth until there's nothing left, only then do I release him from my mouth.

He pulls me in against him, his hands on either side of my face as he studies me. I am suddenly very tired and the energy I had seems to have been depleated. My eyes feel heavy and my mind suddenly feels as if it is world's away. He studies me closely and I know that he can see the new wave of exhuastion that has fallen over me.

"I will make sure to give you as generous of reward once you have more energy. I am not to be outdone by my sweet little dove."

I smile at his nickname for me and lean forward to lay my head on his chest. He allows me to get comforable before running his hands through my long (y/h/c) loose locks. I feel the pain in my chest that I had forgotten all about when I had been distracted moments ago. He breathes with me when he can tell that I'm feeling the pain once more, his hands continuing to stroke my hair.

"Why do you call me little dove?"

I whisper, my eyes heavy. Unable to keep them open my eyes flutter closed and I breathe him in.

"In some cultures doves mean beauty, fertility, and love. But when I was a young Maia doves were a symbol of peace. When I first saw you I felt a peace that I had never known before. You have been my peace from the moment you entered my throne room."

I cannot fight the smile that forms on my lips when he says this. And though eyes are still closed, I can imagine the look upon his face. He gives the top of my head a tender kiss before whispering;

"Now rest my love. You may ask me anything your heart desires when you awaken."

My body is too weak to fight against the sleep that overtakes me. I did not want to sleep when I have only just awoken, but I could not fight the dream like state I entered into moments after he starts to hum me a melody.

It is almost another fortnight before my husband allows me to do anything for myself. Too caught up in making sure I had regained enough strength to do simple tasks like walking from one end of the room to the other. But his tenderness did not bother me, instead it made me thankful. For my entire life I had never had anyone who took care of me like this. He made sure I ate, had enough blankets, helped me wash, and would lay in bed with me whilst he read a book aloud. He was tender and kind something I had never known before.

But tonight he finally decided that I was ready enough to take a walk around his castle with him. With one arm locked with his we walk along the outside of the castle breathing in the night air. The wind carried a smell of rain with it as it lightly breezed, blowing some of my hair out of my face. We walked amongst the stars, the moonlight bright and beautiful. He walked alongside me, his arm linked with mine whilst watching me. Fireflies dance along the trees of the forest. They dance in time with the sound of crickets chirping as if their melodies were the sweetest song. I could confess to myself that this part of Mordor was a sharp contrast to the desert along the Southern end of my husband's lands. Here, at home in the castle and within the grounds, one could forget the harsh realities of the enslaved beings my husband ruled over. But I tried not to dwell on those individuals. Instead, I focused on my husband and the way it feels to have him hold me as he guides me through the garden that nears the forest edge. Tonight I wear an emerald green dress that flows along my body, with beautiful golden leaves embrodiered along the bodice before cascading down the skirt of my dress. He eyes the way the dress is tailored to me with a satisfied smirk.

"It is good to see you outside of our make shift bed in the forge. I am sorry it took me so long to let you go out of bed. I just wanted you to be more healed before I let you out for all to see."

When he says this I catch the small group of his courtiers sitting at table in the garden indulging in some sort of sweet pastry. When we walk past them they stand and bow to their king before doing the same to me. They look scared of my husband and I cannot help but wonder why. Before his courtiers all seemed happy to be chosen as close members of his court. Now they seemed weary. I look to my husband and see the look in his eyes as he watches them bow. Seemingly assessing their form and deciding if he found it acceptable or not. He does not speak when he looks away, head held high as he guides us away from them.

"What was that about?"

I ask only when we are out of earshot of his courtiers. He peers down at me through a sideways glance, his body still tense.

"Members of my court and my guards were slain due to their regrettable oversight in keeping my kingdom safe."

My brow furrows at his words, my eyes lookin from his to our linked arms. Members of the court and guards were killed because they had, either willingly or unwillingly, allowed that elvan assalant into our home and it almost resulted in the death of their king. I could see how Sauron would want to punish anyone willing to allow such an uprising. He had to snuff out any and all fires as they appeared if he wanted to maintain his power. It is no secret that my husband did not care if he had to scorch the Earth to keep what he wanted safe. He had worked too hard to lose what he had built.

"I see. And now they are afraid of you?"

I whisper more to myself than him. The complexities of ruling a kingdom and the complicated relationships he had to maintain were not enirely lost on me. My parents had been the leaders of our small village and I knew what they had endured to maintain their own little bit of peace. I loose myself in thought for a moment. So much so that I do not pay attention to where my husband has been guiding us down the outdoor corridor, each step carrying us further and further away. It is only when I see the exterior second door to the throne room that I realize where he has taken us. Neither of us speaks when he opens the door and we tuck ourselves safely inside. The throne room is empty, illuminated only by the candle lit chandeliers. It was a massive room any time that I had been inside of it, but it seemed even more vast with only the two of us inside it.

"Why did you bring me here?"

I ask, my eyes taking in my surroundings. Nothing had changed from the masquarade that had occurred well over three weeks ago. Everything as it was, only more chaotic from the attack. Chairs were knocked over, tables, glasses, and cups strewn about like the castle had been abandoned. My eyes pause upon the floor where black soot mars the floor. The longer I look at it the more it seems to grow, whatever had happened here was horrific. Whoever had been standing here had been scorched into oblivion. I cannot help but think back to what he had said moments ago about his court and guards being slain. My mouth parts at the realization, my eyes moving from the floor to where he stands. There is no apology in his eyes and I do not desire one. He was reacting to being attacked and he had the right to respond, but I am in awe of the destruction. Weeks ago I would have mourned the loss of life that had occurred here. Elves did not enjoy loss of life, but something within me has changed. I could feel it the moment I had awoken. It was as if the poison that had tried to kill me had been successful to a point. I am not the elf I was before the attack. Now all that was left was a void. A void that only my husband seemed to fill.

"Is this where it happened?"

Breathless, I murmur the words into existence. A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips whilst we study each other. The same dark fascination with my own darkness intices his him. His strides to my side are big enough that it only takes a few steps to reach me. His taller frame stands behind me, his hands on either side of my shoulders as he admires his craftsmanship.

"Yes. After the intruder who harmed you had been safely detained I felt it necessary to teach the others a thorough lesson of what would happen to them should they be neglent again. It is safe to say that any doubters of my rule were taken care of. Or as you so wonderfully put it 'scorched'."

A chill moves up my spine when he whispers my internal observation aloud. My breathing hitches as his lips trace my ear lobe, my body instantly on edge. Why did the thought of him being angry enough to harm another on my behalf turn me on? It should not. This went against everything I had been taught to value.

"What is happening to me?"

I ask breathlessly as he chuckles darkly in my ear. His lips kiss beneath my ear, ghosting along my neck as I lean into his touch. My eyes flutter closed when I feel his teeth graze my neck. I did not know if he intended to bite me as he had the night of my attack, but if he did I would not complain. The thought amuses him as he breathes me in.

"Do you know how hard it is to survive being struck with a dark blade little one? A blade infused with a Mogul-blade. The blade had been fashioned into an arrow at some point, but the magic inside remained just as strong. When you were stabbed darkness took root within you, a poison that took weeks to cure, but even with the ring I made you on your finger the poison still managed to find a way in. Small as it may be, it is there and I can feel it within you. Calling for my own darkness as well..."

His voice drifts for a moment whilst he kisses my neck once more, tongue lightly brushing over my skin.

"... I really did try to fix it, but a wound like that never fully heals."

My body feels as though it is on fire within his arms. The hunger of my own darkness calling for his. I feel at war with myself and the notions of what has been versus what now is. I still feel twinges of myself mixed into the foreign entity residing inside of me. A part of me that had become twisted and tortured into this new version of myself.

"Do you like me better like this?"

I ask while a wave of dread overtook me momentarily. The thought my husband might only be all too happy to see this shift within me. I could feel a change in his touch as if he was no longer afraid of breaking me. I'd already proven I was stronger than he thought, what would he make of me now? My own insecurities plague my mind, but only for a moment before he pulls back. His lips leave my skin and he pulls his hands from my shoulders. In less than a second he is before me, his hands now finding my waist as he pulls me in against him.

"I love you in every way that you have been and I will love you in every way you will be."

He is sincere when he speaks the words and I know instantly that there's no falsity to be found within him. His smile is sweet even with the mischeif that is in his eyes. I look upon his face and wonder why that it was that he chose now to show me this. Why he chose now to tell me this. Why had he waited weks to inform me that the elf I had been before was different from the elf before him now. These questions bounce around in my head in rapid succession, his eyes trained on me as he listens to my thoughts.

"I told you now because you've gained more of your strength. I did not want to frighten you little one. But when I saw my courtiers in the garden I knew that I could no longer wait for an answer."

His explanation makes sense, but I wonder what all of this means moving forward.

"And my response to your parlor tricks was all you needed to know that something about me was different?"

I ask, my tone darker as I peer up at him through my lashes. He raises his brows at this statement, more the shock that his sweet little wife could ever compare his abilities to parolr tricks. No, he knew he was the most powerful being in this world and he wouldn't let me get away with saying such a thing. He would punish me for it, just like I wanted him to.

He does not speak when he pulls his lips to meet mine. I hear a faint growl in the back of his throat, gutteral and cruel. He has me up against the pillar mere feet behind where we are standing all without moving his lips from mine. He touches me like a man possessed, his fingers tugging at the fabric of my gown. I think of how he is pulling it apart and which he would stop because I liked this dress.

"Oh don't worry darling, I shall get you another one."

He rasps against my lips followed by the sharp sound of fabric being ripped from my body. I gasp at the sensation of the cold air of the throne room touching my skin. Every rip of the fabric exposing me more and more to him. My eyes flutter closed when his lips move from mine down to my throat and along the valley of my breasts. My fingers are entangled in his hair as he wages war on my flesh, marking me up with every swirl of his tongue. I am so blissfully entagled in his touches that I do not realize when I feel light stubble along my skin. My brows furrow at the sensation, my husband was normally clean shaven...

I peer down at him and gasp. His normally long blonde locks are replaced by beautiful dark brown hair that comes down past his chin. Not as long, but long enough. He senses that I have had my attention is no longer wrapped up in sinful lust. He knows that I am enraptured by his new appearence. He looks up at me, his eyes now green and the stubble on his face gives him more of a rugged look. He no longer looks like the elf form he paraded around in to mock the elves he has enslaved. No, this form is that of a man and he is hauntingly beautiful. In hesitance I reach out to touch his face, traces of his other form are hidden beneath the surface, but he looks like an entirely new person.

"Still find my skills to be parlor tricks love?"

He asks, his voice mimicking that of a Southlander. I swallow hard and stare back at him in awe.

"You're magnificent."

I whisper unable to hide the amazement I feel burning deep within me. My words cause him to chuckle, his hands reaching out to cradle my face as I cradle his. He looks smug as my eyes take in every new part of his face. The long robe he had been wearing on our walk has been replaced by clothes often associated with low men. Not that it bothered me in the slightest, this form aroused me as much as his other form.

"I can feel you (y/n). I can see your mind and I know how much seeing me like this arouses you..."

He pauses, his hands moving to rip the remaining fabric from my body. He leaves me naked before him, the fabric of my gown falling around me. I never bothered with undergarments any more. Not when I hoped he would take me whenever he saw fit. For a moment his eyes flick down to my sex, the smirk on his face growing as he lifts his hand up. His fingers lightly toy with my clit, his gaze never moving from me as he lightly strokes me. I breathe in a sharp breath when he uses his index finger to collect some of my arousal before inserting his fingers between my soaked folds. Through the new guise of his form he watches me closely and watches my every move without hesitance. Instead, he seems to look at me as though I too have taken on a new form. He pumps his finger in and out of me at such a slow pace that it is almost cruel. Fast enough to tease me but not fast enough to fully get me off.

"... Would you like me to stay in this form while I fuck you? Hmm, love?"

He whispers, his accent somehow stronger while he looms closer. Again his lips are nearly against mine and I am nearly seeing stars. The only response I can muster is a faint 'hmm' while moaning shamelessly. His finger moves a little faster while he studies me closely in quiet fascination.

"The last time I took this form I was called Halbrand. That is what I want you to call me tonight."

I nod feverishly, quick to give him anything that he requested. Whatever I needed to do to get him to do more than simply pump his finger in and out of me. He can sesne I am desperate to give him whatever answer he desires and I know that amuses him. Without warning, his lips meet mine and his scruff is rough against my skin. Rough but terribly delicious. I felt like I could cum from his kiss alone, my body doing eveything it can to fuck his finger. He does not let me get too much friction going before he pulls me from the pillar onto the ground beneath us. The cold tile firm against my back, my husband straddling me with a rougish glint in hs eyes. Somewhere in the shifting of positions he had magicked away his clothing, his naked body formed against mine like we were two piece of a puzzle. In this form he has hair on his chest, which I run my fingers through as he peers down at me.

"Halbrand please."

I whimper, his gaze darkening when I say the name. He liked the way that it sounded on my lips. He rolls his hips against me, his cock brushing along my soaked sex. The sensation is unlike anything else. In his other form his cock was impressive, but in this form his cock was thicker. He felt different against me and I wanted him inside of me.

"You like my cock in this form, wife? Hmm, I shall keep that in mind the next time I take you to bed."

There is an amusement in his voice when he says this. An amusement that does not quite match the darkness in his eyes. Without another word he uses one hand to pin both of my hands above my head and the other to hold himself up when he leans his chest to mine. He does not give me a warning when he pushes the head of his swollen tip into the enterance of my sex, but when he starts to push in I feel myself hold my breath.

How was he going to fit?

The thought flashes through my mind and earns another amused chuckle from my husband.

"Do not worry love. I will fit and then I will ruin you."

If it was a threat I could not bring myself to care. I wanted him to ruin me. To rip me apart even if he had just spent weeks putting me back together. Anything to chase this high that I was on. He slides further in, my walls accomodating to his thicker size. He is slow and cautious when he does this as if I will truly break apart. He does not stop his slow descent inside of me until he is as deep inside of me as he can go. Only then does he still his actions and wait for my body to fully adjust to his size.

"Please Halbrand. Please ruin me."

I beg when my husband looks down at me expectantly, knowing full well that all I want to do is for him to take me then and there. A genuine smile moves to his lips before he rolls his hips into mine and a new sensation flickers through me. He hits new nerves all at once with his thicker length. Nerves that he had hit before, but never like this and never at the same time. My hands instantly strain against his one hand holding me in place. I want to touch him, but realize that isn't going to be an option tonight. So instead I lay there and focus on how good he is making me feel. His slow thrusts only last as long as he feels that I need to fully warm up to his newer length. After a few moments, he starts thrusting harder. Erratic and animalistic as he lays waste to my body below him. My boobs bounce against his chest when he starts thrusting faster and his lips find mine in the candle lit throne room. I find myself kissing him back with everything I have inside of me. I feel the need to keep up with him and his hunger. I wanted him as badly as he wanted me.

"Tight little cunt. All mine, in this form and any other I shall take. You are mine and mine alone."

His words comb through my mind when he says them. The sounds of our bodies fucking filling the room around us. Skin on skin and raw desire echoing off of the walls. I moan and he groans, our bodies slowly matching eachother's paces. Halbrand might be more of a dirty fuck, but that did not mean that I would not keep up with him. And I do keep up with him, my body mirroring his. The both of us riding a high unlike any other.

We remain in this cruel race until both of us start to reach our own individual releases. He can feel it in the way that my walls clench around him. Halbrand's mouth moves from mine, his green eyes locking with mine when he starts to thrust more aggressively.

"I am going to fuck an heir into you (y/n)."

I moan at his words, a part of me hoping that he does. That this is a promise that he follows through with. I strain against his hands once again as he pushes me to new heights.

"Cum my love. Cum and I will fill you with my seed."

The aggressive thrusts deepen and I am powerless to not give him what he desires most. What I desire most... A release.

"Fuck, Halbrand."

It is the only thing I can say as my walls clench around his cock, my peek reaching at the same time he reaches his. We cum together and I feel his seed shoot deep inside of me. He keeps himself lodged deep within me and with every twitch of his cock a apart of me hopes it will take. I wanted to give my husband everything he wanted. I wanted to be the best wife and mother. I wanted to do whatever I needed to do to keep him happy.

When he pulls out of me he kisses the top of my head. Still in Halbrand's form he lays down next to me on the cool marble floor. I catch his smile before he draws me in against him. I place my hand on top of his chest, my fingers toying with the hair on his chest.

"I love you."

I whisper. The smile on his face grows, the warmth in his face infectious when he reaches out to tuck some of my hair behind my ear.

"I love you as well little dove."

We breathe together in our quiet bubble of bliss, but after a few minutes I feel my husband stiffen beside me. I look to him and wonder what could be bothering him. Reading my mind he lets me know what is the matter without me even having to utter a single word.

"There is an army of traitors gathering in the East. Elves, men, and Dwarves in the hundreds are all conspiring to destroy all that I have built. I am anticipating that it will be meaningless bloodshed. They wish to harm all that I have done to protect them."

Guilt swells deep inside of me at the thought that my husband has had to deal with all of this whilst I was injured. I think of how much he had taken care of me and wonder how much of a burden I had been when he had real pressing matters to deal with.

"Whatever they are planning we shall meet tenfold..."

I say this while thinking of the thousands in my husband's army. I knew we far outnumbered any who opposed him. And he knew it too.

"... We will destroy them all and the ones who manage to survive we need to punish. Only then will they learn to never oppose their king again."

An undetectable look flashes over his face when I say this. A look of pride overtaking his face as if he is proud of what I've said and what it means to him. He nods, lips returning to my forehead.

"Yes, we will, my queen. Yes, we will."

#annatar x reader #annatar #halbrand smut #charlie vickers #halbrand x reader #the rings of power #sauron x reader #trop #halbrand #sauron #sauron rings of power #rings of power #sauron trop #sauron x oc #sauron smut #annatar rings of power #annatar x oc

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gnohomotho · 2 months ago

Note

Hello you treasure ❤️❤️ can you pleaaasseeee write something (fluff/angst/cute) about the recruiter and a plus size reader or a reader struggling with her body? 😭 You write inner thoughts AMAZINGLY and I reeaaaaally relate this would mean so much to me thank you!!

Of course! That is such a lovely idea!

You’re Not Pretty. You’re Unreal. ❦✞

Pairing: The Salesman // The Recruiter x fem!reader Summary: As the prompt says, but I added a little backstory and a nice barman. c: You go through remembering your first encounter to the present, and oh, the salesman intends to show you exactly how beautiful you are to him. ♥ (Right after some light murder.) ˙ᵕ˙ Warnings: Look, it's a very enamoured salesman and some death. I would, in my old age, classify it as erotica but I am still far behind the best of the best. 18+ MDNI, touching, fondling, kissing, grabbing, pushing, lustful making out, implied sexual contact and oral sex, very fowl language and death. (❀´ ˘ `❀) Word count: 4.3k A/N: I have no excuse, and you'll know exactly what I mean the further you read. 𓆩♡𓆪 Gorgeous gif by @phantom-evil Taglist: @storytellers-randomshortstorys @ingstadstarlight @aashleyxjimin @aesthetic-winchesters જ⁀➴ If you like my works, I appreciate every like // reblog // follow // message; it keeps the blog going! ♥ Masterlist ฅ^._.^ฅ

You were sat at the bar, to the side of the corner, so you could watch all the newcomers. The barman knew you by now. You came here often, alone. And he was your anchor in times you both knew to be some very troubled waters.

You studied his features, as you always did. A sweet fellow with a face far harsher than his heart, and arms to match. Each inch of rough freckled skin told its own story. Sometimes, when the night was slow and you had nowhere to go, he'd tell you one.

As he washed pint glasses under the chasms of his watchful dark eyes, red hair shaved on the sides and running down the hem of his ears in neat chops, never intruding on the concentration, he gave you that small knowing smile from the corner of his chapped mouth - "you're safe, lass, don't you worry" - it seemed to say.

You always found his presence comforting. And purely platonically, the way he looked up from a pint with foam stuck in his ginger beard made you laugh.

He never minded that you always asked for the worst possible drink in a dark, smoky bar (tea with some milk - "at least it's not the yuppy shite wi' feckin' sprinkles and a brolly" was the answer to your worry the first time you inquired) and he never minded taking care of those who bothered you.

Though you were rather sure he just enjoyed beating the shit out of people with a good excuse.

Unless...

Your eyes fell a little, memories knocking on your mind's heavy door.

You wandered through your thoughts as you stirred the lightening liquid. The first time his watchful eyes saw you, you had wandered in soaked wearing a dress that barely held, gripping a packet of matches and a single card with a spade motif on it.

He had said, once, at 3 a.m. before closing between just the two of you and some very drunk patrons, that you were such a striking vision - like that of his own folklore. You hated yourself less then, knowing it was nothing but respectful, but you stuck your thighs together and covered your chest.

You hadn't eaten a thing and were still feeling like your presence spilled over.

Back then, the first time...as he was leaning in that stained white tank top tucked into a cut off leather belt, eyes almost caressing yours. That was the first time you felt genuine care for you, asking for nothing in return. He was never intruding, never tried anything.

He said you looked like you were about to announce someone's death or pull them into a river, and they would be thankful to their last breaths. But then, his smile froze a little and his eyes lost their spark. As he looked at the matches, he slid the card into his calloused hands as though it was soaked in poison, and frowned.

"Oh lassie, ye' poor wee thing. Getting yerself caught wi' someone like that."

You remember the way he shook his head, like a man watching a moth fly directly into a candle flame, unable to stop her gentle wings. Wistful and calm, because he'd watched ten moths burn already the exact same way. Even his mouth fell sadly into the ginger storm as he laid a strong scarred hand on the bar, letting his knuckles fall one by one close to your outstretched fingers.

One eye glinted as he chewed on the corner of an unlit cigarette, shifting it to the other side of his mouth. Eyeing the bar patron by patron, watching the door. But he wasn't scanning anymore, he was searching.

"If I touch yer hand, bonnie hen," he hummed to the room, "I might as well get me own epitaph signed, but it need be held tight or get a stiff drink stuffed in it."

You remember the noise as he lifted his head, and the door moved as if on cue. Perhaps a drunk who can't read. Perhaps not.

"Get out ye daft prick, didn't I tell ye already? Closing time! Jist fucking braw, this is." He lifted and flung a rag over his shoulder, straightening to his truly foreboding height to get ready to throw out whoever just tried to get in. But in the commotion, he slid you the card back and momentarily touched the tip of your finger, eyes never leaving the door. Through the gnawed cigarette his lifted mouth corner whispered to you:

"Darlin', go fix yer face to the wee ladies room. Take yer time."

You got the message. Though as you got up, you heard a whisper under his breath as he gave you his harsh but heavy coat to keep warm, eyes positively bludgeoning the door:

"Long time deid ye are, ye scunner."

❥❥❥

The dim yellow lights shone onto your wet hair. You held that one card under them, watching it glisten. Quite the commotion going on outside, you couldn't make out the shouts. Or the amount of hits. Then the voice of the barman, deep and level. Then softer. As if he were...bargaining. You wondered what for, he seemed disinterested in earthly bullshit and you didn't think him one to ask nor beg. You pushed the thought away and examined the card under the orange light.

A playing card, seven of spades. Corners worn from your pockets as you traversed the city.

You remember standing in front of the sink. Hating the reflection. Tired. Cold. You felt your body didn't belong in the clothes and each surface stung. Clung. Revealed too much.

Flesh. You could not get rid of it. It seemed to morph in front of you. Bigger, wider, then momentarily normal. Before morphing into a reflection like that of a funhouse mirror. You huddled into the coat and covered your chest, barely concealed by a soaked dress.

You were lightheaded.

You thought about being sick.

You held your stomach, your hips, your chest, and felt empty. So much flesh. So little spirit. You'd almost scoff.

When did it get so bad? When did it creep up on you, like the numbers of every gram and millilitre? When did your worth become the amount of flesh gone? Hollow cheeks a mark of repaying a never ending invisible debt to exist?

You focused on the other item before the mirror made you actually cry.

The matchbox had a little spade symbol drawn on it. You had found it on the bridge as you gazed at the river below, thinking much the same thoughts.

You took out a single match and watched it burn. Then fall. Then disappear.

Another.

Life and...nothing.

Heat and...nothing.

A fire to burn down a church and...nothing.

Lighting your eyes momentarily in the mirror before dying once more.

You knew what you were doing - and how wrong it was. You knew the trap you were walking into, the details didn't stir you.

And the bar you found after hours of searching in the rain...had an eight of spades neatly tucked into the flowerpot right outside.

He knew. You knew.

He knew you would come.

❥❥❥

Back to present.

You sat at the bar, and the barman smiled gently once more, cigarette playing in one mouth corner. Eyes growing softer as he watched you stir your drink. He slid a small shot glass your way, and you smiled wide - he knew you don't partake, he knew you had your own issues that prevented it - but he also knew some of the good highland herbs in combination with sharp liquor soothed your mind and soothed the innergoingson.

A man sat next to you, pulling up close. You feel like the both of you are too old for this shit. The barman seemed to read your thoughts.

"Wouldn't do that if I were yerself, lad."

The man didn't look away from you, you could feel him lifting each layer of cloth off you in his mind.

"Is the seat taken?" The stranger mused, giving you a little wink. He wasn't even slurring, not even a good excuse.

The barman said nothing, only eyed him through a pair of hazel coinslots.

And you, against your better judgement, downed the shot and stirred your tea. It stung your throat and laid warmth in your chest, the herbs softly tickling your lips. You saw a glad glint in the barman's face and went back to your tea, smiling in thanks.

Just as you were checking your phone to make sure your...acquaintance...was alright, you hear him lean into you.

The cheap cologne stung.

"Such a pretty girl all alone, waiting for someone?"

You lean back and send off a quick message. If looks could kill...but you gave him the benefit of the doubt.

"I don't want to be impolite, but you really should leave that seat."

You hear the barman barely contain a snicker as he pulled another beer and sent it the other way.

The man wasn't giving up. Eyes pinned to your neck, leaning closer in what he surely imagined to be subtlety. Your phone lit up and your gaze softened instantly.

Oh...you sweetheart.

Looking up, you grew cold again. The stranger lifted a hand to touch your hair and you shot away.

"Don't be like that, tell you what...if I go, will you leave with me?"

He was positively speaking to your chest, eyeing you up and down with the motion of a broken elevator. The groan from the barman wasn't lost on you, nor the subtle crack of his knuckles on the glass.

"I'd listen to the lady, if I were half as dimwitted as ye look."

You felt the calming presence return to you, now replaced with an air of something colder. Though he wasn't intervening. And you knew exactly why.

Never disturb a snake about to take its meal.

The barman leaned onto the surface of the bar with folded red-haired arms, smiling a tad too sweetly.

"Unless yer aff yer heid for a game."

❥❥❥

You went back to your tea, eyeing the little maelstrom, adjusting your dress. You really weren't feeling too good today. About yourself, about the evening, about the glint in the eye of the man you knew would come any minute.

You weren't in the mood for an argument. But you knew it had to come. He never did like the things he cherished disrespected. Even less so if they were doing the disrespecting.

The message you sent was only a heart - a black heart, meaning, thinking of you but wary.

He sent back a white one, meaning safe, all good, darling.

Like two crows, gliding on the wind. You smiled into your phone. Maybe you were just being silly. Maybe...maybe he would be kind.

Of all the times to wear a white dress, you thought as the sleazy voice disturbed you again.

"I don't mind a good game, if this is the prize," the man dragged you from fonder thoughts and touched your leg. The barman's eyebrows shot up instantly, hand gripping the glass. But he only shook his head, getting up with a sigh, eyes firmly on the door ahead.

Usually, he'd take care of the nuisance for you, but he merely chewed his cigarette and slid it to the other corner of his mouth. A puff of smoke worth a thousand words left his lips as he walked a safe distance, though you heard the mutter.

"Yer well fucked, mate."

❥❥❥

The door closed with a polite tap, no one really looked up. You didn't either, too enthralled by your tea and moving your leg away. The man returned to it from another angle, but you crossed it with the other.

So he tried to catch your wrist with the excuse of examining your life lines.

He didn't get so close as to touch a single finger before a perfectly cuffed hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.

"Do excuse me, but this seat is taken."

You didn't look up, merely smiled into your little swirls. Oh, that soft voice laced with cyanide.

"And so is the young lady."

You closed your eyes and waited for the noise that would make you wince - and you shook as you heard the snap preceding the scream.

An absolute theatrical pitious tone followed, dripping with overplayed regret and care.

"Oh, sir! What an unfortunate accident. It seems you would very much be in need of some medical attention."

The voice you knew so well but still sent ice down your spine when using this tone cooed, circling your ears.

"Let's go take care of it."

The man got up, stunned, nearly sobbing, likely in shock and you noticed the glint of something metallic digging into his back. You were wondering how he became so compliant so fast and sigh into your tea. Does he always have to be so dramatic? Yes, when it comes to you, he does.

"Now, let's get out of the nice man's hair and talk it out outside. If you have any complaints, I would be delighted to hear them."

You exhaled, watching the tall figure drag the man out half limping, holding onto his broken wrist. What a vision that figure was, an imposing presence in elegant clothing draping an arm around the stranger, with the other politely behind his back.

It only took less than a minute after the door tapped shut to hear the muffled screams and sudden shot silencing all else.

As the figure entered once more, he adjusted his tie and smiled your way, charcoal eyes fully falling into you. Nonchalantly he walked up to you, then nodded at the barman. As he sat next to you, pulling you close, you noticed a speckle of red on his round cheek. He caressed your hip, your back, and planted a soft kiss on your shoulder. His hand squeezed you and you recoiled a bit.

You narrow your eyes and gaze into his, tone growing dry:

"You didn't even let him play, did you?"

He cocked his head and blinked slowly, momentarily zoning on the place he gripped, likely taken aback by your lack of warmth.

"Some players aren't worth the ink on the cards."

He adjusts his hair but zones back at you, face so close you can tell quite well the speckle isn't alone. You lean in, nudging his forehead. You cannot stay mad at him, nor ignore how lovely you feel next to him.

"You've a little something on your face, darling."

He raises his eyebrows, strong finger lifting to caress your cheek down to your chin and softly glide to your neck. The tender light touch makes you sigh in gratitude, he could read you like a book.

And...he actually took note of each passage.

He lulled with your head and mumbled softly, closing his eyes.

"We should go somewhere more private to take care of it then. I think you deserve some cleanliness too - I loathe the feeling of my beautiful flower stained with such filth."

You giggle, entirely honestly, and cup his cheek. He smiles into it and rests his head against you.

"Git a fookin' room ye twa," you hear behind you and laugh, acknowledging the warmth in the feigned exasperation of the barman's voice.

You pull away apologetically and try to keep yourself from blushing.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just...haven't seen him in so long and I was worried."

The dark eyes from behind the bar positively spin in their sockets as both arms shoot up.

"Aboot him?! Lass, yer off yer rocker. Git out. Git out and have a lovely time far away from me bar."

He walked over to the figure that was still caressing you, half watching the movement, half engulfed in your touch and your presence. Enthralled by your features. As he always was. Like touching a gorgeous flower for the very first time.

"And ye be nice to the young lady. She could use it."

The finger brushing your jaw momentarily stops and your companion gets up, giving a small bow and a smile as he provides the barman with a little something from his wallet.

"Thank you. But I'm always nice to my young lady." He lifts an arm to you, and you take it.

"Shall we?"

You don't have to drown in those beautiful eyes to see the adoration and just a glint of something darker, far more animalistic, far more excited just behind the warmth.

❥❥❥

“What’s the matter?”

The door hadn’t even closed and he was already on you, hands laying on your waist. You didn’t answer, only pulled away from his grip as gently and elegantly as possible so as not to startle nor offend.

“Nothing, it’s nothing…”

His charcoal eyes watched you, travelling around your body, examining, looking for a single clue.

“We both know that’s a lie…” His voice was colder, but he didn’t try to return his touch. You could see his watchful eyes travel up your stomach, up your chest, to each shoulder, then the middle, up your neck.

Checking.

“Did someone hurt you?”

You scoffed.

“No. Your property is as shiny as ever.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Oh. Of course not. You looked away, arms crossed. He didn't move away.

“I could see it the moment I laid eyes on you, darling. Disconnected from the creep. I know your body, I know your language, it was positively screaming at me.”

He zoned in closer, carefully lifting a finger to your cheek again. When you didn’t pull away, he brushed it with his knuckle, humming to you.

“Still is. But you won’t let it speak.”

He turned his head to catch your gaze, but you didn’t look. You were shivering, hating yourself more as he was so kind. Surely he was pretending. Just to get what he wants.

But he didn’t stop. He laid his face to yours, cheek on cheek, as if you were to start a slow dance – and didn’t force you to look. Merely brushed his lips across your skin, letting you feel his presence, his warmth, his reassurance…asking for nothing. Oh, he knew you quite well. Quite well to pretend.

“And you know I despise lying…” he mumbled slowly, lips forming a small round shape on your cheekbone and travelling to your mouth. Softly he used his knuckle to turn your head and find your lips.

“I’m not lying…” you hush into his lips and let him plant the kiss, momentarily letting your guard down and lifting your hand up to cup his cheek. You could feel him smile again and the thoughts torturously let you have a moment before returning to you and burning you alive.

“Oh yes you are, my little dishonest girl.”

His soft lips took yours and you felt the pressure, the tenderness in the warmth and heat of his mouth, tongue gently tasting your upper, then lower lip, before pulling away. You felt a hand on your stomach and practically jumped.

“Is it…?”

“No!” You almost shouted, clearly offended, and threw your hands up stepping away. You couldn't look at him as your thoughts got the better of you.

“If that’s all I’m good for…is that what you want? I must be so stupid...so blind. I can't even look at myself, but at least I'm good enough for that?”

Your left eye was beginning to sparkle. You felt like you were being strangled, and he was offering you air you couldn’t breathe. It hurt even more than being actively deprived of it.

“Good enough to throw against a wall, not good enough to be human. Or even barely human, when it comes to you. Good enough to sleep with, not good enough to love. God knows if that were ever true. A connoisseur going for a cheap imitation with peeling paint and rusted edges, falling apart from its weight alone? God, I am so stupid. I’m sorry. I must have been more dishonest than even you could have thought.”

The tear fell and you looked away.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m sorry and I will leave now.”

He blinked, expression frozen and utterly unreadable. His body was unmoving, his hands showing not a hint of motion. You clearly said too much and the gears were turning slowly, meticulously, and you fully expected him to either walk out or forget he ever cared. Or simply nod and clear the way.

But he didn’t speak. He only slowly approached you, straightened to his full height and calculated in each step. As if you were a wounded crow about to use its last bastion of strength to peck his eyes out. Slowly an arm moved around you and pulled you close by the small of your back.

Avoiding your hips, gently laying his chest on yours, the salesman exhaled softly into your hair. Feeling no resistance from you, he used one strong palm to push your head under his chin so you could hear his heartbeat.

Rapid, fast, utterly betraying the cold stance he was projecting.

He wanted you to know.

He wanted you safe – and he wanted you to know his heart was as true as his demeanour was not.

As he caressed your head and hair, repeating a slow, gentle motion, he swayed with you almost unnoticeably. Just enough to not let you freeze, not let the paralysis in. Dancing you to the end of love, you bitterly thought. You could feel the rumble in his chest as you closed your eyes.

“That bad?”

And you knew there was a whole world of understanding in those two words alone.

You placed a single nod into his chest.

“Have I ever told you you’re the most beautiful flower I have ever laid eyes upon?”

You nodded again.

“And have I ever told you that the garden pales in comparison so much that the flower has learnt to hide her petals?”

You don’t move.

“And when she first opened up to me, like a lily to the heat, I could not believe my eyes. Nor my mind. Nor my luck.”

You gently allowed yourself to smile and swayed with him. His voice was strong, but the little hops in intonation you could feel bobbing against your head and chest gave it away.

“And there was so much briar growing around her, so many thorns and filth, strangling her tender stem…every day I vowed to pluck it. To keep it safe. But I wanted to let her grow. Now I see the briar strangled my rose and she’s barely here with me. Barely opening to me, loathing her own petals."

A little pause and...

"I’m sorry.”

He pulled your head up just a tad, just so you could meet his lips.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to tend to you.”

His expression momentarily softened, frowning a little too theatrically.

“Poor thing. You thought I’d let you go just like that?”

There he is.

He kissed your forehead.

“Just let you walk out?”

He kissed your cheeks, one by one.

“I don’t leave the game until the dealer is dead.”

Suddenly, you could feel his hands grip yours – not gripping your body but keeping you from moving an inch and holding you down. One foot slid between yours, nudging them and keeping them apart. Oh, he listened to you, heard you, understood you – and he’s still playing the game by your own terrible rules.

You didn’t know whether to laugh or give a standing ovation.

“A true gambler, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

He nudged your feet apart further and pushed his body against you, still not overstepping yet playfully towing the line like it was as thin as a spider’s web.

You could feel his excitement, you could feel his need – and you could feel his restraint, which melted you entirely.

“Let me play for you.”

His breath was faster now, hot on your ear. His whispers made you shiver in the warmest of ways as the suit brushed your skin in its closeness.

“If I make you believe what I see each time I look at you, I win a favour.”

You smiled, the hint of sadness still in the corner, but melting...melting slowly.

“Deal.”

“Are you sure?”

He purred in your ear, a hint of breathlessness to the heat, hand leaving yours to stop just before your ribs, hovering above your hips and playing with the air around.

Teasing. Smiling. Waiting.

A subtle nod that he caught sent his hand to your side, and you tried not to flinch. The strong fingers grip your flesh and you wince. His breath nearly stops as his hand fully connects with your skin.

“God, you are ethereal...I almost forgot my own rule. Every win is non-rescindable. Each part you give me is mine to do with as I please.”

He pulled you close now, and slowly began to push you, step by step, into the cold wall behind you. As he leaned you against it and bent to kiss your neck, he mumbled into your skin.

“Still want to play, little lady?”

You gasped as he bit your neck, suckling on your skin and traveling lower. Trailing your collarbones with kisses. Your chest heaved towards him, half from the cold of the wall behind you, half for reasons that don't belong in polite company.

You gasp and whimper, bestowing the air with sounds that send him straight into overdrive. His hands grip you so hard you twist, his body thrusts into yours and his lips claim every place he brushed with a fierce appetite.

One hand finds your head, your hair, and pulls – pulls hard enough to force your head to crane back and your neck to expose before him. As a single finger hooks itself in the hem of your neckline, he pulls away, breath fast, eyes wild. Beads of sweat forming on his perfect forehead.

“I’m waiting.”

“Make me feel…like what you see…? I don’t…believe that’s…possible.”

You try to sound as assertive as you can and fail miserably, your body quivering under him – begging for him wordlessly. And you know he knows you know. Oh, he revels in it.

A single hand ghosting the air around your neck was enough to make you half close your eyes and exhale that soft, skipped breath that he loved so much. The breath he loved to turn into a barely breathing moan for him – and his hand almost gripped your neck, forcing you to look up, forcing you to drown in those beautiful dark eyes while gasping for air.

And you do what you know is exactly what your red-haired protector warned you about. Precisely what your body was quivering for yet fearing.

You nudged your head forward, turning a nod into a neck placed right between his fluttering fingers.

And he gripped.

He gripped and pushed his lips against yours, fully tasting you, fully gorging on your every molecule, every touch, every drop. His tongue explored your mouth and his lips took yours in fully, forcing himself down your mouth and exploring every crevice. His hand slid down and found your hip, squeezing freely now, caressing every inch and sliding down, further down the curve, laying his entire palm against your beating stomach.

Each touch so sincere and possessive he could be imprinting it into his mind.

Between hurried breaths and tears at your clothing as he took you and flung you into the other side of the wall, travelling down with his mouth, kissing each breast and revering you like a man suckling on the first drop of water after dying of thirst, you could hear him gasp.

“My absolute…beauty of a woman.”

And you moved into him, parting your legs and he took the invitation with gusto – hand sliding up your thigh, circling the outside than forcing itself between your legs, once more sliding them apart with his own. Firmly placing his foot between yours and not giving you an inch to glide back into yourself.

And oh, you feel his excitement. You feel his reverence. It’s positively pushing into you. You blush into the hurried gasps and level yourself against the wall, but he catches you and pushes you down again. His body pinning you right against it, nowhere to even think to move, only his face and eyes to run to. Only his lips ready to devour you whole.

“Tell me,” he whispers and kisses the spiral of your ear as the hot breath makes your head spin, “tell me little flower…do you feel how much I love you?”

His hips push into your body, firmly guiding themselves to your navel and lower, lower still…you look away and moan softly, twitching in his grip, shivering for him but still…

“Do you feel how fucking beautiful you are, how I cannot even think to stop if I wanted to? I’m yours, entirely yours, and I don’t regret a single second. I would play a losing hand just to be in this moment a second longer.”

As he lays a single kiss between your breasts, leaving your form only to give each the care he cannot contain, you melt.

“You silly, gorgeous girl…I would lay down a royal flush just to taste you one last time.”

To underline his words, he finds each breast and kisses it between his gripping fingers. Circling you with his tongue and tenderly biting down just to hear you gasp. As he sees your lips quiver, he hungrily travels up your neck, biting and kissing every inch, until your moans and whimpers drive him even madder and force him to claim your mouth. Inching away just a moment to mumble before sinking into you again.

“Oh, my Y/N, if you knew how perfect you are to me…” he kisses you hungrily as if he cannot stand to even finish the sentence, “you would force every mirror to crack in reverence for its inability to show such beauty.”

Again his tongue is invading your mouth and you reply in tune, exploring his warmth, his lips, biting down just to feel him tense up. Just to drive him madder. As he pulls away and gazes at you, eyes flicking from yours to your mouth, your chest, your shoulders, his eyes momentarily soften.

“Every inch of you is my own blessing, Y/N. My winning card. My luck personified."

If he didn't look like he was about to eat you alive and make you beg for more, you'd almost cry at the unfitting monologue. You momentarily relax in his arms, letting the last of your guard down. Oh, that sweet cyanide voice.

"You silly, silly little girl, all mine, quivering like a little bird in the rain just for me – it’s taking everything I have not to take you right now.”

A flash of darkness you’ve known to both fear and yearn for glides across his charcoal eyes and betrays the warmth in his smile and the softness of his words.

“Then do it,” you whisper, pushing yourself against him, hips first, laying your hands on his cheeks and kissing him fully. His body replies instantly and you cannot tell which part belongs to who, the way he’s both in motion and so close to you. Pressing into you with all the love he just spoke of. Even his words come out low, fast, as if he cannot afford to be away from you that long.

“Oh, but I laid down the game, flower, I told you I’d make you feel exactly what I see each time I look at you. And I don’t skirt my games.”

He gripped your chin between his index finger and thumb and kissed you deeply once more before resting both hands against your shoulders, brushing against your collarbones like he was unveiling a painting.

He took his time to slide down to kiss your neck, your sternum, each breast, and lower, lower still, dragging the remnants of clothing out of the way. As he kissed your stomach and held your hips, he laid his cheek upon you and simply rested, revelling in the closeness. Revelling in his closeness to you.

“So utterly perfect. In every way.”

His hot whispers kissed your navel, fingers softly travelling down the curve of your hips. He then let the other hand repeat the motion as the tingles positively ate you alive and travelled around the back of your neck all the way down your spine. He began to pull your panties down, slowly, each side taking its time before kissing you even lower.

And even lower.

Lower still.

One last look up at you told you exactly how much he intends to change your mind. And as his hands gently pushed your thighs apart, he would very much imprint each and every syllable of his words into you until you couldn't moan anything else.

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b00kdiary · 1 year ago

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Can we please please please get a part 3 for stay with me where they actually fuck? Love your stuff btw absolutely amazing ❤️

Stay With Me | Rhysand (III)

Rhysand x Plus size reader

It's been a week. Rhysand's patience has worn thin. So has Y/N's.

Warnings: Mature themes (18+), swearing, and smut.

MASTERLIST - 1 and 2

PART ONE PART TWO

Are you awake, darling?

I stared at the note that appeared on my nightstand fifteen seconds ago, the luxurious, broad sprawl telling of who had sent it. The word darling made my stomach coil – like I could hear Rhys purring it in my ear.

I fought my smile as I turned, dropping my bare legs off the side of the bed, and grabbing the quill that had appeared with the note. It was slightly warm, and I envisioned Rhys holding it, smirking like the fiend he was.

I am awake.

Missing me already?

I could feel my anticipation thrumming in me as I sprawled the words before neatly dropping the pen beside it. It vanished the moment I released it, wisped away to wherever Rhys lounged and for some reason, I could practically hear the rumbling laugh that would escape him the moment he read my teasing response.

My smile grew when the note reappeared not even thirty seconds later. I grabbed it with shaking hands, and I could feel the heat blazing through my blood and bones and veins at his words.

I always miss you; you know that.

And while I usually am the most patient male, that patience is starting to wear very thin.

I want you, darling.

He had been patient. So had I. One week since the Hybern attack, one week since I had sustained that injury and Rhysand had taken care of me – in more ways than just my leg. One week of stolen touches and yearning glances and pleasuring myself to quell the urge to seek him out.

I didn't want to be patient anymore. The ache between my legs wouldn't let me be.

Then why aren't you here?

I'm waiting, High Lord.

The note vanished and not even a second later, I heard the distant sound of wings thundering. I felt Rhysand's dark, obsidian power misting over Velaris stretching from the Town house to the House of Wind.

Call it impatience, call it confidence, call it whatever you want but my body was alight at the power of him, the need of him. And as Rhys thundered closer and closer, I took off piece after piece of clothing. My socks, my nightshirt, my underwear, my bra, everything, until I was bare sat upon my bed desperately needing to be touched.

My thighs clenched when Rhys landed on my balcony, the ground and walls shaking with the impact of his arrival. I could see his silhouette outlined by the moonlight and sheet of stars above as he stalked on silent feet toward my door, looking like a God that shouldn't exist.

The curtain parted with a phantom wind, and I felt my nipples pebble and my core soak as it danced into my room, brushing my skin like a lover's touch. Rhys ducked under my door, powerful wings tucked close to his back and violet eyes gleaming like midnight constellations.

"You beautiful, wicked thing," Rhys groaned as he slid into my room, eyes latching onto my naked figure sitting patiently atop my sheets. I felt his magic thrum at the sight of me, eyes razing across my bare flesh. "You couldn't wait two minutes?"

"I waited one week, Rhys," I lifted my chin defiantly, feigning arrogance. Even as every long step he took toward me made me tremble. "I'm a patient female but not that patient."

"Tsk tsk tsk," He clucked his tongue tauntingly at me, his thick brow raised in a challenge. I traced his long, lean angles, the broad muscles of his shoulders, and that infuriating smirk as he came to a stop before me. "As much as I love your eagerness, darling, I didn't say you could undress."

I moaned when his ringed hand came forward, cupping my aching breasts and squeezing it in his palm. His chest rumbled appreciatively as it spilt from his hand, another moan slipping from me when his thumb brushed over my taut, sensitive nipple.

"Perhaps I should punish you?" Rhys mused softly, eyes transfixed on my breasts, his forefinger and thumb clamped around my bud, abusing it, and watching me gasp. I craned my neck up to meet his towering form, cruel amusement in his eyes. "Unlace my breeches."

A firm, powerful command – his High Lord's voice. Gods, it made me wet. Rhys smirked at the spike in my pulse, the pleasure that coiled through me at his authority.

I was more than eager to follow his command, my hands moving to his slacks, tugging furiously at the laces. I could feel his hard length under my fingers, twitching and straining against the material, begging to be let free.

Rhysand released my breast, and I would have whined in protest had he not begun tugging the ties at the back of his shirt, striping the material from his wings and chest, revealing acres and acres of beautiful tan, tattooed skin as he discarded it.

I whimpered as I tugged the last lace, my pussy clenching around nothing as Rhys's thick, hard length slipped free from his pants, slapping back against his stomach, nearly hitting my face in the process. My mouth watered, actually watered at the sight of him.

"This is meant to be a punishment, darling," Rhys chuckled darkly, fingers gently folding into my hair and tilting my head to meet his eyes. He grinned at the heady intent on my face. "You shouldn't look so happy about it."

"You’re about to let me suck your cock, Rhys," I breathed, my voice rasping and hoarse. His hand tightened in my hair, fisting the root as I purred the word cock. I eyed his length, the red angry tip, the small pearly beads of pre-cum, the strong veins that danced on the sides. "How is that a punishment?"

"You're not sucking my cock, my love," Rhys smiled – it was not a comforting sight. No, it was dark and terrifying. I gasped when the tip of his cock traced my lip, his eyes glinting as he pushed it slowly into my warm mouth. "I'm going to fuck your throat."

He slammed the rest of his length into my mouth until he hit the back of my throat, and I was gagging and moaning and choking for air.

"Good girl," Rhys moaned, his cock stretching my mouth until my jaw ached and he seated so far down my throat I could feel every twitch. He pulled out after several seconds, beads of spit and cum lacing my lips and down my chest as I gasped for air. "Such a good girl."

I hummed at the praise, even as I felt my lungs burning from the lack of oxygen. But Rhys tasted so good, and he was moaning so loud as I slipped him back into my mouth, my throat going lax as he shoved his length in until he maxed out.

I gagged, desperately breathing through my nose as his hips rolled, every stroke dragging his pulsing cock in and out, hitting the back of my throat again and again. Rhys growled, a pure sound of pleasure, one of no control as he truly fucked my mouth raw.

Tears streaked down my face, drool dripped down my chin and onto my breasts and Rhys's hand fisted my hair brutally, keeping me in place while he drove his hips into my mouth. I moaned at the feel of him, every ragged breath he took making me that much more eager.

"That feels incredible, darling," Rhys hissed, his voice shaking as his climax neared. His cock twitched in my mouth, and I let my tongue graze along his shaft in a way that had him cursing. "This mouth is better than I had imagined."

I could feel my arousal leaking down my thighs at his words, and my eyes rolled when Rhys bucked his hips forward, burying himself so far, that my nose brushed the trail of hair at his navel. I could smell his sweet scent, addictive enough that it distracted me from the burning in my lungs, the full feeling of him shoved down my throat.

"Fuck," Rhys swore, and I whined as he tore my head back, his wet, angry cock slipping out. Air rushed into my lungs, spit dribbled down my chin and then Rhys was upon me, his head ducking down and crashing his lips to mine.

I could taste the wine in his mouth, could taste the possession on his tongue as he shoved it past my swollen lips and into me, battling and furious and needy. My fingers clawed and scratched along his marble skin, tracing the hard muscles and rippling abs, memorising the perfect feel of him.

"Rhys," I whined against his lips, breathless as his large, ringed hands kneaded along my body, grumbling in approval as he palmed the flesh at my hips and back and thighs, his eyes stark with lust as he pushed me to lie on my back.

"I know, I know," He crooned, a tint of arrogance and appreciation in his voice as he settled onto the bed, his arms bracing his towering figure over me, his hands guiding my thighs around his lean hips. "I'm impatient too, darling. I know you need it; I've got you."

My back arched as he grazed his nose along the side of my neck, his magnificent wings erecting high behind him as he inhaled the sweet, sweaty scent of me. I was breathless as he touched my skin, touched my flesh like I was a dream come to fruition.

"Cauldron, I wish I had time to get my head between these soft thighs," His teeth scraped my nipple, his hands parting my thighs as he rubbed his tip through my soaking wet folds. "I'd have my tongue fucking your sweet hole until you came all over my face. Until you were begging me to stop."

For a second, I nearly begged him to do exactly that, nearly begged for the feel of his tongue and teeth, for the burn of his skilled fingers slipping inside me. But then he rubbed his hard length against me again, smearing my wetness and I couldn't wait another moment.

"Stop talking Rhys,” I snarled, my fingers curling around his short raven hair, dragging his face up to mine. He chuckled at the ire and frustration behind my words, behind my touch as I pressed desperate kisses to his lips, "I want you to fuck me. Now."

“Such dirty words for such a pretty mouth,” Rhysand laughed against my lips, a hint of violence tinging his tone, his touch, as he toyed his tip against my swollen clit. “I’ll have to think of a better punishment to remedy that. But right now – “

I screamed as he drove his hips forward, shoving his hard, pulsing length into me in one forceful thrust.

“Rhys!”

An explosion of pain and pleasure, like stars erupting through my core as Rhysand forced his way into me, stretching my sore walls, languishing in the wetness of my arousal until he maxed out. Pain and pleasure – it was all I knew.

“Cauldron, you’re fucking incredible,” Rhys growled into my ear, his hands bruising against my waist as he forced my flailing body against the bed. He pulled out to the tip, the sound filthy as he pushed back in, moaning as he did so. “So fucking incredible.”

“Rhys, oh Gods –“

I was crying out for him as his pace picked up, my walls moulding around him perfectly as he fucked me, that pain fading into pure, unfiltered pleasure. He grunted with every roll of his hips, his lips suckling my pulse point and reverberating his noises against me, through me.

Rhys scraped his canines against the junction of my throat possessively, marking me as he fucked his hips against me again and again, tits and body jolting with every stroke. I keened when he threw my leg over his shoulder, kissing my knee before he sunk so deep, I thought he’d tear me in two.

“Right there,” He panted, sweat coating his forehead as he grinned down at me. I gasped, breathless as he pressed a hand down on the stomach – pressed down on the imprint of his cock shaped there. “You feel how deep I am, darling? Feel how far my cock is inside you?”

“S-so deep,” I blubbered, my words half caught between a sob and a moan as my walls fisted tighter and tighter, that familiar pool filling within me, filling more and more as Rhys whispered those dirty words and fucked me raw. “It’s so deep, Rhys.”

‘Look at you’ Rhys’s rumbling, arrogant voice filled my mind, mixed in with his stark arousal and overwhelming praise, ‘Crying for me, all fucked out and ready to come around my cock.’

His lips slammed against mine, all biting teeth and furious, exploring tongue and I could feel my orgasm ripping down my spine, feel it building at the apex of my thighs as he hit a spot within me, again and again and again. Something that felt so fucking good.

‘Come for me, darling,’ Rhys commanded through my mind, a bolt of obsidian power sparking along my nerves and through my whole body. I yelped, crying out at that feeling.

He sent another bolt, in tandem with the sweet, brutal roll of his hips and suddenly I was coming.

“Rhys, Rhys –“

White hot power splitting my core in two, strong enough that all I could do was arch my back and curl my toes, letting my body turn stiff and hard as Rhysand rocked into me, longing out the pleasure for what felt like hours.

I was coming and coming and coming. I couldn’t fucking breathe as Rhys ruined me.

“That’s my girl,” He gritted out, kissing my cheek, my jaw, my neck, teeth and spit and tongue as he fucked erratically into me. His climax was close, I was fluttering around him so furiously, that I knew he was close.

“Fill me up, Rhys,” I begged him, my orgasm dwindling and all my nerves endings on fire as he stroked and stroked and stroked. Rhys whimpered – actually whimpered, as I dragged my hand through the inner part of his wing, trembling behind him from the contact. “Want you to fill me up so bad.”

I touched his wing with a whisper of a caress again and again, until Rhys was cursing, until his beautiful body was trembling against me, and he was making noises I would kill, actually kill, to hear again.

“You beautiful – “ Thrust. “Cruel – “ Thrust. “Wicked –“ Thrust. “Thing –“ Thrust.

His hand brushed my clit as he rocked his twitching cock into me, harder and faster now. I felt the dwindling tendrils of my first orgasm before they began erupting like flames as a second barrelled into me.

“Rhys – “ I sobbed his name, scratching my nails along the talon atop his right wing. And as my core exploded with another all-consuming climax, Rhys reached his peak too.

He reached that peak roaring.

“Fuck –“ He curses as his climax hit him, obsidian mist erupting from him and blanketing the room as he halted inside me. I moaned, my walls clenching and unclenching as I felt him spill endlessly inside me, his wings and body tensed and shaking under my hands.

Our moans and releases were furious and strong enough that I felt the posters of my bed shaking, Rhysand’s face buried in the crook of my neck, moaning, and panting for breath as his hips came to a total stop. My walls pulsed, and his cock twitched in response as if our orgasms had become one.

Rhys laughs roughly against my throat, his canines grazing my sensitive skin as he collapses against me, both our chests rising and falling in shattered waves. It reminded me of that first day in the cabin, how he had been so euphoric as I ground against him until he came.

“That was a good day for me,” Rhys sighed, head lifting so his violet eyes met mine. So bright, so happy. “Almost as good as last week when you came all over my hand.”

I blushed, his grin broadening at the sheepish smile I gave him. He dipped his head, kissing my lips sweetly, a satisfied groan rumbling through him as his tongue gently explored mine.

“I hope you’re aware that this means you’re stuck with me, darling,” Rhys smirked, forehead resting against mine. He was still inside me, and it felt more than right. His eyes glinted, daring me to challenge him. “No male will ever touch you again.”

“Is that a decree, High Lord?” I gnawed on my lip, giggling at the way his eyes narrowed. My giggle erupted into a laugh as Rhys began peppering kisses against my cheek and jaw.

“Yes,” He growled, nipping my skin with his teeth, “That’s an order. With the penalty of death for any male who does otherwise.”

“Good,” I grinned, my heart skipping at his dark, tempting words. I cupped his jaw, bringing his eyes back to mine. “Because if another female so much as looks at you, Rhys – I will pluck her eyes out.”

“Fuck, I love it when you get violent,” He groaned, fingers digging into my waist possessively. “It makes me want to do very filthy things to you.”

“I’m all yours, Rhys,” I smiled, a hint of sincerity mixed with lewd intent in my eyes. “Do with me what you will. Unless you plan to be somewhere else tonight?”

His eyes flashed, stars exploding, shadows coiling, and I felt him harden in me again, my walls stretching inch by inch until I was soaked around him.

“I’ll be here, with you,” He whispered, his nose brushing mine and I whimpered when he rolled his hips, stroking his cock inside me slowly. “I’ll always stay with you.”

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

Comment to be added to the tag list!

Taking requests for all SJM men x plus size reader!

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girl-lostconnection · 5 months ago

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So people have asked for more Odyssey!au GhostxReader and people shall get more. (But you didn’t request anything specific, so you get angst today🫦)

Odyssey!au Ghost x plus size!gn!Reader

Warnings: angst, hurt/no comfort

The journey back home is hard and gruelling. The journey is merciless and tough on Ghost’s body. Even tougher on his mind, now that he’s not even sure he will manage to find you. (If you are even alive, if you are waiting for him, if you still love him)

The only thing that stubbornly holds on when everything else fails is that he refuses to die before he sees you again.

Ghost always slept less than most people.

Just never been good with it — dreams in general usually aren’t too kind to him.

He’s grateful they are not.

Because it’s so much worse when they are.

Because once he falls asleep and he’s in your hands again, and he’s safe and warm and so so loved again it makes something tender inside of him throb with phantom pain.

He wants it so much and you are here again, your lips on his face, your smile shining for him and your eyes crinkling.

“I’m never leaving”, your whisper leaves him breathless and reverent, his eyes drinking in every detail of your face, every sparkle of your eyes.

For once since he started this journey it’s finally soft and warm, his face presses in your belly, hands circling around to hold you closer.

And god, does it feel good, does it feel right and perfect and like everything he has ever wanted.

Just a little more, just for a few more minutes-hours-days, please, love, please. Just stay, don’t go, don’t leave.

And for a glorious warm moment he’s home again. He’s warm, he’s happy, he’s safe. He’s loved again.

He’s Simon again.

And you are so close and you whisper love confessions in his lips, fingers combing through his blond hair. And he allows himself to relax in the moment, to just let go and believe that maybe it all payed off. Maybe he’s home again. Maybe gods were merciful and fates were kind.

Maybe he deserves to be happy.

And then he wakes up — heart pounding in his chest, hollow pit opening when the realisation hits him.

And god, does it hurt. He knew it wasn’t entirely real, he could feel himself dreaming, part of him even braced for impact.

But it’s so much worse than anything he’d ever expected. His body shudders, a choked pained sound tearing through the tender insides of his throat. Because please, please, no.

Please, he needs you back. Please, he’ll do anything. He’ll claw and he will fight another war and he will give it all away and he will pray and sacrifice and bleed and bleed and bleed.

But no one takes pity on him. And no one answers no matter how much he prays, sobs forcing their way through his body with such power he’s physically sick.

His fingers grip the grass so hard he tears it out the ground and his face is hot and wet and there is sickening pit in his belly and he feels like he’s breaking all over again.

Ghost doesn’t like to sleep — dreams are rarely kind to him.

It’s even worse when they are. He hopes they never will be kind to him again.

He’s not sure how much kindness he can swallow. He’s not sure if he can handle any kindness right now.

#simon riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #cod mw2 #call of duty #ghost x reader #girl.snippets #odyssey!au #greek mythology

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wroteclassicaly · 1 year ago

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A/N: I’ve missed this man. I hope you like? Next part will have some saucy little smut. Just trying this out first, also for self-indulgence.

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff, language, mentions of injuries, self-esteem issues, mentions depression and body image.

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Plus size!Reader

Eddie Munson loves his new band of misfit friends, an extended family that has welcomed him and Wayne in with open arms. Hell, he’s even getting along with Harrington, Wheeler is tutoring him, and everyone else just understands. And then, well… Then there is you. He’s never seen someone so in tune with the needs of others without ever considering herself. Someone who purposely pushes herself on the world’s hottest back burner to avoid opening up and letting anyone truly see what’s going on… Behind incredibly beautiful eyes, if Eddie does say so himself.

It’s been over a year since shit unfolded with Vecna. They lost, he died for a little while, the apocalypse reigned down on the town and then he wasn’t dead anymore. Memories are vague, but most things he does remember. And when he wakes up tangled in his bedsheets, scars aching with prickles of phantom pains - you are the only person that he calls. A lot of times he ends up singing you to sleep, but it’s not without you always making sure he’s calmed and okay first.

It was a bond that grew since you began caring for him when he came back with memories. He’s lost track of days spent together, lunches shared, a graduation a long time coming, complete with a party he never expected to have. He isn’t sure when it became a deeper feeling than he’s ever known, one that scared him so damn bad he avoided you for days and began physically ill because of it. If Eddie Munson has to pick one moment, it was probably that day you walked into his Uncle’s living room, (a cookout happening in his yard with Steve and Wayne at the grill outside) your beautiful curves on display, a cherry sundress hitting you in all the right places, and some strappy red sandals adorning your feet. You wore a glowing smile beneath your bright red lipstick, energy matching with Henderson’s as you entertained his enthusiasm for Hellfire’s next campaign.

You didn’t have a clue of what you were talking about, but it didn’t deter you in the slightest. You were passionate about writing, you enjoyed Sci-Fi and fantasy, which meant you had to be the one who helped Dustin create new characters. He knew the game, you had some extra creativity to lend. You’d high fived Dustin, stealing his pen to jot down your scribbled suggestions on his spiral sheet. Eddie was a goner.

And now… Here you are, at his house, on a Friday night. You didn’t have plans, you didn’t make a date - nothing. You did what you normally do and called him up, accepting his invite to hang out all evening. He’d made sure to be off work by a steady time, picking up your favorite bakery cookies at the store on the way home, lingering over flowers that he was sure he should get, but knew it would probably cross a line if he did so. Eddie doesn’t want you to feel spooked, or even anything remotely close to uncomfortable around him.

You’re sitting above him, cross-legged on his bed as he rests with bent knees at the foot, your overalls bagging out at the sides to show your crop top with little lemons and daisies printed all over it, and the most delicious, overflowing curves Edward Munson has ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. He’s got a pair of your maroon sweats tied down, extremely loose on his narrow hips, and one of your decorative character shirts with a picture of Eeyore plastered front and center, hanging across his torso. You might not be able to wear his clothes, but he can wear yours, and Eddie would be stupid to say he doesn’t notice your eyes crossing a little whenever he steps into some of your ensembles. You’ve been chattering away at the TV, giving your input on Friday the 13th part 2, whilst being blissfully unaware of sending Eddie to heaven with your pink brush running through his freshly washed curls, your neon yellow painted nails scratching at his scalp. He’s like a mother fucking purring cat in your grasp.

“So, anyways… I can’t figure out if Muffin survived or if that was her in the woods. And did Paul really make it out too, or was Jenny imagining shit?”

Eddie smirks, tilting his head back to look at the curvature of your physique, the contours of your face - upside down (no pun intended). “Haven’t you seen this movie, like, a thousand times before?”

You have a mock look of offense. “Hmph.” He doesn’t like what it brings, because you can tease, but please - for the love of all things unholy - don’t stop brushing his hair.

“Hey, hey. Why’d you quit?” He’s pouting, it’s rather cute. One tattooed arm, decorated with scars - elongates, ring clad hand seeking out your wrist. Anything to get you into motion again.

“You know that you can brush your own hair, Eddie.” You’re melting at those fluttering lashes draped over an enriching, smooth chocolate pair of irises. And his mouth… Fuck.

“But it’s so much better when you do it, sweetheart. Pleaseeeee? Forgive me for questioning your brilliant questions!?”

You make a good show of it, tossing the brush out of your hand, it landing a pile of Eddie’s clothes in an unpacked hamper. They’re clean, but he’d rather wear yours. He gasps, shifting positions so quick that you think Steve must’ve Ninja-fied him. He’s got you by your wrists, the cool of his rings tracking across your arms as they follow warm palms, and dip under your pits to gain leverage - easing you forward into a heap onto the carpeting with him. “Freak attack!” He’s gleeful, tickling your denim clad sides (well, at least where he pretends he can’t see the overspilling flesh more closely now).

He smells good, like that familiar Old Spice wash and whatever shampoo he’s lathered his curls with. He’s hovering, he’s incredibly warm, he’s safe, he’s Eddie. Someone you didn’t know you needed until he appeared and retrieved his piece of your heart, snapping it into the place where all the people you love have their own shards. Hmm, not entirely though. If you could describe it, it’s as if they make up the outside lining, keeping the inside of your heart reserved for a more… Different, private type of love, that only Eddie Munson seems to have found.

“Should spank your ass with that thing for stoppin’,” he starts, interrupting your reverie, moving to shut his mouth when he realizes he crossed a line. Maybe? It’s there, your eyes flicker over his lips, your hidden reaction dancing behind your pretty little temple - he sees, giving him a fraction of hope. He isn’t used to this…

You jolt, blurting out the first thing that comes to mind, “Like that would be a punishment,” you finish, effectively crossing that line for him.

Both of you remain silent, your sweet perfume making him lose focus. What he thinks he should do and what he wants to do, those are two very different battles raging inside.

// Eat me paragraph //

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willows-escape · 1 year ago

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Phantom HCs - Cherik with a Chubby!Reader

Pairing: 1990!Erik x GN!Reader

Warnings: fatphobia and nsfw content (has its own section)

Word Count: 2,370

Notes: This was a request that somebody sent me that I was really eager to write, as somebody who is plus sized/chubby myself. I might do it with the rest of the Phantoms I write for, but I don't know if that's something people would want to read?

Also, the series I spoke about in an earlier post - it’s still being worked on, but it shouldn’t hopefully be much longer. I’m looking to write around 11-ish parts, probably more, and I want to have three solid chapters written before I post the first one. Just so I can have the chapters to post while writing the next few. Having both female and male versions to write is also slowing it down, but I hope the wait will be worth it !

⟢ Erik does NOT care if you're chubby, skinny, average size or whatever. Your size isn't even a thing to him.

⟢ This Erik isn't as focused on stereotypical beauty as the others - he originally takes notice of Christine due to her voice, and the fact she looks like his mother is only an extra added bonus lol.

⟢ So I feel like your appearance is just not an important factor to him. It would be other things about you that would attract him first. Anyone could be stereotypically attractive, but not everyone could be you.

⟢ But don't be mistaken, he definitely thinks you're the most beautiful person in the world.

⟢ If you worked at the Opera Populaire, and he saw the way other workers teased you or gossiped behind your back, he'd be scratching his head in confusion.

⟢ He may be hopelessly infatuated, but he couldn't see anything about you that was laughable.

⟢ I'm not trying to imply this Phantom is ignorant or unaware of societal norms - unlike the others, he has a strong relationship with somebody who links him to the outside world. He hides due to his own flaws, after all.

⟢ He knows being slender and thin is the current ideal, but he also knows that ten years ago having a bigger body with soft curves was also largely desirable. So he didn't like to pay much attention to societies trends. They changed like the wind.

⟢ Which is why he'd sometimes forget that not everybody looked at you as if you were an angel that was sent from heaven to grace the earth.

⟢ If people's teasing and rude comments ever affected you so deeply that you brought it up to him, that would be the only time he ever acknowledged your body type. And his acknowledgement would only be vehement reassurance and exclamations of his affection towards you.

⟢ "But my cheeks are so fat, it makes my face look like a ball!"

⟢ "A very beautiful and loveable ball!"

⟢ He wasn't great at the whole reassurance thing.

⟢ After a while of courting you and as he began to realise how cruel some people could be to the most gorgeous person he knew - he began to feel a sense of solidarity with you.

⟢ He believed he was beyond hope and that he could never be accepted into the real world, and he wouldn't ever insult you by trying to say you were as repulsive as him. You were anything but that. Yet he felt as if you two were on some kind of wavelength.

⟢ You were both looked down upon for things as flimsy as physical appearances, and he felt a little closer to you due to that.

⟢ And he had a few existential crisis' where he laid awake at night thinking about how maybe society is the problem, not him, because how can they even ridicule you when you were perfection!

⟢ Then he'd take off his mask and look in the mirror and be like nope, he's definitely the problem.

⟢ Anyways. Less sadness and insecurity, and more fluff!

⟢ He loved how comfortable and soft you were. Erik had never held another person in his arms before you, never laid with his head on somebodies lap while they read him a book and mindlessly ran their fingers through his hair.

⟢ And he loved it.

⟢ His favourite time of day was when it came time to go to sleep, and he could lay with his head on your chest, arms wrapped around your waist and drift off into sweet sleep.

⟢ It took him a while to become so comfortable with this, though. It was weird enough that you two didn't have a chaperone during your meetings, never mind sharing affection. But if you asked him enough and tried to sneak in lingering touches and small caresses, he'd fold.

⟢ "Want to hold my hand yet?"

⟢ "Same answer as half hour ago, no."

⟢ "Am I truly so horrid that you do not wish to even hold my hand?"

⟢ "That is not what I said."

⟢ He didn't understand that couples followed these courtship rules in public, but were definitely smooching and snuggling in private. Even if you tried to explain that to him.

⟢ But eventually he caved.

⟢ He was touch starved beyond belief, so it didn't take him long to give in. Maybe a month or so. But it was also an awkward experience for him at first, so expect to give him a lot of guidance.

⟢ "This just doesn't feel right, why on earth would somebody lay like this when they are far more efficient and comfortable positions for somebody to lay?"

⟢ "That's because your arm's meant to be behind my neck, Erik, not over it."

⟢ "Ah. Yes, that feels better."

⟢ But once he got the hang of it, he was obsessed. Every part of you just fit so perfectly in his arms, you slotted together like puzzle pieces. It was glorious.

⟢ If you ever lived together, whether that be you go down below to stay with him or he manages to somehow bring himself to live with you amongst the real world (which would take many years and a ton of hard work), your evening conversations may look a bit like this:

⟢ "Excuse me, but when are you retiring to bed? Your scarf can wait until the morning." He was subtly glaring down at the knitting needles cradled in your hands as he spoke.

⟢ "Not long, just give me a few more minutes. I just want to complete this row of stitches."

⟢ "Alright, but when you come to bed, can you wear some of your summer nightwear?"

⟢ "But why? We're in the middle of winter, I'll freeze."

⟢ "I'll keep you warm." *leaves*

⟢ He definitely didn't just prefer the thinner fabric of your summer nightwear, which meant he could feel your body press against his and also allowed him to feel every curve of your figure with no barrier.

⟢ If you ever got married, expect him to just ask you to sleep naked. Not even for sexual reasons, he just loves the feeling of you.

⟢ You'd have a hard time refusing him in the colder months.

⟢ Also, imagine him singing you to sleep? His back resting against the headboard while you snuggled up against him, his hands delicately trailing over your skin and leaving goosebumps in their path as he sung to you.

⟢ That's an idea to elaborate on for another day.

⟢ Returning to the previous topic of his love of physical affection, kissing you would be magical.

⟢ And he'd be terrible at it.

⟢ The first time you kissed, you'd be the person to lean in first. And he'd look at you as if you'd grown two heads, but he wouldn't deny you. He'd go through many mood swings in the two seconds it took for your lips to touch.

⟢ "Erik," you'd eventually have to pull away, "Pucker your lips, and close your mouth a bit."

⟢ "My apologies."

⟢ That also has nothing to do with the head canon topic, I just wanted to include that.

⟢ Erik would love to draw you. Before he ever approached you, he'd spend his time making sketch after sketch of you, trying to immortalise every vision of you he had in his mind.

⟢ He'd get frustrated that he couldn't properly capture your true charm, but after a while of drawing for hours a day for a long period of time, he'd soon become an incredible artist. He wouldn't use this particular skill for much, unless you asked him to.

⟢ He also couldn't really draw anything that wasn't a person, considering his practice was very limited to one subject.

⟢ He'd have to send Gerard on trips to the store often to keep up with his new hobby.

⟢ "Erik, why do you suddenly need all this paper? The store clerk said he's had to order an earlier shipment of the stuff, because I'm buying up all his supply!"

⟢ "You wouldn't understand."

⟢ He'd also design and create the prettiest clothes for you, ones that would flaunt and uhm, extenuate, your best assets. So much material and thread would be stolen from the company in his pursuits.

⟢ He'd start doing this before you two even properly met, and when you began courting, you'd be taken aback by his display of clothing that he kept scattered around the catacombs.

⟢ Those dresses were probably not intended for him.

⟢ You'd grow especially suspicious when he began offering you these items of clothing, and how they all seemed to perfectly fit you like a glove.

⟢ "Erik, why are all these clothes my size? It's as if you took a measuring tape and made these clothes specifically to fit me."

⟢ "Just things the costume department had laying around."

⟢ "The costume department definitely does not keep clothing in my size."

⟢ "Well, they did when I got them."

⟢ Moving on lol

⟢ There are many reasons somebody may gain weight, but assuming you don't have a condition that causes it and simply appreciated food, Erik would be floored at all your weird and wonderful ways of preparing and eating your meals.

⟢ "What is in this bottle? It looks grainy, you aren't planning on putting this on your food, are you?"

⟢ "It's seasoning! Come on, try it! It makes the food taste a thousand times better!"

⟢ "Seasoning? Isn't that expensive?"

⟢ "Hey, you give me the money for the food, you don't tell me what category of food it needs to be spent on. I'm sure your salary is more than enough to cover the cost."

⟢ He'd grumble about how he was saving it for more important things, like wedding attire and a new instrument that he wanted to learn, but he wouldn't actually mind. His salary was definitely generous.

⟢ One time, he caught you sitting in the sun in the woods, and he was about to approach you when he saw the most baffling thing. You had a cloth splayed on the grass, covered in a weird brown substance that you were dipping strawberries in!

⟢ "What the hell is that?"

⟢ "Melted chocolate! *nom nom nom, gulp!* It's delicious with strawberries, would you like to try?"

⟢ "I'm quite alright, thanks."

⟢ Okay, your food choices were pretty normal, but for sheltered Erik who only ate things in their original state with no added flavour enhancers, he was shocked.

⟢ He might eventually expand his food palate, but it would take plenty of convincing on your behalf. He was perfectly happy with his unbuttered bread, thank you.

⟢ He was exceedingly stubborn.

⟢ But he's a fool for you, really <3

NSFW SECTION

⟢ You'd either have to be the most seductive person to walk the earth before Erik agrees to do anything sexual with you, or you'd have to be married.

⟢ Considering his intense attraction to you, it wouldn't be hard for him to consider you the first option.

⟢ For the purpose of this head canon, let's assume either one is true and he says yes.

⟢ The moment the first article of clothing comes off of you, he's starstruck. He can't believe he didn't say yes sooner.

⟢ He's torn between being regretful that he waited that long and feeling euphoric that he's really about to worship your body to his hearts content.

⟢ He's incredibly touchy feely. Consider every part of your body groped and kissed at least five times.

⟢ Favourite position is definitely you riding him. He'd have a few hang ups on it at first, as missionary back then was the only sex position that the church approved of, and he felt guilty about making you do so much work.

⟢ But he'd learnt his lesson about denying you by then.

⟢ You always had the greatest ideas, if those strawberries dipped in chocolate were anything to go by.

⟢ His eyes were greedy, watching the way you'd lower and lift yourself up and down his aching length. The way your skin stretched over your muscles as you chased your climax, eyebrows furrowed and shoulders hunched as you rested the palms of your hands on his chest.

⟢ He didn't know whether he wanted to keep his eyes locked onto you, or where your bodies were connected down below.

⟢ Just the thought made him so worked up and flustered he'd break a sweat.

⟢ His hands fit so perfectly in the dips of your waist, encouraging your movements as you rutted your hips against his. You looked like a painting, your plush thighs pressed tightly into his sides as you worked yourself into bliss.

⟢ He'd run his hands over every part of you, being extra cautious of being gentle. The last thing he wanted was to hurt you.

⟢ He definitely finished early the first like. 20 times you did that position. He felt terrible, but you considered it an amazing confidence boost. All apologies would die on his tongue the minute you'd lay down and ask him to finish the job by other means instead.

⟢ And speaking of thighs - his head being crushed by your thighs as he went down on you? God yes. He was used to the feeling of something constantly covering his face, and your legs were a welcome addition.

⟢ He's definitely messy and obviously inexperienced, so his rhythm would be uncomfortable and all over the place to begin with. But he'd figure out what drives you crazy in no time.

⟢ He's very, very eager to please. He'd worship every inch of you at every opportunity he could.

⟢ And have you seen this man's hands? Yum.

⟢ If you ever surprised him by wearing something skimpy or risqué? I hope you didn't have any plans for the next few hours. He's definitely taking his time with his gift.

THIS MAN UGH HE'S SO 😭💗

#phantom of the opera #phantom of the opera musical #poto #phantom of the opera x reader #gaston leroux #cherik #erik carriere #erik destler #erik destler x reader #erik the phantom #1990 phantom of the opera #phantom of the opera 1990 #the phantom of the opera #the phantom x reader

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manias-wordcount · 2 years ago

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Hi, I hope you are well.

Could I request a PlatonicBlack Butler x Demigod reader, please? (Sebastian, Ciel, Grell,Undertaker) You can pick anyone else if you want to. Thank you

Demigod Reader HCs (Sebastian Michaelis, Ciel Phantomive, Grelle Sutcliff, Undertaker)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗶𝘁!

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

Sebastian Michaelis

Sebastian thinks you’re “cute” in a way

Really, he thinks it’s adorable how you assume you’re more powerful than you actually are

In truth, you’re not really anything to worry about for a demon

And in general, you’re not anything to sneeze at

Maybe you’re a bit stronger than the average person your size

Maybe you’re a bit faster than the average person your size

Maybe you’re this, maybe you’re that but in all actuality?

You’re just some kid to Sebastian

Of course, he doesn’t try to mess with you too much

He wouldn’t want to call upon the wrath of someone who actually is a threat like your godly parent

Ciel Phantomhive

Ciel thinks you’re an enigma- just a little

In a world of angels and demons, being a demigod isn’t all too special

You’re not fully divine

And you’re not fully human

You’re far from the most powerful being he’s ever met

(Though you haven’t seemed to realize that)

But your existence does make him question things more

How does a god have a child with a human? What is the extent of your powers?

For those reasons, Ciel probably keeps you around

After all, studying your existence isn’t completely uninteresting

Grelle Sutcliff

Grell does not give a shit LMAOOO

Seriously

Like what is a Grim Reaper supposed to do with some random ass demigod

Naturally, she was a little interesting upon first meeting you

You don’t run into one that often after all

But upon meeting you, the interest fades completely

So what you’re a little bit more special than the average human?

It still doesn’t make you that special

So try not to take it to heart when she never seems particularly interesting in talking to you or what you’re doing

You really can’t blame her- especially when you’re hanging around far more powerful characters like Sebastian and such

Undertaker

He’s fond of you

Somewhat

Chances are, you’re not a wet blanket like Ciel so he enjoys it when he can get a good laugh with you

And he doesn’t get to see many demigods

Plus the last few ones he saw were already dead so it’s nice to talk to one that’s alive

That being said, you’re not anything crazy special

So he doesn’t quite care much about beyond the fact that you have some connection to his world rather than just being a random human being

That being said, he is excited for the moment he gets to have you fitted for a coffin

He knows it’s a long time coming considering you’re a little harder to kill than the average human

But he’s excited either way

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thisismeracing · 2 years ago

Text

The phantom of miscommunication | LH44

― Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x black!plussize!reader (she/her) ― Word count: 1.8k ― Warnings: not proofread; suggestive content; angst with a happy ending; mentions of an argument. Minors DNI! ― Summary: Dating a professional athlete is hard, and it’s even harder when you are famous too, and your schedules just keep crashing. how will their love beat their insecurities? ― A/n: I took forever to finish this request, but I hope the waiting was worth it and I did the request justice 🤍.

⁕ Based on this request. ⁕ my masterlist and my taglist ⁕ you can support my writing by reblogging, and leaving a comment (don’t forget to follow me if you like the piece)

You often hear about loving someone being easy and natural, a fall that you would pray the other catch you from. Turns out, as Yn discovered with Lewis, it feels natural, and she’s sure he’ll be there to catch her if she falls, but easy? Love wasn’t that easy. Or life was hard with it.

That’s at least how it feels for her while she finishes getting ready for the last performance of her Broadway play. Alone. She’s ditching her favorite dress because it reminds her of Lewis and how he would look smug whenever she wore it because she would need his help to zip her up. Lewis loved being needed. Not in a selfish way, but in a way that meant he loved to be helpful to those he cherished. Loved to hear their joyful tones while they thanked him, or the warm arms around his body, and in her case, the cold lips against his.

Lewis loved loudly.

Maybe that’s why they ended up fighting that last week. Because if he loved being helpful and seeing others happy, how could he not cancel a meeting to watch her finish the play she spent months traveling around overseas?

Yn loved silently.

It was as if she liked to feel him slide beside her in bed at night, rather than hear the noise of the door closing, and knowing he would be there. The silence that led to the moment was deeply appreciated by her. And her love somehow worked similarly. She wouldn’t ask more than twice for something she wanted, something important, something someone who loves her should know. To her, it was enough her dad showed up, he didn’t need to tell her she did a great job, no words of affirmation or bouquet of flowers and gifts whatsoever. Just their presence. And that was what Yn was expecting from Lewis: his presence.

She felt a tear slide down her cheek and she quickly wiped it before grabbing her bag and keys and leaving her house, making her way to one of her favorite cafes. There was something so unique, it mundane on finishing her tour home. Just minutes away from the house she shared with Lewis. A quick walk to her favorite café. The view of a grey, yet very beautiful London being her company.

Yn goes about her day doing most things on the automatic mode. Sometimes, she would think about how she always dreamt of this day when she was just younger. Starting on Broadway as a black girl was a hard task, that, in her case, was two times harder because she was also a plus-size actress. Some of the producers would reduce her to her weight, her skin tone, or just about anything, but her talent. She had to prove herself over and over until she finally became a phenomenon in the country and then, years ahead, she started to have a significant international impact. That’s when she met Lewis. She had traced most of her career, she had a name, and so did he, and maybe that was the first thing that brought them closer: the fact that it seemed as if everyone was attentively watching over them not because they wanted to appreciate the work they put on, but because they needed them to do something wrong, anything wrong, just so this wrongdoing could be talked about more than the rights.

It was hard.

And having Lewis there to share this burden made it a bit lighter.

Having him there to love her, and recognize her more than anyone ever would, was heartwarming. Being someone else’s first pick felt amazing. And though the ups and downs of their careers existed, they always faced it together. Just like they shared their victories together too. That’s why it felt so wrong not having him on her Musical ending show. He shared the struggles of her waking up early, and going late to bed just so she could grab each emotion needed, and memorize all the lines. She was the leading actress. The main start. Yet, she missed having him be illuminated by her light.

Truth is, Yn felt sad without Lewis, not that her happiness depended on him showing up, but they had created those small traditions. He would always be on the final stops of her shows. She would always make it to his most expected races.

As the saying goes, a dream you dream by yourself is just a dream, but a shared one is a reality. It’s hard to create a reality while in a long-distance, or mostly long-distance, relationship. You gotta be ten times more attentive and understanding. So when Lewis told her he had to make it to an interview before preparing for his race weekend without even waiting for her response, it did not feel like an understanding relationship, he, for the first time, did not seem attentive. And that hurt.

“But, love, why can’t you reschedule your interview for Friday after free practice? Or maybe even Saturday after qualy?” Yn asked, a pout on her lips, while Lewis was finishing packing his suitcase.

He sighed, “You know very well the rush after those two, Yn.”

Fair enough, “Well, then do it online! That way you could do it right before my play, and then come to the Teather after. It’s not that far from our house, you sure can make it.” She was full of solutions, to a problem that felt like Lewis himself created.

When his eyes found hers, determination written all over it, he didn’t even have to open his lips and tell her an audible “no”, she already knew, so she tried to practice healthy communication. “Look, Lew, it’s just that this is our last stop and they were okay with it being in London when most of the time it happens somewhere in the USA. You know how this city is important to me, and this play, it’s just- I can’t help but feel like you’ve been lacking in terms of support lately.”

The British finally stopped packing, dropping his shirt inside the suitcase, and leaving with a quick glance towards Yn, mumbling how he didn’t want to fight.

“But I want you to fight with me. Fight for me!” She trailed behind him, stopping at the entrance of the kitchen.

“Well, the world doesn’t revolve around you, Yn!” he snapped, and before he could apologize or backtrack she nodded, leaving the room. Love should never feel forced. She shouldn’t have to ask for it.

The door slammed behind her as she made her way to the Teather to bury her head in work, sweat the hurt away, dance, and sing until the energy made her feel comfort.

“Yn?” one of her colleagues asked, snapping Yn out of her memories. “They’re calling us for one last rehearsal before the show.”

She nodded and glanced at her phone, hoping to see a message, either an apology or a good luck one, anything that showed that he remembered, but there was nothing. Her shoulders slumped lightly and she made her way to the stage, the audience still deserved the best ending show, she deserved the best ending show.

So that was exactly what happened: Yn shined along with the whole crew. They sang, danced, smiled, and even cried after the curtains opened to an outstanding ovation from the audience. That’s when Yn’s eyes found his, right on the front row, a bouquet of flowers on his seat, one of his shy grins, while he stood clapping the most beautiful performance he had ever seen Yn deliver.

Lewis was there.

Lewis wasn’t in an interview on the other side of the world.

He was standing there.

Smiling.

Clapping.

Proudly watching.

And when her lips quirked up slightly he nodded as if knowing they still had to talk, but for now, he took the right decision.

When the curtains closed again and Yn made the walk to her dressing room, she wasn’t surprised to find Lewis there, “hey,” she said, closing the door behind her and staying glued to the wooden.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Lewis started. “Look, I’m-”

“Can we save all the headaches and solutions for when we get home?” She suggested, still a bit breathless from the play. “That is if you’re coming home tonight. Or are you flying to do the interview late?”

There was a sad smile on Lewis's plush lips, “I’m home, with you.”

A breath of fresh air got into Lewis’ lungs when he noticed her shoulders relax with the news. She was relieved he would be home. She was happy to have him around. It wasn’t too late.

“And I agree on saving the deep talk to when we get home, but I want to say I’m sorry I made you feel like I didn’t support you or love you enough to reschedule and work my way around my things. You’re my treasure, love. And I’ve been lacking lately, I’ve been stressed, and with my head all over the place, but I’ll get better. I promise,” and a Hamilton promise would always come true. You could count on that.

Yn bit her lips, trying to hold back the tears, but they fell around her face like waterfalls just the same, and Lewis was in front of her in the blink of an eye, fingers brushing the wet splotches, lips kissing her delicate skin.

“I’m sorry, I am so so sorry,” he whispered painly.

“I was so terrified we were about to get on a dead-end road. That you would stop showing up for my plays, and-”

“Sweetheart, breathe,” he held her face between his soft palms and Yn tried to even her breath with his. “I’m here, I’m always going to be here. You have my endless support and undying love, you can count on that.” He was a runner, one of the fastest drivers on the grid, but he could never run away from her and what she made him feel. What he could do was beat the phantom of miscommunication to the finishing line, get there first, say he’s sorry before it’s too late, and work so that this ghost won’t ever bother their relationship again.

Yn nodded, gulping a bit more of air, and finally crashing her body on his in a tight hug. Lewis kissed her hair and found her lips with his, tasting their own tears and love. Yn mumbled how sorry she was for not being patient enough, and Lewis shook his head, kissing her again.

“I’m the sorry one, and I’m gonna make it up to it,” he explained.

Yn arched her brows, looking into his honey eyes, “I know just the way you can express how sorry you are,” she smirked, undoing the bow for her white dress and making it cascade around her ankles.

And Lewis did exactly that.

He whispered apologies and love promises in her ear, the sound of a symphony with her body banging against the door. That was their private play. Their favorite one.

― ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hiii!! I hope you guys liked it! I hope your Friday is amazing! Don't forget to reblog and leave me a comment if you can, it means a lot and it usually inspires me to write more *mwah*

taglist: @sachaa-ff @mickslover @iloveyou3000morgan @mishaandthebrits @crimeshowjunkie @fdl305 @saintslewis @scorpiobleue @carojasmin2204 @chaoticevilbakugo @wondergirl101ks @smiithys @shhhchriss @f1kota @lunnnix @karmabyfernando @crashingwavesofeuphoria @schumacheer @callsign-scully @dearxcherry @p8dris @peachiicherries @elliegrey2803 @he6rtshaker @therealcap @mehrmonga @the-depressed-fellow @soph1644 @cixrosie @darleneslane @buckybarnessweetheart @nichmeddar

⁕ my masterlist and my taglist

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stardustloserdoll · 2 years ago

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tokio hotel masterlist

all about tokio hotel!

fluff:

jumbie -bill

sleepy head -bill

guitar fun -tom

piercing -tom

i drink your blood and i eat your skin -bill

toms clothes -tom

airplane nerves- tom

secret kisses- bill

bloody kisses- bill

heart shaped cookies- tom

clingy- tom

beach day- tom & bill

i love you- bill

nail polish- tom

camcorder- tom

hello kitty face masks- tom

tinder- bill

the phantom of the opera- bill

celebrity crush- tom

jealous- tom

best friends sister- tom

picnic date- tom

smut:

sleep troubles- tom

please?- tom

so good- tom

pictures of you- tom

something going on- tom

tongue piercing- bill

only one for me- tom

sleepover- tom

bloody night- bill

mine- tom

late- tom

angst:

back to you- tom

the other- tom

talk- bill

break- bill

i don’t hate you- tom

break pt 2- bill

i wait for you- bill

head cannons:

dating bill and tom

tom with a latina/o s/o

tokio hotel x female reader

tom dating a plus sized reader

tom with a teen daughter reader

kaulitz triplets

tom with a teen daughter reader with glasses

christmas with tokio hotel

halloween with y/n kaulitz

bill with a childish s/o

tom with a childish s/o

bill with an outgoing but shy s/o

tom being your step brother

bill with a short s/o

aftercare with tom

bill and reader who have been together since 2007

bill with a s/o who can speak multiple languages

bill with a tall s/o

tom with a s/o who’s scared of spiders

modern tokio hotel x female reader

tom with a short gf

tom with a gf who has bad back pains

tokio hotel x female reader who has curly hair

bill and gustav with a plus sized s/o

tom with a s/o who has adhd

bill x curly haired reader 2b/2c

#bill kaulitz x y/n #bill kaulitz x you #bill kaulitz x reader #tokio hotel x you #tokio hotel x reader #tokio hotel #tom kaulitz x y/n #tom kaulitz x you #tom kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz #bill kaulitz #georg listing #georg listing x reader #gustav schafer x reader #gustav schäfer

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thedevilsoftruth · 6 days ago

Text

Hello darling,

Welcome to the Devils of Truth blog. Enjoy your stay here. Read a fic, request a fic, do as you wish. Just don't be a cunt.

"My sinful confession, you're my obsession."

This is an 18+ blog. Absolutely no minors are allowed on here, and will be blocked if caught doing so.

About the author

Hello, gorgeous. Call me Mama Devil (she/her.) I am an erotic fanfiction writer; I typically write marvel x readers targeted specifically towards women. I write all of my fics with plus size inclusivity because I, myself, am a thick bitch and like self indulgence. Please keep that In mind as you read.

I am an Enfp-a and have diagnosed adhd. My favorite bands are NIN, Depeche Mode and Soft Cell. I might make references to their songs from time to time in my fics.

I am the owner of the blogs @congressmanjb-barnes and @2mama2devil

Some of my long term interests include - The manga versions of JJBA and KNY, the Moon Knight comics, the MCU, the Big Bang Theory, Phantom of The Opera, Hamilton, and Stardew Valley.

My masterlist's

I have written for a large variety of characters. The character I currently am obsessed for and have written for the most Is Bucky Barnes.

Loki masterlist

Moon Knight masterlist

Bucky Barnes masterlist

Gyomei Himejima masterlist

Kyojuro Rengoku masterlist

Sdv Shane masterlist

My request box Is currently open!!!

For requests,

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magnolia-among-the-stars · 2 years ago

Text

fat funny friend (jake seresin pt 8/?)

PART OF MY “WHATEVER THIS IS” SERIES WHICH CAN BE FOUND HERE

PAIRING: JAKE ‘HANGMAN’ SERESIN x Female Plus Size Bartender!Reader

NICKNAME: Sunshine

Warning: A bit of self-body shaming

It goes without saying but I do not give permission for anyone to use my work or copy it somewhere else.

PLOT: Penny Benjamin’s niece works at The Hard Deck, saving the money she earns to get out of the west coast and put herself through Graduate School. What happens when a pretty boy pilot ends up as her fake boyfriend?

PART ONE / PART TWO / PART THREE / PART FOUR / PART FIVE / PART SIX / PART SEVEN / PART EIGHT / PART NINE / PART TEN / PART ELEVEN / FINAL PART

Two weeks. It had been two weeks and the pain of Jake’s absence took a heavier toll on you than you had previously expected, and you weren’t sure how much more you could handle it. Your home had become a hollow and messy disaster of a landing zone, blankets everywhere along with half eaten containers of take-out food. You hadn’t showered in a few days, your hair now only spun up into lackadaisical buns as you wiped your mouth on your sleep shirt and closed your eyes to the sound of the next rerun of Law & Order: SVU.

In the days immediately following Halloween, you were sure he was going to call, apologize for his lack of communication. You had tricked yourself into thinking perhaps he had a horrifying call to action and had been on an aircraft carrier before dawn.

But days later, you ran into Phantom and Rooster while they were out for coffee. Bradley looked at you confused, a wash of a smile etching on his face. It told you he knew, somehow and that smile made all these fantasies crumble out of your head and sent you into a spiral of pain and rejection in a way you never thought possible.

You’d let Jake in, all the way. Something you had vowed to yourself that you wouldn’t do again without great sacrifice. Instead, you were met with resistance and insecurity that bubbled through your chest and burned your esophagus raw as you wept and screamed out into the abyss of your lonely apartment. You took a few days off work, Penny texting back with a knowing ‘Take your time.’ You felt sick, throwing up in hopes that the weight in your tummy would dissipate but to no avail.

A knock on your door startled you awake out of a groggy fog, a numb vibration coming over you from your spot on the couch. You groan a little, turning away from the door to rest your face against the fabric with a heavy sigh. The loud banging continues on, and you grunt again, turning back to roll off the couch. You mosey over to the front door and check the window, only to pull the door open. “Nat, now isn’t a good time.”

“What the hell happened?” she demands, stepping inside and past you without hesitation. Her harsh tone takes you by surprise and your shoulders push back as you find energy for the first time in weeks.

“What the hell happened?” you repeat with an almost mocking tone. “Well, let’s see,” you cackle with a bitter wave rushing through your body. “What happened is that Bagman did what Bagman does best. He hung me out to dry.”

“What?” the word falls out of Nat’s mouth in a way she can’t help. “That’s impossible.”

“Well, if you’ve come here to mock me Nat, you can fuckin’ go because I've had it with Naval Aviators fucking destroying my subconscious so,” you pace over to the front door and swing it open. You stare expectedly at her as her stance deflats suddenly, her gaze downcast as she starts to swallow down what you’ve just blurted out.

“No Y/N, I’m not trying to,” she takes a slow and heavy breath before glancing back up at you. “Hangman is miserable. He’s a hollow shell of himself...I figured you’d stomped all over his heart because I’ve never seen him like this before.”

The mention of Jake’s state should tug at your heart strings. It should make your heart flutter that he’s so lost without you, and he’s so desperately broken that the absence of your presence was the clear notion to Nat that something must’ve happened. But you’re too bitter. Too broken to even have the slightest bit of sympathy for the piece of shit. A heartless, venomous cackle bubbles out of you in a way you’ve never experienced before. This is what he’s done...look what he’s turned you into.

“That’s hilarious. He’s a fucking wreck? Serves him right,” you slam the door shut and walk past her to the kitchen to get a bottle of water, your mouth going dry.

It’s the first time that Nat is finally taking in your figure, taking in the state of you as you move to the kitchen and tug the fridge door open. You’re less round than she remembers seeing you at the Halloween party weeks prior. You’ve got dark circles beneath your bottom lash lip and your stomach isn’t poking out as much as it used to. It worries her. “Y/N,” she tries again, her tone much softer this time as she approaches you. “What happened?”

You chug down the entire water bottle, letting the flush wash away any of the burning hunger in your stomach. Avoiding her gaze, you lean against the counter for support and take slow and steady breaths. Underneath all the feminine rage and anger, there’s insecurity ripping through your veins and cursing every inch of your body. You wish it into submission of a quiet hum as you glance up at her, wet lashes distracting her from the sniffle you make.

“What do you think?” Your sour tone isn’t directly for her; Nat knows that now as she steps closer.

Her arms are slowly approaching you as she tries to gently collect you into her embrace as your knees wobble, so shaky that you crumble to the ground as your mouth quivers and the dam breaks. She’s cooing as your ass meets the tile of the kitchen, your loud wails filling the quaint kitchen as she tries to hold you tight enough that the pieces of your soul don’t shatter.

“He left Nat,” you whimper, “He left me after we slept together for the first time. It took me so long to let someone in and,” you inhale the wet snot dripping from your nose. “I feel so embarrassed and so ashamed.” Your voice came out in slow, aching weeps as you looked down at your thighs.

All the body positivity, all the confidence in who you were faltering at the loss of a man who you weren’t even in a real relationship with. You were angry at yourself for even letting the thoughts to climb into your mind and rot your empowerment. “The man saw my body and then left…it really can shatter a person’s self-esteem if they aren’t careful,” you admitted and suddenly, Nat sees red. Nat sees this beautiful and vibrant person withering away in her arms and she can’t handle that. She won’t allow it when she’s grown so close with you.

So, she calls for re-enforcements, hatching a plan for the next evening to re-introduce you to bar life and get your mojo back. At 6:30 PM promptly the next day, she shows up as promised with Gemini and Aries in tow. Bags are tossed over their shoulders, and they’ve got bottles of Patron in hand as they grin lovingly. “Let’s ruin the fucker’s birthday,” Aries smirks as she places her bag down on the couch.

Hours later, Nat leads the way as you approach the porch of the Hard Deck and friendly, familiar faces greet you in excitement. “God damn Sunshine,” a kind firefighter from town hollers, eyeing your short black top and daisy dukes. Your toes are freshly painted, and legs moisturized, you’d felt like a real person for the first time since that night on Halloween. And now, three weeks later – you had just begun to smile.

“Thank you so much Benson,” you tuck a loose curl behind your ear and keep moving, the momentum bringing you through the door and into the Hard Deck. It’s in full swing when you glance around, slightly hoping that you don’t even notice him for the night. There’s a knot, continuing to twist and wind itself up and you find it a bit hard to breath just as you get to the bar top.

“There’s my girl,” Penny calls out, rushing around the opening to wrap you in the tightest hug she can muster up.

“Hi Pen,” you mumble back, enjoying the warmth of her embrace and pulling back to smile genuinely at her.

“Nat told me the gist of everything,” she pursed her lips with a nod to your friend, a mischievous glaze to her wise eyes. “You give me the look and I will ruin that man’s whole life, starting with his wallet.”

“That won’t be necessary Pen,” you squeeze her arms and pull back, “But I’ll take a tequila sunrise instead.” She nods with a wink, returning behind the bar to mix up the cocktails for you. You slide into one of the stools beside Aries when you hear it. The hoot of a Texan man gone wild. Him. You take a heavy breath, letting your gaze wander to his usual spot. Scratch that…your usual spot. And you wished you hadn’t because there he was with the men of the squadron, arm draped lazily over some skinny brunette’s shoulders as he pressed up against her ear.

“He looks real torn up Nat,” you seethe, turning back to your friend and pushing off your stool when she pushes you down.

“He only found the girl after he found out we were coming tonight,” Nat promises, taking a sip of her beer. “It’s sickening but I’ve got something to keep your mind off him,” she nods in the direction of the booth again. The weight of your purse burns against your hip when you square your shoulders and ready yourself to vomit when you turn back to the table. But your view is blocked by the frame of another man walking toward you, bright pearly whites gleaming as he approaches with an innocent smile.

“Just play along and watch the magic of a fury,” Nat’s voice trails off as you sit up a bit straighter and tilt your head.

“Hey Fanboy,” you greet the man a bit louder than your typical tone and he picks up the pace until he’s in front of you. He doesn’t stop his momentum though, not in the slightest as he leans forward and collects your cheeks in his hands to tug your mouth to his. His lips are silky smooth against yours, fresh minty breath refreshing as you breath him in. You cup the back of his head, nails scrapping against his scalp as he situates himself between your thighs.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he’s leaning back as he rests his hands on either side of you, caging you in. You’re left trying to catch your breath as you smile widely, enjoying the sensation of his mouth over the expanse of your neck. This is a show, and you are a reoccurring main character. You’ve played this game before and now more than ever, you need believability. So, you wrap your hands around his slender waist and giggle slightly as his teeth drag along the column of flesh. “Fanboy, stop mauling my niece,” your aunt quips playfully, in on the gag as you slot your hands into the back pockets of his jeans.

“Sorry Penny,” he pulls back, gazing at you lovingly. “She’s just irresistible.”

“Well, take your asses away from my counter. You’ll scare off customers,” Penny calls, her voice carrying easily over to the table in the back where there is a booth tucked away from the patrons. Your booth. Your booth that is now occupied.

“Want to take this party out to the bonfire?” Fanboy’s voice is low in your ear, causing you to shiver slightly and nod, bottom lip tucked between your teeth. Eat your heart out Jake Seresin.

“Are you fuckin’ serious?” Speak of the devil. You peer around Fanboy’s shoulder to see the blond seething, fists balled up at his sides. His jaw is clenched so tight you though the muscle there would snap from any further tension.

“Can we help you?” you ask slowly, blinking at the man you had hopelessly fallen in love with. The man who slowly gained your trust and then ripped everything you knew out from under you. Fuck him.

“You serious Sunshine?”

“Don’t call me that,” you snap, eerily sharp. Your tone forces him back, hitting him square in the chest and a small flash of hurt creeps through his green eyes. Fuck him. “You don’t get to call me that…are you fucking serious?”

Anger ripples over Jake again and suddenly, Nat’s shoulder to shoulder beside you while Fanboy still hovers to your front. You feel their strength building inside of you as you stare at Jake’s strong and broad chest. “It’s my birthday.”

“And?”

Jake scoffs at you, his hands sliding over his sharp hipbones. His fingers flex and it takes every ounce of will power to not think about how they felt against your cunt. “And you are making out with Fanboy right in front of my face. On my birthday,” his hand goes up in emphasis as if it isn’t perfectly clear what the two of you had been doing.

“You’ve got some nerve.”

“Me?” he sounds shocked.

You scoff, “Yes, fucking you Bagman.” You’re shaking now. How dare he. How dare he show up to your side of the bar months ago and be charming. How dare he flirt hard enough and still be so sweet and unassuming that you let him take you on a terrible date and then save you from your horrible ex. How dare he take you to your favorite bookstore, let you share all your favorite tropes and stories with him while he just hummed along and happily held your selections until you reached the counter. How dare he told you about his home life, about his sisters. About his mom, about his tough relationship with his father and the vulnerability they’d earned from each other over the years. About his fears of flying in a tin can in the sky at trillions of miles an hour. How dare he let you down when you tried so hard not to let him in.

You slide of your stool, suddenly exhausted. Suddenly deflated and with no burning fire in you to fight back. You felt small again and you hated feeling small, especially here in public. You were tired of hiding, tired of pretending.

Maybe that was what got you here in the first place. And he sees it and he’s got this burning in his chest that feels like acid reflux but worse. He watches as you slowly dig through your purse, saddling up until you were right in front of him. You tug your hand free of the contents within the bag to reveal a small box, black leather smooth to the touch.

“I hate that I did this but I know how much you said you would only get a new one if it was the exact one,” your words are so gentle, he’s not sure you said anything really…not sure if he imagined it. You couldn’t be this gentle with him, not after what Jake had done. “I hate that you make me feel this way…and I hate that I still don’t hate you,” you confess, pushing the box into his hands with a mumbled Happy Birthday.

And then he no longer feels your warmth in his space, feeling vulnerable and insecure all over again. But this time, he’s in front of an entire bar of people who definitely prefer you to him and he’s feeling self-conscious, so he rushes to the bathroom, out of the view of patrons. His hands fiddle with the box, unsure if he should even open it. That burning in his chest is getting worse and he’s pretty sure it would be better if he just cut out his throat to save himself.

But curiosity is a killer and Jake Seresin is weak, so he pries the box open only to immediately let out a whimper at the contents inside. Nestled between the velvet material is a 1942 Hamilton WWII wristwatch, just like his grandfather’s that he lost on his last tour. The very watch he cried about the first time the two of you drank a bottle of red wine on his porch, wrapped up on the swing under a blanket. Fuck.

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