#well i kept a lid on the anger this time

[thisthatpinkvenom]

FREAKS ON A FRIDAY

COLLEGE BF!WOOYOUNG / FEM READER

⤏ Synopsis: Your boyfriend, Wooyoung, is as cool as a cucumber. You, not so much. When you go into a jealous fit at a Friday night party, he's nothing short of amused at how cute you are. And he knows just how to simmer down your hot temper.

⤏ Genre(s): *drabble, smut (what's new?)

⤏ Content: college!au, established relationship!au, non-idol!au

⤏ NSFW Warning(s): unprotected piv, mean switch!Wooyoung, switch!fem reader, face slapping, hair pulling, oral (fem receiving), nipple play, dirty talk, possessiveness, reader has nipple piercings, please keep in mind that both are quite masochistic

⤏ Note*: this content is completely fictional.

“My eyes are up here, Dickhead!”

“But my eyes are down here, Sugartits; not my fault they’re right in front of me.”

Your boyfriend, Wooyoung, sat himself on the toilet lid, his hands that found home on your hips pulling you closer as you stumbled between his parted thighs. He wasn’t fazed at all by your eyes that were blown out in anger, veiling that shit-eating grin you knew all too well behind a composed smirk. If it weren’t obvious already, it took a lot more than your cute little tantrums to have an effect on him. He knew how to handle that short fuse of yours like clockwork.

“You are not allowed to call me that right now.”

“C’mon, you love it when I call you that,” he slurred, nuzzling his face between your breasts in the process. To his dismay, you wriggled out of his hold, leaning against the wall before tucking your chest under your arms.

“Why don’t you ask Kristen or Kirsten—whatever the hell her name is—to let you motorboat her tits?” you spat.

Wooyoung couldn’t resist the laugh that fought hard to escape his lips, shaking his head and adjusting the shades that kept most of his bangs away from his face. He didn’t let your seething demeanor stop him from joining you once again, pressing his frame gently against you with a hand resting on the wall beside your head. The other cradled your chin between his fingers, and that grin of his showed up in its full form.

“There’s no girl’s tits I wanna motorboat other than yours, Baby.”

You rolled your eyes, hoping that was enough to distract yourself from your thumping heart.

“Well, aren’t you such a romantic?” you said, voice laced with sarcasm.

A few knocks at the door stole your attention for a fleeting moment, and you both opt to ignore them. Wooyoung sighed once the knocks became louder, briefly retracting from you to yell out, “It’s occupied!”

“Not anymore. I’m leaving,” you muttered. But before you could move, he’s got you cornered again, and it’s your turn to sigh. Despite the smile still lingering on his lips, he sounded more serious this time.

“How many times do I have to tell you that Kirsten’s just a friend? You jealous girl,” he said, no malice in his tone. Rather, he was quite gentle with how he spoke to you.

“She was playing with your hair!”

“And she has a girlfriend, Baby—who was right beside her.”

Your lips parted and closed a few times as you tried to gather your words, but you didn’t know what to say. He took it as a sign to continue reassuring you, placing his hand on your warm cheek.

“I’m sorry I didn’t make it clear to you, I should’ve. I don’t see her that way at all; she definitely does not see me that way. I’ll consider your feelings more from now on, okay?”

Your lips formed a pout, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes as embarrassment washed over you.

“I’m sorry for overreacting. It’s just that…your hair—”

“You like being the only one pulling on it, huh?”

He didn’t hide that he noticed how his question had caught you off guard.

“W-What?”

“Don’t play all ‘shy girl’ with me now. You know, I can still feel the effects of how hard you pulled on my hair last night,” he purred. “You would love it if I got on my knees and let you run your fingers in my hair right now, hm?”

You stammered his name under your breath when he licked a strip along your neck, kissing and sucking your skin before moving lower to your breasts. It never bothered him too much when you wore a form-fitting shirt and forewent a bra, the shape of your piercings bulging under the tight, stretchy fabric. That was as long as he was the only one who had the privilege of playing with them, of course. And when your shirt was bunched above your breasts, he stole more than just a quick look. His eyes were hungry, staring long enough to brand the image of your tits in his mind.

Two cute little silver hearts for both of your nipples, hugging the buds together just perfectly. You just had them pierced a month or so ago, and you’d be lying if you denied that half the reason why you did was for Wooyoung. You wanted to get something that was only to share with him; in a sense, it made your heart flutter at how intimate it really was. Maybe a few others got a glimpse of your piercings sometimes, but Wooyoung always received the full experience.

“I’ll never get tired of these,” he murmured, pressing his thumbs on your nipples to light a reaction from you. He was good at catching every little detail about you, savoring each short breath you took, how your lips parted, and the way your tummy contracted from any shock of pleasure.

“You really went through that pain for me,” he stated more so than asked.

“It’s worth it,” you whispered. “And it feels...hah”—your face contorted when he captured your nipple between his lips—“it feels s-so good now. So sensitive…”

He hummed. “I bet it does.”

The air was so thick and hot, polluted with the pungent mix of alcohol and weed; it made you a little lightheaded. The shitty trap song muffled by the door went deaf on your ears, and all you could focus on was the wet muscle that toyed with your nipple. Your hand found its way to the other, begging to be touched and tweaked between your fingers. The heat between your legs was growing to be unbearable, thighs spread apart as if they were ready to welcome his touch between them.

He released your flesh with a pop, giving you one dizzying kiss that had him dropping to his knees nearly going unnoticed by you. He squeezed your thighs in his hands, eventually snaking them higher to push the hem of your denim skirt up. You threw on whatever pair of underwear you could find in your drawer and unfortunately for you, they were light enough to show an embarrassingly dark spot left by your arousal. And fortunately for him, he got to ogle at it.

His finger wagged against your clothed nub, an almost mocking chuckle leaving him. “What an easy girl you are.”

“Sh-Shut up.”

“Make me.”

You didn’t know what came over you to do what you did next. Your panties slipped down to your ankles and before he knew it, his shades slipped from his hair as you grabbed a fistful of his locks at the base, shoving his head between your legs. Wooyoung made a small sound of surprise, though he easily complied, parting his lips almost immediately to suck on your clit.

“Why are you s-such a tease, Wooyo?” you whined, frustration building in your tone as you hooked one leg over his shoulder and began to roll your hips. “You piss me o-off sometimes!”

He groaned when the grasp on his hair tightened, your nails grazing his scalp in an almost indescribable, painful pleasure that had blood rushing up his cock. His hands searched for purchase on your thighs, his own nails digging into your flesh deep enough that they’d leave little crescents behind.

“S-Sometimes I feel like you really need me to ride your face to sh-shut you up,” you moaned.

He’d nearly creamed in his pants right then and there. You were so fucking cute and hot all in one when you were mad like this.

“Wooyo, g-gonna cum! Gonna cum, gonna cum—oh, my fucking God…”

With one last whimper, you reached climax, bliss intoxicating your senses as you rode your orgasm out on his face until you reached satisfaction. You released your grip on his hair, pushing him away gently while you caught your breath, waiting out the twitching in your thighs to settle down in silence. Your boyfriend was left speechless for a minute, dazed as if there was nothing in that pretty little head of his other than the voice that told him to lick your cum off his lips.

The next thing you knew, your ass was perched on the countertop, your hand accidentally flipping the faucet on in an attempt to balance yourself. Wooyoung stood between your thighs and unbuckled his belt, slipping out his cock from underneath his boxers. As much as you loved seeing him naked, you were always fascinated by the sight of him fully clothed, nothing but his erection dripping with pre-cum exposed to you. Maybe it was the urgency—the need to fuck you right now so overpowering that he didn’t have the patience to strip his clothes off.

“You’re such an impatient little brat,” he huffed, a hushed groan interrupting his thoughts when he slid his cock in your warmth. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you savored the sensation of being stretched open for the first time that night. He grabbed handfuls of your ass before landing two simultaneous smacks that aroused a yelp from you, and whispered, “You’re lucky that I liked that.”

He didn’t warn you about the strong thrust that had your jaw dropping, one that was followed by a series of jackhammered movements that left you a broken, moaning mess. You probably didn’t sound the prettiest right now, switching between whimpers and pants like you were some bitch in heat. But the beauty of Wooyoung was that you didn’t have to be insecure about how you sounded, because he liked everything that was you. Even if he fucked you like he hated your guts.

“What was that you said about riding m-my face? To shut me up, h-huh? How about I fuckin’ slap you to teach you a lesson?” he grunted.

You swore that you felt a surge of your arousal dripping on the countertop with every pounding from his cock. Nothing turned you on more than a nice slap on your face from Wooyoung, you nearly melted into a pile of mush in his grasp.

“F-Fuck—yes!” you cried.

His thrusts never wavered as his hand lingered near your face, ready to land a firm hit on your cheek.

“Mm, here it comes, Baby.”

One, two, three slaps came at you that rendered you dizzy, the stinging pain on your cheek dissipating into a tingling pleasure. Wooyoung’s eyes studied in lust at how your own had fluttered shut, the whites peaking underneath your lashes as he soothed the affected area with his thumb. He repeated the same pattern one more time, almost disgustingly enamored at how much of a painslut his sweet girl was.

“Need to learn how to control your temper,” he muttered.

There was something about your pout and your knitted brows, matched with your flushed skin and your disheveled hair that had him going. How could he resist a face like that?

“I just—ah—love you s-so much, Wooyo!”

You were too cute for your own good.

His hand led yours onto his face, warm to the touch and glistening with sweat. With a few nods, he said softly, “S-Slap me…I haven’t been good e-either, Baby.”

“Wooyo,” you crooned.

“Do it n-now,” he insisted. “I’m all yours.”

And with that, your fingers reached for the back of his head, grasping his hair near his scalp before pulling it back. Wooyoung let out a wanton moan when your hand met his cheek. His hips began to slam against you at unbridled speeds as he began to lose himself in pure, sexual bliss.

“Fuck…hit me h-harder! Like you fucking mean it,” he whined. His cock continued to ram in and out of you, growing sloppier with each fuck as you watched his eyes glaze with tears, and his cheeks flushed with pink. You did as you’re told and slapped him with a firm smack, and that’s what it took for him to smash your lips together with his own. You threw your arms around his neck while he groped your breast, fondling your nipple with his thumb as you both swallowed the other’s growingly high-pitched moans.

“You’re mine,” you mumbled against his lips.

Those two words were enough for him to release a guttural groan, filling your pussy with spurts of cum that left him trembling. But he didn’t stop there, muffling his cries of overstimulation by sinking his teeth into your shoulder. You could feel the warm tears dripping onto your back, the desperate need to make you cum becoming so apparent that it made your head spin. And with a few more frantic bucks from his hips, your walls suffocated his throbbing cock with a selfish squeeze, your gratified mewls melding with his broken pleas.

His weight toppled over you while you’re rendered boneless, legs falling limp against the bottom cupboards after releasing his waist. Wooyoung snuggled his face into the crook of your neck, absorbing the intoxicating pheromones that have begun to mask your fading perfume. You’re both left speechless for a few minutes, digesting the music that had been indistinct to your ears during your little fuck session. And when you’re ready, you each check on the other, sharing vulnerable kisses and sweet nothings that were reserved only between you and him.

You didn’t know exactly how long you’d spent time in the bathroom, but judging by the glaringly sour looks of a few who stood nearby on the outside, you’d say you took a considerable amount of sweet time. And as you expected from your ever-so-composed boyfriend, he sent the next person a smirk, rubbing his own red, blotchy cheek. Fixing his shades on top of his head, he entwined his fingers with yours soon after.

“It’s all yours.”

[justporo]

A Night of Staying In

After all the doom and gloom in other writing I really needed some cutesy fluff to feel myself again - and also to give Astarion and Tav a break.

Summary: So have Tav and Astarion just enjoying a cozy night in - also Astarion gets a carrot hurled at his face.

Pairing: Astarion/GN!Tav Warnings: Mention of sex, a carrot gets thrown and then murdered Wordcount: 2,2k

Delicious smells of slowly cooking meats and vegetables, spices and a forgotten mint tea were wafting through the kitchen of your cozy little townhouse.

You were bustling around the well-equipped kitchen. The apron you were wearing was full of stains and its pockets full of cooking utensils – even a half-full spoon absent-mindedly tugged away in one of them. It was slowly leaking through the linen with something on it that looked like blood – but was simply a tomatoey sauce. Your hair was messily put up in a bun, but several strands of hair had fallen out of it and you looked only so far from a mental breakdown.

At the kitchen table Astarion was sitting with a lantern, bowing over an embroidery project. He had the very bright lantern you’d gifted him specifically for this purpose directly next to him, but he was still squinting at his work and holding it so close his nose was almost touching the fabric. He looked a lot less demented than you but still very absent-minded.

Fabrics and threads were strewn all about the wooden table. Different needles were glinting everywhere on it too. One could only hope that those would be remembered at some point – preferably before someone stuck them in their fingers.

Next to him were also laying some loose papers, a feather and an ink pot with lots of writing that was then crossed out again and also some small little doodles on the corners – one for whatever reason happened to be a goose with a knife in its beak.

You had several pots on the iron stove and something about to go in the oven as well. Critically you were moving around between all of these things, clattering with copper pot lids, jars of ingredients and spoons to try the food (always in the same pattern: grabbing a new spoon, trying something, putting the spoon in the dish bowl full of dirty water – then having to grab a new spoon). You had some potatoes boiling and in another pot you had been cooking a mixture of vegetables and beef for quite some time. You wanted to recreate a recipe of cottage pie that you had once tried many years ago in a tavern and had kept reappearing in your dreams. And now you finally had the kitchen and the tools to try and cook it yourself!

But it seemed impossible to get it right, this already being your fourth attempt this week. The vampire had already been moaning that you had basically force-fed him the meal because you had no way of eating that much pie on your own. It was not, that the finished pies hadn’t tasted well, but they just weren’t like you remembered. But you started to think that it might be your memory that was tricking you and not your cooking skills.

You went to try the pie filling again after adding some more spices and dash more red wine (directly from your goblet because you didn’t seem to remember where you put the bottle).

As soon as the spoonful hit your tongue you knew you had done it – finally.

You shrieked and immediately heard another shriek behind you in reply. You turned around to Astarion with glee and saw how the vampire was staring at you angrily and shaking his hand. It didn’t take a genius to figure out your sudden excitement had caused him to stab himself with his needle.

“Darling, can you maybe not scream like a dying goblin, I was concentrating!”, he hissed at you. Your joy evaporated at his flare of anger – so you turned around again, grabbed a left over half of carrot and threw it at Astarion – and maybe a bit more forceful than would have been necessary.

But he was still a rogue and dodged the vegetable easily. It flew against one of the cabinets and then to the ground. There it stayed until Scratch came into the kitchen, drawn there by the sudden noises. The dog sniffed at the piece of vegetable, then grabbed it and went off again.

“Oh really, are we at the ‘I throw stuff at my lover’ point of our relationship now, love?”, Astarion replied to your responsive outburst of anger with a raised eyebrow. “Am I going to have to sleep on the sofa next?”, he continued sassily.

Your hand itched to grab more produce – there were some potatoes still laying around and they made for excellent improvised throwing weapons. But you saw the smirk that played around the vampire’s lips. So you settled for a verbal rebuttal.

“Don’t be such a prick and you can keep sleeping inside”, you said and flipped him off. Then you turned around again to your cooking and grabbed – yet another – spoon and scooped up some of the filling. The vampire mumbled something under his breath about he wouldn’t have to be a prick if you didn’t make him prick himself.

“Oh, that would be so gracious of you, my dear lady, if I was still allowed in your shining presence”, Astarion then said loudly as you were busy with the pots. The tone still very sassy but you heard the playfulness in it now and knew he was now only teasing.

You went over to him, with one hand under the spoon full of hot goodness that immediately started dripping and burning your hand. You winced but kept going.

“Here, try this – I think I got it now”, you said as you stood in front of Astarion who had put down his needlework for the time being. He threw you a pained look: “Love, if you keep feeding me this I think I might actually start to get a pot belly.”

You snorted at him and eyed what you could see of his upper body. “Pretty sure, you will never have to worry about this kind of thing. Now. Try. It”, you answered and insistingly came closer with the spoon.

Astarion sighed, gave you another suffering look and then let himself be fed. His doubtful expression quickly changed to what you interpreted as pleasantly surprised.

“Alright, I take everything back, that was well worth the scream of enlightenment, my sweet. That tastes wonderful”, the vampire said and grinned at you.

“See, wasn’t so hard, was it”, you said and gave him a quick peck on the lips as you could see his face changing to annoyance once more at your petty remark.

You threw the spoon in the dish bowl and rubbed your hands on your apron and started to get everything ready for the final step of the recipe. Meanwhile you said to Astarion: “So, darling, could you write down the following: one and a half cups of red wine and three instead of two sprigs of thyme and just loads of black pepper.”

“Of course, my darling chef”, Astarion replied cheerfully and grabbed the feather and papers laying next to him to write it down. “Any other changes?”

“No, this will be it”, you responded and happily clapped your hands before you put your filling in a cast iron pan, mashed and seasoned the potatoes and then put them down as the topping of your pie. The final touch was some hearty cheese sprinkled on top. Then you put it all in the oven.

In the meantime, you heard the feather scratching over the paper.

“What are you doing, Astarion?”, you asked as you took off the oven mitts from pushing the pan in to cook.

“Just putting the recipe in clean writing for you, my heart”, the vampire replied as he kept looking through older versions and notes on the papers. Brows furrowed as he was concentrating on it.

“That’s sweet, love, thank you”, you said to him but he didn’t reply and probably hadn’t even noticed. Of course – if you said something actually nice you fell on deaf ears.

So you decided to thank him with another gesture. You grabbed another goblet to pour your vampire a cup of wine but as you looked around to find the opened bottle you saw that it had been next to Astarion with an already filled cup all along.

You gave up and sat down across the table with your own cup of wine as Astarion finished up writing. You put one leg up on the bench and hugged it to your chest, head on top of the knee and watched the pale elf.

“Here you go, my sweet”, the vampire exclaimed cheerfully after a few more moments and handed you the finished recipe that was now written cleanly in his neat and beautiful handwriting. ‘Tav’s specialty cottage pie’ stood atop the page and next to it was a little doodle of some steaming hot pie.

You smiled broadly at Astarion: “Thank you, darling.” Then you shortly leaned on the table, almost climbing over it to give him a kiss while carefully trying to avoid the needles.

“Do you sometimes wonder how we ended up like this?”, you softly asked him after you had read through the finished recipe.

“Like what?”

“Well, like this – all domestic. I’m cooking, you’re embroidering, we’re bickering like an old married couple, drinking wine and just enjoying a cozy night in instead of wreaking havoc somewhere out there”, you said and waved vaguely in the direction of the city beyond the walls of your home. Then you took another sip of wine.

“Let’s be honest with ourselves, we’ve been bickering like that from the moment we met”, Astarion answered and looked at you sternly. You shrugged in agreement.

“As for the rest – well, are you enjoying the way we spend our nights like this sometimes? Because if you’re bored-“

“No no, I’m enjoying this an awful lot. It’s just – this is somehow the most unlike turn of events don’t you think? Like, I sometimes can’t believe we actually ended up in the version where we’ll live happily ever after”, you said and cradled your face in your hand not currently holding a cup of wine.

At your words a warm and adoring smile crept onto Astarion’s face.

“Are you though?”, you asked then.

“Hm?”

“Are you enjoying these kinds of nights?”, you asked Astarion again and lifted your head up to look straight at him.

The vampire looked at you, smile still playing around his lips: “Well, my love, after two hundred years full of godsdamned shit I am enjoying this sort of mundanity quite a lot. And I enjoy it even more because I get to spend it with you. I might even enjoy doing the dishes with you later on – unless you don’t splash me like last time.”

You smiled at him too now, broadly – feeling incredibly lucky that you had indeed taken all the right turns that had led you here, to this: sitting at this kitchen table with the love of your life, talking about doing the dishes.

“But if we ever get bored, my sweet, I have quite a lot of ideas on how to spice things up”, Astarion continued afterwards. The smile morphed into a lewd smirk and his red eyes sparkled mischievously: “For example, I could dramatically throw everything on this table to the ground, rip all your clothes off and have my way with you on this table until you forget your own name.”

His voice had suddenly become deep and smooth like dark molten chocolate. You bit your bottom lip as the mental image of his words set in and you just stared into his eyes point blank. Astarion still looked at you, not breaking eye contact, and his teasing smirk only growing.

“Nah”, you made after some more moments, “not tonight. My cottage pie would burn.” Your tone was matter-of-fact and you drank some more of your wine while still looking into the vampire’s eyes.

Then you both broke down laughing. So much so that you had to wipe tears from your eyes by the end and Astarion had his face buried in one of his hands while silent fits of laughter still shook through him.

“Alright”, he said and bit his lip, one of his fangs showing adorably as if he was a cat, “I’ll write it down for another date night then.” You broke out laughing again.

Until you could actually smell your food burning. With an “oh shit” you jumped up and pulled the pan out of the oven – you had saved it just in time.

You got out some plates and forks, and put some generous servings onto them. As you turned around your gaze fell onto the table full of Astarion’s embroidery supplies. Astarion saw your look, then waved it off, dismissing it.

He grabbed one of the filled plates from you and grabbed your then free hand to lead you to the living room. Scratch was there laying on his designated blanket, chewing on his favourite ball. Some telltale orange spots telling the tale of the fallen carrot.

You settled down on your sofa with your food – you swinging your legs over Astarion’s and getting cozy.

And this is where you stayed: eating until you felt like your belly might burst, joking until you were crying again, talking until you got so tired you almost drifted off into dreaming right then and there. And when you had went to bed: holding each other until you woke up in the other’s arms again.

[shuahoonie]

unspoken words | jeon wonwoo

pairing: non-idol!wonwoo (svt) x fem!reader

notes: office!au (kinda?), fluff, suggestive jokes, swearing, idiots 2 lovers. alcohol consumption, jeonghan the matchmaker. the one where reader and wonwoo’s paths kept missing each other until they didn’t. loosely based on the song unspoken words by mxmtoon.

word count: 5.1k

summary: you and wonwoo always had a complicated relationship— no matter how hard you two tried, your lives had a funny way of getting intertwined.

and stubborn may you both be, wonwoo will always admit his feat when it comes to you.

part of the to x, with love mini series

shuahoonie's masterlist | to x, with love masterlist

“i never asked you to stay,” wonwoo muttered as you helped him clean up after the info session that your work had conducted for a group of students.

“this is ridiculous,” you sighed more so to yourself “there’s no way you could’ve done this by yourself.” you said while you held the blue recycling bin, gathering all of the leftover flyers and other papers that had writing on them. you also had a separate bin for the coffee lids and cup sleeves to put in the recycling as well.

“you could’ve just left,” wonwoo was watching you the entire time, making a mental note that you were serious about putting away your trash. “i know seokmin is waiting for you in the lobby.”

“it’s okay.” you replied, not even bothering to look him in the eye. instead, you gathered everything in a neat pile.

“you shouldn’t keep him waiting,” the words came out so harsh when he said it. even wonwoo was surprised, he wasn’t usually like this.

“he’ll be fine,” you said dismissively, not really in the mood to argue with him.

“yn,” wonwoo calls your name as if he hated doing it. “go.”

it took everything within you to stop yourself from yelling at him. “your anger will mean nothing,” seokmin’s words would ring in your ear. so you took a deep breath, dropped what you were doing and left without another word.

“oh, seok, i was ready to pounce him.” you grumbled, stabbing the lettuce on your salad a little too aggressively.

"what, like sexually?" seokmin realized it was a bad joke. the way you were practically throwing daggers at him made it painfully obvious that you were not in the mood to kid around. "i'm sorry, yn, but you really need to lighten up."

"if there's anyone who needs to lighten up, it's him," you argued, munching on your greens. "in fact, maybe i should light him up."

"i still don't understand how you two got off on the wrong foot," seokmin points out, hoping a proper explanation will emit from you.

you shrugged because you didn’t know what to tell your friend. the first time you properly met wonwoo was at your workplace. you even thought he was cute— quiet, had the nicest smile. your other coworkers were even raving about how polite and kind he was.

imagine your surprise when the ‘polite’ cutie from the editorial floor practically threw daggers at you as soon as you stepped into the office with the cerulean blue folders. this threw off wonwoo as he did the preparation for the meeting.

“in my defence, i saved both our asses when i replaced the folders during that important meeting with the new york office,” you grumbled.

unbeknownst to you, wonwoo kept a close track of your encounters. the first time wonwoo met you was through university.

you were the president of the school’s undergraduate publication journal and you were only in your second year. wonwoo was one of the new student recruits, he was a third year. he actually thought you were cute until you had assigned him to deal with international relations— wonwoo had applied for the editorial layout section. wonwoo was not happy.

you probably don’t remember him, wonwoo knew it. how could you? you were running around, trying to figure out the logistics, gather and have people review these submissions, edit and have it all printed before the next term starts. meanwhile, wonwoo was stuck somewhere, trying to solve things on his end. you only left notes on his work, you two barely met during meetings. you two had no direct contact.

once you were in your third year, you had to step down as president and become a casual editor instead. wonwoo became the publication journal’s president that year. you two still had no direct contact.

you unintentionally beat him for that librarian assistant position that wonwoo was gunning for as it'll boost his resume.

somehow, for wonwoo, you were always one step ahead of him and he doesn't like that one bit.

so the day you pranced into the office with your signature bright smile, wonwoo felt territorial over a place where he felt like he finally was one step ahead of you.

wonwoo didn't even like that seungcheol served you the last chocolate cake the day he stopped by at heaven's cloud cafe.

"how could you, cheol?" wonwoo huffed, his arms crossed, as cheol placed the iced americano and a slice of strawberry cake on wonwoo's table.

"it's just a slice, dude," seungcheol looked at him weirdly. "and you don't even like chocolate.”

“yeah, but i wanted a chocolate cake today.”

“jeon wonwoo, quit being weird and eat your cake,” jun comments as he appears behind seungcheol, dropping his things on the floor and sitting on the opposite of wonwoo.

while jun waits for his order to arrive, he worked on the monthly report that his boss has been pressuring him to do. as jun went on rambling about how much he hates his job, wonwoo is occupied with the idea of you. how you were always a step ahead of him.

from then, jeon wonwoo declared a one-sided competition against you.

your idea of jeon wonwoo was simple— he was the cute guy from the editorial team who hates your guts. why? surely, you don’t know.

one rainy afternoon, seokmin made sure to tell you that he won’t be able to give you a ride home, so he gave you the spare umbrella that he had.

“please be kind, ynnie, and let someone stand under your umbrella if they don’t have theirs,” seok reminded you.

“you know damn well i’m always kind,” you huffed with a pout— in which seok just gave you a pointed look before he handed you an umbrella and your lunch.

it seemed that your words had come to haunt you because here you were, walking under the rain using seok’s tiny umbrella, passing by wonwoo who was waiting in front of the office building— probably waiting for the rain to stop as he had no umbrella.

“he’d be waiting all night,” you thought to yourself. you had a long internal battle whether you’d just ignore him but seok’s words were ringing in your ear.

taking a deep breath, you asked “do you want to share an umbrella?”

wonwoo’s startled eyes looked at you and your umbrella. “i’m calling a cab,” he answered. wonwoo wasn’t exactly lying, he’s been trying to get one but the rain has made it extremely difficult to find one.

“well, you’d be calling all night. cabs are extremely hard to find especially at times like these,” you answered. wonwoo hated that you were right. again, always one step ahead of him. “subways are still running, do you want to walk together?”

wonwoo stared at you for what felt like an eternity before you rolled your eyes and pulled him under your umbrella. “we’re walking, stop overthinking it.”

you two were walking quietly in the rain. you’ve been coworkers for almost a year now and you can’t remember the time you and wonwoo had a proper conversation— one that you two didn’t end up bickering about senseless things. you didn’t even know why you two were always butting heads when you two were always working closely together. 

as you tried to squeeze the two of you under seok’s tiny umbrella, you noticed that his shoulder was practically soaking wet. of all the umbrellas that he’d give you, he had to choose the tiniest one he owned. this prompted you to hover the umbrella more on his side, allowing the rain to soak your exposed shoulder instead. 

wonwoo noticed how you moved the umbrella towards him, making him raise an eyebrow. you were wonwoo’s greatest puzzle— he can’t guess your next move and what’s worse is that you’re always one step ahead of him. “what are you doing?” he asked with furrowed brows. 

you looked up at him, suddenly aware of how tall he is. no wonder your arms were getting tired from holding that damn umbrella up. “what do you mean?” you asked, confused by his question.

wonwoo grabbed the umbrella from you— your hands touching for a brief moment. you ignored whatever was forming in the pit of your stomach. maybe you’re just hungry? wonwoo hovered the umbrella closer to you, fully aware of the fact that his shoulder was getting wet from the rain. “you’re getting soaked,” wonwoo replied curtly. 

“so are you,” you pointed out as you held the umbrella and tried to move it closer to him. however, wonwoo resisted it. 

“i’m fine,” he says. 

“whatever you say,” you huffed “it’s not like you intended to have annoyingly broad shoulders anyway,” you grumbled more to yourself, hoping he didn’t hear it. however, wonwoo heard your frustration over his shoulders and he couldn’t fight off the smile on his face. 

it was the first time he could openly admit to himself that you made him smile. it was also the first time you caught him smiling.

“oh, how adorable,” mingyu grinned upon hearing the umbrella-sharing story from wonwoo. “and you said you weren’t one for office romances,” he teased earning a glare from wonwoo. 

"because i'm not," wonwoo rolled his eyes "and i don't like her," he said almost defensively.

mingyu snorted "yeah, as if i haven't heard that line before." he said while setting up the living room for a movie night between him, wonu, jun, and chan. jun and ichan were running a little late as they were buying drinks.

"well, it's true," wonwoo crossed his arms "there's something about her that makes me feel like..." wonwoo trailed off, finding the right words to say.

"like?" mingyu sat on the couch, turning towards wonwoo— clearly invested.

"like... fuck, i don't know..."

mingyu lets out a dramatic gasp. "dude," he stares at wonwoo in complete awe. "you swore..."

"and?"

"you never swear unless you're completely frustrated," mingyu pointed out, a teasing look glimmering in his eyes. "you like yn, huh?!"

before wonwoo could even answer, mingyu's doorbell rang. saved by the bell, wonwoo thought.

"oh, this is not over, jeon wonwoo." mingyu said with a smirk, making wonwoo groan.

"seok, quit looking at me like that," you whined as you hugged the pillow tighter, placing your chin on top of the pillow.

"what?" seok grinned "it's nice to know that your beef with your coworker is slowly coming to an end."

"he was probably thinking how ridiculous i sounded for mentioning his shoulders," you grumbled. "why did i even mention his shoulders?!" you groaned.

seokmin couldn't help but laugh at how adorable you were being. "oh my sweet, ynnie," he cooed, ruffling your hair.

"here you go, yn," vernon said as he handed you a pint of ice cream. you were hosting a sleepover with seok, vern, and kwan. you three were waiting for seungkwan to arrive with the rest of the snacks.

you initially thought that you'd have the ice cream later but vernon thought that you might need it sooner than later. "thanks, nonie," you smiled at him.

"for what it's worth ynnie, he finally smiled at what you said." vernon said before taking a bite of his ice cream.

"and now yn is acting up because she thought he was cute," seokmin said teasingly, making vernon laugh.

wonwoo believes that the universe is out to get him. he kept complaining that you were always one step ahead of him and now, the universe is starting to retaliate.

"take yn," his manager tells him, making wonwoo clutch tighter on his notebook.

"sir?" wonwoo must be hearing things. there's no way that his manager actually asked him to take yn, right?

"take yn ln," his manager stresses your name. "didn't you two work on the last summit?"

"yes, but sir—"

"then it's final," his manager dismisses wonwoo "you two did a wonderful job with the last summit, i'd like you two to work on this year's professional development sessions."

"you two make a wonderful team," was the final thing that his manager said. without another word, wonwoo left the office feeling defeated. how can wonwoo be one step ahead of you if the universe is making him walk alongside you?

it was no surprise that wonwoo was everyone's office crush in the editorial department. people would often turn their heads whenever he walked by. this time was no exception.

the people on your floor knew the budding tension between you two. so when wonwoo was walking towards your desk with two coffees and a bag of dessert in hand, heads definitely turned and people were bound to talk.

"here," wonwoo hands you an iced americano and a bag of what you assumed was a slice of chocolate cake, catching you off-guard. your desk computer was showing the available job listings in the other departments. "are you thinking of transferring?" he asked as he leaned closer to your monitor— closer to you. his cologne was easily filling your nostrils. you hate that he smells good. how are you supposed to despise a man who smells good?! you thought. wow, the bar is literally on the floor.

"i'm keeping my options open," you answered as you crossed your arms, snapping yourself to reality. "it's not like you're making my life any easier here," you muttered the latter sentence, though you did hope that he heard it.

it's been a month since you and wonwoo started working on the company's professional development sessions. it's also been a month of torture. you've gotten frequent migraines that you started looking up if taking tylenol frequently will kill you. you didn't like the results.

wonwoo heard the latter sentence. while the month has been torture for you, wonwoo didn't mind your company at all. sure you were butting heads most of the time, but he noticed how much you were willing to compromise just to settle a conclusion between you two. wonwoo liked pushing your buttons. he found you cute even if you wanted to bite his head off.

"is this a peace offering?" you motioned to the coffee and the cake that was sitting on your desk.

"for what?" wonwoo smirked, playing coy. "you agreed to the after-session event, fair and square."

"bitch?!" you stared at him as if he's gone mad "if anything, you made it your life's mission to annoy me into agreeing that going to an escape room is what we need after overloading our brains from the sessions."

"yn ln, you know i can go to HR because you cursed at me, right?"

"jeon wonwoo, you know we're banned from that floor unless there's a serious allegation," you said, massaging your temples. "now humour me, what's with the coffee and cake?"

"oh, i stopped by at heaven's cloud café earlier and jeonghan practically insisted that you have these," wonwoo said casually, looking away.

you stared at him suspiciously, "thanks, i guess." you haven't spoken to jeonghan in a while since you've always been swamped with work. but maybe that's why you got free coffee and desserts?

before you could even ask wonwoo another question, he quickly left without even looking back at you. deciding to ignore it, you snapped a quick picture of the coffee and the cake, shooting jeonghan a quick text, "thanks for the coffee & cake, hannie! miss u! ♡"

"jeon wonwoo, is there a reason why yn sent me a text earlier, thanking me for the coffee and cake that i didn't give her?" jeonghan asked wonwoo, who was busy typing away on his laptop. wonwoo stopped at jeonghan's place after work as their other friends will be dropping by later as well.

"i don't know what you're talking about," wonwoo mumbled, not looking at han in the eye.

jeonghan was having none of it. "i'm texting yn that you gave those things to her," he threatened, pulling out his phone.

knowing jeonghan is probably going to commit to it, wonwoo sighed and threw his hands in defeat. "fine."

“and so the plot thickens,” jeonghan smirked, crossing his arms. “so is there a reason why?"

"she was having a rough day," wonwoo explained, closing his laptop. that report will be dealt with tomorrow. "i felt bad."

jeonghan raised an eyebrow at him. "i thought you didn't like her?"

"i don't."

"funny, because that's an odd way of expressing how you dislike her," jeonghan said, making wonwoo roll his eyes.

“i can at least recognize all the work she’s been doing in planning the pd session,” wonwoo replied, defensive.

jeonghan smirked because he knew. he knew that wonwoo was walking on a thin line. in fact, jeonghan was 100% sure that his friend has gone soft for you. “okay, whatever you say.”

“ynnie!” seungcheol calls your name as he spots you, busy choosing what kind of juice you are going to buy. you decided to stop by at the grocery to grab a couple of things for the fridge.

you gave him a small wave, smiling. seungcheol, however, was eager to give you a hug. you, cheol, and han shared a couple of classes back when you three were in university. you were always supportive of their endeavours that’s why cheol & han always had a soft spot for you— they considered you like a little sister that they always had to take care of.

“how was the cake from earlier? you know i’ve been taking a lot of baking lessons recently,” cheol said with a proud smile.

“oh, it was great, cheol!” you said sincerely “i sent jeonghan a text earlier, saying thanks.”

“thanks for what?”

“for the cake…?” you trailed off, a bit off-guard by the confusion plastered on seungcheol’s face.

“why would you thank jeonghan?” seungcheol asked, even more confused.

“jeonghan wasn’t there?”

cheol shook his head no. “unless jeonghan told wonwoo, but i assumed wonwoo bought it for you. i was teasing him about it too, since he doesn’t like chocolate that much.”

“ah,” was all you could say as you felt your cheeks burning, surprised by cheol’s sudden information. is that why jeonghan hasn't replied to your text at all?

cheol suddenly felt like he just triggered a bomb. oh, he fucked up. as if on cue, his phone started ringing. mingyu was calling. "okay, i'm heading off, ynnie."

you just nodded and waved goodbye, feeling confused. it was a good thing that you won't be seeing wonwoo during the weekend otherwise you would've gone mad.

heaven's cloud café was buzzing with people when you came in.

you spent a lot of time debating if you had to improvise how you would spend your sunday morning. you would usually stop by the heaven's cloud café and spend a good chunk of your time there— reading or chatting with jeonghan and seungcheol.

however, knowing that wonwoo might stop by at the cafe, it left you questioning if you wanted to derail your usual sunday routine.

and yet, your pride got the best of you. no matter how much you didn't want to see wonwoo, you weren't going to derail your sunday routine especially if it involved coffee.

although the café was usually busy on the weekends, today was unusually busy— you wondered if there was a special promotion taking place. jeonghan hasn't even acknowledged your presence yet as han is busy manning the till while also preparing the drinks. cheol is probably in the kitchen, preparing food.

you settled on the last empty table at the very back— dropping off your things, deciding to order a bit later once the line from the till calms down.

while you were busy scrolling on your phone, someone placed a tall glass of iced americano and a slice of strawberry cake on your table.

"you should try this, it's a house favourite," someone with a deep voice said. you looked up and saw jeon wonwoo with slightly messy hair, wearing your favourite black specs and a white button-up, smiling at you. fuck, he looks good. is hell officially frozen?

"are you perhaps a twin of jeon wonwoo?" you asked, completely boggled.

"yn, what the hell?" wonwoo laughs at your incredulous take, making you even more confused. why is this wonwoo variant laughing and smiling at you? most of all, why are they bringing you food when you haven't even ordered?! "what made you say that?"

you reached out your hand and poked his cheek, making him laugh. "are you really wonwoo from sector17 press?"

"yn, seriously, what makes you think that it's not me?"

"why are you so smiley all of a sudden," you cried, weirded out. "and why are you serving me food?"

"my, do you like it when i give you a hard time?" wonwoo said, teasingly "is that a kink of yours?"

"you're fucking weird, jeon wonwoo," you smacked his arm. "i've never met the weekend version of wonwoo and i don't think i like it," you cried quietly to yourself.

"cute," wonwoo says quietly, still smiling at you. "i'll talk to you later, okay? i'm helping cheol and han for the day and i feel like they'll beat my ass if they see me slacking off." wonwoo gently ruffled your hair and walked away, leaving you flabbergasted.

you felt that familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach. oh god, what the fuck just happened?

the friday night that jeonghan found out that wonwoo used jeonghan’s good name to protect his image, was the same night that seungcheol bumped into you at the grocery store.

drinks were getting passed rather at a rapid speed. for them, this night was a gem among other nights. most of jeonghan’s friends were at his place, enjoying the night away.

“ya, wonwoo,” cheol suddenly calls wonwoo, who was barely drinking— as per cheol’s opinion. “i thought tonight was the night that you were going to get loose.”

wonwoo chuckled, “i’m pacing myself.”

jeonghan snorted. “cheol, you’re talking to the guy who still cannot admit his high school crush on our ynnie.”

this earned a couple of laughs from the group, mainly from mingyu and jun.

“yoon jeonghan, just because you’re in a happy relationship—” wonwoo threw a balled up napkin at him, obviously not knowing how to reply.

“oh, wons, that reminds me…” cheol started rubbing the back of his head “i told yn that it was you who gave her the food and not jeonghan.”

as soon as the words left cheol’s mouth, it’s as if wonwoo felt annoyingly sober. he downed the tall shot of bacardi that was supposed to be mingyu’s shot.

“i don’t get why you’re tiptoeing around your feelings for her,” mingyu pointed out, filling the shot glass again. “it’s not like there’s a company policy against dating your coworkers.”

“isn’t there?” joshua asked. wonwoo shook his head no. “lucky bastard.” shua muttered, taking mingyu’s shot.

“you guys, what’s the point of doing rounds when you’re taking the shots as you please?” mingyu whines.

“i thought you didn’t like yn?” jun asked wonwoo, taking a bite of the kimchi jeon. “or is that like a weird defence mechanism against your feelings?”

"oh please," mingyu rolled his eyes "wonwoo had a huge crush on yn ever since our uni days," he pointed out, prompting wonwoo to hit him.

"weren't you two in like a school publication together?" jeonghan asked, taking the shot from mingyu.

"oh, right! you had like a one-sided beef with yn," jun's eyes lit up briefly, then proceeded to smirk at wonwoo, "ya! is that how you show your affection?"

"obviously not," cheol grins "our wonwoo is the type to show his affection through actions, not words."

"what are the chances that they'd end up working under the same company though," joshua commented with a fond smile.

"and in the same department too," jeonghan added.

wonwoo groans, before taking a shot, "i hate all of you."

"you two have a deep history, have you two never talked?" joshua asked, now invested.

wonwoo shakes his head, "we only talk about work."

"if they talk about work," mingyu laughs, "all they do is argue."

"how do you know all of this, gyu?" cheol asked in disbelief, laughing, "you work at a different company."

"i work with seokmin," mingyu replied "and seok likes to tell stories about yn."

"ya, didn't we invite him tonight?" cheol suddenly remembers, looking at his phone to check his message thread with seok.

"he's probably with yn," wonwoo muttered before taking another shot. this gets attention from the rest of the group— a series of teasing smirks and playful looks being exchanged.

like a kid on christmas morning, a bright smile appears on mingyu's face. "won, are you perhaps jealous?" he teased, with the new-found information.

wonwoo scoffed but didn't answer the question. wonwoo swore he wasn't the jealous type. but for some reason, he can't get over the fact that his friend was closer to you.

wonwoo knew that there was nothing going on with you and seok.

however, seok was your person, wonwoo would always think. you felt happier around seok. if wonwoo didn't know any better, he would assume that you liked seok. maybe she does, wonwoo can't help but think.

"you know they're just friends, right?" mingyu reminded wonwoo.

wonwoo doesn't say anything. he was just waiting for his friends to butt into the conversation. wonwoo's eyes caught jeonghan's. jeonghan smiles, that mischievous smile of his, leaving wonwoo confused.

"won, do you wanna know who she likes?" jeonghan instigates, leaning forward.

wonwoo waits, does he really wanna know?

jeonghan smiles, then says "you."

wonwoo didn't believe in signs— for him, every little decision a person makes is pulled by the desired outcome. however, you were his only exception.

"if ynnie stops by at the café on sunday, will you finally talk to her like civilized beings?" jeonghan's words rang loudly in wonwoo's ear.

"i don't believe in signs," wonwoo states simply.

"and you can't make an exception for yn?" jeonghan knew how to play the game. he's just waiting for wonwoo to swallow his pride and address his suppressed feelings.

"maybe." wonwoo answers, making jeonghan smile mischievously. and so, it begins, jeonghan thinks.

it was ridiculous— waiting for something to happen when he could've just started a conversation with you. but it's so hard when it's you. god, it's so hard for wonwoo when it's you because you make him feel things that he thought were only exaggerated by films.

wonwoo didn't know if jeonghan's revelation about you was a lie, but he'd be lying if he said that it didn't affect him— because it did. it felt like he was back in high school and he's not sure if that's something he liked.

jeonghan and seungcheol were very much aware of your routine. every now and then, you would visit the café every sunday— even during the morning rush. they were most definitely aware of what's waiting for you and wonwoo.

the two owners had tasked wonwoo to help with serving the orders as more people flooded the café. "make yourself useful while you wait for your girlfriend!" was all jeonghan said as he handed wonwoo an apron.

and so when you entered the café, wonwoo gathered all his strength to talk to you casually, even if it sent him through an overdrive.

while you were walking towards the washroom, you bumped into jeonghan who was grinning at you. you knew that man long enough to know that he's hiding something when he's smiling like that.

"ya," you pulled jeonghan to the side. "what are you hiding?"

"what do you mean?" han answers, blinking at you innocently.

"why is wonwoo being nice and smiley," you asked him with a huff, crossing your arms. wonwoo being smiley was something you didn't know would affect you this bad. "he's being too cute for my liking," you muttered the latter part.

jeonghan laughs at your dilemma. "isn't that what you wanted?"

"what do you mean—" you were confused with jeonghan's comment until it dawned on you. you remembered the time you went out for drinks with jeonghan and seungkwan. "yoon jeonghan!" you slapped his arm, making him yelp but he was still laughing.

"what?" he looks at you, acting confused as he rubs his arm. "i'm being supportive here!"

"you promised me you wouldn't tell him," you pouted.

"oh please, he was jealous of seok, i had to throw him something."

"so you told wonwoo about the time i got drunk with you and professed my undying feelings for him instead?!"

"no," jeonghan replies. his eyes moved past yours, looking past your shoulders, and smiled. "but i think you already did." jeonghan says, patting your shoulder before he left.

wonwoo was sitting across from you with a smile on his face. you've never seen this man smile at you this much, it was starting to freak you out.

"don't look at me like that," you grumbled, glaring at wonwoo.

"i can't help it," he looks at you almost tenderly. "you look adorable even when you're sulking like that."

you felt the familiar sensation in your stomach. how can jeon wonwoo just say things like these to you? does he not care about your well-being?! how you'd feel?

"that was a long time ago, by the way," you said in defence— as if the damage hadn't been done. wonwoo waits for you to continue your sentence. "you know, me having a crush on you," you continued, your tone getting quieter after each word.

"i'm sorry, what was that?" wonwoo leans closer, as if he didn't hear what you just said. you knew he was just teasing you as you noticed that he was trying to fight off a smirk.

"i don't like you, jeon wonwoo," you whispered, prompting wonwoo to only focus on your lips.

"that's too bad because," wonwoo paused briefly and leaned even more, "i like you."

his face was dangerously close to yours— wonwoo didn't care if half of his body was practically hovering over the table. he wanted to lean closer to you.

you felt frozen in your place. a part of you wanted to lean back and smack him, but there's also a part of you that just wanted to grab his stupid face and kiss it.

"ya!" jeonghan suddenly appeared beside your table "if you two are going to make out in my café, can you move to cheol's office? i'm planning to keep this place family-friendly," jeonghan snickered.

maybe you should just kiss wonwoo and smack jeonghan instead.

hello hello friends! i wrote this while i was sick in bed & was high on buckley's flu meds, so this is v cheesy. i hope you are all well & healthy! ♡

[cyborg-franky]

Comforting their partner

I think I needed this myself, who knows.

MODERN AU - SFW Ace x GN Reader Marco x GN Reader Rosi/Corazon x GN Reader

Ace

You’d been exchanging texts with Ace all day, and he knew you weren’t in a good place—stressed, tired, and burnt out. He spent most of his day sending you pictures of Stefan, his father's dog, and a large selection of dumb selfies and memes he’d collected.

It made you smile, made everything just a little less heavy to know he was right there for you even if you couldn't see him. You were so swamped with your chores and work that free time slipped through your fingers, leaving you further fatigued. 

You lay in bed, staring at your TV, feeling so sorry for yourself. Things just kept piling up, and you were about to burst from how much you stuffed down and pushed aside. Tears prick the corner of your eyes. You bit your lip, not wanting to just burst into tears. You looked at your phone and saw nothing. Ace hadn’t replied in over ten minutes.

Maybe he’d finally passed out or was playing another game with his brothers.

You could feel the sadness creeping in until there was a tapping on your window. You opened your eyes and stared at your curtains. The same tapping happened again, and you sat up, pulling them open and almost jumping. 

Ace was outside your window, having climbed the tree. He was waving with a huge grin on his face.

“The fuck, Ace?” you huffed at him when you opened the window, and he slid in, getting his foot stuck and falling onto the bed below with a laugh and looking up at you. “Well, sounded like you needed a shoulder to cry on,” he shrugged from where he was making himself comfortable on your bed, kicking off his boots. Both of you wincing when they thudded to the floor. 

You sighed, your anger melting away as he held his arms up. He made grabby hands as you slowly leaned in, letting Ace grab you and pull you down against him. He cuddled you up to his side, your head against his chest, and you heard the rumble of his voice and his heartbeat. You closed your eyes when you felt fingers running through your hair.

“You wanna talk about it some more?” he asked, and you shook your head, draping an arm over his waist and sighing, breathing in his smell. It was always comforting, like a warm fire on a cold night.

“Alright, wanna watch funny videos?” he suggested, and you nodded. He got comfy, arm around you, and phone in a position you could both watch. 

The night ended up in your boyfriend's arms, just the two of you, silly videos to entertain you and take you away from your troubled thoughts.

Marco

He’d been texting you when he got a spare moment at work and worried about how you felt. He felt bad he couldn’t duck out of work to come, scoop you up in his arms, and kiss the bad thoughts away.

But he listened to you, let you vent, and even gave advice when you asked for it.

Thanks to Marco, you were currently watching a comfort show, curled up on the sofa and cuddled up in blankets as you tried to let the show distract you enough. Every so often, you’d message him. He checked in on his breaks, and although Marco wasn’t here with you, you felt connected and cared for anyway. He spoke so soothingly and calmly, like a soft breeze.

It was evening by the time he came over, knocking on the door andamiling at you, his half-lidded eyes full of love as he leaned down and kissed your forehead.

“Come on, let's go for a ride,” he said, his car still running on the drive. You could hear his music faintly from the open window.

“Okay, where?” you asked as you grabbed your phone and keys and locked up. “Just around.” 

The wind ran through your hair, his hand on your thigh, and you both listened to your music as you cruised through the peaceful evening. You were just happy in one another's company, letting the night and his comforting aura chase away the sadness. 

He knew how much you needed to get away from the noise of the world around you, driving a little ways from the city, where the stars twinkled in the sky brighter than you were used to.

You soon pulled up to a late-night food place. Marco killed the engine, the music shutting off as he nodded for you to get out. “Let's get something to eat, or at least a coffee, yoi.” Marco smiled at you before getting out of the car.

Sitting in a quiet corner of the cafe, you both shared a plate of fries, not feeling super hungry. You sipped your drink of choice as he drank his coffee.

“So, want to tell me about what happened today?” he asked, his hand reaching across the table to find yours. The weight of his larger hand on yours calmed your jumbled mind enough to pick through the mental clutter. “Well… so this happened today, and I just am struggling with it… It’s silly though.” You said with a dry chuckle, thinking he would judge you for how dumb it was, how it didn’t feel like a real problem.

“Hey,” he squeezed your hand. “If it upset you, it’s not silly, okay?” You paused, thinking his words over, seeing the warmth of his smile. “Okay,” you nodded and talked it out with him.

Rosinante

He knew you’d had a rough time at work today; everything that could go wrong had. You were tired, exhausted, and struggling to deal with it. You messaged him on your lunch break, not wanting to vocalize what was wrong, just taking comfort in his messages.

All the heart emojis and silly selfies of him making a half-heart with his fingers, his big charming grin filling the screen as he beamed brightly. You sent one back, completing the heart he was sweet.

When you got home, feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders, the bad feelings dragging you down, making your feet feel heavier. You opened the door and took a deep breath, trying to feel better about just being home and away from the job that stressed you out,

“Hey!” Rosi said, a smile on his handsome face as he stood up, towering over you. He pulled you into a hug, keeping you close and not letting go. He didn’t want to pull away first. He wanted to give you the hug you needed.

When you managed to fight the urge to cry, you peered up at him and got a kiss on the forehead.

“I have something to cheer you up…” He said with a wink. Pulling away, he nodded to the basket on the table.

You looked through it: comfort snacks you loved, a movie you wanted to see for ages, and other little bits and pieces that he knew you loved, including a plushie you held to your chest and smiled back at him. “Thank you so much, Rosi. I love you.” I love you too, and I hope it helps even a little!

You spent the evening cuddled on the sofa, happily eating your snacks, wrapped in a blanket, watching the movie he’d bought. Rosi gently rubbed your leg, trailing fingertips up and down your skin to keep you relaxed and calm.

He knew you’d talk about it when you were ready. He was never the type to push or ask, knowing that when you felt up to it, you’d talk it out with him, and when you were ready to share, he was ready to help you. He took your hand and brought it to his face, kissing your knuckles. “How do you feel?”

“Much better, thank you.”

[persefolli]

𝐀𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐧 𝐈𝐧𝐯𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐓𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐢 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐒𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐀𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐞𝐱

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @xylianasblog, @scarasbaefy, @sukunasbigtiddiewifey, @the-mourning-moon, @childofgod-05

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞

Tonowari listened to his wife’s breathing pattern while laying straight up in bed. He’d been listening for about an hour, waiting for Ronal to fall into a deep sleep before he could sneak off. After a few more snores, he determined it was safe to go. His arm slithered from under his wife’s head and he got up, looking down at her sleeping figure before walking out of the pod.

He made sure to take the unlit path to his destination in case any of the clam members spotted him. They would likely question and possibly even follow him. If anyone caught him, he might as well kiss the respect he has goodbye. He knew that what he was doing was wrong, but he had urges, and Ronal couldn’t satisfy them. 

Tonowari was tired of being perfect all the time, tired of being humble, and treated as an equal. He wanted to be worshiped, he wanted the power to mold someone, to be feared, and respected all in one. That’s why he had you. 

You worked as a scientist for the RDA; the department that focused on Pandora’s sea life specifically. You and your lab partners were tasked to work with the whales…well, Tulkun’s, and analyze the brain matter that had an anti-aging agent for humans. 

The men you worked with fucked up. They angered the Metkayina by killing a na’vi’s spirit sister. After failing to capture the men in the first attack, the na’vi decided to infiltrate the lab and took you all hostage. Tonowari, the leader, killed off the men one by one, but left you.

He didn’t tell Ronal he didn’t kill you, which left you with questions. Especially if only him, and a select few of warriors knew he was keeping a human hostage.

"Why did you do it?"

"I didn't do anything!" You responded fearfully. 

Tonowari glared down at you, shaking his head. His knuckles turned white from gripping his spear too hard.

"Then what is this for." He pulled out a small vial of the golden liquid you kept in your station. 

"That's-...humans...we can use that for our aging, it slows it down."

He inspected the vial again.  "You HAD to kill the tulku to get this little thing?”

"I didn't kill it! I'm against this, really, they are intelligent, beautiful creatures, I opt out of the killing part.”

Tonowari tilted his head. He believed you. Why? 

When he first came for you, you bowed down,surrendering. You already knew what he was there for. You expected him to hurt you or impale you like the other mercenaries in the lab, but no, he just kidnapped you and kept you on a stray boat he’d also taken control of. Somewhere you could breathe properly, under his supervision. 

He noted the way that you apologized between sentences when speaking to him, the way you looked at him with those big, doey, watery eyes. You were indebted to him, and the two of you had a mutual understanding of that. 

Tonowari found himself visiting a lot, making excuses, questioning you about the RDA, until he turned to ask you about your own interests. The sudden changes in his behavior gave you whiplash. Maybe he was realizing he couldn’t get too close to you, but again, he wasn’t trying very hard to fight it. He realized he was emotionally cheating on you about a month into your incarceration, but he didn’t feel guilty about it.

The two of you got closer and closer, until he buttered you up enough to get more…intimate.

He watched in satisfaction as you gagged on his cock. "Take your time." He looked at you through lidded eyes. To be honest, he didn't want you to take your time. He wanted you to continue to struggle to take his length in your mouth. 

Your tiny human mouth was no match for his length, only able to take in his tip and using both hands to make up for the rest. This wasn’t the best sexual intimacy he’s had, but it was something so stimulating seeing you go down on him. Tears streamed from your eyes and the rim of your mouth was soaked in saliva. You looked so dumb to him, and he loved it. He shut his eyes and kept a tight hold on your head as he felt himself coming. He grunted through clenched teeth and spilled into your mouth, sending you back, coughing and choking on the overload of semen.

Tonowari reached for his mask and took a breath of air that was made to keep him stable in environments like this. “On your back, bend your knees.” He commanded.

You did as told, and he shifted with you, looping his index finger around your panties and pulling them down. You let out an embarrassing moan, as he ran his large finger along your folds. It had to be the same size as any male you’d ever been with, maybe even bigger.

He pushed his finger past your folds, causing you to jolt and moan. You gripped at your breasts desperately as he worked his finger in and out of your tight hole. Tonowari had drowned out your moans and looked at your cunt intently, nearly drooling at how you sucked his finger in. If you  were this tight around his single finger, how would you feel around his cock?

Tonowari instinctively curled his finger upwards which caused you to sit up on your elbows, letting out a loud moan. “Fuck! Wari-” He pulled his finger out of you with a popping sound and you whined from the sudden emptiness.

He pulled you on top of him, looking up at you with narrowed eyes. “Turn around.”

You did as told, turning around so he could have a good view of your ass. He groaned and unclipped his loincloth, springing free behind you. You looked back nervously, hands on his thighs as you waited for him to give you the next instruction.

He squeezed your ass, warmth covering your entire cheek as he gripped at the flesh. He then pulled it aside to expose both your entrances to him. He groaned at the sight and allowed his length to rest on your ass.

You wanted to tell him to be gentle, but you knew he enjoyed having his way with you. It was a power thing for Tonowari, and he wasn’t giving that up so easily. 

“I'll go easy on you tonight.”

You were sidetracked by his statement, fully expecting him to fuck you.

“But-”

“I haven't trained you properly.” He sat up and placed a kiss on your spine, between your shoulder blades.

“Wouldn't be noble of me to just force myself in.”

You took a breath of relief, closing your eyes as he rubbed his finger along your folds again. You moaned softly, letting out a whimper when he prodded at your hole. You let out a yell as he pushed his finger inside, smirking as the sounds of pleasure filled his ears once again. 

“I'll have to train you.” He tilted his head,  working his finger in and out. “Want another?”

“Mhm. I want another!” You whimpered. Tonowari flicked at your clit before slowly worming his middle finger into your hole. Tonowari held you in place as you jerked forward, practically running away from his fingers.

He continued pumping his fingers in and out. Leaking a bit himself, seeing a ring form around his fingers. It would take at least 3 fingers for you to even think about taking his dick.

This regime would continue for a week or so, until you finally fit that third finger inside. 

He was ecstatic.

Ronal didn’t know what was up with her husband's sudden glow, but he was more attentive to clan duties, that's for sure. Tonowari already had a date planned in his head for the day he would officially claim you as his.

You were already his, and he knew that by the way you looked at him with glossy eyes when he came to see you. You were wrapped around his finger, and he took pride in finally feeling like a man. 

Tonowari came late one night. Later than usual, but it's not like you were keeping track.

He moved around the boat silently, taking off his armor, then untying his loincloth. You got eager and began removing your clothes but he turned and held up his hand.

“I’ll do it.”

You laid back as he crawled over you, working your underwear down and leaving your bottom half bare under him. He moved his hand down and began stroking himself between your folds. You bit your bottom lip and moaned softly, looking up at him with a pleading look. 

Once he was satisfied with how wet you were, he moved to push his length inside of you. 

“Oh god!” You grunted and threw your head back. Even though the past few nights you got accommodated to three of his fingers, you still felt a burning stretch as he pushed inside. He was also unbelievably long, which added on to the circuit of pain coursing through your bottom half.

“I took my time training you.” He placed a kiss to the back of your ear. “You can take it.” He encouraged. “We were patient so you can learn to take it, hm?” You looked down with tears welling in your eyes, but you nodded. You looked down to see a slight bulge in your belly, clearly from his invasion of space. 

Tonowari closed his eyes, took hold of your hips, and began thrusting slowly. You were painfully tight. Not even Ronal had him straining like this. You were molded to him, fit like a glove. 

“Wari- I-, Fuck!” You couldn’t even form a sentence while he was inside of you. You were addicted, to the pain, to the sweat, to the expression on his face as he fucked you slowly. It was obvious that he wanted to be rough with you, but he was a patient man, and he suppressed his own urges to please you.

“I'm gonna-” He panted.

He didn’t even finish his sentence. You knew he was coming by the way his moans got breathier and wimpy. You let out a squeal as you felt his liquid seep inside of you. You felt full, full and warm. He felt slightly embarrassed from how fast he finished, but he wouldn’t show that. This was weeks in the making. 

Tonowari held himself up, panting and opening his eyes. You trembled under him, pressing at his pelvis in hopes he would pull out. He let out an exasperated sigh and pulled out of you slightly, before turning you to your side and pushing back into you, to cockwarm him.

You expected a lot when you accepted the job on another planet, but you certainly didn’t expect this. 

[acotarxreader]

Moonlight Swim

Cassian x Reader

Synopsis: Cassian has his heartbroken at the end of Illyrian training party he attended. Lovelorn and in need of a miracle, you cross his path to set his night on a course of centuries-long pining.

Warnings: Fluff, near drowningish?

A/N: This is very sweet I think, hehe. I know I just posted a fic yesterday but I say fuck it, here you go ✨ Let me know what you think friends!

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

Cassian sat on the damp decaying porch of a manor house he didn’t know who belonged to, an enormous party spewing across the Illyrian property. The Illyrian warriors had earned their party, coming to the end of decades of rigorous training and sacrifice. Cassian took a deep drink from his tumbler of whiskey, more than a little on his way to drunk, more than a little heart broken, bleeding and wishing for a miracle to happen. Cassian's eyes fell on the splintered wood of the porch supports and then onto the split skin of his knuckles as they stitched together. He thought of the female who had just stormed away leaving him on the disintegrating deck, how she promised him the world for the past few months and then ripped it away. The thought had his fist flying into another spandrel on the porch and he fought the urge to scream until his lungs went dry into the Summer night. Cassian necked the remainder of the liquor before firing it into a nearby bush. 

“Not one for glassware huh?” The sweet playful voice fell like music on Cassian's ears and yet he kept his gaze forward on the woods below the house on the hill. Cassian tucked his wings tighter into his back, wishing to disappear into the night’s shadows. 

“Are you okay?” he only returned a half grunt to you, hoping to get you to leave and failing. Cassian felt your warm energy replace the cold next to him on the step. A conflict of wanting you to leave and wanting to never be alone again raged in Cassian's mind.

“Are you from Windhaven?” he nodded in confirmation, still forcing his eyes forward.

“Well I’m not so-”

“Is that supposed to fucking mean something to me?” he didn’t mean to direct the anger from the fallout towards you, feeling instantly guilty, only to have you softly laugh him off. 

“It means I guess that I don’t know you and you don’t know me and we may never know each other beyond this night so you can tell me what’s wrong and I won’t pop up later in life to use it against you which you seem like the type to greatly fear that”

“I don’t need to vent, I need to be left alone” he lied but you rose from the deck and left for a moment, Cassian regretting his words. You arrived back to your space on the rotting deck, gently prying Cassian split hand from and rubbing in a lavender-scented salve. You ran a thumb over the syphon decorating his hand, his eyes landing on the movement.

“Now Grumpy Bat, at least you won’t end up with a hook for a hand because of infection” You twisted the lid back on the jar of the homemade salve before standing. 

“Why are you at this party with salve?” he said so quietly he thought you wouldn’t hear.

“I’m just passing through with a product delivery” you offered moving to leave the decking and the Illyrian.

“I broke up with my partner tonight” Cassian wasn’t sure why he felt the need to confess, internally blaming it on the alcohol and blood loss.

“Why is she more of an emerald fan than a ruby fan?” you laughed gesturing towards the syphon, Cassain realised you really weren’t from around here. You rejoined his side and he found himself laughing for the first time in a long time, his eyes finally landing on your face. Cassian felt lightness course through him in the light of your genuine smile to him, the swirling heartbreak headache easing to a stop.

“No, more like she’s a fan of other Faes mouths” You sucked air through your teeth before attempting to smile again, Cassian feeling the pity leak from you and he hated it.

“Did you hit him?”

“Not yet” he gave a grin before pointing to the splintering post you were leaning on, gaining an equal grin from you.

“I’m sorry your ex was a jerk”

“I could think of stronger words for her” he scoffed, forcing down the growing tears in his eyes, his best party trick. 

“I can go call her those words if you want, I have nothing to lose” Cassian exhaled a small laugh before speaking again.

“Thanks for the salve, you can go back to the party if you want” 

“Nah, not really my scene” you offered.

“Then what is your scene?” he raised an eyebrow to your words, your grin growing wider. 

-----------

You held his hand as you pulled him down the hill in the shadow of the house and through the forested area. Cassian wasn’t normally the type to follow a stranger so blindly into the woods and yet he couldn’t do anything but be pulled by your magnetic force.

“Are you going to murder me?” Cassian laughed, leaping over tree roots behind you.

“I haven’t decided yet Grumpy Bat” you toyed back before coming out the other side of the woods, a large deep lake stretching across the flooded mountain valley.

“Yup you’re going to murder me” You released his hand and playfully hit him into his chest as he beamed at you. He watched you wander down the slope to a disused dock before he followed you, unable to keep from your orbit. 

“Woah you work fast” Cassian laughed as you began to strip down until you were left in your underwear and vest, rolling your eyes at the Illyrian who couldn't quite believe how his night was going.

“C’mon”

“Wait really? You want to go swimming?”

“Yeah let's go Grumpy Bat” Cassian wasn’t this kind of character, training had made him rigid and rule bound and yet he couldn’t fight against the need to be everything you wanted and so happily he wanted to be. Cassian pulled his shirt from over his head, stripping down to his underwear as he felt your eyes cling to him, tracing every muscle

“My eyes are up here” he teased, causing you to pull your eyes from his bare chest and shove him back before catching his wrist and pulling him forward again. 

“Ready?” Cassian nodded slowly before you flew off the dock, plunging into the crystal-like water lit by the Summer’s moon. You both bobbed to the top quickly, laughing loudly echoing through the woods, not releasing one another's hand. Panic began to run through Cassian, he hated swimming, was never particularly strong at it and found it increasingly hard to focus on staying afloat while looking at your glow in the water. 

“Are you okay?” your laugh was like music in his ears as he fought the rising panic.

“Yeah its just- its just-”

“Not a strong swimmer?” Cassian saw you try not to laugh, unsure if he’d ever been so embarrassed in his life. His toes stretched to just about touch the silty bottom of the lake, still too deep for comfort for him. You carefully guided him back towards the dock, climbed out and helped to pull him back to the dry ground. 

“Why did you jump in if you're not a strong swimmer, you could have been hurt!” you chuckled at him as he shook the water from his hair.

“You said to”

“If I told you to jump off a cliff would you do that too?”

“Depends, is there water at the bottom of it?” you pushed me back laughing loudly, Cassian then suddenly very aware that you were half naked in front of him, your vest soaked through to your skin. He watched you saunter towards your clothes, his eyes tracing over your curves with new desire. 

“Here” you tossed him his clothes, slipping your arms through the sleeves of your jumper, Cassian trying to hide his sadness at the sight of you redressing. 

“You’re crazy”

“I’m crazy? I didn’t just jump into the water knowing I couldn’t swim because some stranger told me to”

“Yeah you are crazy, you strip off in front of a stranger and then just go for a swim with them like it’s no big deal” he laughed, pulling his trousers up to his waist

“You make it sound like I was naked” you laughed, sliding back on your skirt.

“I wish you were” Cassain wasn’t even a little mad that he let that comment slip out, your smile turning to a smirk. Your skirt fell back to the wooden dock floor, stepping closer towards Cassian. He stopped buttoning the buttons at the feeling of your hand catch the waistband and pull him in closer to you

“You wish I was?” you almost batted your eyelashes at him.

“You bet” his eyes were all over you and as you bit your lip his hands found their way to your waist. This is crazy, this is lunacy Cassian thought but then you kissed and it was like this was always always meant to be, that this was always going to happen, it made sense. You pulled back from him a little breathlessly and then ran your hands across his abdomen so teasingly, letting your fingers trace every groove. Cassian felt stone-cold sober but yet so utterly intoxicated by you at the same time, he took your chin in his hands and kissed you so purely again. 

“HEY!” you both separated to find a drunk Rhysand waving from the top of the woods.

“Shit, that’s one of my friends, soon to be deceased might I add”

“Cassandra wants to talk to you!” Rhysand called again from the edge of the forest. You pulled back fully from Cassian then, remembering what sent you both on this adventure, you pulled your skirt back to your hips and awkwardly ran a hand through your hair.

“Sorry, I-I don’t know what she wants” Cassian looked between his waiting friend and you.

“You should probably go find out”

“Do you-do you think I should get back with her?” Cassian felt so utterly comfortable with you that he didn’t feel the strength of the absurdity of the question. 

“Hey, I’m just a stranger you kissed after nearly drowning, it doesn’t really matter what I think” You covered the sadness in your voice with a fake smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. 

“It does matter” 

“I think fans of rubies shouldn’t settle for fans of emeralds” you offered, Rhysand reaching our side after jogging down somewhat wobbly. 

“Hey, didn’t you hear me-”

“-I did” he cut across his brother, eyes still fixed on you, silence filling the valley as Rhysand looked between you both. 

“Did I interrupt someth-”

“-I had a lot of fun tonight, see you around maybe” you interrupted Rhysand before smiling gently and heading away from the Illyrians, out of their sightline quickly. 

“Cass, who was that?”

“I have no idea but I fucking wish I found out” 

—-------

It had been decades and decades since that encounter, it never really leaving Cassian. He took it through every life experience he had, giving him comfort on his darkest nights and adding to the joy of his happiest days. He spent the time since that night trying to recreate the feelings he felt with numerous conquests and the remaining time looking for you, his job as General frequently getting in the way. 

Cassian sat on the steps of Ritas one chilly Summer night, watching his friends drunkenly dance in the street, his family giving him such comfort. Cassian felt a pang of jealousy course through him as he watched Feyre and Rhysand sway in the light of the moon.

“Do you do anything besides mope and drink on porch steps?” Cassian spun so quickly that he nearly fell to the ground at the sound of music he hadn’t heard in a lifetime. 

“I-I-I” words had fully left the Illyrian as he drank your beauty in once again, he found himself pinching his arm to ensure he was awake and this wasn’t a cruel trick from the Mother, gaining a laugh from you. 

“You sure like the long game don’t you Grumpy Bat? Gotta say, hiding for centuries in a previously unknown city sent me some serious leave me alone vibes” you beamed at him as Cassian returned the sentiment, the sound of a nickname he longed for such a time to be called again. Cassian felt himself bolt towards you, practically sweeping you off your feet in the gigantic hug he enveloped you in.

“How goes the love life?”

“It hasn’t gone much of anywhere” he grinned down towards your glowing face, never so happy that his lovelife was in cinders. 

“Well that's great”

“Why so?” he laughed to you.

“Because otherwise, I’d be in a lot of trouble” You reached up towards him and met his lips with centuries of passion, Cassian meeting you in equal intensity. Cassian walked you back until your back met the brick corner of Ritas, the glow of the sign lighting the path.

“I’m YN by the way”

“Cassian”

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[justwinginglife]

hi!! may I request something again?^^

may I request soshiro found out that you can turn into a Kaiju or see you transforming into your Kaiju form. a little Angst but with happy ending please:›

You may always request something again! Also story note- for this fic, Imma just ignore that Kikoru Shinomiya exists, sorry yall, you're taking her spot now.

Half Human

Your whole life was one big irony in that your life's mission was to kill kaiju and yet you owed the very breath in your lungs to them. Your father, the Director General, Isao Shinomiya, had already lost his wife and he'd be damned if he was going to lose you too. He secretly brought a kaiju back to base alive and had several talented doctors and scientists exchange its core in place of your failing heart. The doctors weren't even sure it could be done, but when the abomination that was you was finally finished, they were all sworn to secrecy. You were to be the first and the only kaiju transplant survivor.

After all, if word got out that it was possible to enhance the human body directly with kaiju organs, without use of a suit, there would be chaos. For one, the suit industry would take an immense hit and the black market would reign supreme. Not to mention how much ungodly human experimentation could come about from failed attempts to successfully recreate the transplant. It might even make the Defense Force's job more difficult- trying to take Kaiju in alive was significantly more dangerous and strenuous than just killing them.

With all these things in mind, your father kept the tightest lid on the situation. No one but you, your father, and the team that had worked on you knew this secret. But today, one more would find out.

Your father always carefully monitored your vitals in case you ever rejected the organ, and you were always reminded to keep your emotions in check so as to not set off the kaiju side of you. You thought that you'd learned to keep most of your emotions at bay, but apparently that control you had did not apply to anything even remotely related to the Vice Captain.

One time you'd heard someone shit talking him and you accidentally stabbed through your own tongue because your anger had called your fangs to emerge. And it didn't help that the Vice Captain glimpsed the blood dripping from your lips and tried to help you. You always wondered if you'd be able to feel human emotions anymore since you no longer had a human heart, but he quickly put that fear to rest because every time he reached for you, touched you, cared for you, you felt like you could feel your nonexistent heart beating rapidly. It felt like he was the only thing grounding you in your humanity.

Your father must have caught onto this at some point because he'd frequently make excuses to call you to headquarters when he felt like you might be getting too close to Hoshina. Today was one of those days.

You had gotten the summon early this morning and you were annoyed but you knew you that as much as you wanted to rebel against your father as his daughter, as a soldier in his Defense Force you couldn't very well disobey a direct order from the Director General. Especially when no one knew the reason you were called to headquarters so regularly. So you went to him.

By the time you finally concluded your business with your father it was late (you refused to stay the night in his division and let him have anymore hold over your life as it was) and you were waiting for the next train back to the Third Division when you felt your comms buzzing in your pocket. You thought it was strange as everyone should be either asleep or going to sleep soon, but you popped the comms in anyway, eager to hear what was going on so late at night. The base was under attack. It was a Daikaiju. The Vice Captain was fighting him. And losing.

You start to get dizzy. Sweat trickles down your forehead. The world seemed to be blinking in and out. You shake your head trying to get ahold of yourself but you know it's no use. You still haven't learned to get your kaiju side under control and on the rare occasion when you slipped and went berserk only your father could bring you back from that place of darkness. You clench your fists, straining, and gripping onto what was left of your humanity but your lower half had already started to turn.

"No- don't. He needs me. I can't be rampaging in another division right now." You beg the beast inside you.

It doesn't listen.

You feel the transformation reach your neck, a growl already starting to rise up your throat.

"I said stop! Damnit, st-"

Your voice is no longer your own. All that's left of you is one half of your face now, and the beast is slowly closing in on it. It's hungry. It hasn't been let out in awhile.

You look up at the moon, blinking back tears, thinking it might be awhile before you see it again, before you're yourself again. You wonder how long it will take your dad to find you and you wonder if he will even be able to change you back this time. He was getting older, getting weaker. What if you killed him this time?

And what if when you woke up, if you ever woke up again, the Vice Captain was dead? What would you do with your life if you weren't listening for his footsteps in the hallways or listening for his laugh in the air? If he wasn't telling you a joke or complimenting your stance, would you make it through the day? If you went through life not ever having told him how you felt, would it still feel like you were living?

You start to spiral in your own dark thoughts as the transformation spreads across your face, but right before it hits your ear you here the comms crackling.

"Vice Captain! Come in, Vice Captain! Sir, please respond!" Okonogi. She's yelling for the Vice Captain. Something must've happened.

Your vision starts to go red. You punch the lamppost beside you, but you're surprised to find that it's your fist that hits the metal. Not the beast's. You look down. Only your legs are still transformed.

You actually laugh out loud. "That's more like it. Time to go." You jump once, and it propels you into the sky. You use the momentum to launch yourself towards the Third Division. Somehow your legs are faster than a moving train, bringing you bounding towards the training grounds in what seems like no time at all.

Before you can even think about the consequences of being half transformed on base where the officers are literally trained to kill kaiju like you, before you can even think about how your father will probably kill you himself for revealing the secret he's worked so hard to protect, you're already jumping in front of Hoshina as you transform your arms and block a blow that could've been deadly.

He doesn't even have time to be stunned, you're injured.

He jumps to his feet, concern on his face, as you spit blood. You've not fought anything in your kaiju form before (the most you've done is scare the shit out of some pigeons before your father found you and changed you back) and it takes some getting used to.

"Well fuck. That actually hurt, damnit!" You yell at the kaiju. It laughs at you. You raise an eyebrow. It seems to understand you. You're astounded but you don't care to think too much about it before you launch a punch at its abdomen.

It groans but then it chuckles. "Is that the best you've got?"

"Ah so you do talk. That's fucking creepy, not gonna lie." You punch its chest this time.

It staggers backwards and Hoshina takes advantage of the opening, slashing at its legs. It lands on its back.

You hurl yourself high into the air and then crash down hard on its head with a deafening blow that splits its skull. But it starts to slowly regenerate and it shakes you off of it. You land at the ground by Hoshina.

"So are we ever going to talk about the whole 'you being a half kaiju hybrid' thing?" He asks you, eyes still trained on the shuddering beast in front of him.

"Really? Now? We're a little busy Hoshina."

He laughs- he actually fucking laughs. "Oh really, because here I thought we were having a nice little tea party."

You roll your eyes but you can't help but smile at his poor comedic timing. "I'll treat you to some tea if you tell me where the damn core is."

He points to its back. "Lil fucker is hiding it in there."

You nod. "Got it."

The kaiju rises to its feet, ready for another round.

"Do me a favor and be bait, yeah?" You tell Hoshina and then before he can protest, you charge its back.

The kaiju swings at you but you duck.

"Oh I'm the fucking bait? Real classy." Hoshina grumbles but he complies, charging at its front, slashing at it and keeping it busy while you circle behind it.

You run up the stairs of a nearby building and when you reach the top, you launch yourself from the roof.

"This one is for making Hoshina bleed." You mutter under your breath before sending its organs flying as you rip through its flesh and pummel its core to bits. The aftershock sends you flying and you don't have time to land properly. You smack the floor on your side, tumbling in circles until you finally slow.

Your ribs feel like they're caving in but at least the kaiju is down for good. You lie in the dirt, coughing painfully and looking up at the night sky. You're fully human again, like the beast inside you curled up and went to bed, letting you feel the full force of the pain alone.

Hoshina rushes over to you. "Oh my god, are you okay?!"

You cough again. "Not sure if I'm up for that tea party anymore. Might've fucked up a lung or two."

He rolls his eyes. "You would make a joke at a time like this."

"And who was the one asking me stupid questions mid fucking fight?" You tease.

He laughs.

"So... are we going to talk about it now?" You swallow, wondering how he'll react to this new side of you.

He thinks for a moment. "Talk about what? As far as I know, a human saved me from the kaiju. And it looks like," He chucks a rock at the nearby drone, "The rubble badly damaged any footage that might've been captured."

You sigh, relieved, and relax against the ground.

"But... if there's anything you want to tell me later... when you're ready, I'll listen."

There were so many things you wanted to tell him and you being half kaiju was the least important of them. But you'd save that for another day, maybe when less of your limbs hurt.

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

"By the way, did you really brutally murder the kaiju just because it made me bleed? Your comms were on."

"Shut up, Hoshina."

[theglamorousferal]

Some Uzushiogakure/Danny Phantom shit for y'all

What if Kushina felt when the barriers fell at Uzushio?

What if it sent her sprinting as fast as she could towards her first home?

What if she made it, but after the city had fallen?

What if in her grief and rage as she sat amongst the blood of her people, her family, she activated a long forgotten seal buried beneath the city?

The blood seeping through crevices to channels, flowing down the intricate seal and finally dripping down into a tomb.

Drip.

Drop.

Her chakra, her rage, the power of the Nine Tails as he relishes in her anger shines like a beacon from the center of the village.

It too seeps through the cracks.

All the way to the tomb.

Bright green bursts through the cracks beneath the lid.

______________________________________________

Kushina's rage whipped a storm about her.

The rain hid her tears as it pelted her small form, knees scrapped from when she landed hard on them.

She screamed, bending forward until her bare forehead-

The threw it so hard it lodged itself in the column of the Gates of Konoha when they tried to make her stay.

was pressed to the ruined mosaic of the village center, pounding her fists against the ground.

A sudden chill, the heaviness in the air of someone holding carefully leashed power, and a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Child, what happened here?"

She jumps into a ready stance, a kunai in each hand.

"Who are you?"

Green. That's the first thing she notices, brighter than the leaves of any tree in Konoha.

White, then black. His hair floats as if in water and his armor appears ancient, older than the Warring Clans era. He wears no headband, but a circlet that appears made of ice. He is also floating about a foot above the ground and the rain seems to pass over him as though his mere aura kept the downpour away.

"I have many names, but of all I prefer Danny."

Kushina blinked. "What are you?"

The being, Danny, seemed to ponder for a moment. "I suppose the closest thing you would have here is a god."

That would explain the power and the fact my hair is all on end.

She licked her lips for a moment. "What are you the god of?"

"Protection, longevity," he pauses for a moment, uncertain, "Death."

"A shinigami?!" she hissed "I should have expected one to be here."

"Again I'll ask, what happened here?"

Kushina's face went entirely blank as she set her arms by her sides, hands still clenching the kunai in a white-knuckled grip. She looked out over the ruins of her birthplace, her home.

"Uzushio fell. I don't know yet who did it, I just felt the barriers fall and by the time I got here, it was deserted."

The being watched her, bright, bright, almost too bright, green, flickered across her, eyes settled on bright red hair.

"You are an Uzumaki, are you not?"

She jumped and turned back to the being. "Y-yes."

Danny grinned and began to float towards the Kage's office. "Well, not all is lost. It may have been a long time since I was sealed, but I should be able to find everything necessary. First I'll have to find the cardinal points seals to set the foundations back together, and then we'll get about the resurrection seals."

"R-resurrection seals?!" Kushina stumbled after him, entirely out of her element for once.

"Oh, yes, I forgot to mention, one of my many names."

"And what's that?"

A smile with too much teeth and vengeance behind his eyes turned back to her.

"Uzushio."

[patchiko]

I can't stop thinking about Princess Mononoke AK!Jason, dude is just so feral and full of anger just like San, but I like the idea of that famous scene:

"I'll cut your throat out and that'll make you stop talking!"

"You're beautiful."

But with a reader who had never seen his face before, maybe they save him and he scold them for it and threaten them, but reader is just to mesmerized and busy losing blood to care.

YOURE FEEDING ME DAWG— I swear i needa write a fic of Ak!Jason and a Civilian!Reader or smthn cause youre so rightfjorbdkdjdjd.

but i dont think ak!jay would threaten someone he cares about. it’d make him feel like his time with the joker rubbed off on him too bad :(

HOWEVER. short fic of this bc i LOVE THIS so BAD

“You’re So Beautiful.” / Eyes Are Windows Into The Soul Ak!Jason SHORT FIC SFW

tw: blood! not super in depth! but reader has a not detailed wound!

NO BETA, I DIE LIKE A REAL NIGGA!!

What you did this night will always be unequivocally, undeniably, unmistakably, DOWNRIGHT, stupid. But was it worth it? A little.

JASON was grappling across rooftops as fast as he could to his bunker; your wound wasn’t a death sentence but needed to be tended to quickly. His arm was wrapped around your lower waist, body tightly pressed against his as he zipped across Gotham. Jason had adrenaline rushing through him, especially because he could feel your warm blood seeping onto his clothing. He was so quiet, it made you wonder if you were gonna die, but tried to rationalize it with the fact that he’s never been much of a talker. He landed on a roof and propped you up against a wall as he unlocked the door that connected to the top of his bunker. Jason kept his eyes trained on you through his mask, you were light headed and his Hood showed that your heart-rate was higher then average as well. Obviously really use to this kind of action, he wasn’t sure if he hated himself for getting you involved in his Gotham gravity or the fact he couldn’t protect you. It was BOTH.

JASON wrapped his arm around your waist, then threw his other under your knees. Princess carrying you down to the bathroom. “My knight in shining armor?” You joked as he set you down onto the toilet lid, trying to ease both your nerves just a bit. “Not funny.” He grunted, crouching down under the sink to grab the first-aid kit he had under it. “Understandable..” you said meekly in return. Jason kneeled besides you, quickly making work on disinfecting the wound. “Not a big fan on dark ‘poorly timed’ humor?” He paused, and took off his helmet, damn thing was too detailed for him to see properly. He needed to work on stitching this, not know your god damn blood type and parents. His annoyance peaking, he responded sharply “I’m not a big fan of you stupidly jeopardizing yourself for me.” he knew not to look at you, just fucking knew not to. You were gonna say something— you had to—he cant— he fucking looked. They say the eyes are windows into the soul, “You’re beautiful.” Not what he expected, not even a little. Maybe a ‘How’d you get that?’ or ‘The hell happened to you?’ but that? Yeah not fucking that. It had you both staring into each others eyes for just a few seconds too long. He turned away once he felt his face burning,” God, how much blood are you losing?” You snickered.

THE Red Hood is a pretty boy, with pretty blue eyes, and a pretty face, and a pretty bottom lip.

so worth !

i loved this so bad, inbox is open for more rqs and rambles!

[koqabear]

Stuck With You

Song suggestion: What Is It About Her?

“Taehyun hates everything about you; your pride, your stubbornness, and the way you plague his thoughts with dangerous desires that threaten to break down his walls.”

king! Taehyun x fem! mage!reader 

Genre: enemies to enemies (but like there’s a twist), royalty!au, angst, smut, fantasy!au

word count: 7.9K

Warnings: Tons of bickering, Taehyun is condescending, jealousy, they literally hate each other, so lots of anger and fighting, mentions of TH being abusive (isn’t actually, nothing happens), manhandling, 

Smut warnings: hard dom!Taehyun, brat!mc, sub(?)!mc, dubcon(?) (omg what), hate sex wahhh, rough sex, manhandling, (again!! There’s a lot) degrading, name calling, (filthy, pathetic), biting, dry humping, binding wrists/hands, marking, knife play, breast play, unprotected sex, mocking, edging, choking, hair pulling, overstimulation, creampie

Notes: Am I incapable of writing a story under 5K? It seems so. I was listening to this damn song the entire time I wrote this and omg I’m so tired of it but it also manages to encapsulate their relationship perfectly. Hope u guys enjoy Taehyun manhandling the shit outta the reader bc for some reason it just kept happening…. I think I need to self reflect for a bit. 

Taehyun has never liked you. 

You’re so fickle, a cocky eyesore that he can never seem to escape from— too smart, too wicked, tongue always sharpened to a point as you never knew when to avert your eyes; when to bow down to your Royal Highness. 

He cannot fathom having to spend his waking days around you— yet, fate seems to punish him in such laughable ways. 

“Your Highness,” he’s forced out of his thoughts as he is called, the title so familiar that the sound of his own name is starting to fade from memory, forced as a young child to take responsibility after his deceased father and become the person he is today. 

His every move is practiced, careful, and familiar as he regards the faceless maid before him, not bothering to turn back around as he continues his morning walk. His robes brush against the warm earth, the wind around him bringing about the early signs of spring as it sings against his skin, cooling him down as the hurried steps of the maid follow before him. 

“The mage is summoning you— I’m afraid it is important; she has summoned the royal court as well… they currently wait for your arrival.”

Taehyun’s steps cease beneath the graveled path. He says nothing, seemingly unaffected by the news as he nods his head slowly. The day was so beautiful, he finds himself thinking, chest heaving with a disappointed sigh as he turns to follow the servant. 

But of course, you had to come along and ruin it. 

✧ ✧

“Your Highness. This is not a joke.” 

Taehyun supposes he’s bad at hiding his expressions, if the way you stare him down with fire in your eyes means anything. The conference room is stuffy with the number of people that send him curious stares, unable to fathom how he could not take the current news seriously. 

“The Southern Kingdom is persistent with their threats of war— they truly believe we are the ones behind the massacre of their villages.” 

“It’s a wonder how a kingdom survived for so long under such a stupid ruler, isn’t it?” Taehyun heeds no warning from your words, sighing as he looks out the window and observes the lovely day before him. “I might go hunting today, what do you think?” 

Your hands that slam down on the wooden table startle everyone but him; you’re standing, eyes narrowed dangerously as you leer at him from the other side of the long, rectangular conference table. 

“I think you’d be stupid to not act on these threats immediately.” You grit out, jaw clenched as you take in the way the King seems to be unbothered by your insults. He simply shrugs, sparing a glance to the head guard before he’s leaning back in his seat, closing his eyes as his hands remain folded neatly in his lap. 

“Yeonjun,” he drawls, peeking at you through lidded eyes as he speaks, “what do you think?” 

He doesn’t miss the way Yeonjun sits up in his seat in surprise, adam’s apple bobbing before he’s clearing his throat, gaze averted as he speaks to his King.

“Your Majesty,” he begins, a hand on his chest as he stares at the dark wood of the table, “I think it is best for us to clear our name. A war during these times would set back our countries drastically.”

Taehyun hums, nodding his head in recognition. “You’re right. I want you and a few of your men to investigate those villages; be discreet, I don’t want you to be traced back to us if you get caught.” 

“Someone arrange a meeting with the Southern Kingdom’s royal mage— I must speak to them, it is urgent. And you,” it is no surprise when Taehyun’s eyes meet yours, pausing to regard your disgruntled state. “Stay. I must speak to you privately.”

There’s nothing you can do but grit your teeth and plant your stance as everyone scatters out of the room— afraid of the King’s anger, of the way his jaw clenches with annoyance. His eyes never leave yours, yet the heat that radiates from his gaze almost burns up the room, everyone’s gazes planted to the ground as they bow meekly to him before they exit. 

It’s just you and him now; Unfortunately, you think, bracing yourself for another scolding from your arrogant King. 

“That was no way to speak to your Ruler.” 

It feels as though you’re on fire; it takes everything within you to compose yourself, fists clenched tightly behind your back as you narrow your eyes at his words. You hate it— you hate him with your whole being. The way he seems to be unbothered, tired eyes fluttering shut as he leans back in his seat, a deep sigh escaping him as his lips part tiredly. 

“My Ruler only pays attention when you scream in his face, it seems,” you seethe, ignoring the way his eyes snap open to give you a cautioning glare, “he’s a very arrogant man.” 

He huffs out a laugh, but there’s no amusement behind it all. Slowly, he stands, his robes fluttering with his movements as he looks down at you angrily— if there’s one thing that will always cloud his mind, it’s his pride. 

This same pride prompts him to walk to you, dangerous and slow, warning you to tuck your tail and apologize; you’ll do no such thing, your gaze only sharpening more with every step he takes closer to you. You’re restless, resisting the urge to lash out again as your tongue sharpens against your teeth; lips screwed tightly together, jaw clenched as you wait for him to do something, anything— hit you, yell at you, dismiss you— but he does none of the sort, coming dangerously close to you as he observes you curiously. 

It’s silent; you’re practically sharing the very air you breathe, both of you waiting for the other to break as you meet his gaze, refusing to look away for even a second. 

Taehyun takes a moment to observe you; your eyes, angry and restless, sharp as they dig into his own. You’re tense, your body practically ready to shake as you keep your jaw clenched, lips pursed together as you hold back another nasty jab directed at him. 

You’re like a puppy; all bark and no bite, unable to truly stand up to him in fear of treason— you need this job, your only source to provide for your family in the far-off village you came from. He could dismiss you, break you, watch as you beg him for forgiveness in fear of putting your family at risk— the idea is dangerously appealing to him, the thought of finally having you at his feet making his lips twitch in amusement.

Taehyun holds your life in his hands, and the realization of it sends a deadly lick of fire through his body. 

“How cute,” he mutters, watching the way your brows twitch in anger at his comment. 

“For a second, I almost let your words get to me.”

The comment does more damage than any other strike ever could— because for a second, Taehyun’s gaze almost softened, the smile that grazed his lips more frightening than any threat he could muster. 

A sharp shiver wracks through you; bitterly, you realize that Taehyun managed to gain the upper hand over you once again.

✧ ✧

The first time he dreams of you, Taehyun is terrified. 

He wakes up in distress, an ache forming between his eyes from the pure confusion and anger that overtakes him. He lets out a shaky sigh as he sits up, sinking back into the soft pillows of his bed; his whole body trembles, disoriented and in denial as he attempts to block out everything his traitorous mind conjoined up.

But it doesn’t work. His day is ruined, his mind flashing images of the scenario that manages to haunt even his waking hours. 

In the morning, he makes his way to the garden; fresh air will do him good, he figures, the cool air and floral scent that drifts through the wind calming his beating heart. But then, his fingers caress the petals of his favorite roses— ruby red, the color stunning to his eyes— and he finds himself touching the velvet of your skin, your bare hips and warm thighs that encase him, alluring and soft as your precious lips are reddened and mischievous; swollen, begging for more as his teeth sink on the soft flesh like he was born to do so. 

He’s quick to exit the garden after that. 

His afternoon isn’t much better, his mood sour after dealing with countless meetings and petty problems— he’s exhausted as he leans back into his throne, a distraught sigh escaping him as allows himself to shut his eyes for just a moment— then he’s back to the dreaded memory of you, cute and pliant as you shift restlessly in his lap; your face flushed, hair and clothes a mess as you weakly beg for him to touch you, to please you. 

The moment his name leaves your lips, whiny and desperate, is the moment he jumps up from his throne. 

Taehyun. 

The sound is so realistic, haunting his mind as the ghost of your whine echoes through his ears; it follows him relentlessly, leaving him in distress as he wonders what a dream like that could possibly mean. 

By the end of the day, Taehyun feels as though he may lose his mind; he’s unable to stay in one place, his mind inevitably wandering back to you if he doesn’t find something that takes away his full attention. He’s a mess by the time he’s wandering the corridors, ready to go back to his room as his eyes land on the last thing he would ever want to see. 

You’re so relaxed, a smile gracing your face as you converse with Hueningkai, one of Captain Yeonjun’s guards, the two of you so close and giddy that Taehyun can’t help but stop and watch. 

He’s never seen you like this; he’s never bothered to either, but something about the way you lean into Hueningkai so closely, unafraid to enter his space as the two of you whisper coyly to each other, is enough to have Taehyun bristle up and walk away. 

The emotion is ugly and dreadful as Taehyun shakes his head, a heavy huff leaving him as he beelines straight to his bed— the same bed where he had you under him, your breaths brushing his skin as you panted desperately for more; the very bed where he kissed you until his lungs burned, pressing you into the bedding until your bodies melded together. 

Angrily, Taehyun resists the urge to abandon his bed and stay in another room; even now, you seem to haunt him ‘till his wit's end. 

✧ ✧

The second time Taehyun dreams of you, he’s more frustrated than terrified. 

He sincerely thought it had all been bad luck; his unfulfilled needs melting with his hatred for you, an unlucky concoction as his mind conjured thoughts unspeakable. It had all been nothing but a fluke he hoped, but as he stares out the window and into the scenery of his land, he can’t help but remember the way he had you pressed up against this very glass, his lips unrelenting against your neck as he whispered words that had you crying and begging for more. 

As he writes to other kingdoms, he finds himself staring at his hands; the same ones that had a bruising grip on your hips, bunching up your garments as he pressed himself firmly against you— he can recall the way you melted under his touch, compliant and needy as you let yourself be ravished by him. 

The you in his dreams doesn’t compare to the one that haunts his waking hours— only, in a much more horrid way, as he finds that his temper with you has decreased into something minuscule. He sees it in the way you tense when he so much as enters the same room as you, the rest of his servants sparing you a pitied glance before they duck their heads before him; afraid, meek, and unsure of what he may do to you or anyone who annoys him. 

But even though his patience with you has withered thin, you still find it in yourself to whip him with such insults and humiliations, unafraid of the consequences as you continue to look Taehyun boldly in the eye. 

He could have you disappear with a snap of his fingers— yet, time has ruthlessly shown him that you’re a more valuable asset than he once thought. No, he can’t get rid of you even if he wanted to— his mage, the best in the land and the only one that could ever manage to put up with him. 

The thought of being stuck with you is vile. 

✧ ✧

By the nth time he dreams of you, Taehyun firmly believes that it is no longer an accident. 

You’re a mage— why didn’t he think of this sooner? The blood in his veins is coursing with fire by the time it all connects, his steps rough and brisk as he makes his way to the place where it all started; the dreadful doors of the meeting room greet him, cracked open to insinuate that someone opened them already. 

You’re scared stiff when the doors slam open; whirling around, you’re left face to face with the very man you’d rather not be left alone with, the doors swinging back shut behind him. You’re nervous, a lump in your throat forming as the fire and anger you always find igniting when you see him dissipates, feeling as though water had been dumped on it. 

That very water manifests itself as Taehyun; there’s something different about him, something serious in the way he stares you down, eerily silent and angry as he storms toward you. You feel a witty remark bubble up in your throat, but you’re forced to push it down as you take in the way he’s teeming with rage, unpredictable and unstable as he makes his way to you.

He towers over you, his robes furling around him as his hand presses firmly to your chest; presses against your heart, nervous and quick as he continues to walk, forcing you to stumble back from the brute strength he possesses— the air is practically knocked out of your lungs from how hard he pushes you against the wall. 

“You did this,” he says, eyes narrowed in distaste as he takes in the way you look up at him in confusion, daring to feign ignorance that only angers him more, “you evil wench, how dare you do this to your King?” 

Your eyes widen at his words; he can feel the way your heartbeat is unrelenting against his palm, your hand swatting him away as you grow defensive. The back of his hand stings from the slap, a fire spreading from the very place you touched him; he can’t help but cradle his hand close to his chest, offended at the way you disrespect him so, even when his warning gaze is searing onto your skin. 

“You speak nonsense,” you spit out, brows knitting together as you look at him with pure offense, “for I have no idea of what you allude to.” 

He can’t help but let out an incredulous laugh; even now that he has you cornered, you dare lie to him— even worse, he’s forced to step back, the images of the nights where he would dream of you flustered and pressed against the wall coming back to the forefront of his mind.

He can’t control himself, the carnal and disgusting thoughts plaguing his mind as rage fills his being; he’s backing away before he does anything drastic, the images flashing through his mind as a rough fist collides onto the table behind him. His eyes are shut tight, teeth gritted together as he seethes, ignoring the way you stand back, pressing yourself against the wall in confusion. 

“This—“ he says, huffing as he opens his eyes, meeting yours before he can help himself— and there you are again, pleading for him to use you until he no longer can— “These cursed thoughts, you did this to me—!” 

He feels weak in the knees as he looks at you, his mind running off to places they shouldn’t as he attempts to ignore the intrusive thoughts; you’re still, unsure of what to do as you watch your majesty slowly lose composure. 

Jumping, you’re reduced to the very person you were when you arrived at the palace; meek, useless, and afraid as he runs to you, grabbing ahold of your shoulders and tossing you around until your hips meet the back of the very table he was once leaning on; he’s leaning you back, your arms forced to support yourself as his fingers dig roughly into your shoulders, towering over you as he scowls menacingly. 

“Undo this,” he says, exasperated and breathy as he becomes reminiscent of the nights when he would toss and turn in bed, forced to confront all of these imaginations that included you, pliant and needy under his touch. His eyes screw shut, teeth gritting together as he refuses to look at you, “undo this wretched spell this instant!” 

His grip is bruising; you yelp at the way he shakes you, never seeing him this desperate and angry as a hand reaches up to push against his chest; but it’s useless, his strength outdoing yours easily as he growls at your weak attempt to run away. 

“I’ve done no such thing—!” 

“Don’t you lie to me!” He’s quick to cut you off, volume raising significantly as the adrenaline begins to course through both your veins, “I know you’ve done this, this disgusting spell that haunts my nights— how dare you attempt such a thing to your king, do you have any idea what you’ve done?!”

“I’ve done nothing!” You scream, a sudden strength aiding you as you push against his chest with both hands, watching as he stumbles back harshly, his back colliding with the wall behind him— the sight is reminiscent of what he did to you moments ago. 

“Have you lost your mind?!” You say, exasperated as you watch his hardened gaze, the way his fists shake with anger at his sides, “I’ve done nothing— yet you accuse me of such— such things that you don’t even dare speak of! 

For a moment, there is only silence and the sound of your panting breaths; you hate the way your hands shake as you grip the edge of the table, gulping harshly as you take in the way he hasn’t moved a single inch. 

“I know you hate me,” you huff, jaw clenching as you pause, regaining your composure before continuing, “but you’ve gone too far. This is low, your highness, even for you.” 

“Low?” Taehyun echoes, disbelief on his face as he finally moves; he steps towards you, watching the way you begin to flee in retaliation, “you speak of being low?”

Predator and prey; you can’t help but feel as though this is all you’ve been reduced to, tense and careful as you make your way back to the door; he follows you, his pace matching yours as he allows you to inch closer to the door. 

“What’s low is the way you haunt my dreams, calling out for me like you’d die if I wasn’t near you,” your heart is thundering in your chest, bewildered by his words as you find yourself right behind the door; you’re frozen, waiting for the moment he’ll let his guard down so you can slip out and run. 

“You, you of all people,” he spits, as though the very words were fire on his tongue, “persistent—almost every night it would happen, haunting even my waking days as I was forced to turn the other way when I saw you in the corridors.” 

You don’t care anymore; it’s reckless, but you bolt for the door, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you reach for the door handle— but Taehyun is faster, a hand clamping on your wrist and tugging you back as he uses you to slam the doors fully shut, the latches clicking as the wood knocks out the air from your lungs. 

Taehyun presses against you; you’re like fire against him, and he finds himself thawed the moment he feels your body against his, the empty mold that came from his dreams as he finds his mind clouding dangerously. 

“What’s low,” he hisses, tugging you closer as his hand grips your waist ruthlessly. He’s so close, you couldn’t avoid him even if you closed your eyes— you don’t dare to, the look in his eyes fatal as he traps you in the very spell he’s found himself in. 

“Is the way you forced me to yearn for your touch.” 

Any cruel words that were hanging precariously on your tongue quickly fade away; instead, Taehyun is kissing you with an angry passion, his hand cupping your jaw and pulling you close as he presses your body into the door. His lips are rough and ruthless as they take from you, prying you open and getting the taste that he only imagined in his dreams. 

You’re left weak against him, your body automatically reciprocating as all the words left unsaid travel between the two of you. The hatred, anger, and confusion are interchanged, a groan escaping you as he bites down on your lip. 

He’s rough, not sparing you for even a second as continues to take, unable to do anything else but enjoy the way you grow stupid against his grip, the kiss harsh and messy as you allow him to be the only thing holding you up. Your knees are weak, and if it weren’t for Taehyun pressing you harshly against the door, you would’ve fallen a long while ago. 

He’s unable to hold himself back as he bunches up the fabric of your garments, bunching up your skirts before he’s able to press himself against you; the moan you let out is broken and weak, his robes fluttering around you as he smiles against your lips; your mind has emptied by now, the perfect vessel to let him satiate the need that plagued him after so many dreams— drool is beginning to form at the corners of your lips, and even as you tap Taehyun relentlessly, he refuses to pull away; day after day, he was forced to be around your excruciating presence while being forced to pretend that he couldn’t feel the ghost of your lips, couldn’t imagine the way you would sound when he hit a spot that drove you crazy.

His hips rut against you roughly; he’s unstoppable, messy moans harmonizing with your own as he reaches for your hands; his fingers lock around your wrists, bringing them up and slamming them against the wood as he delivers a particularly harsh thrust; he watches the way your face scrunches up, eyes fluttering shut as your body bounces up with him. 

The sound you let out is akin to the ones in his dreams, leading him to believe that you’re nothing but a fox, a filthy liar that attempts to save face no matter what— and it angers him more, angers him enough to leave marks and bites along the column of your throat, your whines weak and soft as you flinch at his harsh touch; your wrists bounce against his hands in protest as he bites down on your skin, tongue running on it soothingly before he moves on. 

Frustratedly, he’s met with the cloth of your top; clumsily, he gathers your wrists in a single hand— they’re above your head now, slammed against the wood so hard that you feel the backs of your hands tingling ruthlessly. His other hand fumbles with his pockets, your mind so clouded that you’re barely able to keep your eyes open for a moment. 

You grow still the moment the tip of a dagger is pressed to the underside of your chin.

“Admit to me,” he says, breathy and frustrated as the blade pokes into your skin threateningly, “admit to me that it was you, that you’re the one who cast this spell on me— that you have been haunting my dreams.” 

Even now, you shake your head in denial. But the last thing Taehyun will do is believe you, his teeth gritting together as he slices down; your mouth falls open, eyes going glassy as he cuts cleanly through the top you wear, the blade poking at your stomach as he releases your hands for just a second— long enough to slide your garments off, the fabric pooling at your feet as you’re left bare before your king. 

“Why do you still deny me,” he mutters, the knife gliding against your skin comfortably— against all the places he’s felt, a carbon copy of his dreams as he takes in every detail of you; it’s all too much for him, the heated nights he spent with you in his dreams resurfacing in his mind as his dagger tucks itself under your bra, his hand resting on your hip as your hands fall weakly onto his shoulders; he’s pressing into you firmly, the wood cool against your skin as your forehead touches his; you sigh shakily, fingers digging into his shoulders as you close your eyes. 

A sharp tug has you jolting into him, the knife slashing through the garment before it’s falling to the ground, the cool air against your breasts making you shiver. 

Taehyun feels dizzy as he takes you in; his hands attempt to memorize you, as though you would disappear into smoke if he’s not careful enough. Slowly, his hands glide up; they encase your breasts, eyes eagerly taking in your facial expressions as his fingers carefully play with your nipples— it’s odd, the way he can already feel his body telling him what to do, how to please you as your mouth is falling open, your hands clinging to his wrists as he pushes himself closer to you once more.

Carelessly, his right-hand reaches down to grab your leg; he hoists it onto his waist, roughly pressing into you as you’re pressed flat against the door. Your head falls back, able to feel the way his cock is pressing directly against your slit, a shaky moan escaping you the moment he begins to rut his hips again. 

“God— so soft…” Taehyun finds himself saying, a broken gasp escaping him as he allows his hips to take control. Your breasts bounce temptingly before him, his mouth latching onto the sensitive skin as he finds himself eager to hear the very same sounds that always echoed in his mind. He’s insatiable, groans leaving him as he sucks and bites, pretty fangs sinking into your delicate skin and leaving marks that he would make sure would last an eternity. 

None of his dreams compare to this; to the sound of you so close to his ear, a shaky hand threading itself in his hair as you finally give in to the temptation and pull him back up for a kiss; you’re a mess of spit and tongue as you beg him for more, the pleasure fogging your mind as you pull him in restlessly. 

A fire licks through his veins, the frustration you put him through suddenly resurfacing as he steps back— yet his hand remains firm on your hip, letting go of your leg and pulling you forcefully, spinning you around until you’re colliding with the table. He doesn’t stop there, a firm hand pressing down on your chest as he’s forcing you to lean back— his gaze is predatory and dangerous as he looms over you, situating himself between your legs as he allows himself to hover over you, glaring at you with such spite that you’d almost think he was getting ready to kill you— except, his fluttering touches that wander around your body speak otherwise. 

“Filthy thing, haunting my dreams then feigning innocence,” he seethes out, slipping off his robes and tossing them aside; he’s undressing before you, his cock straining against the material of his undergarment as he looks at you with nothing but rage. Even then, you have the audacity to have confusion swimming in your eyes, helpless to the way he slides you back towards him, your hips pressing together as he lets out a sharp hiss; the sound you let out is enough to distract him for a second, desperate to hear it from you more. 

“I’ve done— nothing!” You say, a cry escaping you in between your sentence as Taehyun thrusts into you roughly. He only seems to be annoyed by your response, his dagger caressing up and down your thigh as he looks at you in a warning. 

“You’re a fool, and you’re afraid to admit that I’ve done nothing wrong,” you pant, your head spinning at the way the dagger scratches against your skin, the pressure applied coming and going as he tilts his head at your words; there’s no curiosity in his gaze, only anticipation that you’ll be stupid enough to finish your thought. 

“And you’re afraid to admit that you’ve fallen for the very person you swore you hated.” 

The response is immediate; he’s slicing through the measly fabric of your underwear, the knife clattering on the table as his hand shoots up to you instead— he cups your jaw, fingers gripping it closed as you glare at him, daring him to do something reckless. 

“You plague my dreams,” he seethes, gaze full of hatred as his cock begins to rub against your folds; he’s leaking and desperate, able to feel the way you’re soaking wet for him despite barely being touched. 

“I thought of you every night. You visited me, didn’t you, you sly thing?” His tip is prodding at your entrance, teasing you by only slipping it in before he backs out, fangs sinking into his lip as he stares at you like a predator who just caught his next meal, “you wanted me to cave in and visit you, to bring all those fantasies to life.” 

“You’re a pathetic, weak little thing.” 

It’s inevitable for you to let out a laugh at that; his fingers only dig into your cheeks in response, his jaw clenching as he stares at you like you aren’t even worth his time. Yet here you are accused of a crime you never committed, pinned under the king as he looks at you with pure, unrivaled hatred. 

Smiling, you take him in carefully; his eyes, blown open with lust and frustration, his body that keens and bends to seek your touch— he calls you pathetic, yet is unable to let go of you for a second. 

“Your Highness,” you whimper out, a teary gaze and quivering lip greeting Taehyun as tears bubble up at your pretty eyes. He can only feel another hot wave of lust course through him, leaning in closer to hear your pathetic pleas.

“I don’t specialize in love spells.” 

He pulls away like a man that’s been burned; he scowls, only to find that your legs have already locked him in, a whiny moan leaving your lips as you urge him to enter you. 

“Your Highness,” you whine, shivering at the way he slowly enters you, your hand reaching up for his nape; you cling onto him, bringing him back down as you allow him to hover over you, shaky breaths intertwining with each other as he stretches you out perfectly. You feel so full, so good, velvet walls clenching around him like a vice as he lets out a shaky sigh, head bowing down and resting by your shoulder, his forearms barely able to hold him up as you let out sweet sounds just for him.

“Your Highness, I’m so honored you think of me so much,” you cry, enjoying the way he tenses against you. There you go again— unstoppable even in the most uncanny situations, your annoying quips igniting his rage as his will to put you in your place is strengthened; straightening, he grabs onto your hips, fingers digging in and massaging the soft flesh as his eyes grow cold. Scanning your body, he’s still able to take in the way you’re flushed and needy, hips attempting to move subtly to gain stimulation from him. 

His left hand leaves a bruising grip on your skin; if you think you won, you’re dead wrong.

“Honored…” he mutters, the knife pointed back at your throat as he bottoms out in you; his hips are pressed firmly against yours, but you’ve gone stiff, unable to ignore the dangerous pressure applied to your skin. Tilting his head, he tuts, his other hand reaching for the ribbon of his discarded robes; before you know it, you’ve been tied up, unable to move your wrist as they’re tied tightly together— Taehyun smiles, the pretty ribbon tied in a neat bow against your skin. The dagger is back against your throat as his right-hand guides your wrists above your head, his eyes twinkling as he takes in your weakened state.

“Yes. You should be.” 

You can’t help the way you flinch as Taehyun raises the knife threateningly; your eyes screw themselves shut tightly the moment he’s bringing it down, the velocity so intense your heart stops for a second.

The sound of impact from the dagger is heard throughout the whole room. 

A shuddering sigh leaves you— it’s sunk deep into the table, uselessly looking up as Taehyun’s condescending laughter reaches your ears; you try looking up to see where the dagger may have been placed, but it’s no use. Shifting, you go to move your wrists back down. 

Only you can’t move them at all— they’re stuck in place.

Your lips are left open in surprise as Taehyun begins to fuck you with wild abandon, the need to have you a mess under him plaguing his mind as his hands grip onto your hips fiercely. He’s rough, relentless, and cruel as you cry out, unable to ignore the fire that ignites in your stomach as he brutally thrusts into you. 

Your eyes are fluttering shut as the feeling of your body rocking to his thrusts makes your head spin, your hands clenched in a tight fists as you bring your arms close together; your eyes open in alarm, meeting his gaze as your arms brush against the sharp blade of the dagger, scratching your skin as he grins at you teasingly. 

Taehyun doesn’t know how to identify the torrents of emotions that course through him; you look better than any dream he’s been haunted by, your eyes softened and filled with lust, your curves and skin warm under his palms as your thighs ensnare him, luring closer as your cunt only pulls him in more; the sounds of skin on skin fill the room, his needy sounds mixing with your own as he watches the way your breasts bounce with each rough thrust, his tip kissing your cervix and your skin blossoming with marks he inflicted onto you from rage. 

You’re here under him, bound and begging for more. You’re so soft, intoxicating, and frustrating as he finds himself unable to keep his hands off you, his mind wandering to the countless images and scenarios he can finally fulfill with you. 

You’re so warm and tight; Taehyun has to slow his hips as he feels the way you begin to keen and cry, your hips bucking up as your gaze meets his— it’s demanding, entitled yet still innocent as you’re brought closer to your high. 

But he won’t allow you— not as long as you continue to deny him, to deny the way you’ve been calling for him from the very start. There’s something else, and he knows it; his body is eerily attuned to yours, able to tell what you’re feeling and how to please you from the very moment his lips crashed against yours. 

“These dreams,” he pants, gritting his teeth as his nails dig into the delicate skin of your hips, “what do they mean— what have you done to me?” 

“I told you— I’ve done nothing—!” The whimper that escapes you is weak and defeated as his hand encases your throat, leaving you lightheaded as his hips begin to roll curiously; it’s instinct, and Taehyun doesn’t know how he does it, but he’s quickly able to find the spot that has your mind emptying, bound hands thrashing above your head as you cry for more. 

“What dreams?” You manage to say, exasperated as his hips still, the feeling of his thick cock pulsing inside you driving you mad and making you lose yourself. You’re truly clueless as to what Taehyun speaks of, your eyes struggling to remain open as his hold on you remains. 

“Dreams,” he begins, his hand leaving you as you gasp for air— his hand trails down, caressing the column of your throat before his fingers tease along your chest, along your stomach before he finally finds his place at your clit; his fingers as teasing and calloused as they rub meticulous circles along the bud, the pace and pressure eerily similar to that of your own, knowing better than anyone how to pleasure yourself on nights where you dare to let your mind wander to places it shouldn’t.

“Dreams of you. Here, under me, just as you are now— begging for me to touch,” his hips are moving again, your brows furrowing as you bite your lip desperately, “to please.” 

Leaning down, his lips hover over yours, his gaze one of pure fire as he pulls you closer to him, arms wrapping around your waist as he presses you tightly against him; chest against chest, the slight tug he does to bring you closer making the fabric of the pretty ribbon rip slightly. 

“Dreams where you beg me to ruin you.” 

His words are filthy as his lips are planted firmly against yours; desperate and rough as he doesn’t adhere to your pleasure, his cock filling you so nicely as the feeling of his body pressing against yours like a fire that continues to pull you in. 

A small yelp leaves you as Taehyun grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling you back as you’re forced to stare at the ceiling, his undeniably soft hair tickling your face as he proceeds to whisper things that make your blood run cold. 

“You’re there, in my dreams as you beg for me to ravish you at any given moment,” he growls, unable to hold back the memory of it all as his frustrations pile up and tumble out through his tongue, “filthy little thing— in my gardens, the corridors, my bed.” 

Your heart pounds at his confessions; your nails dig into the palm of your hands, the images jumping into your mind so vividly you’d almost think you lived through it all already. 

“My throne,” he groans, biting at your neck as his hand wanders around your body.

“Begging me to touch you here,” his fingers ghost over the sensitive flesh of your breasts, “crying when I do this,” the sound that leaves you is inexplicable as he times a perfectly calculated thrust into your sweet spot, abusing the sensitive area as he watches the way you melt under him, just as expected as he finds himself scowling at you. 

“Everything you begged me to do, I remember it perfectly,” he mutters, your eyes tearing up as you feel his fingers play relentlessly with your clit, “don’t you?” 

You’re terrified of what this means; these dreams that have plagued you as well, a hidden and dirty secret you wished to hide more than anything. You remember it all, the way he pleased you like no other, able to read his emotions perfectly as you did the same; every day you were forced to live with the shame and denial of these occurrences, obligated to face him and pretend like you hadn’t been calling his name out desperately the night before— only, it seems he had done the same this entire time. 

What could this mean? The possibilities swim through your head, yet you refuse to come to a conclusion as you feel the way Taehyun only grows rougher with you, still waiting for a response as he feels the way you grow needy and desperate for him. 

It’s terrifying to see how attuned he is to you— because he’s quick to pull away just as you were about to be pushed over to the edge, left to be nothing but a sweaty and needy mess as you whine weakly for him to stop being cruel. You’re helpless, the slick feeling of your wetness spreading all through your inner thighs driving Taehyun insane as he watches the way you weakly struggle against your binds. 

He’s doing no better than you— but he can control it, even as you clench tightly around him in futile attempts to bring him closer to the edge. Yet his voice is traitorous against him as he lets out a weak groan, unable to ignore the way his heart pounds harder at the sight of you, ruined before him. 

“You know,” he breathes out, the realization dawning on him as he watches the way you refuse to meet his eyes. But in the end, you have no choice, your face grabbed as you’re turned roughly to look at Taehyun; his gaze is intense, as though he can read your thoughts as his eyes search yours, “Damn it, you know.” 

“Tell me,” he says, desperate as you press your lips together firmly, your refusal to speak only angering him more as he sneers at you, “As your ruler, I command you to tell me.”

Shakily, your lips part— you’ve seen all this happen before, always feeling jealousy for others as you recounted every symptom, memorizing it all as you wished silently to have something like this for your own. But as you stare at Taehyun, angry and relentless as he waits for you to respond, you can’t help the way your stomach sinks with dread. 

Taehyun is able to hear what you say without you having to form a single word— and it terrifies him, his body stiffening as he takes in what you tell him.

Soulmates. 

It feels as though the fire in his heart has intensified; his body feels strange, heated and tingly as he stares at you, able to tell that you’re doing no better than him as you begin to breathe shakily. 

Taehyun thinks this might be the worst outcome of all; despite his stubborn pride, his soul begs to get closer to you, begs him to move his hips and please you as you shift restlessly beneath him— even though he’s felt nothing but hate for you on the surface, deep inside he finds himself unable to resist you.

It infuriates him.

Stuck with you, he realizes, brows furrowing as he grips your hips tightly; he’s lost all control, allowing his soul and instinct take over as he watches the way you fall apart beneath him— it’s horrible, feeling the way his heart speeds at the way you desperately beg for more, attempting to cling to his facade he’s kept up for so long; these feelings he’s suppressed for so long, that he thought he was insane for having, were meant to be after all— he’ll never get rid of you. 

“Fuck,” he stutters, gulping as his hands automatically go to keep you close, hips snapping ruthlessly into you as he finds himself addicted, your perfect sopping cunt bringing him back in and making him lose all control, “so… so good.” 

It’s all falling apart; everything he worked so hard to keep up is tumbling down, out of his control as this new realization seems to tug his soul closer to you— he finds himself addicted, a curious thought nagging at him as he leans down to taste your swollen and bitten lips, the same that reminded him of the roses in his garden he so meticulously ordered others to care for.

He’s everywhere; his hands, his lips, his cock, so overwhelming in the best ways possible as you find your mind blanking out. 

Soulmates, you think, eyes shutting tightly as he continues to fuck you into the table, rocking roughly as your arms become sore from their awkward position, soulmates… yes. You become more open to the thought, his touch suddenly intoxicating as it all becomes less than enough, the need to have him so impossibly close tugging at your mind. 

“Say,” he starts, gulping roughly as he finds himself unable to concentrate, “Say my name. Call out for me.” 

You’re in too deep; both of you are, breaching unknown territory as he hungrily waits for you to follow his commands. You’re unsure what to do, voice shaky and breathy as you finally muster the courage to call him by the only name you ever have. 

“Your highness…” you breathe out, watching as he shakes his head in denial; he’s insistent, the sudden need to fulfill this very last memory that haunted him every waking second much stronger than before, his gaze piercing as he hovers over you, lips brushing against yours as he mutters quietly. 

“My name.” 

It’s instinct, your eyes meeting his as you feel your high approaching, intense and heavy like a wave as you arch your back, pressing firmly into him as your eyes shine with tears, as though you could melt into one soul if you tried hard enough.

“Taehyun.”

The name feels like an aphrodisiac on your lips; Taehyun must feel the same, for he finds himself crashing down at that, the sound of your sweet whine not comparable to the pathetic echoes that faintly haunted him during his waking days. He’s a shaky, shuddering mess as he allows himself to kiss you through it, continuing to fuck you even though he fills you with countless spurts of his hot cum. You groan, thighs shaking as you feel the way his pelvis rubs onto your clit, still managing to bring you to the edge as you clench around him tightly. 

Your moans mix into each other, bodies pressed so tightly together that you don’t know where he ends and you begin; it’s strange, the way you feel so at peace even as he overstimulates you, hips rocking relentlessly with every broken moan of his name you let out.

You can’t get enough of it— it feels like candy in your mouth, the feeling of him smiling slyly against your lips alarming as the weight of everything begins to weigh down on you. It seems like hours before Taehyun finally straightens, watching as a ring of his cum has formed on his shaft, a weak groan escaping him as he takes in the way your inner thighs are painted with it prettily. 

Slowly, his hungry gaze meets yours; then he remembers everything, jaw clenching as he wonders just how this all came to be. 

He hates it, the way his heart calls to you despite the frustration that consumes him when he looks at you— he hates the way you make him feel weak; even now that you’re bound and left at his mercy, you don’t seem to realize the way you have him wrapped around his finger.

He gulps, the lump in his throat heavy as he watches your pretty eyes, all glossy and fucked out, much better than anything he could have dreamed of as he feels his cock twitching inside you once more. 

Everything he ever feared came true— it seems you’ve become his fatal weakness.

His soulmate. 

[deadlynavigation]

Hello, I really enjoyed your m! Wednesday x reader stories. Can you write about how his s/o gets shocked by the amount of gifts his gives and the expensive family vacations he takes them? Forgetting that he and his family are loaded lol.

Money Well Spent

Fandom: The Addams Family

Pairing: Male!Wednesday Addams x Reader

Warnings: Mild swearing, mentions of seduction, rich people being rich

Author's Note: Wednesday is aged up in this- same as previous fics

Navigation

Your boyfriend had money. Was money. And it was getting ridiculous.

There were a couple of times he had crossed the line, a couple of times when he put a bit too much pressure on the already thin ice.

After a while, you kept a mental list of these moments.

-1-

It’s been almost a week since you last saw your boyfriend. Wednesday had accepted an offer for his work, but there was a catch- a weeklong business trip in New York.

Not that you blame him. From what he told you about the offer, it’s an amazing opportunity for both his position and his company, one that would benefit him for years to come. However, that doesn’t mean you can’t miss his gloomy presence and warm embraces from time to time.

So imagine your despair when he calls your cell, on the day he’s supposed to arrive back, informing you of a last-minute change of plans.

“So you’re staying another day.”

“With a heavy heart, cara mia.”

You sigh quietly, and it carries to the other end of the line. “I do apologize, Y/n. I didn’t account for further negotiations regarding the business deal.”

“It’s fine, Wednesday. It’s not that big of a deal- I’ve survived this long without you, haven’t I?”

“If only I could say the same, darling.”

And so here you were on a Friday night, watching some generic TV program and mulling over your to-do list for next week. If Wednesday were here, he’d kiss you until you forgot about it, claiming that the weekend is for you and him, not work.

After a bit of sulking, you hear movement near your apartment’s entrance. Probably the building settling. But as the mysterious sounds grow louder, you rise from the sofa, mind on high alert. You creep near the entranceway, eyes scanning for a weapon of some sorts.

“Y/n, are you home?” Wednesday’s voice echoes throughout the apartment as you pick up a particularly heavy shoe. Dropping it quickly, you make your way to the door, where Wednesday is leaning against the frame.

“Babes?”

“Darling.” He breathes in relief.

“You’re- back. I thought you had until tomorrow morning?”

“I was reminded once more of a man’s desire for money.”

You rub your forehead. “You bribed an agent.”

“I satisfied his materialistic desires.”

You stare at him for a minute before giving up trying to understand your boyfriend. Sensing your disapproval, Wednesday drops his luggage and pulls a small package from his coat pocket. It almost looks like a ring box, all black and ready to be opened.

“I understand your anger with me, Y/n. It is completely justified. However, this may make up for my tardiness.” He offers the box to you, face dead serious with a hint of anticipation. You take the box from him, opening it with steady hands. Wednesday has given you gifts before- expensive gifts. This better not be a repeat.

As the lid pulls back, a watch is revealed- a Jaquet Droz, from the look of it. You’re in love with it the second you see the sleek design. And though you’re tempted, you pull back into reality, facing your lover once more. He’s adopted the stance of a sheepish partner, knowing you would never allow yourself to buy this (but would want it all the same).

“You’re not buying me out with this.” You insist.

“Of course not, darling. I’d be disappointed if this was all it took.”

“And I’m expecting an apology.”

“In the morning. I was gone for a week, cara mia. Let me enjoy you right now, instead of the reminder of your absence.”

And so you sigh and grumble, but in the end, Wednesday has won your heart over with his loving words and actions and watch.

-2-

“Mr. and Mrs. Addams, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” You say, muting the excitement in your voice for fear of them despising your expressive voice.

“The pleasure is ours. We’ve been waiting for Wednesday to introduce us to you, Y/n.” Gomez Addams replies happily.

“We’ve heard all about you from our son. All good things, of course. Tell us, is it true you’ve lit a spider’s heart on fire?”

“Mother, Father.” Wednesday cuts in. “Please don’t overwhelm them. We’ve only just arrived, and you’re picking them apart like they’re a deceased relative.”

“No, it’s fine.” You say, then lean over to your boyfriend. “You’re telling me that story later.”

“Of course.” Wednesday whispers, then turns back to his parents. “Shall we?” He gestures to the sitting room.

“Ah, yes. But before we do, your father has something for Y/n.”

Your eyebrows furrow. You turn to Wednesday, who is avoiding your glare in favor of picking a conversation with his mother, catching up quickly as Gomez goes to grab whatever it is he has up his sleeve.

“Here we are!” You all startle at Gomez’s loud exclamation in the room over. Clattering noises are heard before the father rushes back to you, Wednesday, and Morticia, holding a long object draped in velvety red fabric.

“This has been passed down to Addams’ lovers for generations. I gifted it to Morticia, my mother bestowed it upon my father, and her father… It’s been in the family for decades, and now it’s your turn to hold it.” And with that, he pulls what is possibly the most expensive-looking sword you have ever seen from the fabric, holding it out to you. Your eyes go wide as you look from the sword to Wednesday and back to the sword.

“Wow- thank you,” you marvel. Words cannot describe how beautiful the weapon is- and as you think of that, you almost snort at the irony. But it’s true. The sword really is amazing, jewels trapped in its metal as it glints in the moonlight.

“I would have told you, beloved, but that would ruin the surprise,” Wednesday murmurs into your ears as you accept the sword with a delicate touch. “You are holding thousands of dollars worth of beauty in your hand, yet it pales in comparison to you.”

You almost drop the sword as Wednesday takes on a seductive tone. You want to yell at him, that he is in front of his parents and this sword is worth more than all your organs combined, but damn, his voice-

“It’s an honor, Mr. Addams, Mrs. Addams.” You turn back to your hosts.

“Please, call me Morticia, dear.” Morticia smiles.

“And feel free to call me Gomez. You are part of the family now- and family uses first names.”

With that, they stride into the sitting room, expecting their son and his lover to follow. And you do- after you glare at Wednesday, drag him down by his coat lapels to kiss him heatedly, and hiss at him that you will be getting gloves to handle this sword.

-3-

“Pack your bags, cara mia.” Wednesday strides into your shared room, dark sunglasses hiding his eyes.

Your head rises from your book, eyebrows raised. “...Why?” You ask hesitantly.

“We’re going on a trip.”

You place your book down, not mentally prepared for Wednesday’s antics. “Kay, I’m gonna need a little bit more than that. You’re not just whisking me away to god knows where without any explanation whatsoever.”

Wednesday sighs dramatically as you wait, not moving to pack as he hoped you would. It’s a tense couple seconds, breeze fluttering in from the open windows as your gazes lock and a silent argument occurs.

Wednesday, surprisingly, breaks first. “To Spain,” he starts. “My father has friends there, and he thought it was high time he visited them again. With the whole family this time.”

Only the Addams Family could schedule an impromptu trip to another country with a snap of their fingers.

“See? That wasn’t that hard.” You coo sarcastically. “Now- what? I’m not technically family…”

Wednesday stops for a moment, taking your words in before walking over to where you’re perched on the sofa.

“Cara mia.” He murmurs, dropping to his knees in front of you. His fingers draw a path from your cheek to chin, settling there as he talks. “Look at me. You are family. My parents, however bothersome they may be, consider you the daughter they never had- and Pugsley hasn’t tried to put an arrow through your heart yet. You are family, as far as any of us are concerned.”

You breathe deeply for a moment, bathing in the romantic words of your lover. “All right, then.” The words tumble out of your mouth.

“Excellent. Now go pack.” Wednesday stands back up and goes to grab your suitcase.

That man would be the death of you.

[tacitoru]

above snakes - kamo choso

pairing: choso x reader

summary: “At your service, ma'am,” he says, with an earnest grin and the tilt of his gallon hat. “Always.”

rating: explicit

wc: 7.6k

ch: 1/2

You can’t imagine the number of things I had to google that probably don’t matter but would’ve driven me up a wall if historically inaccurate. Idk how to fucking paint so pls forgive me, artists and art history majors.

read on ao3

There was a particular brand of wildness that seemed to touch everything this far west. 

It had to, you surmised, come from the lack of seasonal rain. Something must’ve mixed into the well water with the first wave of settlers. Grown into the dry cracks and crevices of the desert with the rest of the shrubbery. Crept into the hearts of every untamed beast that could endure the sweltering heat, timid or truculent. 

You’d experienced that wilderness in bits and pieces in your short time this side of the Mississippi River. You’d heard it through the stories men traded on bar stools. Felt it in the rough callouses of the hands that traded coin for drink and paint. In the first few weeks after you had settled, you had attempted to capture it yourself. But no matter how long you spent bent over a canvas, painting broad blue skies and looming canyons and bands of wild horses, your brush simply could not replicate that untamed, beautiful something, native only to nature herself. 

It intrigued you. It called to you from the safety of your New England home and the polite society you’d been indoctrinated into all of your life. The desert and its residents were both beguiling and dangerous, in real, tangible ways that tea parties and gossip circles back home couldn’t even begin to compare to. 

On its worst days, the sun and the heat did terrible things to people who linger in it for too long. But for most of your life - and much of your stay thus far - you’d been lucky enough to have never seen that kind of violence up close, not if you could help it. Not if your father could help it.

The unbearable heat, however, is something you had willingly signed up for the moment you rejected your birthright and fucked off into the countryside for good - something you try to remind yourself at the sight of half of your paints gone runny in their cases.

A sudden wave of anger causes your fingers to twitch against the wooden lid. I don’t understand.

“Is…Is everything alright?” You blink and straighten up, taking a second to compose yourself before turning to face your inquirer with an expression as blank as you can muster. You don’t understand how the paints had melted in storage - since you had moved, you had done what you could to keep them cool and out of the sun. For the two years you had taken residency in the ramshackle saloon, your materials had managed to survive the desert heat from the safety of the trunk you kept under your bed.

  And yet today of all days, half of your case is a watery, separated mess.

Had you been back home, this could have been easily resolved within a day with a few silver dollars and a quick trip to an art store - that very same day if you were early and lucky. The largest commission of your life wouldn’t have to be postponed for longer than mere hours, and you and your standoffish companion could be on your way in a few days. 

It’s been two years since you made the journey west and settled in this small haven in the middle of a dry sea. It was a purposeful two-day travel by horse to get to the nearest train station. When you first rode into this tiny town, it had been the perfect place to escape. He was determined and astute, but you doubted that your father and family would follow you this far out into the middle of nowhere. Life here wasn’t perfect or easy, and there were often times (like now) when you longed for the conveniences of modern society.

But it was yours . For the first time, you could confidently say that you were in control of your own life and content - happy, even.

 And yet looking at the mess in your hands, all you can feel is unadulterated rage as you calculate about many weeks it will take for the general store to have black paint again. 

Weeks. Months , maybe. You don’t have months. 

The sheriff had paid good money to have his deputy’s portrait remade, despite his lack of knowledge in your lack of knowledge. That I-don’t-have-to-worry-about-food-or-rent-for-the-cold-season kind of money that you couldn’t just pass up on. All he had heard was that you were a painter from the north - a skill no one had the luxury for this far out west - and all you had heard was the promise of financial security .

 In your turmoil, you’d nearly forgotten about your unlucky patron - a tall, broad, and stolid man with inky black hair and sullen eyes that tracked you about the room as you had prepared to paint him. Deputy Choso sat atop your rickety stool, poised for his portrait to be painted. His impatience radiates throughout the room.

The portrait painting hadn’t been his idea, but his mentor’s. An apology from the sheriff after his original portrait - the one he received after his installation as deputy of your quaint township, conceived by a much older, real artist passing through town - was bullet-whipped in a close call with a gang member turned near - escapee at the station.

While you weren’t there for the initial conversation - or however Sheriff Nanami decided to break the news to his young deputy - judging by the icy demeanor and rigid posture he had maintained since his arrival, you can only imagine that the gift had been met with some measure of reluctance.

The deputy had arrived at your doorstep in the early hours of the morning looking haggard and half-ready to jog back downstairs and escape on his horse, maybe relay some poorly composed excuse to his mentor about why he couldn’t see this through when you first opened the door to greet him.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen each other at all in the two years since that fateful encounter. Your tiny town was exactly that - tiny. The proximity of everything compared to the vastness of the empty desert made it so that no one strew too far from home without the purposeful intent of doing so. You had always seen Choso in passing on the way your way out of the general store, making his survey rounds about town, or on his way into the saloon after a long day, pretending not to see the way you slide from the bar to the furthest corner of the room at his arrival. 

Admired him quietly from afar all the while he seemed to avoid you like the plague. Straight up ignored you, even.

Head down, gaze averted. Worn gallon hat shielding the upper half of his face. Never offering more than a polite nod if you happen to be roped into the same conversation. But seeing each other like this, up close, without the usual buffers of his colleague, your nosy neighbors, or drunken bar patrons, was an entirely different beast.

At the sight of you, the shock on his face was plain as day no matter how quickly he schooled his expression into one of impassivity. You couldn’t blame him, maybe even look at him similarly - overnight, the anxiety leading up to this appointment had crept into your bloodstream and buzzed in your ears like a pesky mosquito. If he ever asked how you had gotten to the door so quickly, or if you had been waiting up on him by the door, you would lie. Profusely.  

After inviting him in wordlessly with a tight smile and excusing yourself to gather your things, Choso had taken a moment to take in your other works littered about the tiny studio - horses, lots of them, racing thunderously alongside dusty mesas and atop desert plateaus. Vivid oranges, murky browns, and brilliant blues dance across his vision.

Snakes too - long, scaly reptiles with cavernous maws bearing thin, murderous, and razor-sharp teeth. Choso feels like he could prick his finger just touching the painting.

You’d taken careful time to mimic the way the relentless desert sun made the scales of the reptilian appear nearly wet and shiny, its eyes glinting soullessly back at him from different angles. No people, though , he notices. No faces.

 He’s in the middle of wondering when the last time you saw a snake this close to town was when he notices you freeze in his periphery, staring into a wooden case.

The deputy shifts in his seat; this is already taking longer than he anticipated, and you have yet to even start painting.

“Ma’am,” he calls out again when you don’t respond, pursing your lips as you struggle to think of what to say. You can hear him trying to bite back the bark of annoyance in his voice. “Are you okay?”

Not at all. “Absolutely.” You offer him a placid smile if only to see him relax a little. 

Recalling the pale look on his face when he first marched up to your little studio above the local saloon, you get the sense that despite his usual impassivity,  this appointment isn’t easy for either of you.

Deputy Choso Kamo is the young gunslinging protege to your town’s sheriff, a champion fighter with his own tall tales from the desert tied to his name. 

In any other situation - if you were anyone else - this would be an honor beyond your imagination for the amateur artist you considered yourself to be. 

There was a time when Deputy Kamo would stroll through the center of your dusty little square in the early morning hours of a Sunday on his brooding black mare, surly and stolid, and the sun would roll in behind him as if waiting for his arrival for permission to set. Women would flock to the windows of the chapel to snag a glimpse of the gunslinger and peak behind their hands at him in passing. Men would amble out onto the deck of the saloon to gawk at him in the guise of appraisal, arms crossed, fingers resting on the hostlers of their guns. 

Of course, that was in the earlier days, when he first took up the position as Sheriff Kento Nanami’s secondhand man. Before you arrived. That was what was told to you after you had already made your own unforgettable first impression.

You knew the deputy as simply Choso, the man who you fucked half senseless the first night you arrived in his small town.

You had been drunk, celebrating your first night of true freedom with as much ale as your silver could carry. And he had been there. Hair long and unruly, observing you from his quieter corner of the saloon. Never looking away when your gaze caught his, finally noticing him looking, watching. Not a belt or badge or holster in sight - just quiet, confident resolve, and enough money to buy you one more drink before you invited him back to your closet-sized rented room.

He had probably figured you were a city slicker just passing through, journeying to the booming mining cities near the coast. It had probably never crossed his mind that you would stay.

And yet here you were, having never spoken to each other again in the two years since that fateful night and clutching your half-melted paint palette between the two of you like it would shield him from you.

Or vice versa.

Choso glances at the wooden case again and then places both hands on his belt with a sigh, arms akimbo. “Look, if you’re going to be weird about this-,”

“No, no, not at all!” You grimace and sigh, flipping the oily mess in his direction, frown growing when the paints slosh in their pans. “I’ve run out of black. That was the last of the only tube I had.”

“So what does that mean? You can’t paint?” You try not to feel a bit hurt at the hint of hopefulness in his voice. You know this interaction is awkward - you’ve been dancing around each other for two whole years, there’s only so many people in this tiny town - but you hadn’t thought your company was that unbearable.

“No, I can still start, it’ll just take a little longer. It takes a while for the general store to order the paint, and even longer for it to get. But maybe I can order the materials to make the paint a little faster if I can just get my hands on some linseed oil…”

At this point, you’re murmuring more to yourself and into the canvas propped in front of your reluctant subject than to the young deputy himself, who has quickly schooled his expression back into one of disinterest. All he hears is that he’ll be seeing you a lot more often than he already had expected, quickly coming to the same conclusion you have.

Much of his appearance and uniform attire were comprised of dark greys and browns - hell, his hair was black. His skin took on a gold tone from long hours in the sun. Tiredness cast a dark shadow beneath his low-lidded eyes. Like many of the men who spent their time out in the wilderness, he seemed to carry pieces of it with him. If you didn’t come into possession of any black paint any time soon, this process would take much longer than either of you had anticipated. 

 “I can still get started.”

As if sensing his uneasiness, you meet his gaze full-on for the first time since greeting him at the door. And then you add, a little quieter, “But we don’t have to do this if you really don’t want to.”

His brows shoot up in surprise, contemplative, as if recognizing that this is the closest either of you has ever gotten to addressing the massive elephant in the room. His fingers idly fiddle with the gold plate at his belt, palms curling over the leather at his waist, and you try not to remember the way they felt bracing your hips. Your thighs. The way his grasp had trembled when you touched him.

It was all so long ago, and yet somehow not long enough. The faded memory is now clear in your mind at your forced proximity.

Choso considers leaving. He thinks of Nanami, of how he’ll probably pry the real reason for his reluctance right out of him with little to no effort the moment the young deputy tells him that he’s no longer interested in receiving the sheriff’s gift. He thinks of how the man will most likely march him right back into your meager studio and sit in the corner and watch . He’d rather not have this debacle unfold in front of an audience, much less his mentor. 

The deputy is facing an internal uphill battle of his own as he struggles and fails to repress the memory of your last private encounter with every minute of sitting in your presence. Fighting back a warm blush that threatens to spill over his cheeks when he remembers the last time he was in this room. If he is uncomfortable now, he can only imagine the immense discomfort that would come with the sheriff seeing him so on edge like this. So openly undone by your mere appraisal..

Choso is a grown-ass man who will not run away from a gift just because he can’t unsee you bent over this very same stool two years ago, crying out on his cock.

“I can do this,” he resolves and then reddens with the realization that he has exposed a bit of his inner dialogue when you frown, scrambling to rephrase his words. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

His heart aches a little at the way your expression shutters, closed off, but then again maybe you’re just reflecting his own. “Take as much time as you need, I mean. It’s up to you,” He tries again, but you’ve already returned your attention to your easel with a sharp nod, ducking behind your canvas. 

This way, he can’t see the way your hand trembles when you make your first brush stroke.

Your appointments are sparse and brief. 

At first, the whole ordeal is kind of a burden. It’s not that Choso is too busy to give it much thought - not really . Your town is quiet and picturesque - an unknown speck of nothing smack dab in the middle of nowhere. A watering hole, maybe, to those who wandered across the wild desert in gangs. Choso has done his best to keep the peace in your region, even in the few years before your arrival. Between him and the presence of Nanami - a legendary quick draw -  keeping the unruly at bay, it’s been a while since the young deputy had come across anyone that he could truly consider his rival.

The problem is that he does give it too much thought.

He only sees you maybe once or twice a week. The appointments are brief - there is only so much you can do to add to the portrait when you’re missing such a vital color, and for all of the patience and timeliness rumored to have carried his infamous gunslinging career, Choso is terrible at sitting still for too long.

You being, well, you , doesn’t help his case much either.

When he is not with you, Choso finds his thoughts drifting back to your studio. He thinks back to your many landscape paintings; the snakes and the way you paint their glittering scales. The distinct lack of portraits in your gallery despite being commissioned to make one. There seem to be more iterations of the desert each week he comes to visit as if you’re missing something you can’t quite put your finger on with each new edition. 

He daydreams about the way your bare ankles cross as you sit on a stool of your own. You’ve eventually stopped wearing shoes in his presence (he takes that as a sign of you being more comfortable with him rather than just simply too lazy to do anything about it when he comes through). 

His mind wanders to the pensive look on your face when you tune him out and really get to work. To that scrutinizing gaze you turn on him every so often while he poses, in the moments when you’re willing to pry yourself from the canvas to refresh yourself on the subject you’re replicating. He ruminates on the furrow of your brow, and how the first time he saw it he was knuckle-deep in your wet heat, wringing the sweetest sounds from your mouth.

But worst of all he thinks of your hands. Your fingers more accurately. The digits that wield your brush and paint palette with practiced ease. He imagines the grip of your fingers on the brush and recalls a time when they braceleted his neck and squeezed. The ghost of the delicious pressure of your fingertips against his skin, the band of your knuckles wrapped around his throat, haunts him on the hottest desert nights. 

Choso is reluctantly obsessed with the memory of you choking him, subconsciously chasing that shock of surprise at the sensation, followed by the rush of pleasure that sent him quickly tumbling over the edge faster than he ever had in his life. The feeling had hit him before he had even known was what happening. He remembers with stark clarity wrenching out of the grasp of your tight heat in surprise before spilling onto the wooden floor with a sharp cry. The cocktail of shame and confusion in his stomach at the sight of your pleased smile.

And then, as he makes his way into your modest studio, mentally preparing himself for another round of sitting as still as a statue, he reminds himself that that night was a one-off, one-time thing.

When he’s not plagued by his growing hunger for you, Choso has come to enjoy this moment of silence and stillness away from his usual routine. Typically, his days are filled with patrols about the perimeter of the town or hauling overzealous drunkards from the bar. He has been long familiar with the mercilessness of the desert this far west, the maliciousness that lurks in animals and people alike. 

While the bored bumble of your small town was reprieve itself, the young deputy can’t help but begin to look forward to his afternoons cooped up in your rented room. 

He stares at you from behind the canvas and wonders if you’d sound the same as you remember if he got his hands in the way he’s been itching to. Restraining to. Wonders if he got up from his station and crowded you by your canvas if you’d brace his neck with your small hands again just to keep him at bay.

You refuse to speak to him and yet he craves your presence even in your tense silence. He craves the solace of your company. Knowing he is your singular focus for just a small portion of time. Watching you watch him as you - supposedly – immortalize his face into a masterpiece.

When you finally receive news that the general store has ordered your paint and it will be here before the summer turns to autumn, Choso can’t help but wonder if you’ll paint him with the same quietly murderous black eyes as your snakes. 

He knows now that you are actually capable of painting human bodies, despite his earlier skepticism. Albeit only from the chest up, Choso’s painted double takes on a broad and heroic stance, filling out his deputy uniform with all of the muscle and build of somebody sculpted by hard work and hardship. 

All that’s missing is his face. 

The deputy talks to you now, speaking freely, offering quiet words here and there. There is a shared sense of amicableness between the two of you. A shared, unspoken understanding that you’d both silently chosen to ignore whatever had transpired up to this moment, for the sake of the commission. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t notice when your gaze lingers on his face for longer than probably necessary. That doesn’t mean his eyes don’t track your hands as you move about the canvas.

 Eventually, every time he comes by, you update him on the last thing the general store told you about the status of your paint order, and he wracks his brain to calculate when he’ll see you next. How long this will last. 

He doesn’t know if he can go back to ignoring each other after this.

--

It wasn’t until Deputy Kamo became a regular fixture in your routine that you would feel the cool bite of the steel and the worn wooden handle between your own two palms.

Guns, the indiscriminate dictators of the lawless West, were not an uncommon sight. Men carried them as casually as cigars. It was a less common occurrence for women, although the wives of cow wranglers were known to be familiar with riffles. Every so often when he would visit, you would curiously watch out of the corner of your eye as he would remove the weapon from his holster and place it gently on your rickety excuse for a kitchen table. When you ended your last painting session by asking Choso if he could teach you how to handle a revolver, he almost whited out at the concept.

He looks at you now as you balance the device in hesitant hands, impassive as ever. 

“You’re going to hurt yourself more than someone else with a grip like that.”

You huff and wordlessly adjust your hold on the weapon, frown furrowing your features. Trying hard to recall the deputy’s earlier patient instruction. The pair of you stand on the outskirts of town, at the lip of his patrol range. As far out into the desert as you’re comfortable venturing. The candlelights of your township twinkle in the distance like little figurines in the fading sunlight. 30 feet away, a beer mug balances on a dead log, perched directly in your line of sight. 

You hope he can’t feel the way you tense when Choso wraps his arms around your frame from behind, readjusting your grip with his own. 

“Breathe,” he admonishes.

“I am.”

“Right.”

His tone is clipped as he takes a step back, and you can’t help but frown a little as he steps away.

“Shoulders,” he corrects you, and you adjust accordingly, rolling them down and back, away from your ears. Not having made your first shot yet, you’re silently taken aback by how cold and still the device is in your hands. Unable to fully comprehend the violence it could administer - loud and quick and unforgiving. Permanent.

The sun sinks. The sound of crickets gets a little louder.

“You’re alright,” the deputy calls from behind you, softly, as though sensing the fear crawling up your throat. “Focus, don’t think. Steady.”

You level the revolver.

“Aim,” your finger rests on the trigger. A slight tremor in your stance. 

“Fire.” 

Too much happens all at once. The crack of the revolver is deafening, the force of the firearm rocking you back in your stance. You cringe. Your ears ring, and your shoulders burn. Tears well up in your eyes on instinct. The once cool metal now radiates with a minacious warmth. Your elbows drop but you keep the weapon extended as far from your body as possible.

“Did I hit it?” You face him rather than your makeshift target, as if afraid to be greeted with the sight of the aftermath of some sort of carnage and not just some shattered beer mug. 

The air tastes like gunpowder when you speak. Choso takes one glance over your shoulder and grimaces.

“Depends on what you were tryna’ hit.”

You whirl around, indignant. “What-,”

A gaping hole now graces the side of the barrel. In your haste to shoot, you’d completely missed your target, the mug having fallen into the shrubbery with the force of your firearm.

Choso is patient and watchful. He slips the revolver from your grasp, easily dismissing your disgruntled look. “Go pick it up. Try again.”

You try not to roll your eyes and gripe at the patronizing tone he’s taken on and fail as you trudge toward your fallen target. Wondering again why you had thought that he of all people would be better to ask to sate your curiosity rather than any of the other gun-totting residents of town. Nanami was just as accessible as his deputy.

He’d probably charge me for the lessons, you muse, take it out of my commission or something.

As you reach for the beer mug, the snake sees you before you see it, but Choso is faster.

A flash of reptilian skin and teeth whips in your direction, sending you startling backward and falling on your ass.

“Shit!”

Two gunshots ring out in quick succession, but you feel the whiz of the bullets go by more viscerally than you hear them. 

The deputy’s gentle hand on your shoulder wrenches you from the shock of your fright.

“Are you okay?” The question is asked with such sincerity you have to look up at him in astonishment. The sight that greets you sends chills up your spine. Choso’s stolidity largely remains the same, but after studying his figure for weeks on end, you can see the cracks in his composure. The tightness of his jaw. The knuckle-white grip on the weapon in the hand not holding you. You zero in on his comfortable grasp on the metal, trailing your gaze up his sun-warm arms and well-toned neck and nearly flinch at what you see when you meet his eyes.

It’s a fleeting look, one you would have missed if you had looked back at him a second too late. That wild thing that is found in all desert things. That violence. It dances in the blown pupils of his eyes, wicked, sharp, and hungry and suddenly you understand the stories. Suddenly you can’t help but marvel that once long ago, there had been a moment when you had a creature capable of such violence crumble beneath your simple touches. You know he can feel the way you tremble a little in his grasp, even as you nod and straighten up, dusting off your skirt.

“Yeah I’m-,”

The snake twitches violently in the dry grass and the deputy is quick to react, drawing back from you to stomp on the beast’s neck with such force and precision it shocks you more than the initial attack. The thing makes a pained, high-pitched wheezing sound akin to a shriek before going limp under his boot as Choso twists his heel sharply. Blood turns the desert floor a murky brown. 

For a moment, the two of you stare at the thing. It’s nearly as long as you. White, reptant eyes stare unseeingly back at you. 

Choso sighs, turning away from you almost sheepishly. He considers asking if this is the snake you’ve been painting. Instead, he shakes the blood off the bottom of his shoe and starts with, “‘Sorry you had to see that.”

He knows that despite your few years here, you’re still not akin to the dangers of the wilderness. You never wander too far from the confines of your township. You are far from the comforts and safety of the city you once called home. He doubts the men of New England are shooting each other willy-nilly in the streets. Knowing this, the guilt he feels is immense. He shouldn’t have agreed to teach, let alone see you outside of your appointed painting sessions.

So it is his turn to be shocked when he registers the look on your face to be one of approval. Admiration, naked and plain on your face. The expression of someone who just experienced a revelation. As you stare up at him in wonder, something hot coils beneath his stomach.

“Don’t be,” you finally say, sneering at the snake and spinning sharply on your heel. The moment is broken. “I’m not.”

--

The day you finally get black paint is more momentous than it really should be. The general store owner has to keep you from nearly breaking down his doors when the morning after the shipment arrives, relieved to put an end to your incessant hounding. If there was anyone else more ready for you to complete your portrait commission than your deputy, it was the store owner. 

Choso tries not to frown at the news when he meets up with you for what would now be the very last time, especially when you seem to have lightened up significantly at the return of this pigment to your arsenal. You’re giddy - you can finally give this man a face. And hair!

Caught up in your satisfaction, you hardly notice the subject of your masterpiece fidgeting in his seat more than usual. He’d rather not admit it now, but the deputy is distraught at the thought of things returning to normal after this. The sense of finality that lingers in the room disturbs him.  He revels in your quiet but stern presence, the passion and dedication to your craft. That odd hunger for danger and risk that reflects in your paintings a craving you seem too embarrassed to put a name to, but too curious to fully ignore.

 Choso would like to consider himself an honorable man of the law - he dons his badge with pride and purpose. But before that, he was a boy in the desert with a gun and enough bullets and anger to strike as deadly and indiscriminately as that snake. That life, no matter how far in the past, sticks with him and reflects off of him in an intangible way that even without seeing his scars and bullet wounds, people just know . Most strangers and visitors, especially women from the city, would turn their cheek to his particular brand of unruliness.

For a moment, you seemed to want to eat him whole despite of it. 

As you meticulously mix the black paint, your movements are precise, almost reverent. Choso watches you work, the evening sun casting long shadows across the room. The air feels heavy with anticipation, charged with an energy neither of you can ignore.

With each stroke of your brush, the likeness of Choko begins to take shape on your canvas. His features emerge from the blankness with startling clarity.

The sun sets, dying your small studio in hues of pink and orange, and you finally step back from your easel with an air of completion. Choso can feel his heart pounding in his chest when you gesture for him to come to look, his breaths becoming shallow and quick. He thinks of taking a glance, granting you a decisive farewell, and never speaking to you again, and his chest aches. 

“What do you think?” you ask as he rounds the canvas. 

Your voice is smaller than he’s ever heard it. Choso silently takes in his painting and tries not to sigh in relief. You have captured his stoic demeanor perfectly. Looking astute in his deputy uniform, you have portrayed him as a figure of pride and power. His face looks back at him with a gaze so steady and confident he’s almost unnerved.

“So?” You ask, trying and failing not to appear anxious.

 “Have you always known how to paint faces?”

You blanch and whirl on the man you’ve spent most of your summer studying in this exact same studio. “Did you not think I could do it?”

Choso shrugs, and nods to the little corner cluttered with your other discarded pieces of work. “Didn’t see any other portraits."

“It’s just not what I’m into painting right now,” you sputter, indignant. “Why didn’t you think to ask?”

The deputy mumbles, aptly studying the heel of his boots. “Thought you’d paint mine in the shape of a horse or somethin’.”

The man admits it so forlornly, you can’t help but chuckle, turning away to pack up your materials and allow him to take a closer look. “Maybe I should’ve.”

He says nothing in response, and you don’t look back to catch his expression. The silence that follows. You’re both hesitating and you know it.

Choso is the first to break.

“I’m sorry for what happened after…after we met for the first time. I shouldn’t have left like that.”

You sigh and put your brushes down, unwilling to turn and face him just yet. “I feel like all you do is apologize to me lately. We gotta put a stop to that.”

You wait for him to laugh you off and excuse himself, trying to offer him an out. Your tone is playful, joking, but Choso can sense the sincerity in your words. You can’t see it, but he shakes his head, adamant. “I was scared.”

The omission weighs heavy between the two of you.

“That I’d hurt you?” You wonder aloud, knowing that’s not the truth but pressing him anyways. You think of how he towers over you easily, how he could probably snap your wrists with two of his fingers, and can't help but laugh at the idea of this death machine of a man finding you physically threatening. But there was something else - 

“No,” he admits, almost a whisper this time, still full of resolve. “That I liked it.”

You finally face him, inching closer, still unsure. Your breath catches in your chest at the sight of his expression. Open and vulnerable, eyes wide and expressive with want.

“We can try something else,” you offer, pouncing on the opportunity. “If you’re feeling brave.”

A challenge. For the first time, he is willing to confront the suffocating something between the two of you - desire . The pure longing and awe on your face after the snake incident is imprinted on the forefront of his mind and haunts him as frequently as this memory of your hands around his neck.

He reaches for those very same hands now, in silent askance. Pleading you to collar that untamed unruliness lurking beneath his skin, quell the hunger that boils in his blood.

Choso has been bored . He loves the slow pace of your quaint little town. The stability and predictability are a welcome change from the life he once lived. But… he misses the thrill of the fight. The adrenaline pumping through his veins, the euphoria that follows the moments after brushing that thin margin between life and death

He feels it again, that buzz, as he allows his odd little painter to guide him back to a seated position on the stool, undo his belt buckle and slide the leather through the loops with delicious intent. Permits you to secure the material around his wrist. Encourages you to free his hips from the denim fabric of his pants. 

He is suntanned beneath his trousers too and the thought of how that came to be makes you feel a little lightheaded. The deputy is completely bare beneath his trousers, and it occurs to you that he had been squirming in his seat originally for reasons more than just impatience. 

“Oh,” you sigh at the sight before you, breath ghosting over his cock, and Choso nearly pitches forward in your grasp at the sensation. He wrenches his bound arms towards his chest, away from where you kneel between his knees before him on the floor.

“You’re so pretty down here,” you murmur absently, thumbs rubbing along where the waistband of his pants press into the tops of his thighs, tucked just beneath his balls, and its true. His erection throbs from where it sits propped up against his tummy, red and leaking under the weight of your attention. A smattering of soft, curly hair runs a trail from his stomach to his groin.

He keens when you press a kiss to the base of his dick, thumbs tracing a new path at the crest of his hips.

“Please, quickly, please-,” he stammers, flush from the neck down and willing himself not to tremble in your hold. “Gotta get back soon and, ah -,”

Choso’s resolve and dedication to his job falls apart at the feeling of your wet mouth on him, warm and insistent. You nod and hum in understanding, wordless, but he feels it all with you pressed this close to where he wants you. The deputy would have half a mind to be embarrassed at the high pitch of his voice if he weren’t so eager to feel you again.

“You remember my first night here, right?” You say, mockingly, pressing a soft kiss to his dripping head. “You were pretty then too. With my hands around your neck.”

Choso’s knuckles are pressed tightly to his forehead as he purses his lips. He can’t respond, can’t even bite back and tell you to shut up when you call him something as silly as pretty. Eyes rolling back as he sinks into the warm cavern. He’s in heaven. He’s in hell.

You can’t help but marvel at how pliant he is in your hold, drawing back to press a quick kiss to the inside of his thighs when they tremble. A warmth and wetness builds between your own legs at the sight.  When you draw him into your mouth again, you have to brace an arm across his hip to keep him from fucking into the back of your throat.

“Please, fuck, hurry ,” 

He’s writhing, throbbing as you swallow him down. You had had your fair share of promiscuity on your journey west - part of the reason you had departed high society - but Choso was an impressive task. You moan at the weight of him in your mouth as he struggles against the slow, relentless suction of your mouth. The patch of hair beneath his stomach grows damp with a viscous mix of your saliva and tears.

When you pull back suddenly, his hips stutter forward, and you have to duck out of the way to avoid being blinded.

“Fuck, sorry,” Choso gasps. “Really sorry.”

He watches with breathless anticipation as you draw two fingers from the hand not braced across his hip to your open lips, coating them in spit until they’re slick and shiny.

“Scoot forward a lil,” is the only direction he receives before he feels rather than seems that same arm wrap behind him, wedged between his legs and the seat of the stool. His ass hangs precariously off the ledge, the seat of the stool digging into his lower back. You’re much closer in this new position, straddling one of his elongated legs he sits with a slight bend in his knees to balance against the seat. 

When he feels your slick fingers brush his puckered hole, Choso lurches again at the foreign feeling, and you narrowly avoid being stabbed in the face once more. You can’t help but grin, all teeth. Choso gets the foreboding feeling like he’s about to be eaten alive.

“Fuck, wait, wait,” he pleads, pitiful, but you are already rubbing slick circles around his rim. “N-not there.”

You coo, "Relax, I promise I’ll make you feel good.”

The deputy shakes a little more in his seat, but doesn’t protest further, not when you’re returning the attention of your hot mouth back to the head of his cock, tongue torturing him with tight circles and light flicks before you press him further into your throat. He rocks his hips into your mouth with draw out pants of ha, ha, ha that only serve to fuel your own arousal. The sight of such a dangerous man, crumbling at your simple ministrations, has you pressing your thighs together You rock back on the deputy’s leg with a moan, subtly shifting so that the tip of his point leather boot presses blissfully into the soak crevice of your undergarments. 

“Huh?” The deputy hiccups, having given up hiding his face in order to lightly balance his bound hands against the top of your head. “A-are you-?”

Your fingers quicken in pace from where they slide around his untouched rim. This time when he bucks into your mouth, you don’t pull away, leaning in further to trap him between the heat of your mouth and the relentless sensation of your fingers. The deputy cries out, feeling helpless.

“I’m gonna, fuck, fuck m’gonna-!”

Choso sobs, his bound arms fully wrapping around the back of your head to thrust fully into your throat until your lips press fully into his abdomen and hold you there. Barely able to warn you before he locks up in your hold, cumming hard and damn near babbling at the sensation as you choke and struggle in his grasp, surprised. He cums long and and hard, gently rocking his hips into your face even as his comes down until you’re slapping profusely at his thigh to release your head.

The gunslinger is silent, eyes tightly shut as he struggles to catch his breath and regain his sense. Distantly, he hears you get to your feet, allows you to pull his hands away from his face so you can unwind the leather biting into his skin. The red marks they leave behind cause the red flush of his cheeks to flare up again.

He sits upright on the stool and peaks one eye open to glance at you, puttering around your small kitchen for a glass of water. Then he glances at his boots. “Did you get off on my shoe?”

He wonders idly if it was the same foot he used to kill the snake. You don’t respond, but the way you slam a glass of water beside him on a work table is answer enough.

--

Not much is said on his departure. You clean up and share soft smiles. He picks up his portrait, makes his way to the door, lingers with his hand at the handle.

“‘Ppose I should get going then.” His tries to keep the resignation out of his voice, but you pick up on it easily.

He makes to head out resolve to bother you any further fizzling at your slow response, but then you’re crossing the small distance to stop him, fingers digging into the thick material of his uniform.

“This won’t be the last time I see you, right?” You ask him. Implore him. “This time?”

The deputy breaks out into a grin, expressive as you’ve ever seen him, before pressing a kiss to your forehead and ducking before you, hand on his hat.

“At your service ma’am," he says, with an earnest grin and the tilt of his gallon hat. “Always."

--

“Hm.”

The town’s sheriff stands beside Choso, gazing contemplatively at his new and improved portrait from where it hangs in the place of its predecessor. He watches his mentor tilt his head to the side, hand at his chin. “I dunno. Something about it feels very..”

Sheriff Nanami’s gaze flicks between Choso and his replication. “Horselike?”

Choso nearly keels over in his boots. The sheriff waves him off dismissively. “Ask her to do it again, or at least touch it up a bit. We paid good a good amount of money for it.” 

He sighs, pinching his brow, remembering the shoot out and prison escape in the manner parents do when reminded of delinquent children. The deputy gawks at the portrait. Maybe he really didn’t understand art?

As if sensing his subordinate’s hesitation, Nanami clasps him on the back, marching back to his desk. “Can’t hurt to ask, right? Beside, how long could it possibly take?”

[detectivestucks]

A Jealous Hokage IX

18+ content, Minors do NOT interact

Pairing: Kakashi x F!Reader x Obito

Summary: After pushing him away for a week, you start to allow Kakashi back in. His desperation causes things to heat up as you come to the end of your S Rank intel project.

Warnings: NSFW, back door stimulation, squirting, unprotected penetration, hair pulling, light choking.

Word Count: 3.6k

Part 8 New here? Check out Part 1

Sunlight spills into the hall splashing through your office doorway and falls onto your resting eyes. A groggy hand rubs against your lids as you sit up and lift the blanket off your sleepy body. 

Time to get back to it.

You head to the locker room to brush your teeth and hair. You quickly rinse your nooks and crannies before dressing in a spare outfit you kept in your office for days like this. You spray perfume on your clothes and head back to your office to pick up where you left off.

Slowly shinobi filter into the building, eyes always lingering as they walk past your office door. Eventually you grab your mug and head to the break room hoping to make some tea and run into Obito. 

You feel a wave of relief wash over you when you see him sitting at the table minding his own business. 

“Good Morning!”

“‘Morning.”

“What’s with the long face?”

“Nothing.”

“Why didn’t you come visit yesterday? I was looking for you.”

“Why? It’s not like you need me anymore.”

“What?”

“You have your boyfriend to help you.”

“What? Oh, you talking about what happened in the lunchroom?”

Obito stands up to leave. As he walks out he stops next to you and growls in your ear, “If you don’t want people slut shaming you, then make sure no one can hear your moans down the hall.”

He makes to keep leaving when you grab his arm.

He stops and turns to you, eyes full of anger.

You look back at him with deep sadness. 

“Obito…”

You see his anger turn to hurt before he rips his arm from your grasp and storms away. 

You have been so selfish recently. Too lost in your own emotions to notice the damage you were doing to him. Not even comprehending how he might feel if, after all of this, you don’t choose him. 

If you were going to train for the field, you were going to stick to your cousin’s team and not burden Obito. It wasn’t fair to him. You grab your tea and walk back to find a happy Shiho waiting for you in your office. 

“Good Morning!”

“Good Morning, Shiho.” you reply with a little less enthusiasm

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m a bad person.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I saw Obito this morning.” You let out a deep sigh allowing the guilt to fill you.

“What did you do?”

“I slept with Kakashi yesterday.”

“You what?!”

“I was just so mad, Jozie and Aoto mouthed off at me and then  Kakashi put them in their place, I got all confused and when I went to confront him-”

“You slept with him.”

“Kinda”

“I take it Obito found out.”

“He heard us from down the hall.”

“Down the- What kind of freaky shit are you two up to?”

You give her a look of indignation

“Poor Obito, and after defending you all week.”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you just sleep with him?”

“Shiho!”

“Well I mean, are you single?”

“I don’t know”

“Do you want to break up with Kakashi?”

“I don’t know”

“Do you want to be with Obito?”

“I don’t know”

“Well what do you know?!”

“Nothing! I know nothing! Okay?! I know I have a project to finish and a career to change. That’s all I know.”

Shiho gives you a look of compassion. “Please don’t change your career over this.”

You look at the ground feeling ashamed. “You weren’t there yesterday. They only leave me alone if they can’t see me.”

“Yeah” she sighs, “but it sounds like you didn’t do yourself any favors yesterday.”

You shoot her an angry look.

“What? I can’t joke about it?”

You ignore her and get back to your project. You finished everyone’s work who had neglected their assignments and were pulling the data together into a presentation. Despite all of the time setbacks of the week, you should be finished by midnight. You might even get some decent sleep before tomorrow’s briefing. 

***************************************

Around midday you hear a knock at your door. You look up to see a timid Kakashi offer to walk you to the lunchroom. You cast your eyes down but accept the invite since you really didn’t want to deal with any drama when you were in such a productive headspace. You would’ve preferred Obito’s company but you couldn’t keep using his friendship like that.

You make your way downstairs and as you step into the space a hush befalls the room. Kakashi keeps his head high and places a hand around your waist while your eyes lock in on the discolored grout beneath your feet. 

You hear a growl rumble from Kakashi’s chest and you look up at him. You follow his eyes to see Aoto leering at you. You shoot him a nasty look before pulling Kakashi towards you. 

“He gives me the creeps.”

“I’m tempted to strip him of his rank.”

A small laugh escapes you.

Kakashi’s heart skips when he hears it. He made you laugh. He involuntarily pulls you into a hug, cradling your head, at the musical sound. As indignant as you felt, having him be so affectionate in public, it felt nice. It was like old times. You exhale as you sink into it, even reaching around to hug him back. 

You walk together to your office and invite him to stay while he eats. He gladly accepts and pulls up a seat next to you. Easy conversation flowed between you. You fill him in on how the project is going and he offers insight into how some of that intel might impact foreign relationships. It was nice. The usual butterflies started to come back as you listened to him. His smooth voice complementing his superb intellect. It was like you never skipped a beat.

Once he finished his meal he makes his way to the door but stops at the threshold. He looks back at you, hesitating. You get up and walk over to him. He reaches down and pulls you into another embrace. When you let go he cups your cheek before giving your forehead a kiss.

You retreat back to your desk with a grin. You felt almost normal. Each time you were with Kakashi things got easier. You felt lighter. Your mind returns to its usual sharpness. 

Shiho quietly observes. She begins to understand why you chose Kakashi. He was refined. An intellect like you. Plus the way his love for you dissipates from his skin, it would be hard to say no to him.  It made her wonder, were you really prepared to walk away from the office and leave him behind?

You carry on, continuing your work day undisturbed. Even Shiho refrained from speaking, not wanting to disturb you while you were on a roll. 

Before you even realized it, the sky was dark. You heard a light knock on the door and your eyes dart up to see Kakashi standing there with a bag in his hand. He had brought you something to eat. You smile at him. 

“What, so you assumed I forgot my dinner?”

“Am I wrong?”

“You’re not.”

“And now you know why I’m holding supper.”

You can’t help the grin that tugs at your lips as he enters, placing the bag down in front of you. He steals your officemate’s chair from her desk and brings it next to yours. 

“Are you doing okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Is anyone giving you a hard time?”

“Do you really want to know?”

He looks down. “Not really. I’m just worried.”

You reach out and put your hand on his knee. You were struggling with conflicting emotions. You were ready to forgive him but you were still mad. You didn’t want him to feel guilty but you wanted to know just how miserable he made you. You finally felt okay but you were still mourning the loss of your promotion. Mostly though, you just wanted to go back to how it was. 

You weren’t ready to express any of that though. Instead in a delicate voice, you whisper, 

“Thank you, Kashi.”

He looked up at you, face strained, mind racked with guilt from the events of this week. “Thank you? Why the hell would you thank me?”

“For dinner.” you say firmly

He swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing as he pushed down the heavy emotions that had bubbled to the surface. You give his knee a squeeze and begin to eat, feeling content with him by your side. Conversation flows just like it did earlier, easy and entertaining. When you were finished he looked around the room as if searching for an excuse to stay. 

“I could use some help if you have the time.”

“You sure?”

“I mean, you kinda owe me.”

He didn’t like the joke, but he was happy you made one. Gladly, he placed the trash in a can before waiting for your direction. The one thing you loved about Kakashi is that his work was always immaculate. He was your favorite person to collaborate with. Tidy, organized, intelligent, and always did things to completion. You didn’t have to waste time walking him through what you wanted. You say a general idea and he gives you exactly what you were looking for as if reading your mind. With his excellent workmanship, the two of you finished your S Rank project in just three hours.

You look at him with immense gratitude. Eyes bright, smile sincere, wordlessly thanking him for coming to your rescue. It was a look he couldn’t resist. He yanked down his mask and lunged at you. Your hands went up to meet his face. The two of you stumbling backwards until you were up against the wall. He lifted your leg and you wrapped it around his waist. He began grinding up against you, unable to control himself when he felt the heat coming from between your legs. 

You moaned into his mouth feeling passion coursing through your veins. What was it about him that drove you wild? Your fingers grip him, pulling him down by the neck. He pushes himself into you. 

He needs you. The idea of losing you destroys him. When your hands explore his skin it burns. When you moan into his mouth he feels his soul set ablaze. When your hands pull his hair he feels his balls tighten. You were his soul mate. He felt it in every fiber of his being. A lifetime of misery was worth it cause it led him to you. Your sweet little heart, your brilliant mind, your breathtaking lips, everything about you is perfect. He is overrun by emotion and wants to ruin you right here and now.

“Off”

“What?” you breathe between kisses.

“All of it, off. Now.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You begin stripping yourself as he does the same. He picks you up and slams you into the wall. Pinning you there as you relent to his strength. You lock your ankles behind him and he can feel arousal begin to leak out of you. He wastes no time sinking his fat aching cock into your entrance. You give a sharp inhale as he intrudes into you. Your puppy eyes thank him for stretching you so. 

The look makes him melt. He felt like he couldn’t breathe if his lips weren’t touching yours. He leans into your mouth once more as he begins thrusting up into you. The thrusts were slow and sharp. He pushed into you up to the hilt, knocking your breath out of your lungs each time. The lost air expels into his mouth. He grunts with greed, feeling his mind go blank while you wrap around him. 

Slowly he disconnects with reality. He feels himself going feral. His fingers dig into you as his kisses become sloppy. His snaps up into your stretchy cunt grow in speed. The familiar growl swelling in his chest. You felt your earlier butterflies soar as Kakashi spiraled out of control. 

His hips buried into you while he removes you from the wall. Hands holding you by your fleshy backside lifting you up and down on his length before dropping you on your desk. You let out a small moan on impact. It only served to rile him up more. He didn’t just want you to moan. His clouded mind wanted you to scream. He grabbed your shoulders and railed into you as hard as he could, driving himself deep. Satisfied grunts are rhythmically pushed out of you.��

He switched his grip. One hand bearing down on your throat, the other massaging the little bundle of nerves between your legs. You constrict around him, your walls pulling precum out of his swollen tip. 

“That’s it Angel, milk me. Work for my seed.”

You let out a whine as he picks up the pace. Lustful blood pumping through him as he prepares you for his load. But not yet. He needed you to drive you as crazy as you drove him. Your legs twitch around him. You’re falling over the edge and instead of slowing down and letting you have your moment, he selfishly keeps going. You begin screaming, “s’too much Kash!” You volley between screams and cries. He feels his thighs tighten at your struggle. It’s exactly what the wolf wants.

He flips you onto your side, lifting one of your legs to rest by his neck. The other smacking into his muscular legs, your calf grazing his robust buttocks. He spreads you open. Your head is thrown back; you’re overwhelmed by his assault into you. Your spine bows backwards as you are unable to process the stimulation taking over your body. 

“Fuckin love this perfect fuckin body!” he say, words mingling with the rhythmic slapping sounds. 

As if your back broke you suddenly snap forward, core tight, eyes scrunched, your hands shot up to reach for him. The intensity becomes more than you could handle. 

“Oh shit, Kashi.” 

You squeal trying to take it. You start thrashing beneath him, nails digging in, starting to draw blood. Animalistic grunts emit from him. Thrusts driving deep into your abdomen. Just as you can’t handle anymore you release with a shower. Kakashi is thrilled as his arm is soaked by your spray. 

“That’s it, cum for me Angel” it came out as a greedy rasp

Your eyes are screwed shut and you reply through gritted teeth, “Yes my Lord!”

His chest swells with pride as you call him by his title. You always know just what to say. He pulls you up to kiss you feverishly. It was wet and sloppy, mouths attacking each other. He trails kisses down your cheek and across your jaw before flipping you over. 

He bends you across the desk, spreading your cheeks. He sees your puckered rear and can’t resist the urge to lick his pinky before sinking it in. He fishes for your sweet spot. 

When you begin mewling, he strokes. You feel breathless from his pleasurable torture. He rubs his length along your juicy folds before reentering causing a guttural groan to fall past your lips. 

“Thank you my Lord.” He begins stroking into you “Oh gods thank you!” 

He groans at your praise, withdrawing from your back door and gripping your hips tight. He pushes into you causing your thighs to hit against the desk and aggravate the bruises he left on you yesterday. Your body craves the abuse. Your fingers futilely grasp at the cold desktop. There’s nothing to steady yourself as he shakes your body with his hips. 

Seeing your struggle, he grabs your arms, pulls them behind you, and restrains you by your elbows, forcing your back into a deep arch. You give an exhausted whine as he finds a new way to torture your body with his skillful strokes. 

“I’m going to remind you why you want this.” he snarls. Lost in animalistic lust

All you can do is gasp and drool as he hammers away.

“I’m going to shred up this pretty pussy of yours.”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes” You chant for him.

He has you wound so tight you feel you could explode out of your own skin. You constricted around him to the point he thought he would no longer fit and might actually rip you open. You let out a long moan calling to the entire building before you begin to hyperventilate. You turn around and look up at him. Eyes pleading to kiss him some more. 

He instead grabbed a fistfull of your hair and pulled you up to his chest, your back pressing into his abs, one arm grabbing your neck, the other snakes around your waist. His primal possession over you made you putty in his arms. There was no more logic as the two of you grunted and groaned together in your office. Two bodies interconnected, making a mess of each other. If you wanted his lips so bad you would have to feel them on your neck. You mewled and reached for his hair behind you while he sucked on your skin.

“Fuck Lord Hokage” you simper, fingers threading through his silver locks. 

Kakashi groans before crying out, “Angel”

Unable to deny you any longer, he pulls out of you, spinning you to face him. Both his hands cup your face as he leans in. He cherishes the kiss. You feel yourself swoon as his hand slides down your body and lifts your leg to wrap around his waist yet again, allowing him to slip back inside. You stare into each other's eyes as Kakashi strokes up into you with purpose. Eventually laying you back down on your desk. His eyes study you like the world’s most fascinating book. He can’t tear his gaze away from you, nor you from him. 

His slow thrusts steadily build speed. His grunting builds with it. Pathetic little moans slip out of you as you feel yourself tip closer to the edge. Your feelings for Kakashi pushing you there. He feels your walls flutter around him and he lets himself go. 

The feeling was intense. Your love for him washed over you in a crushing wave. One that left you unable to stand or breathe. Kakashi felt it too. He fell over, centimeters from your face. After attempting to catch his breath, he requests, 

“Stay with me tonight.”

“What?”

“Come home with me”

“Kashi, I-I need to go to my home. I slept here last night. I need to shower and change into fresh clothes for tomorrow.” 

“Then may I come home with you?”

“Kakashi…”

“Please” both of his hands cover yours. 

You realized it wasn’t a request. He needed you. He had become a broken man without you. You complied with a kiss. 

You would pretend for a night. For a night you would indulge yourself. For a night you would pretend everything was okay and go back to how it was. For a night you would go multiple rounds in your bed before lying in his arms. For a night you would engage in pillowtalk and let him muse about your future. You would do it all for a night.

The next day you walk to work together. Once you enter the building you make copies of all the translations, intel derived from it, implications, and various plans of action for the members of the Anbu, the elders, Kakashi, and Shikamaru. 

Your mind is always so clear after spending time with Kakashi. It allowed you to return to your usual self today. You know you impressed everyone in the room during your presentation including your piece of shit team members who didn’t do their jobs. You commanded the room once more like you always did before. You could see their conflicted faces and expressions of guilt. You didn’t care though. You wouldn’t be working with them much longer. They can figure out how to do their jobs without you picking up their slack. 

Tonight you will begin to train. Tomorrow Ino will join you. You give yourself six weeks. Six weeks and you would be in better shape than when you left the field the first time. You’d be ready to run away to the exciting world of missions and leave all this behind.

When you are done speaking there is an hour long discussion about what to do next. They keep you in the room so you can share your insight while everyone else on your team is dismissed. In the past this would have made you proud. You would’ve felt it was because they valued your knowledge but you knew better now. They take what they want from your mind but they don’t actually respect you. 

Once the meeting is done you linger behind to speak to Kakashi. You receive several glances as you wait for the room to clear. It makes you angry and further fuels your decision. 

“Lord Sixth, if you don’t mind, I’d like to request fewer projects for a while. And maybe lower class projects too.”

Kakashi assumed it was because you felt emotionally overwhelmed so he complied. “We really need your talent so I will do my best to keep you on A rank projects and use you as a consulting party for the S rank ones”

“Thank you” you say with a bow. You weren’t about to tell Kakashi your intentions. You didn’t want to give him the chance to stop you. Headed back to your office, you finish the rest of your day. 

Come evening you make a beeline for home to change into your old tactical gear and hit the training grounds where you would work till nearly midnight.

Part 10 Masterlist

[sebastianswallows]

The English Client — Thirty-five

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: none

— WORDCOUNT: 2.6k

— TAGLIST: @esolean @localravenclaw @slytherins-heir @thiefofthecrowns

I

Mr. Malfoy was losing his patience, although nobody would have been able to tell by looking at him. He sat as still and poised as a child at school, dressed in his muggle best, in a room well out of sight of all the other bidders going home. They filed out past the closed door, some stumbling drunk, some laughing, all of them loud and uncouth. Muggles. One by one they all had left within the hour, so when he heard the trapdoor open and steps approaching from the other room, he knew exactly who it was.

“What took you so long?” he thundered at the figure that appeared.

“Pardonnez-moi, monsieur,” said Donatien, bowing deeply in the doorway.

“Bring it over, you incompetent cur.”

The young man stepped forward, moving more slowly than Malfoy would’ve liked, and with a deliberately mocking sort of grace, presented the package. Malfoy took it from him, brow cocked coldly at Donatien. The boy lacked his usual obeisance. He even dared to smile at him. It bothered Septimus, but not enough to distract him from the book. Donatien stood back and to his left, out of sight.

“You’re rather quiet. Done all your croaking for the day? Irksome frog.”

Donatien did not respond, not that he needed to. Mr. Malfoy made short work of the wrappings, tearing off the carefully tied bow and throwing it, velvet wrap and all, onto the ground.

“Petty frills and ostentations. Is this what they wasted your time with downstairs?”

“Oui, monsieur.”

Malfoy grunted something scathing as his dry hands fumbled with the box.

“You’ve been speaking English too often on my account,” he said. “That accent sounds quite wrong, boy. You haven’t forgotten your own language, have you?”

He was too distracted afterwards to pay any attention to Donatien, although he was not so insensitive as not to feel a wave of anger from above his shoulder. None of it mattered, not more than Malfoy’s own anger at being kept waiting on what was the most important night of at least the last ten years for him. His hands were nearly shaking.

It had taken years to track down this book, one of the very last of its kind. The other two were well out of his reach, and this one would’ve been as well if not for his careful planning. Finding out about the Baron was easy, but making his way into his secret auctions took more skill than any muggle endeavour was worth. If not for his connections among vampires he might never have made it this far, and to his great fortune Ambrogio far respected wizards above his non-magical peers. And now he’d finally made it. He had in his grasp, in his old lap, that book the whispers of which caused shivers to run down his spine when he’d first heard of it some thirty years ago.

The lid clattered to the floor and the book was in his hands. At last.

He opened it, fingers almost trembling and read the title page.

“There you are, my beauty,” Malfoy whispered. From over his shoulder, Donatien could see his bone-white fingers trace the frontispiece. The inky devil on its throne waved silently at him, small as the palm of his hand yet dignified and cold. Each line, a thread of darkness pressed into the white that centuries had barely touched. Above, Delomelanicon. Below, Aristide Torchia & LCF. “Mine… At last.”

It was a marvel. At every turn of the page a touch of magic. The illustrations, headings, footnotes, the text that went from edge to edge in neat stout paragraphs in Latin, it made for an intimidating piece of art that hid the foulest magic. It was, under Donatien’s admiring gaze, like a nightmare given birth.

The air around them stilled. Mr. Malfoy read under his breath a spell from a page he paused upon at random but he was too frightened to actually cast it, and as he held it in his hands he had the distinct impression that he was close to dropping the book to the ground. It was a dizzying experience as if he could sense the very turning of the earth or the rushing of his blood inside him... Somehow, he knew the book wished to be placed upon an illuminated surface, shared, and read. It took a great deal of self-control to close it again and the sound of its shut maw echoed through the room. He sighed and closed his tired eyes, and inwardly felt grateful that he’d come all the way to buy the book himself rather than send his useless son. Abraxas was too busy throwing wasteful dinner parties for his friends — not that reading had ever been his forte.

“Shall I take it from you, sir?”

“I did not ask for your help!”

Donatien remained quiet for a moment.

“But yes. Take it,” said the wizard, caressing the book on his lap one last time.

Then, with some reluctance, he held it up. Donatien took the book with care, lifting it from the old wizard’s hand and into his possession. Mr. Malfoy didn’t even have time to regret it for a satisfied peal of laughter followed and the old wizard felt the unmistakable press of a wand tip at his temple.

II

Tom looked into Mr. Malfoy’s eyes like a baker checking a bun in the oven. He smiled at what he saw. Complete and utter contentment was there together with the usual arrogance, all in a mind that presently tried to catch up to its reality.

“Thank you, Donatien. You may go on ahead. Place it in my suitcase at the hotel.”

By now the Polyjuice potion had faded away and all of Tom’s features were his own, but that made no difference to Mr. Malfoy, not in the state he was in. He’d be lucky if that Obliviate didn’t leave his brains scrambled forever, but Tom had been planning for a while now exactly what memories to alter and which to wipe.

“Yes, sir,” he said with an overly enthusiastic bow.

His, finally his, and even old Malfoy didn’t stand in his way anymore. He’d eliminated everyone else who could — Oso, the Baron, even Donatien and Clement who foolishly thought they could have robbed a man like Malfoy themselves. Tom was so pleased with himself that it felt a real shame to give this book away to somebody like Burke, not after all the trouble he went through. But there was enough time left to make some arrangements.

With a chuckle, he turned to leave the room, book safe in hand. It had been given to him freely, after all. No spell could prevent him from taking it out of the building now… And by the time Malfoy returned to England empty-handed and realised something was wrong, the book would be far from Italy as well. Its protection spell, however cleverly designed, was no match for Tom’s designs.

But his smile died when he looked up and saw who was standing in the doorway. In her fingers, hanging limply, was a thin piece of paper — the receipt he had forgotten to take.

“Oh, fuck.”

Confusion, fear, panic. His heart dropped at the prospect of having to Obliviate her as well. She saw him still wearing Donatien’s clothes, saw him hold his wand and cast the spell, witnessed the unravelling of Mr. Malfoy’s mind — which was probably why she hadn’t said a word the whole time she was there. Now, she looked at him in innocent and sweet confusion and with every fevered heartbeat he could see her putting it all together in her head. She wasn’t just an ordinary muggle, after all. Her profession exposed her many times to the notion that magic was real… And now she’d seen it.

But instead of stepping away, pointing a finger accusingly at him and calling him ‘witch’, or even any hint of fear — instead of all of that, she came to him, admiration in her eyes. She looked at the enchanted Mr. Malfoy, his gaze no more intelligent than that of a child’s, and then at Tom again. He was breathless for long moments, and for the first time in a while felt… scared. Just as he’d been in fifth year when Dumbledore refused to let him stay at Hogwarts over Christmas. He felt the same violent surges as then, his whole self reduced to a volatile point. He was so distracted that he could hardly read what was going on behind her eyes.

“Tom,” she said with an uncertain smile.

“Yes?” he said, a little roughly.

“Why are you wearing Donatien’s clothes?”

“He, erm, let me b-borrow them?”

“And… did Mr. Malfoy let you borrow his book as well?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. I’m… looking after it for him.”

“Are you?” she said, her eyes lit with playfulness. She had the same sugary tone she did when they came across a stray cat and she wanted to entice it close enough to pet.

“I will see it all the way to England, in fact.”

There, he said. It was a naked challenge, and Tom could see her smile fade with the meaning of it. Between them, Mr. Malfoy groaned and rested his head in his hands as the effects of the memory charm finished taking root inside his mind.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Headache,” said Tom, and he quickly grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her away. “We shall fetch you a cup of tea, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Sod the tea,” growled the old wizard, his voice strained with the effort to keep his dinner down. “Where’s my wand?”

Tom shut the door behind them but not fast enough. The sound of dry heaving came through, muffled and confused, and in the quiet of the empty shop it seemed all the louder. The question was already in her eyes, which quickly flitted to the wand he held. Even though it was no use, he tucked it behind him.

“I knew that wasn't just a good luck charm!”

“Listen, you —”

He wanted to say that she was just imagining things but it would have been a stupid thing to do. There was no fooling her, not with everything that happened right before her eyes… Tom sighed, frustrated by his own stupidity and carelessness.

“I, what?”

He knew the only solution was to Obliviate her too… But the longer he waited, the harder it was to do. She was beautiful, standing so close, looking up at him, demanding that he share everything with her. Her hair was messier than when he’d kissed her last — still disguised as Donatien — her hands were dark with dust, her shirt unbuttoned at the top after a long night of working. He could see her blushing still, probably piecing it together and realising what he’d done. She may not have known how, but finding him in the French boy’s clothes cast the shrowd of guilt over him. Tom felt suffocated by it. And Mr. Malfoy… One didn’t need to know a lot of magic to figure out what happened there. He could hardly look at her — the accusations there, the fear, and memories of how his mother died rushing through his mind.

But when he looked into her eyes with all the shame of a child caught stealing sweets, and the wide expectant shine of them made a certain hope grow in his chest, wild and rampant like a rose bush.

“You did something to Mr. Malfoy, didn’t you?”

Tom kept quiet, fingers growing stiff around the wand, and waiting, waiting for her shock to turn to terror.

“D-did you… curse him or something?”

“Not… exactly.”

From behind the closed door, another wave of retching could be heard. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, gaze drifting, mind working fervently behind those tired eyes as she took in his clothes again — the awkward fit of them now that he didn’t have Donatien’s body — and the book in his hand and the other arm twisted around his back trying to hide that stick of his. She looked into his eyes reading things there he dared not even guess at and licked her lips to speak.

“Are you a… erm, a magician?”

In her voice was all the innocent wonder his own voice had one rainy day at Wool’s.

“The, ahem, the proper term is ‘wizard’.”

Was she going to laugh? She didn’t laugh. He feared she might scream instead but she didn’t do that either. Between them hung only a heavy silence, his blood cold, his body stiff, a slave in waiting for what she had to say.

“Tom!” she gasped. “That’s amazing!”

He looked into her eyes and frowned but seeing her smile at him made dangerous emotions grow. His brows smoothed and his lips curled at the edges and he felt on the verge of picking her up in his arms and twirling her. She’d looked at him many times in joy and sorrow but never quite like that — like she wanted to hug him and kiss him and crawl into his soul.

Was that his heart set aflutter or someone knocking on the door?

They turned together and hurried toward the sound — it was coming from the entrance. They found Frederico there, behind the glass, looking terrified and tired with his coat thrown messily about him as if he’d just been roused from bed. A taxi was waiting behind him.

“Open up!” he shouted. “The Baron’s dead!”

III

The Baron was found dead, or parts of him were. It was difficult to tell because his library had been set on fire with him inside of it. His secretary, Berit, was nowhere to be found. As Fred rambled on Mr. Malfoy stumbled past them, still dazed and somewhat angry that Donatien had gone to the hotel ahead of him. Without a word, he took Fred’s taxi and drove off, leaving them stranded at the shop.

The Carabinieri had tried to reach both her and Tom at their homes, but as they were at the auction all night they were forced to search further afield, and so reached out to Fred.

And now all poor Fred could do was tell them what had happened over an unsweetened cup of coffee. Tom took care to hide the Delomelanicon at the first opportunity while she sat Fred down and started brewing a fresh pot.

“They… they said arson was suspected.”

“But who could —”

“He had many enemies.”

“Yes, Tom, but arsonists?!”

“No, no, no, the Baron was a good person,” said Fred. “And his enemies are good people too! None of them would burn a library.”

“They could’ve stolen books before setting the place on fire,” said Tom as sat down, straddling the chair backwards.

“Yes, but so many books? Hardcopies too and leather-bound volumes?” said Fred. “No, no, no… They weigh too much, and there’s too many of them.”

She brushed a hand across his back as she placed the cup of coffee in front of him, then went to give one to Tom. “What else did the police say, Freddy?”

“That, erm, they can’t find Mrs. Boveri. They couldn’t find you two either, but I told them… I told them…”

“Will we have to speak to them?” asked Tom as he took a sip.

“The Carabinieri? Yes, they’ll want… proof. Of where you were, I mean.”

She and Tom exchanged a look. The bidders were a solid alibi, but how many of them would want to admit they were at an illegal auction?

“Cazzo!” shouted Fred. “I was supposed to tell you to call them right away!”

“Alright, alright, I’ll call the station.”

“No, I’ll do it.”

“Your Italian is garbage, Tom. Sit down.”

[fic--writer]

Lollipop

Rolan is too addicted on his magic lollipops. Tav decides to take a risk and exploit this.

Warnings: NSFW! Addicted, Dominance and Submission, Smut.

Additional: a must read if you like tormenting the Archmage as much as I do. Generally the D/S genre isn't my thing, but I had a f*cking dream about this idea. I woke up laughing and couldn't help but write this. Enjoy.

Part 1/3 Part 2/3 Part 3/3 soon

Rolan took the opaque jar. When he didn't hear the familiar rustle of sweets inside, he didn't immediately believe what was happening. He shook the jar properly, then harder, but only a deafening silence echoed back, increasing his alarm.

In his haste he tore off the lid with his claws and tossed it aside. Yes, he was right - the jar was empty. Although he definitely remembered that there was still one more lollipop left there. His favourite, the magic lolly. The one he always enjoyed when work got hard.

Everyone in the tower knew very well that taking the Archmage's sweets, especially without permission, was not only dangerous to one's health, but also to one's life. Everyone in the tower remembered what had happened to the unfortunate elf who had made that mistake.

Everyone knew about it. And yet someone had the nerve to steal his lolly. The last one! Well, who would dare to do such audacity?! Only one creature in the whole damn tower could have the audacity to do such a thing. Only one:

“Taaaaaav!!!”

Rolan screamed at the top of his lungs. His howl shook every wall in the building. He knew that there was no need for an investigation or a detective here. He knew that for sure. Only she was the one who kept looking at his satisfied face when he hid a lolly bar behind his cheek. Besides, Tav was a real rogue - mischievous and unceremonious. She had no sense of propriety or manners. Why would a thief need them? And why had he invited her to work with him...

The Archmage's blood boiled and he sprinted. He ran like a young trotter, sweeping everything in his path with his tail. He looked into every room in search of Tav, and woe betide anyone who got in his way. Rolan pushed, shoved and knocked down every unfortunate creature.

He found her in a small pantry. Tav was standing with his back to him, rearrange, or rather pretending to rearrange, at a supply of parchment on one of the shelves.

"Tav! Look at me" - the Archmage shouted, unable to contain his anger.

She turned slowly, and Rolan's world shrank to a single point. His suspicions were justified. Tav looked him straight in the eye and he heard a crackling sound from her mouth. It was the sound of the lollipop rolling from side to side as it hit her teeth. The lollipop was missing the wand that had penetrated it, Tav had probably just disposed of it ruthlessly.

But what happened next didn't just send Rolan into a violent insanity; this caused a storm of rage in him, comparable, perhaps, to the most destructive power of a volcano.

Tav stuck out her tongue, a red lolly glittering at the tip:

"Have you lost this?" - she said with the intonation of a daring little devil.

"Lost it? You stole it from me! You sneaky bitch, I gave you shelter, I gave you a job..." - Rolan spat out each word as he approached her and rolled up his sleeves.

"Wow, and I saved your red arse from impending doom, or have you forgotten? Choose your expressions."

"You know you're being extremely unwise, don't you? Oh, you probably know that."

He moved close to Tav and grabbed her cheeks, squeezing them with his claws:

"Spit it out now. Be an obedient dog. Return the stolen and maybe you'll stay in one piece."

Why, you may ask, was the Archimage so concerned about a some lollipops? Because they were not ordinary sweets, but magical ones. And only one merchant, almost from the Far Far Away Realm, agreed to supply them to Baldur's Gate from time to time.

Rolan first discovered them in one of the Tower's warehouses, and immediately tried them. The magic of these lollipops was that they could adapt to the needs and moods of the consumer. Perhaps it was a trait of the Tieflings or something else, but Rolan was instantly addicted to them. And now he was paying the price of sixteen rare old folios for one of these little jars. But that did not bother him. The effect they had on him - the ultimate pleasure and explosion of endorphins - was worth every gold, he thought.

"No, that won't do" - Tav muttered, her lips pressed together, "let's play a game and then we'll see."

"Excuse me? How about I hit you with a thunderwave, right here, and just take what's mine?" - Rolan shook her harder and harder, - "Hey! Don't you dare swallow that!"

"Oh no, the The Archmage will not do that. You'd kill or maim me for some stupid candy? Me, the saviour of Baldur's Gate and legend of the Sword Coast? Ha-ha! No, you would never do that, Rolan. Would you? You care so much about your... reputation." - She laughed gruntingly and slapped his hands, struggling.

"I don't care about reputation when it comes to..."

"It comes to what? To your little secret? To your addiction? You know nothing escapes my hawkish gaze."

"Zurgan! When it comes to property rights and basic rules of decency. Civility! Have you heard of it?" - The Archmage's nostrils flared as he jabbed at her with the index finger of his right hand, the other still shake her.

"So remind me, what was it about the rule that made you master of this Ramazite tower?"

Rolan released her abruptly and tapped his horns with claws, a thud sounded. It was the same sound of fingers tapping on a table as they pondered. Sometimes she was unbearable.

He was certain that she had Trickster blood in her veins. One of her distant ancestors had undoubtedly been something more than a mediocre rogue. How else to explain her complete disregard for any rules of conduct in the pursuit of mischief? She manipulated him, she blackmailed him, she used every means of influence at her disposal. Not for nothing had she reminded him that she had saved him and that he had the Tower because of her. Of course, he still had respect for Tav, despite her obnoxious behaviour and endless pressure.

No wonder she had become so close to Astarion in her time. With that amoral vampire with no vector of direction...

"What do you want from me, Tav? What is it this time?" - Rolan pulled himself together as best he could and tried to concentrate, suppressing the urges of his nature. As much as he wanted to outwit she, he knew he would lose this battle. And then he would have nothing to gain.

"Good decision, you see, sometimes you are capable of constructive dialogue after all. Like I said, I want to play a game with you," - Tav straightened and shook himself off.

"Pfft, childish. What shall i do, solve riddles?"

"No, that would be too easy for a prodigy like you. I will ask you to perform actions of a ... various nature. And you'll be an obedient boy. If I see you trying, I'll reward you. And if not, you know, it's not infinite..." - Tav began to suck the lollipop more intensely, clearly demonstrating what would happen.

"Of various nature?" - the Archmage's face crumpled as he imagined the shameful scenes, and the lines on the bridge of his nose became clearly visible. - "Tav, are you sure the worm hasn't damaged your brain? Because..."

"Hey. Hush you, we're playing this game by my rules. Risk insulting me again and you'll end up with a nothing. And if you want the prize, you pay."

"Okay! Come on, speak up faster!" - It was becoming unbearable for him to be around the 'treat' that was so close, but not his. It was like an itch, painfully tickling his insides.

"Good boy! But why aren't you talking to me on your knees? Correct yourself and apologize for all the nasty things you said to me." - the smirk never left Tav's face as she gave the first command.

What an impertinent creature, Rolan thought, but reluctantly knelt before her:

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry? Wow, look at that, the proud mage apologising for the first time. It's not bad. But I respect the spectacularity. Is that any way to apologise to a lady?" - She held out her hand and brought it to his lips.

"Forgive me, Tav, for all I have said to you today." - The Archmage took her hand and kissed it.

"You apologise, but only for today? What happened to the prodigy's memory? And speak to me with respect! I'm your Mistress, not Tav!" - she was definitely getting turned on by this game, she was getting into character and had no intention of stopping.

Rolan glared at her angrily, but obeyed:

"Will my Mistress be so kind as to forgive me for all the unjust words I have spoken to her?" - he kissed her palm once more and gently tapped it against his forehead.

"That's better. Now it's time to show you what happens to obedient toys," - Tav licked her finger sensuously and leisurely and brought it up to the Archmage's face.

Rolan smelled the saliva soaked in the flavour of the magic lolly and was immediately disturbed. He shoved all his ego up his red arse and grabbed her finger in a frenzy, shoving it all the way into his mouth and sucking and swallowing it deliciously, trying not to hurt it with his tiefling fangs.

"Um, I didn't know how much you needed that. Hey, hey, take it easy! If you bite my finger off, the deal's off. Don't be so greedy, remember!"

Rolan licked and smacked for another half minute, forgetting any squeamishness as she tore her finger from him.

"Aren't you forgetting something, kitten? Courtesy? Civility?" - Tav clarified ironically.

"Thank you, my generous Mistress" - he murmured.

Rolan appreciated the treat he was being offered, he saw that cooperation paid off and he was not so intransigent anymore. Of course, Tav took this into account immediately. She realised that she could now manipulate him like her obedient puppet.

^Pardon my punctuation skills. I still suck at it.

[izgnanik-a]

Suffer Does The Wolf (Crawling To Thee) ii

Summary: Simon knew the exact moment when he knew he had to have you for himself. It was only a matter of time before his military skills allowed himself into your home, into your life. And once he stuck — he wasn’t going to let you back out of his webs.

Tags: non-con, stalker!Ghost, fem reader, mature content

MINORS DNI

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The next time Simon had come to the shop was a few days after he’d found and given you the gift of the nail polish. He didn’t want to go away for so long, but he was the eyes and ears of a Recon mission — so he has to make his own coffee from home. It wasn’t as bitter as the shop’s or as hot, it wasn’t tainted by your smile or the smell of the cheesy buns from the bakery counter.

But it sufficed.

Simon walked in like he was a soldier back from war, head on a swivel, searching the corners for you. And to be expected — you stood behind the counter but by the end by the swinging stable doors, interacting with a customer quite fondly.

He couldn’t pry, couldn’t get close, but he could see your eyes dancing along the person’s face in interest. To their eyes, their hair, and lips.

What could have been so interesting about them?

A sickening green envy sat in his chest, banging against his ribcage, wanting to get out. He kept his glare fixed on the customer, even when the person at the head of the line before him stepped aside to wait for their order.

“What can I get for you?” The cashier asked.

Simon’s eyes were fixed on you leaning forward for a hug, fitting your face into the person’s shoulder so fondly.

“Can I help you?”

He watched the warmth of your smile spread as you held the hug a moment longer, pulling back to wave and watch them go.

“Sir?”

Simon fixed his glaring eyes on the poor cashier before him. His jaw was clenched so hard under his jaw he wasn’t sure he could unhinge it.

“You can go on break. I’ve got the line.” You called as you came up to the counter. “I’ve got it—“ you looked at him, and smiled.

Simon’s envy and anger dissipated with the sight of your finger nails, painted in a glossy white color. The same color of his Ghost mask he’d left hidden under his floorboards for when he returned to active duty.

You gleamed at him, “I’ve got this.” You assured the worker again before fully taking their position. “The usual?” You asked him, scribbling something on the side of a paper cup.

“Yeah.” He gulped the dry anger down.

You hummed and turned to fill his cup. “I haven’t seen you around in a bit.” You remarked.

Him? You haven’t seen him? He shrugged. “Work.”

You nodded and set his coffee on the countertop. “Maybe you could tell me about it sometime.” You offered before sliding his cup closer to him. “Your coffee has already been paid for.”

The slight twitch of his eyebrow made you smile wider. But he drew his eyes down, staring at your pale nails still grazing his coffee lid.

He picked it up. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Simon lingered before turning for his corner, and sat down. He moved to bring the coffee to his lips and paused—scribbled alongside the paper cup, just under his thumb was a note: “ The price. xxx-xxxx call me, Simon “

He glanced towards the countertop where the last customer had been shuffled aside. He caught a glimpse of your eyes, peering through the crowd towards you.

A smirk on your face.

He’d put the number in his phone before even leaving the building and kept the cup on the desk as memorabilia.

You didn’t get a text until two days after you’d given it out to the tall and handsomely masked man in the shop. A usual you’d taken a liking to, and seemingly he had taken a liking to you.

You were glad.

You received a text message from an unknown number with a simple text; “ - Simon “ and it made you laugh at how plain it was.

Simon didn’t know what to say to you, or what to do, but you’d led every conversation following; “ are you coming by today? “ “how’s your morning? “ “hope you’re doing well! “ “I liked your hoodie from today. “ “sorry I missed you, traffic. “ And with every interaction, he was buzzing with excitement.

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