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hoseoksluna · 4 months

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CHERRIES | jhs ft. jjk

pairing: soon-to-be-boyfriend!hobi x oc (feat. ex-boyfriend!jk)

genre: heavy, heavy, obnoxious smut

word count: 12.7k

summary: you don't know how he does it, but hobi makes you forget about the life you led before him, using his tongue.

playlist: hobi's playlist ; hobi's the weeknd playlist

pinterest board: cherries / taglist: join

warnings: oh my god—dd/lg but differently, businessman!hobi, dominant and emotional and fucking possessive hobi, oc is horny... a lot, praise kink, breeding kink sdflhldghfdklaxjkfghskfg, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, female and male masturbation, use of a sex toy, cum eating, ass eating, religious personification, mentions of anal sex, thigh and ass slapping fuck

note: my babies, i'm so happy to be posting PART TWO OF BERRIES for you, oh my god. i had the time of my LIFE writing this, had to take breaks every 20 mins, was horny beyond my fucking mind BECAUSE THE SMUT IN THIS? FUCK. THIS IS PURE FILTH. 12K WORDS OF FILTHY HOBI SMUT. IM DEAD. HAVE BEEN DEAD. i missed writing so much that i spewed this out in 3 days... literally how? but i'm so happy to be back. i hope you enjoy this part. make sure to let me know what you think! i'm in a severe (hehe) need of your feedback. I LOVE YOU, MY BABIES. MWAH.

side note: this part has the entirety of my being in it. from the first word to the last. it means a lot to me. very special chapter! <3

By the time you come out of the art museum, it’s storming. A sound so cacophonous that it spreads dots of gooseflesh along the perimeter of your skin underneath your silk dress and the layer of your heavy trench coat. Loud and violent like your heart’s deep drum that stills once you see Hoseok leaning against his glossy car. Arms and legs crossed in the same fashion, clothed in the coupled shade of blackness, a mop of tousled hair swept back and rippling in the unforgiving wind that flushes his cheeks with its rosy coldness and then clouds pull in, darkening his stare fixed on you.

A shower of sudden rain finishes its touch on his countenance.

Eye contact broken, Hobi’s shoulders raise as he feels the iciness of the slender raindrops falling upon him, eyes flicked up to the shadowed heavens. A heartstring of yours snaps and you don’t really know who gave the command to your aching legs to run towards him with your coat suspended over your head—whether it was that weakened heart of yours or basic human decency. Emotion versus logic.

You find soon enough the verdict of the winner.

Because when you have to stand on your tippy toes to cover him from the rain, despite the fact you’re wearing your high-heeled boots, and Hobi takes the makeshift shield from your hands and shrouds you both from the wetness, an identical flush crawls from your left cheek, upon the column of your nose right next to your other cheek, warming you up from within.

Emotion. The string that ruptured grows again to its full length during that fleeting moment and you’re aching to take him home.

No rain in sight—just him in this close proximity, in this gray cocoon, smiling down at you lopsidedly, a dimmed light flickering in his inky pools, faintly, barely, only there for you to see. To catch and cling to like his patchouli scent does to you, a whiff of dainty wildflowers leaning in and enclosing around you, forcing away the thoughts that are erect in the corners of your mind, waiting for the adequate moment to strike. Thoughts of how you sense Jungkook’s life entwining around your world again; his companion perfuming the air with petrichor, the inner turmoil she must be facing the very strength that pulled those clouds in, causing a storm to stretch across the skies. You figure each beat of her confused heart must be the grumble of the thunder, but then Hobi’s outer film of softness amidst the darkness is a force way greater, because firmness broods right underneath it, and it is an energy that keeps those thoughts pressed against the walls of your mind.

He did turn you into a locked orchard—and the threat of another declared war isn’t even a wind that brushes past your fruit trees and berry bushes.

In fact, the more you deepen your exchange of gazes and Hobi cages you in between his shirt-clothed elbows, the more you want to show him the stain of your juices upon your panties.

You’re aroused—blooming, in need to be picked. It outweighs the past and you’re glad for it, deem your newly born sexuality more important than the doomed normalcy of your life.

You sink your manicured nails into that newness, adamant on not letting it go, regretting that you agreed to see your ex-boyfriend later tonight, regretting that you grew soft at the hint of his own normalcy, even though you said to yourself that you wouldn’t. It’s one of the reasons why you dig your nails deeper, maximizing your closeness to Hobi—it’s done in an effort to erase your foolish moment of weakness, to better yourself like you encouraged yourself to do earlier when you had perceived that you misinterpreted him. You curl your lips under your teeth to stifle back a sigh, wishing you were as firm as him, as stable in your decisions and your way of living as him. Wishing your weakness wasn’t a putty you play with, leave your fingerprints of your bad decisions on that blemish until you hate yourself, until the paste hardens and there’s nothing left for you to do but to watch it. Watch the evidence of your failure, your brokenness and your imbecility like still life—the curse, the doom of your life, haunting you.

It almost slinks in, threatening yet again to desiccate your orchard, the movement akin to a wave rolling in, but then Hobi speaks. And his voice sears those thoughts to nothing. Not even their shadows are left behind.

“Did you say hi to your friend?” he murmurs, reaching behind him to open the door of the passenger side for you, the coat that’s propped on his forearm lowering until it rests back around your shoulders.

You can merely nod, your empty mind focused on the absence of your selfishness—for once again, you want to be close to him for his sake, even more so when Hobi places his palm on the top edge of his car so you don’t hurt your head.

A prince, an orchardist, and a gentleman.

You’re feeding him and sucking his dick before he goes to work—you don’t care. Hope to God he fucks your brain out of your head and plants a new one; one that isn’t so stupid.

Seated inside his car, you glimpse profoundly at the way the rain kisses the crown of his head as he rounds his vehicle, sitting right beside you and carrying inside his heavenly skin fragrance, now accentuated by the residue of petrichor that all of a sudden doesn’t have anything to do with what you just bore. No hints, no thoughts, no wars. How he does it is something you’ll never have the capability of understanding—a fracture of attention of the intimate kind and he binds you to him, erasing your still fresh past as if it never happened.

You flex and relax your hand on your lap, a gesture that depicts that you cherish it to the point that you yearn to submit to it and remain submitted. And you will. You’ll figure out a way to stay stable, even if events appear to try and revolutionize you. A way to keep your fist clenched in his presence.

Hobi lets the car warm up a little bit before he turns on the heating, angling his rear view mirror just right, from which two purple, plush dice swing back and forth, colliding once and never meeting again.

How inspiring.

And then you watch his hands. Watch them dominate the car, spur it to life as he drives through the drenched street, parting the rain like a curtain, stepping in, taking you home.

As if he sensed your thoughts, he glances at you. “My place or yours?”

A red light halts his control and Hobi uses it to tap on the screen of his dashboard, dousing the space in a sultry, wet ambiance as slow, calm music breaks the silence. While it was comfortable for you, now you feel even more at ease and you wiggle in your seat, sinking deeper into the leather.

Quite useful material for the lecherous saturation of your mind; for the lustful layer of sweat lining your skin. You feel so hot. Feel the need to be ridded of your clothes right now. Feel a certain kind of vivacity that drives you to do things you wouldn’t normally do.

You take his hand from the shift stick, cradling it with both of your own hands, a finger tracing the veins that paint a slender but a strong temple—a temple for his beauty and character, you suspect.

“My place,” you say, yearning to make him feel at home in your space; cook for him, make him come, stuff like that.

Green light blinks and Hobi doesn’t withdraw from your hold. No, he tells you what to do, quickly.

“Keep your hand on mine,” he instructs and you listen, sinking your fingers between his and gripping him like in an effort to grip onto stable submission. “Just like that.”

Your stomach flips at his choice of praise and you lick your lips, tightening your hold hard enough that he peeks at you with a smirk while he shifts the gear stick with you and speeds down the road. The heat worsens and you don’t think you can take it anymore.

That alone is the most attractive thing you ever experienced with a man.

And when he plays with your thumb, you can’t help but to squeeze your thighs together. Watch him intently sneak a glance as you do so, knowing your dress has ridden up a little, exposing your tanned thighs, swathed with the brown leather of your boots. Your position also provides him the intriguing reveal of a secret—you’re wearing knee socks underneath. They were invisible to his sight this whole time and now that he sees them, his eyes linger there for a few seconds longer before he drags his teeth along his bottom lip, flicking his gaze back to the road.

“You’re wearing knee socks under those?” he asks, his voice low and tortured. Doesn’t look at you as he does. Only shifts the gear stick again, stiffly. You imagine something else is stiff, too, and you smile, a tendril of confidence clothing you in allure and sinful, dark joy. It beckons your vivacity to drive forward.

You move his hand to let the pads of his fingers feel the smooth fabric. His body twitches, his lungs inhaling a short, soft air, mouth parted, eyes unblinking, gloomy just like the heavens above. A thunder sounds and you feel like roaring just the same.

“It matches my underwear,” you murmur and the thunder prolongs, echoing feebly. You drag his hand down your thigh with the intention to also make him feel the nylon material of your panties, but he halts your movement halfway, hand gripping your flesh, trembling ever so slightly, stirring your confidence. You almost moan at his brusqueness.

“Don’t,” he scolds, brows furrowing, chest heaving in that slow manner. His lips dry and he wets them. Doesn’t spare you a glance. Turns the wheel with that one hand as he takes a left turn, his posture slouched, thighs spread, a small tent evident in between. His arousal for you grows and it only propels you to finish the job, knowing his scolding was merely a warning, not a portrayal of his discomfort. And he proves you right with his next words. “If you do that, I’ll crash this fucking car.”

You laugh through your nose, your confidence and your own arousal fluttering in you, begging to be let out. Your favorite artist starts playing and you’re not surprised by the way your body reacts. Your thighs naturally spread and you move your pelvis forward. Feel your slick dampening your panties even more, trickling down your needy seashell just as The Weeknd begins to sing about your desire.

“I wanna fuck you slow with the lights on…”

You lick your lips, inhaling deeply and exhaling with a soft moan. Hobi digs his fingernails into your skin, coaxing another one out of you and he calls you by your name in a sterner warning. You caress the edge of his hand with the thought in mind that you’ve always loved the crescent moon, so it would only be illogical for you to not want more of it imprinted on your skin.

“You shouldn’t praise me then,” you croak out, doused in adrenaline-tinged lust, your sweat heavy upon you. You clutch your cherub necklace, needing to be touched, a habit of yours that you’ve had ever since you were a teenage girl. Your fingers graze your collarbones, lingering in the dip between them. “Besides, you’re such a good driver that I think you can handle it.”

Hobi hums out an endearing laugh, that smirk of his reappearing on his mouth. He rubs the moons he impressed into your thigh from side to side and your hips buck, asking for that movement down low where you need him the most.

“You have a praise kink?” he questions and you catch him bite his lip, catch him enjoying that information, sinking it into his flesh. You want to kiss it, bruise it, make it permanent for a little while. You revel in such a dirty, yet gentle conversation and you stop yourself from bucking your hips again.

“A severe praise kink,” you correct him, emphasizing the adjective with a bit of a bratty tone to divulge to him what he does to you and how much he needs to pay for it. And before you can go on, he catches you off guard.

“If you want me to keep praising you then rub your clit,” he negotiates with you, taking your hand and moving the gear stick, leaving it there. “And you’re wrong. I can’t handle you like this. I can’t touch you when I’m responsible for your life.”

Daddy. The title would’ve slipped out of the tip of your tongue had a moan not been first, coating the ambience with a sultriness that makes you tug at his hand in order to do as he says, in order to be praised, to be gratified. But Hobi doesn’t budge. He tightens his grip around the shift stick, clicking his tongue.

“No, baby. With your other hand,” he orders, his breath shaking and amidst the enveloping of his fatherliness around you, strengthening you and binding you with ropes of safety, girlishness and seductiveness, you scrunch up your brows, wanting his hand to be there when you make yourself feel good.

And you tell him.

“I want you to help me.”

The rain thickens, creating a sensual background noise to the next slow song playing and Hobi sighs, disliking your attitude. Your arousal grows to highs you’ve never seen before, a sweet, pleasing darkness consuming you, sprinkling you with glitters of appetite and craze.

All because your sexual chemistry is so good, so strong—so natural, despite the fact you just met and don’t know each other enough for it to be possible. It exceeds the laws of human connection and the feeling of it is heady, intoxicating you with wine of the ripest cherries. You even feel as though this is your first alcoholic drink. Feel as though you’re an unspoiled virgin on the cusp of her very first sin—the Virgin Mary with long hair, cherub necklace, tanned skin, knee socks and high-heeled boots.

Hobi erases your past life. Paints a new one with watercolors; paints you anew. You know the dulcet taste of fatherliness and manliness from Jungkook and while it was what you needed at the time, sexually that is—as it wasn’t often that he used this kind of energy day-to-day, and if he did, it was to tease you—what Hobi does runs deeper. It surpasses your need; it’s not a filling that will decompose soon enough and ask for it again. It’s something else entirely.

It’s something that falls upon you and stays. Clicks and connects with no way out. It’s another layer of skin, strands of hair growing out of your scalp, the drum of the vein upon your neck.

It began in the museum and uncoils here. It’s not worth it to juxtapose it with what you had before—it’s laughable to do so. Hobi has established his fatherliness the moment he held your coat as a heathen in a church, not taking his gaze off of your intimate prayers for even a split second. Unkinked it with his honesty and by expressing his responsibility over you, listening to the murmur of the sea of your sexual need but not diving head-first into it, knowing better. And now it is ready to bloom with flowerets, with fruits, with leaves to accompany you.

“It’s this or nothing,” Hobi decides, squeezing his fingers against yours to also emphasize the gravity of his words and you purse your lips in response, finding the ultimatum so attractive. “You live thirty minutes away, so you either rub your clit on your own or you wait. It’s up to you.”

It’s mind blowing to you how he went from being timid to now ordering you to pleasure yourself. You’re sweltering beneath your clothes and Hobi notices, looking at your body through his rear view mirror. He turns the heating up and you laugh, blush deepening, eyes crinkling at the corners. Your heart thuds heavily in your chest.

“Why didn’t you put your seatbelt on?” he mutters, letting go of your hand and giving you a mean look that makes your walls clench and your throat let out a low, almost soundless moan.

You never put a seatbelt on. As dangerous as it, you hate the way it chokes you due to your small stature and you tell him. “It chokes me, Hobi, I don’t really like it.”

Hobi doesn’t respond. He reaches over and drags down the seatbelt adjuster without taking his eyes off of the road, driving steadily. His patchouli scent hits your nostrils and you nuzzle your nose into his bicep, fingers curling around his arm, smelling him in a simple, comfortable manner. Hobi gives you a quick smile and you hear the sound of him pulling on the seatbelt, but then a pedestrian runs across the previously empty crosswalk, forcing him to stomp on the brake abruptly and your heart nearly skips out of your chest. Almost flying forward, Hobi holds you in place with his strong arm, which you cradle against your quickening chest.

Exchanging a look, you both pant in tandem and Hobi shakes his head at you. Panic lines his dark eyelashes and he immediately grabs the seatbelt and, tugging harshly, he sinks it into the buckle, placing the belt behind your back. He doesn’t acknowledge the pedestrian lifting his palm in apology and neither do you, too preoccupied with the fact he just saved your life.

“You wear a seatbelt in my car. No buts. Understand?”

Too shocked by the twist of events and too touched by the gesture and the sternness of his words, you nod. He pats your thigh, the one he marked, fondling the skin with his thumb, and it drives you to say something. “I’m sorry, Hobi. I’ll wear the seatbelt from now on.”

You mean it. This has never happened to you before as you usually take the public transport, but you do understand now how dangerous it is to not wear one. Your heartbeat calms and the aftershocks of the adrenaline come to the surface, scattering along your figure. Numbness melts and your arousal returns at full speed.

Hobi nods, smiling gently, pleased with your apology, and you feel so peculiarly gratified that you managed to do something like that to him. He sinks his fingers under your thigh and you marvel at the size of his hand because his thumb still remains there on the top of the flesh, even as he wraps his digits around you like that. Kneading just once before he lifts them and begins to tap on his screen again, shifting the energy with the voice of your favorite artist. He moves the gear, accelerating.

“Why you rushing me, baby? It’s only us, alone,” The Weeknd sings and you sigh, your body loosening up. You hike the seatbelt around your hips higher, curling lower on the leather, thighs parting until your knee taps his hand. You miss his touch and you long for it again, finding its warm ghost on your skin not enough.

“You like The Weeknd, don’t you?” Hobi says, his pinky finger brushing along your sock-clad knee, causing you to almost twitch.

You smile, relishing in the love you have for the singer. “I’ve spent ten years of my life loving him.”

Liking your answer, Hobi skims his fingers along the side of your inner thigh until he finds yours, intertwining them—this time his palm closed over the back of your hand, placing it to its former position on the stick. It’s warmed by him and you love it so much that you search for his thumb, playing with it.

“I could tell,” he breathes, his tone deepened by a heartfelt emotion that moves through you. You raise your brows in curiosity and question, wondering how that has come to be. Glancing at you to see your reaction, Hobi laughs softly, his heart evident in the sound, coated with it entirely, and you catch his thumb, holding it, on the verge of bursting. “I saw what you did when I put him on.”

You round the tip of your tongue along your top lip, recollecting well what you did when you heard him. “What did I do?”

A beat of silence between you and him, he lets the singer sing his elegy. Then, his index finger traces your manicured nail on the same digit. “You spread your legs. Made such a pretty sound that I almost stopped this fucking car and fucked you until the whole city could heard it.”

Your breath hitches in your throat and you’re too late to halt the moan from slipping out, a fire coursing down from the top of your head to your toes. You want a taste of his desire so bad that you’ll do anything for it. Even let the seatbelt choke you to death.

Hobi gives you a look, one that chills your blood this time. But it feels absolutely exhilarating.

He calls your name. “Don’t do that to me. Not here.”

Your breath trembles as you scurry to regain your composure, sliding up in your seat. Hobi, too, stops that movement by cradling your thigh, putting it back to the stick once you get the message.

Why does this feel better than if he gave in?

“What if I want to?” you challenge and Hobi rubs his eyes, slapping his hand back onto the steering wheel. Frustration, it looks so good on him. “What if I want you to fuck me here?”

He shakes his head, just once, biting his lip, reddening the pillow. “No, I don’t share.”

Fuck.

This is a point of no return. You will never be the same after what he said and you feel your attachment melting into his chest, dissolving there into leaves from your fruit trees. Your imaginary wings flit, aroused from his possessiveness.

“You know what to do,” he adds without looking at you, turning up the volume as if to subdue your incoming moans.

A cherry on the top of the fucking cake.

You don’t waste a precious second. Lifting the hem of your dress, you expose your drenched panties, a large wet spot in the center darkening the black fabric. Hobi doesn’t spare you a glance. No, he takes your intertwined hands and fixes his rear view mirror, tipping it down. Dangerous, but smart. Responsible.

It’s those glimmering flecks of his character that drive your fingers to pull your panties to the side, but Hobi, once again, stops you.

With words, this time.

“Do you want me to die?” he rasps, tortured—horribly tortured and you cup your femininity, coaxing a groan out of him. “Do it over your panties, baby. Please.”

He begged. You don’t think you ever heard that word come out of a man’s mouth in your life and you break, whimpering, pulling your panties back in their place over your pussy, dragging the tip of your middle finger up and down your dripping slit, sighing. Adding your index, you put pressure to the sides of your clit as you slide your digits in the same direction, over and over, teasing yourself, breathing out little moans that make him grip the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white.

Hobi glances once at what you’re doing and swears. “Fuck, rub your clit. Don’t tease yourself, baby. Make yourself feel good.”

With a mewl, you stick your fingers together and begin a series of circles, doing as he says. Your eyes roll back, head knocking back into the leather, satisfaction seizing your body and sweetening it. The material of your panties is so flimsy that it feels as though your fingers are stroking your bare flesh and when you tug the fabric to your hole to wet it and rub your clit harder, your moans gain volume, mingling with The Weeknd’s poetry seamlessly and magnificently, dethroning the rain.

And then Hobi shifts the gear stick with your hand and drives so fast that your pleasure deepens, thrill rushing in your veins. You match your circles to that speed, your sounds becoming obnoxious, whiny squeaks when you look at him to see his jaw clenched, chest heaving and the tent in his pants larger than you last checked it.

Hobi skims his fingers along your forearm, back and forth, cradling it. Senses your stare and reciprocates it, catching you at your best when you find your spot and buck your hips, furrowing your brows. He moans, clutching your thigh.

“So good. Such a good girl, rubbing her clit for me to get praised. Fuck, baby. You’re doing so good.”

You lift your fingers in order not to come, the aftershocks of your ripped away orgasm quivering throughout your whole body and you squeeze his hand, letting go—wrapping it around his tent, instead. You figure he deserves it for praising you like that.

He finds your lidded, mischievous eyes in the rear view mirror and he flattens his lips, a brutal expression on his face that should make you scared, but it doesn’t. It only spurs you on. You graze your palm on him, causing his breath to quicken, and you whimper when you search and search for the tip of his cock. He’s slender, but big and your mouth dries.

“You almost made me come with what you said,” you say, truthfully, retracing your path down his length, his breath, now hardened, wafting over you. You love the way he focuses on the road with every fiber of his being as you’re toying with him. Love watching him grit his teeth, narrow his eyes; love watching sweat adorn his flushed chest and neck. You ache to bite him there.

And you would—had he not buckled you in place.

You don’t notice you’ve arrived at your apartment until he stops the car and turns to face you, leaning his elbow on the center console. Nobody could gaslight you into believing that ride took thirty minutes. Nobody.

Hobi made that fifteen. Ferally. For you.

You can see it in his shining face—his need for you, his desire, the fact he sped down the road because you’re so horny. And you ache to kiss him.

“You really do have a praise kink,” he says, mutedly. Must be thinking the same because his gaze flicks to your lips. You lick them for him, encouraging him to do it. “Almost coming from me praising you. Such a good girl.”

You hiss, the drum in your clit returning, stealing your attention. Hoseok grins, pleased to be proven right, pleased that you make it so easy for him. You squeeze his length and he makes the same sound, gritting his teeth briefly before he pouts.

“What’s this?” he asks, speaking of your hand placement. “When did I allow you to do this?”

You breathe heavily, descending your fingers to his full balls, feeling them perfectly due to the silky fabric of his dress pants. You knead them and he moans, the sound traveling right to your yet again needy bundle of nerves. Your hand automatically flies to it, rubbing it, and Hobi curses, eyes narrowing, fixed on the movement of your fingers.

“It’s asking for me, isn’t it?” you murmur, sliding your hand back to his manhood and his pools almost go cross, head tilting back. Your pleasure from your motions expands, your nerve endings burning.

“I’m so hard for you,” he agrees, his hand clasping over yours, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows with great difficulty, the column of his throat such a thing of beauty for you that it forces you to unclip your seatbelt. You’re about to crawl onto his lap, but one darkened look from him makes you decide against it. “Show me that pussy, baby.”

Your moan has a certain elation to it, giddy at the fact you get to expose such an intimate part of you to him, giddy that he’s taking this to another level.

You slide your drenched panties to the side and at the sight of your glistening pussy Hobi groans deeply.

“Lean against the door,” he commands, wiping at his mouth and you tremble all over, more than delighted that he’s reacting to you this way.

You swivel, propping your back against the leather of his door and Hobi lifts your legs, spreading them. You hook one of them around the back of his headrest while the other dangles in his hold. His gaze zeroes in on your pussy and as he bites his lip, he acknowledges himself with her by tracing the flesh with his thumb. Your clit, your lips before he circles your gushing hole, groaning, bettering the song you barely can hear. Your confidence and your allure skyrockets and you follow his digit, riding it, begging for more of his touch. He plays chase with you until both of you and him can’t take it anymore and when his thumb is completely soaked, he lifts it to your mouth—only to fuck with you, though, because he plunges it inside his, leaving your own parted for nothing.

You’re embarrassed, but he likes it. Whimpers around his finger. Pushes your knee to your shoulders and dives right in.

You yelp, grabbing a hold of his hair as he licks over your clit, closing his lips over it and sucking until your eyes roll back, until all your still parted mouth knows is his name and your thick heel digs into his shoulder.

But you moan the wrong variation and he’s quick to correct you with a dripping chin, his hands on either side of you, face merely inches away from yours. “That’s Hoseok for you, not Hobi.”

Red all over, you can only moan in response, gripping his hair until he hisses in pain. He strums your clit without breaking eye contact, so slippery and swollen from his attack. The orchard in you grows, brims with fruit that is on the cusp of bursting, the berries in you big and full. His eyes narrow furthermore, pupils dilated, causing his gaze to darken in ways you’ve never thought could be possible.

“Moan my name, baby. Show me how good I’m making you feel.”

The wrong variation slips again, all due to the mind numbing pleasure he’s giving you. He adds more pressure to his fingers for a second before he withdraws and slaps your thigh. And slaps it again.

“I can’t praise you if you don’t learn well, can I?” he mutters and you whine so loudly that his eyes round, body growing boneless. “Fuck, baby, if you keep making sounds like that I’m gonna come in my pants.”

You scramble your words, find it the most difficult thing in the world. And he doesn’t help you. Not when he sinks a long finger inside your heat, fucking you slowly until you can take him. You lose your mind altogether.

“You’re making me feel too-too good,” you breathe out, hiccuping as he adds a second finger in, silencing you when he gives you long strokes. You follow his gaze down and perceive that he’s watching you soak his digits. He twists them, moaning, a litany of mad, mad curses falling out of his mouth in a hushed tone.

“So wet just from me praising you, oh my God,” Hobi comments and you squeeze your eyes shut, taking it as he begins to pound you to the hilt, his arm bulging, his whole body moving. “Eyes on me. What do you call me when I make you feel this good, hm? I already told you. Just remember.”

You know which variation he means and wants to hear, but your tongue curls, aching to utter a different name that he deserves to be called by.

And you say it, opening your eyes and boring them into his. “Daddy.”

And you don’t stop saying it. Not when he closes his eyes for a split second, agonized by such saccharinity. Not when he undoes the button of his pants and pulls himself out while thumbing your clit. You gasp, legs quivering, what you touched brought to reality and your orgasm nears, especially when he fist-fucks his length.

Hoseok draws back down to your clit, licking it over, nuzzling his face in it as he drinks your nectar right from the source, his wet fingers from you making squeaky sounds around his girth, causing you to scream, the intensity of the moment running so deep and you’re too weak to take it, overwhelmed by his arousal.

He lifts his head for a moment. “I want you to call me Daddy when you come on my tongue,” he rasps amidst his growls, never stopping the movement around his cock, and you nod your head, vehemently, willing to do anything for him.

“I’m so close.”

Hoseok pouts. “That’s so good, baby. You know what to do?”

You swallow. “I’m gonna call you Daddy when I come.”

He grins at you and the expression breaks when he fucks his tip, his brows casting a shadow on his face. You break along with it, shuddering—pleasured from watching him pleasure himself. And you break again when he praises you for your good answer. “Such a good girl. You’re gonna come hard for me?”

You don’t get to say your yes because when he sucks your clit into his mouth and groans against it as he flicks it with his tongue, he’s a witness to it himself. The fruits in your orchard explode and he drinks their juices, running the muscle all over your pussy, his mouth smacking, enjoying every drop. You squeal the title, forcing pleased growls out of him that deepen when you swear, repeating the name over and over again until your orgasm smooths down the perimeters of your body, slowly dwindling away.

You can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t see. White dots flood your vision and the only thing that grounds you is Hobi taking your hand in his. The dots swim away, revealing him on the verge of his own orgasm as he tugs on his length, rapidly now.

“That was so good, baby. You came so well for me. Called me Daddy like I wanted. Good girl,” he praises and your moans are an endless stream, enveloping around his cock, which he guides your hand towards. The weight of it, his warmth, the protruding veins, you could come again just from the feel of him. “Jerk off your Daddy. He’s close, too, from the way you came for him.”

The third person, fuck. You bite your lip, focusing on his tip as you grip him, twisting your wrist. His skin is sticky from your nectar and you spit onto your hand, earning a praise from him that makes your mind spin, even though you heard those two words plenty of times throughout your sinful date.

It will never get old—it will only make your femininity wetter for him.

And his growls, the same could be applied to them. They propel you to fuck him faster while your fingers sneak over to your sensitive clit that he provokes, rubbing circles that cloud your vision with a mist, painting him to be an angel—like the one you saw in the museum.

And when he comes, he grows a pair of glorious wings. Black, with hints of rose gold and pinks. His body doubles over, hands propped on the dashboard and the passenger seat as he spills for you, ropes of cum painting your stomach in that eternal ivory color that serves as skin for those sculptures. In a way you become them once he praises you for making him come, his breaths a legato rivulet that gives you life, his hips snapping, fucking your hand.

He smears his cum on your tanned stomach, fingers dipping below the waistband of your panties to discover a lighter shade of skin, marveling at the difference. Light passes through his eyes before he covers your pussy with the fabric, opening the glove department to fetch some tissues, cleaning you up, dragging down your dress and helping you sit up.

It’s at this moment, as he’s kneeling—towering over you and you’re sitting on your bum with your hands folded on your lap like the good girl he made you into, that he clutches the back of your neck and smashes his mouth into yours, moving it against you with such strength and vigor that you struggle to devour him in the same manner. It causes you to claw at his sides, to long to see his body in its full, bare beauty. His imaginary wings wrap around you, sealing the resplendence of your orgasm profoundly inside your skin and when he tastes you, his growls traveling down your throat are the raindrops that the orchard inside you needs in order to grow. You help him by moaning back, the aftertaste of you the sunlight.

Piercing his gaze into yours, he caresses your hair, messes up your diligently fixed updo. Catches your ribbon as it falls, wrapping it around his hand, the wisps dangling from his fingers like your leg was just a few moments ago.

You’re so satisfied that you could cry.

You don’t even understand what just happened and how it came to be. Don’t remember what occurred before you sat down in his car—Hobi has completely and wholly erased it.

And it’s him who notices that your hand still carries the remnants of him. You don’t care to look—you can’t rip your gaze away from the shine on his face, from the gratification smoothing out his features, from the pink flush decorating the perfect redness of his swollen lips. But Hobi forces you to, in the tenderest of ways. Looks lovingly at your palm, cooing, shooting that look into your eyes, where it unfolds, creates something new that you never experienced before. And when he grins, your stomach flips, winged creatures intoxicated with madness inside.

“You see what you did?” he whispers, the love in his eyes expanding, growing warmer, burning you faintly. “I want you to lick it up. You deserve every drop.” The breath you let out causes him to tremble and you cradle the fabric of his shirt in your fist. Hobi kisses your fingers, looking at you through them, his smile quivering. “Stick out your tongue for me, baby.”

You do and he slides your palm over it, his salty nectar the sea that swam against your body a week ago in your healing time and you moan, devouring his taste like he devoured your mouth, licking it up, collecting it until there’s nothing left. You show him your tongue, then, and Hobi plays with it, using his thumb, your ribbon wrapped around his hand tickling your chin. He rubs it on the muscle, playing chase with you again until he tells you to suck it. And the sound that descends from his lips once you do makes you squeeze your thighs together, your own wetness dripping out of you.

To end it, Hobi kisses your forehead, lingering there for a few seconds longer. Caresses your mouth, tracing each line, tracing your cupid’s bow, making you glisten with your own saliva. A shining, lively angel—just like him. You whimper.

“Swallow it, baby.”

You do, showing him the evidence that you obeyed after.

“Good girl.”

You take the underside of him, semi hard, into your hand, giggling, heart thumping. “You just made me horny all over again.”

Hobi hums, brushing his ribbon-clad fingers through your hair from the crown of your head. You want him to do that once you suck him off. “And you’re gonna make me hard all over again if you touch me like that.”

You mimic the noise he made, squeezing him. Hobi curses, delighting you. “Let’s go inside. I owe you that breakfast, don’t I?”

He kisses you, softly, with a hint of harshness that causes your nipples to harden painfully against your bra. You almost rub your clit again, so fucking out of it, crazed.

“You do, baby.”

You got everything you wanted in such a small amount of time that your vision twirls. Hobi is holding your hand as you’re leading him to your apartment, your ribbon still hanging from yours and his intertwinement, and your heart hasn’t stopped beating feverishly in your chest. Not even once.

You’re facing the inevitable as you watch Hobi unlace his dress shoes on his knee, his cock stiff and uncomfortable in his pants. You’re brazenly falling for him. You know your hormones swirling your system from the lustfulness you indulged in aren’t to blame—if there’s anyone to blame, then it’s Hobi himself. You consider him to be such a beautiful person that you would be absolutely stupid, blind and deaf not to fall for him. And what’s more, you sense your decline to be safe. Stable. A leverage that won’t ever break. A ribbon that won’t fray.

It’s as strange as it is inviting and your submission comes naturally to you. And this time, you don’t fear it won’t last. Don’t fear you’ll let up. There’s a sense vibrating in you that assures you that Hobi will take care of it. Put it back where it belongs if it ever strays. You don’t have to monitor it. You don’t have to do shit.

You were wrong about one more thing. Hobi isn’t Daddy.

He’s Father.

It’s this thought that drives you to take off your dress and leave it in the middle of the floor that leads to your kitchen. You’re barren down to your soaked underwear, bra and knee socks, your feet basking in the way they don’t have to ache in your boots anymore. Pulling a plate of eggs out of the refrigerator, you set it on the counter, preparing a pan by oiling it on the stove. You hear Hobi’s feet pad on the floor as you pop some bread in the toaster and you turn your head, seeing only his dark silhouette standing behind you, your dress and your ribbon in his hands.

Your heart quickens, abnormally.

“How do you like your eggs?” you ask, resuming your cooking as you break the shell of an egg on the lip of the pan, spilling the delight into the bubbling oil.

Hobi crosses the distance and you can only feel the softness of your ribbon when he places his hands on your hips, letting them travel until they stumble across the pooch of your lower belly. He groans, holding you there, pressing his hard, silk-clad cock against your nearly bare bum.

Self-consciousness creeps in as he kneads one of your insecurities and you quiver, clasping your hand over his, your confidence wavering.

“However you like them is how I like them,” Hobi flirts and you laugh through your nose, shaking your head, waiting for the egg white to fade into that milky color he painted your stomach with.

Sunny side up it is.

“Hobi, your game is out of this world,” you flirt back, sliding your spatula under the egg to check if it’s done before you can flip it.

Hobi lowers himself onto his knees and you gasp, soundlessly. He begins to scatter violent kisses along the dots upon the flesh of your bum, sucking it into his mouth as if it were an orange he was sinking his teeth into. You have to grip the counter in order not to fall over, willing strength into your weakened legs.

He bites the supple roundness of your ass cheek, smoothing out the pain with a flick of his tongue and kisses, gentle ones this time around. Hums. “Is it?”

He glides his nose along the inner of your thigh, rooting right in the center of your pussy, burying his face there. You turn around halfway, arching your back, latching onto his hair that you’ve ruined, egg long forgotten.

“Your thighs are wet again, fuck,” he whispers, mouthing your clit before he descends once again to them, licking them over, drinking your nectar that he’s created. Trails his tongue back up and, sliding your panties to the side, he takes you into his mouth, growling as he sucks onto your lips, playing with them using his tongue, hands spreading your ass cheeks, so he can have more space to make you absolutely lose yourself in him.

And it’s working. Even more so when he begins to swirl his tongue around that other, tiny hole, causing your eyes to go cross before they roll back. Your head dips into a dreamy daze, where time doesn’t exist as he switches between flicking your clit and eating your ass and it isn’t until a certain burning smell suffuses your nostrils that you snap out of it.

You’ve burned his egg, its edges black like the feathers of his imaginary wings, and you yelp, turning off the stove, pushing the pan away.

“Hobi, I burned your egg,” you exclaim and he bends you over the counter while still remaining on his knees for you, sucking your clit with all the strength he possesses. Your climax pinches you in warning, lovingly, promising to melt over you like rain soon, so very soon.

Hobi doesn’t give a fuck about his egg, it seems.

“Just a little more, please,” he begs, moving his flat tongue from side to side on your bud, hands descending down your wet thighs until he reaches your knee socks, stopping there. Whimpers.

That would’ve thrown you over the edge had he not pulled away, fingers wrapping around your knees.

You turn around and the sight of him on his knees with his glazed nose, mouth and chin, with his cock pitifully erect in his pants, creating a print that makes you salivate, absolutely and irrevocably breaks you. You can still hear his plea ring in your mind, begging you to give him a few more seconds of your pussy, and your brain malfunctions. Numbness tightens around your fingers when you cradle his face and it feels so real when you do so—the fact that you’re wanted, desired; the fact that Hobi is the one in submission to you, dominant yet attentive to you to the point that he would never want do anything you wouldn’t. He listens to you, carves his life around you… and he hasn’t even known you for a month.

You messed up his hair—and when you run your fingers through his strands, you feel your powerful ruination sifting through them, feel your seduction and your confidence, alive and breathing in that thick, dark brown mop of his. And now you crave to mess up his skin. Bruise it. Stain it with the pinks you can see in his imaginary wings. Watch them turn yellow like the rose gold in their flecks over the following days.

You’re not letting go of him.

Not when he looks at you like you’re Virgin Mary and he’s a sinner.

You pull him up by the collars of his shirt, wrinkling the fabric, adding to the ruination, and it’s electrifying. He’s the cleanest sinner you’ve ever had the grace to see and you want to stain him. Beyond the stickiness of your juices. And when he towers over you and cages you in between his buff body and the counter, hands on either side of you upon the marble, his patchouli scent making you bloodthirsty, you don’t kiss him. No, you go straight for his neck.

He didn’t expect it, groaning when you lick a stripe over his vein, sucking the skin inside your mouth. Over and over again until the sucking noises make him twitch and fist the ends of your hair, pressing his cock against your stomach. You’re feral, you’re inhuman, scattering kisses along that column like you’ve never had a man in your hands before. And it’s true. You never have. It was always you who had been in men’s hands. Never the other way around.

Your fingers gain feeling when you undo the buttons of his shirt, ripping some of them, secretly preventing him from going to work after you’re finished with him. Unless you plaster your correcting concealers on him, he really can’t step a foot outside. The bruise you left on his column is huge, purply red, and the only thing it’s missing is bite marks. A joy rotates in you, rooting from the fact that you’re changing his plans, that you have an effect on him, and you unfold that emotion when you tug that shirt down his broad shoulders and press a kiss in the middle of his chest.

But then Hobi grips your hair on the crown on your head, making you look at him.

And you can’t explain it to yourself, why you like being manhandled like that, despite the freedom you just experienced. Like a child, whose father let her run free before he scolded her and told her to stop, for she ran for too long and it’s getting cold.

“What are you doing?” he asks, lowly, and the tone etches itself onto your own throat because your answer is ready on the tip of your tongue, unabashed, dirty, throbbing.

“I need you to fuck me.”

Hobi blinks, his brows rising, a light like a comet shooting past his irises before an unbounded, starless night shrouds them.

You’ve done it. You’ve stained him. Now he needs to come all over you. Make a mess. Paint you again.

He slackens his hold on your hair. Runs his hand down the length. “If I fuck you, I’ll breed you.” Curls his hand around your throat, where those words form a new necklace, plated with that rose gold. Your mouth parts, a moan falling past, your nectar in tandem, mind dizzy from the idea of being stuffed full of his cum. He flattens his palm over your sternum, hooks his fingers over the band of your bra in the middle of your breasts. You hope he chisels the lines of his hand into your skin. You want to wear him. “Are you on birth control?”

You stopped taking it the moment you were broken up with. Didn’t think you’d need it so soon. Didn’t think you’d have a man in your life again, let alone sleep with him.

Your body desires to please Hoseok so resolutely that a wisp of your regret swathes around his wrist—regret that you threw away those pills that are the driving force in his sexuality. He might have been okay with not taking this any further, but you’re not. You’re far, far from okay.

You want to be bred. You want to be bred so much that you could cry.

Your mouth pouts, but your sadness doesn’t touch your seduction. It merely heightens it.

“You have a breeding kink?” you ask, mimicking his former words, causing him to drag his tongue over his lips slowly, divulging his arousal. It’s another tree that begins to grow in your orchard, planted by your bare hands. A cherry tree, its pink flowerets the flush that spreads across his prominent pecs. You want to make them shiny with your tongue.

And you do.

You place wet kisses over the underside of his left pec, nibbling on the skin, your small stature making it easy for you. Hobi inhales a sharp breath, sneaking his fingers under the cup of your bra, grasping your breast, squeezing until you whimper.

“A severe breeding kink,” Hoseok corrects you, just like you did in his car. He pulls down your bra straps, his hand quick to undo the clasp on your back, disposing you of the undergarment, dropping it onto the ground. Gooseflesh spreads across your skin and you let him feel it, let him feel the effect he has on you by pressing yourself against him, twisting your arms around his torso.

A tender hug, in the middle of a bonding moment. You’d be so happy, you’d laugh, you’d skip, if you had never thrown away those pills.

You wonder if he feels the drum of your heart, if he feels how it’s creating a brand new music that no human, no celestial being has ever heard before.

“I stopped taking birth control several weeks ago, Hobi,” you say, your regret and your sadness lowering your tone. Hobi coos and it makes you want to sob. “Did you bring a condom?”

He caresses your bare back, your hair a stream of a waterfall that he parts with his hand. “No, I didn’t expect this to happen.”

You do the same for him, burying your face deeper into his chest, perceiving that you’re embracing a pure angel. You engrave patterns into his skin, feathers of wings that are dripping with the fire of stars. Even though you’re dying to get fucked, this tenderness is, little by little, appeasing your darkness in a way you don’t really understand.

“We don’t have to do anything. I can make you come with my mouth again,” Hobi says, drifting his nails along the perimeter of your shoulder blade while his other hand grips your waist. The memory of the moons to the sky you paint on his back.

You lift your head. Meet the gray clouds in his eyes. “You want to breed me that bad?”

A smile curls one end of his mouth. “It’s what you deserve.”

The same smile finds a way to your mouth, then blossoms into a grin, your heart a heavy music, and you press it into the middle of his chest. Bite him there, his growls another instrument in the song. He clutches the hair at the nape of your neck, coaxing out a similar sound, your darkness a wave that ebbs to and fro.

“Put it in my ass, then.”

Hobi calls you by your name, sternly.

“What?”

He sighs. “You want to get fucked in your ass on the first date?”

You don’t know what part of his sentence makes you hiccup. Whether it’s his purity, the fact that such an angel voiced out that lewd desire of yours and didn’t jump head-first into its sea—or whether he acknowledged, once again, that this is a date. Hobi laughs, endearingly, and you blush. He kisses your cheek, lifting your chin, placing a chaste kiss onto your lips and you could die right now and know you’ll be entering the pearly gates. He’s saved a spot for you there, negotiated with God that you’ll spend your eternity there like the businessman he is.

It’s what propels you to get on your knees.

“Baby.”

And it’s him stopping you each time you want more that makes you fall for him harder.

“You’re so good to me, Hoseok, I can’t help it. I want to give back to you as much as I can.”

He utters a low, deep curse, tipping up his chin as he cradles your face in both hands. Helps you stand to your feet, kisses you with something that doesn’t resemble the chastity of before and you moan into his mouth, digging moons into his back. You press your pelvis against his thighs, frustrated that you can’t reach his manhood and Hobi hears you, lifts you up and you wrap your legs around him, grinding your femininity against his manliness, squeaking the same curses down his throat.

“Fuck, baby, grind that pussy on me like that. Just like that, yes. You learn well, don’t you? You’re such a good girl, you just need to get fucked, don’t you, baby?”

You agree with every word, your expression of pleasure saying the words for you, and Hobi moans, pushing your hips down on him while he meets you each time.

“Where’s your bedroom, baby?”

“Down the hall. First door to the right.”

You suck on his neck as he takes you there, plopping you down onto the edge of your bed. You watch your hands undo the button of his pants, but then he accidentally kicks into something and you know exactly what it is.

An orange Nike box filled with the two toys you own.

And Hobi wouldn’t have crouched to get it had you not started giggling.

How thrilling it is—to see him holding something so private, something no one has ever seen before.

He palms his cock once he discovers what’s inside, rolling his eyes back. He throws the box next to you on the mattress, pushing you back and ripping your panties out of your body in a split second. Your giggles die, replaced by whimpers, replaced by the beat of your clit and his vulgarities as he pins your knees down, gazing, lovingly, at the way your nectar trickles down to your other hole. He bends to lick it up and you die, too.

“Naughty fucking girl. How can you be so naughty and so good at the same time? You’re making me lose my mind,” Hobi snarls, putting his entire weight into the back of your knees and you gush for him, gasping, not able to take his praise, your hips instinctually raising for more of his tongue, which he slaps your thigh for. Once, twice, three times, four times until you whimper so loudly that there’s nothing else left for him to do but let up, grab your pink hitachi and lay down on his back, guide you to sit on his face.

It’s now that he takes the time to ogle your body. His night-tinged eyes glide along your tan lines, his fingers tracing them, making you shudder and rotate your hips above his mouth that he wets and keeps wetting as if it’s not enough to quench his thirst.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he chokes out, brushing the pads of his fingers along your stiffened nipples. Fireworks shoot out above your orchard, casting a rainbow of colors upon the trees and bushes. “I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve you to have you like this. You belong to that museum, baby, but I’d die if someone were to look at you in my place.”

His possessiveness coated with so much affection and admiration for you elongate your imaginary wings. And you can’t halt the rounding of your mouth, the pool of tears that line your eyes, the cracking of your heart as you take in his precious words. You feel like flying; you feel like soaring free with the knowledge that with the two beats of his own wings he’ll catch up to you, fly with you like two doves.

You want to kiss him. Pay your gratitude that way and when you begin to crawl down his body, he stops you by grabbing your waist, immobilizing you above his face.

“Stay where you are. You’re not sitting on my cock until you come on my tongue. Is that what you want? Ride Daddy’s cock until he covers you with his cum?”

You can’t take it anymore. You simply can’t.

Hobi turns the vibrator to life and its buzzing sound makes you quiver. You lower yourself onto his mouth that he quickly opens for you, darting out his tongue. He lets you ride the muscle, guiding your hips to twirl in circles, and you hold onto your breasts for emotional support as you sense yourself slowly disappearing in him, in the pleasure he gives you, in his warm, dark aura.

Your mouth has no lock, no force to stop it from speaking.

“I was wrong, Hoseok,” you start, changing the direction—swinging your hips back and forth as you grab onto his hair with one hand while the other stimulates your nipple, making you pant, whine and so terribly out of it. “It’s not your game that’s out of this world. It’s your fucking dirty talk.”

Hobi hums, flicking your hand away and pinching your nipple, causing you to tip your head back and pour more vigor into your movement, his mouth too busy to respond.

“If you ever talk to anyone like this that’s not me, I’ll kill her, you hear me? She won’t live to see the next day.”

It’s Hobi now that can’t seem to take it anymore.

Holding you steady by the waist, he sits up, sucking on your clit with so much strength that you scream, your body shuttering so violently that you completely lose yourself. He throws you onto your pillows, raises your hips until they’re at level with his mouth and finishes his fucking job. Alternates between sucking and licking, stars flooding your vision, the ones you traced on his beautiful, broad back.

You come and you don’t stop.

Hobi spits on your clit and presses down the hitachi on it, moving it from side to side, your orgasm prolonging, reaching highs beyond the heavenly kind and all you can see is him, doused in colors that glimmer and his name, the right variation of it this time, falls from your lips like a prayer. Right variation, right prayer.

Virgin Mary that is looking at her God.

Setting the toy and your bum on the bed, he takes both of your hands into his fist as you’re still convulsing, in the middle of your undying orgasm. He lines his cock at your entrance, changes his mind last minute, and glides it along your sensitive pussy, holding himself at the base. Back and forth, the ebb and the flow of the sea. The sight does anything but calm you down. It supports the continuation of your orgasm.

“Listen to me very carefully,” he whispers, lowering your hands to his manhood until they wrap around him. “This cock has been yours the moment you came out of this fucking building to meet me outside. Every ridge, every fucking vein is yours.” He squeezes your hold against him, moving it up and down in an agonizing way that makes him shudder just the same. God at a very breaking point. “And these—” He groans as he uses your hands to cup his balls. “These fucking kids are all yours. Yours to swallow. Yours to decorate this beautiful body with. Yours to stuff your little hole with.” Your chest doesn’t rise with any inhalation of breath. You’re motionless, bloodless, paralyzed through and through. Scorching to the touch. Horny beyond your senses. Hobi pins your hands above your head, lining himself up, at last, at your entrance. Sinks inside you in one swift, but vigorous motion until he’s buried in deep to the hilt and he consumes your scream, kissing you so hard that he sucks every last drop of life you had in you. Then, he nudges his nose against yours, kissing its tip as well. “So don’t think for a second that these eyes are for anyone else but you.” A brutal thrust. A yelp. A loss of time and surroundings. “I’m yours, pup. I’m fucking yours.” A mad, mad laughter. “I’ve known you for a week. Ate your pussy first before I kissed you. And you touched yourself in my fucking car because you got horny from the way I praised you in that museum. How could I not be yours?”

The pet name, the magnificence of his sonnet, the stillness of his cock as you clench around him—the very cozy feeling of him being at home, being at the mountain of Athos that you blessed. You feel so small beneath him, so taken care of—and you’re at loss for words, though only one remains in your otherwise erased vocabulary, and from the top of your lungs, you utter it.

“Daddy.”

His imaginary wings flutter, the pink swelling over the black, and he growls, letting go of your hands and folding you in half, leaning his weight on the back of your thighs. Props an overlapped pillow beneath your bum, so you’re at the perfect level for him to start fucking you properly.

And he does, coaxing out your screams, causing your legs to shake on either side of his shoulders.

“That’s right, pup. I’m your Daddy. You’re doing so good, screaming for me the way I like it.”

Hobi pounds into you, giving you a half of his length that’s more than enough. Bends at the waist to scatter wet kisses along the back of your thigh, filling you to the hilt as he does so, your juices squelching around him, making such a serene, glorious sound that forces him to bite down hard onto your flesh. No alleviation after, just long and ruthless strokes while he stares down at you, eating you with his eyes. The ghost of the pain lingers, adding to the experience, adding volume to your whiny noises.

“You’re taking it so well. You’re a good pup, aren’t you?”

You sob, the pressure gyrating deep in your lower tummy, the pet name the thing that will throw you over the edge if he calls you by it again. “Yes, Daddy. I love it when you call me that.”

A hum. “Oh, yeah?”

There he fucking goes again.

A dam rushes to break and you’re defenseless.

“Yeah, I love it so much that it’s gonna make me come.”

Hobi sucks in a breath. “Tell me you’re my good little pup and I’ll let you come.” The same breath he inhaled lodges in your throat and you watch him with a blurry vision reach over for your hitachi and turn up the intensity until the vibrations are so loud that you hear them echoing within your headspace.

He fucks you faster, ridding you of any chance to speak. Teases you with the toy by placing it, barely, on your stiffened nipple, leaning over to moisten it with his tongue before doing it again. And you can’t stop it and neither can he, the way your orgasm overtakes your whole being. It’s at this moment, when he thrusts become sloppy, that you manage to croak out the words he wanted you to say.

“I’m your good little pup, Hoseok, oh fuck, yes, yes,” you whisper, your sentence blending into an efflux of legato moans—and this, this is his very undoing.

And Hobi does something you didn’t expect him to do.

As colors burst in your perspective and your orgasm drags you under, he stimulates your clit with the toy, pulling out of you and pressing his tip against its vibrating side, growling so deeply that it forces your juices out of you, sprinkling him with its iridescent drops as he tugs at his length. He paints your stomach, paints the hitachi, his nectar so enormous that it lands upon your breasts, even as far as on your neck. His body glistens in sweat and now your essence—and looking at him with your hazy vision, another orgasm rolls in.

You thrash your body so hard he has to pin you down, ripping the pillow out from behind you, laying down his weight on you. He kisses you and the lip lock lasts, seemingly, for a century. He moves his mouth against yours, basking in the feel of your puffy mouth as he alters between kissing you harshly and kissing you gently, getting to know you this way.

And when he lets up to breathe, he brushes your hair away, flings the vibrator out until it falls off the bed.

“Say it again,” Hobi says, affection flashing in his now rounded eyes, its warmth thumping. “Louder, for me.”

Your throat is dry, but you manage to do it with a sleepy smile. Think you would do anything to please him. “I’m your good little pup.”

Cupping your face, he kisses you with such tenderness that you begin to cry. Your tears soak his cheeks and he whimpers into your mouth, moved just the same by the depth, the vibrancy of the energy thickening between you.

And when he looks at you, his own tears rush in his waterline.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispers, pausing for a second. “What have you done to me?”

When afternoon rolls in, Hobi is still tangled up in your sheets. You brought him breakfast to bed, one you didn’t burn this time, while he rested, naked and gratified, still flushed in pink, but clean from your shower. His patchouli scent intermingled with your body wash, cinnamon and lemon, concocting something intoxicating in you that made you see him with a halo above his head. He became a saint by giving in to his desires, by coming so hard that you still feel his hot ropes of cum singeing all those sensitive, intimate parts of your body. Hobi took his time tracing and smearing each and every drop, rubbing it deep in you as if he was digging a grave for your past. And you watched him do it, with tear-stained cheeks, acknowledging yourself, just as intimately, with the information that this is something Hobi likes to do.

You plan to put that into practice the next time you get to touch him.

He’s grazing his fingers along your arm as you’re laying halfway on your side, halfway on him, your leg in between his. Seems to be lost in thought, seems to be searching for his words when he widens his travel across your body, going as far as to the peaks of your shoulder blades before returning back. You feel an inkling to help him, feel like it’s the least you can do.

“What are you thinking about?” you try, dragging a finger across his collarbone. Hobi sighs, so terribly reactive to your touch, your head lifting in such a calming manner as he breathes in and out.

“Did I scare you with what I said?”

His heart under your ear begins to hammer and right away you understand the gravity of his question. He’s lost himself in a flashback of today’s sinful events, but stumbled across a high, overpowering mountain of his bared emotions—the blessed mountain of Athos. And it seems as though he’s forgotten the way back, the trees around him growing dense, the trees of panic that whisper to him that, maybe, he made a mistake.

You hope, with every fiber of your being, that he doesn’t regret those words of beauty that have come to live under your skin like planets in the universe that you and he have created.

That would ruin you. That would break you—and not in the pleasant kind that you like. That universe would drop upon you and you don’t think you’re strong enough to pick up your own half of your creation, shake it off and learn to live again.

You straddle him and he covers you with your duvet. Not your naked breasts, but your torso, inviting you into that island. You thought he did to prevent distraction from weakening his focus, but he doesn’t regard your body like that—doesn’t regard it as an instrument of lust. Something about that moves you, enough for you to take his hands, your thumbs in the middle of his palms, and spatter your soft kisses on them. On his fingers, his knuckles. And when you reach the back of his hand, you halt, boring your gaze into his, catching that comet flying past his eyes again and staying this time, staying in the glint that appears as his brown pools wet.

“Your words mean a lot to me. I carry them in my heart. You know that poem?”

Hobi shakes his head, flattening his lips, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

You don’t mind. You’re delighted to enlighten him.

“I carry your heart with me,” you recite, keeping the heel of his palm against your lips. “I carry it in my heart. I am never without it. Anywhere I go, you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling,” you finish the first stanza of the poem that has not left your bloodstream ever since you were a teenage girl. Sharing that with him brings out a sea of feelings you remember your past self invariably longed to swim in. Tenderness, closeness, passion. Having it now feels as though you’ve passed a milestone. Hobi’s halo flashes with a rosy pink hue and your softened heart constricts. “The things you said were my doing, Hobi.”

He caresses your side, starting from your armpit, going down the side of your breast, your waist until he arrives at the fleshy part of your hip, which he grasps. His chin quivers as he opens his mouth to speak and a lump forms in your throat.

“You’re a poem, pup,” he whispers, circling his thumb over your tummy. “You don’t mind that I said those things?”

You kiss his hands again, upon the same places to make your affection last longer on his skin. Your clit awakens at the pet name and naturally, you scooch over until you’re sat on his soft manhood over the duvet and you begin to move your hips back and forth. Hobi hisses, but doesn’t stop you this time. Lets you do what you want in the safety you conjured around him.

“Say them again.”

You speed up your movement.

Hobi moans. Pauses. Swallows. Thinks. “I’m yours.”

You grind harder in reward, moaning with him, feeling him stiffen under your clit, feeling him comprehend that you love those declarations.

“My cock is yours,” he breathes out, his other hand joining the other and gripping your hip, digging in his nails. Another half moons, another beauty, intensifying the pleasure. You lick your fingertips and pinch your nipples. Hobi shudders, visibly, underneath you. “If you keep this up, I’m gonna have to cancel my work meeting.”

You laugh, meekly but seductively, prolonging your thrusts, slowing them down, coaxing pained groans out of him. A delight. “Who said I wanted you to go?”

Hobi curses, switching places with you on a whim that surprises you, bends you over, arches your back by lifting your bum in the air. The duvet falls, sadly, off of the mattress—and your soul, for him, falls equivalently.

He slaps the side of your thigh. One, twice, thrice. “Who’s pussy is this?”

You long to see him, your soul begs for it. Whispers to you to grab your phone and you do, swiping your finger on the screen and angling it so your camera has a blissful view of him. Of him fixed, darkly, on your ass and your femininity in the middle.

Curious to know what’s taking you so long to answer, his brows rise as he discovers what you’re doing and he bites his lip, pulls on your legs to straighten them and you plop down on the mattress with a loosened breath. He gets in the same position. Licks over the swell of your ass cheek.

“Film it. Film yourself telling me who’s pussy this is,” Hoseok commands and in a millisecond, without a thought spared, you click on the red button, excitement tingling your nerves.

“My pussy is yours, Hoseok.”

His eyes flick to the camera, meeting your stare, and your breath hitches, the view so attractive as he mouths that skin, marking it. He sneaks a hand to your clit, lifting his body a little, and spanks the spot he bruised. You gasp, elated, humming in a high-pitched tone, causing him to smirk.

“Ride my hand. Whose pussy is this, baby, hm?”

You snap your hips, furrowing your brows at the faint pleasure, at the desperation that courses through your veins.

“Yours, Hoseok, ah, fuck. I want you inside me, please.”

And he takes you, right there on camera, from behind—immortalizing your inside joke as you and him mention it and laugh about it together, immortalizing the way he paints your wings that ivory color and the way he rubs it in, sinking it deep within its membrane.

And when you’re so spent that you can’t keep your eyes open and Hobi is drifting his mouth over your breasts, he tells you to send it to him. And with one cracked open, you do.

It’s later in the evening that you find out that it wasn’t Hobi you sent that video to and your blood freezes.

Your phone rings and Jungkook’s picture fills the screen.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah, @fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth

BACK to masterlist | READ part one

#hobi smut #jhope smut #jhope x reader #jung hoseok #hoseok x oc #hoseok x yn #hoseok x y/n #hoseok smut #jungkook x oc #jungkook x yn #jungkook smut #hoseok fanfic #btscreatorscorner #btswritersclub #btswriterscollective

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nouvxllev · 6 months

Note

"When I saw you

I fell in love, and

you smiled

because you knew

-William Shakespeare"

LOVE.LOVE.LOVE.

I wanted to make a request! I had a similar interaction like this, and when I had read this, I fell inloveeeeee with this qoute sm. Can you do a Wednesday x Reader? In which it's Wednesday who actually falls inlove 😭

amore, amore, amore.

Pairing: Author!Wednesday Addams x Gn!Reader

Summary: request!! ^^

Words: 6.0k (oh what the fuck)

Warnings: told in WEDNESDAYS POV AND ALTERNATE TIMELINES!, the gomezification of wednesday addams prevails, yes they meet at a museum, also kinda 7 husbands of evelyn hugo coded, slight plottwist at the end!

a/n: aaaa ofc ofc!! also i absolutely love the idea where wednesday fell first and harder

masterlist

I believe they cursed me the moment their lips became something worth fighting for.

"If they intend to halt my publishing, then so be it. I have no interest in entertaining that brain-dead company over countless of reasons as to why I shouldn't spare a few weeks for myself who believe I will fall under their will."

"Wednesday, they're the ones who publish your books, you just can't ignore their calls."

"Barclay, has your brain deteriorated to a degree in such a way that you are forgetting it's my presence that upholds that fucking company? Without me, they are nothing. Have you forgotten with how much power I withhold over them, or have your scales reached that hollow of a brain?"

"You can't ignore the leverage they have over you, sure you have the amount of money, if not more, to sue them, but they could literally tip you off and brand you as some selfish author."

"Please do comprehensively explain to me as to why I would be a selfish author?"

"Wednesday Friday fucking Addams, it's because you're half-way across the fucking world at some fucking museum in Italy while you have a manuscript due a fucking week ago!"

"I fail to see my fault."

"Addams, if you don't get your shit together, I swear—"

I had solved countless of murders in my time of Nevermore. I had one thing to do when I finally left, and I was going to succeed.

If you had told me after I willingly left that horrid place you call an educating institution that I would experience the same fate as an author, I would've traced the outer skin of your face with a pocket knife and display it on your family's doorstep.

Barclay, amongst others, remained someone I held close. She could be infuriating, but no one would ever be much deserving of a terrible, terrible position than be under my control as my manager when I pursued writing.

But no one tells you how people could easily forget you in a matter of seconds if you don't make a name for yourself when you've put yourself out there, even if it's something far, far from your own.

I was only fortunate enough people enjoyed what I publish.

I couldn't care less if they didn't, that's why I found it hard to give two shits about what that damned company thought of my revised schedule. But I needed to make a living. To make something out of myself.

If I had continued my actions— in which I have full control over with—I could lose everything.

I could've build it up from scratch if it happened, but Lucifer knows how long would a simple idea for a plot that could get into the lack of attention span of the population could take.

I could lose the name I print on paper.

I could lose my name.

And then I realized I haven't.

There was something that I was destined to fall under. It was there with my eyes taped to a painting, not knowing I became one for another.

I hung up. The mere thought of having a multistep plan to eventually murder my manager was between God and me. That woman had me teetering on the edge of becoming a one-hit serial killer overnight.

My head tilted over a large painting towering amidst the others down the line. My hands remained tucked deep within the pockets of a trench coat far too oversized for me.

I couldn't take much time of squinting, staring as if it had garnered my interest not after a dreaded phone call that I convinced myself truly took my energy and managed to inject anesthesia inside my veins.

A light sway became evident in my steps, as if I was sulking in my own woe of what I should and could've done to prevent myself fucking it up on a company that I could soon own if not me being under the age of what is required to own a firm without having to ring up my own godforsaken of a family.

I could almost take another step if I wasn't met with another person.

Countless of papers flew across the hard-tiled floor. It was over before I knew what had happened. I found myself standing there, eyes glued to the person I collided with, my eyebrows crossed and my mouth hung open like a fool.

"I'm—I'm so sorry, fuck." They grit under their breath, like they were berating themselves while they picked up the rest of what had fell.

I stood there, not knowing what to do or what not to do but stare at them and wait for them to pull themselves up.

And so that's what I did.

I wish I hadn't.

Because now it was the time I was unable to speak. Unable to use the words I've been writing my novels with, the words that I should've spoken in the seconds they had landed in front of me. For the first time, my words had failed me.

A question rang in my head, Why do I now feel as if I do not belong inside of my own body? Why does my life feel complete now that they were here?

When Y/n fixed herself, she looked at me and smiled. I knew I looked like an idiot staring at them, yet I never went out of my way to barely fix myself.

Why were they smiling?

"Why are you smiling?" I asked under my breath, like I was taken breathless. I hadn't mean to say it out loud, but my cold and otherwise damned heart seemed to be alive, like I was suffocating in my own rate. A fool in front of them I must've been.

They looked at their paper, then they looked at me.

They smiled yet again. Another question flicked across my head, what had happened to me to act as if I would go through hell and back for this person?

They smiled at me as if my presence gave them a reason to. And they loved me in every one of it.

"Sorry—" they apologized, noticing how their thumb kept grazing the surface of their sketch, almost as if they were nervous. "You look prettier than... whatever I drew."

They stole one more look of me.

"Terrifyingly bewitching."

It's horrifying knowing I couldn't explain what I felt that day. What I know is—I felt everything.

I've endured endless remarks on my appearance ranging from a number of ratings from those nonsensical people on the internet to every synonym people have thrown my way only to fail to evoke even a flicker of emotion.

Though it seems egotistical, I knew they held one intention: they wanted to impress me. They wanted me to know they were different amongst others who have approached me. They wanted to entice me, as if I could be owned.

Were it not for the arsenal and threats I carried, there would be much more.

Y/n was different. They never had any intentions of being with me, no desire to impress or claim me as theirs. They simply wanted me to know I was. That it was true. I just had never heard it from someone who could mutter two words that felt perfect.

And it's much more terrifying knowing I unexpectedly fell first, even if I deny myself.

I could tell you about the way y/n smiled, how it seemed to threaten the sun, warning it not to shine lest it risk embarrassment in contrast of hers. I could tell you the way their eyes followed their smile, how their life was encapsulated in their drawings, mirroring what they felt.

Yet, when it comes to explaining how I fell for them, words escape me. Even I, a tortured author, struggle to describe.

How must I convey the sensation of my heart pounding in my ears as if it was trying to break me? The ache in my stomach, churning every chance it got, every fiber of my being dreadfully surrendering to them.

But one is for certain: meeting them was like coming home.

My home.

But I couldn't bring myself to realize that—It was antagonizing for me. Humiliating and mortifying knowing one person could make me become a total fool, become someone I've never thought I'd be.

I've spent my whole life after hiding what I felt for them, lest I risk experiencing what I truly loathe: love.

I despised them ever since I met them, loathed them, hated them. But for what for? I ask myself countless of times, I have never gotten an answer.

When they left, I left. Thinking it would be fate that had accidentally brought two people together who held no meaning for eachothers life, that it was a mistake, and I could've been wrong with how I'm feeling.

And when I came back, they were there.

And when I approached them, it felt right.

It was a week after the incident, but no matter how I tried, I still remember how their smile felt around me. Suffering, irritating, lovely. Like I wanted to relieve it, no matter how much time had passed.

Never once did I get their name in the span of meeting them, it was useless to know anyway.

Yet, I find myself returning to the museum every chance I get for God knows what, acting as if I had unfinished business staring at paintings while the staff rambled beside me. They were better off tattooing their explanation in my skull.

I had other places to attend to, other tasks I should've been doing rather than constantly visiting museum in the afternoon as if I have duties and low-paid labor for employment.

I should've been at my apartment days ago, exhausting myself on a half-assed manuscript I would have recurring thoughts of annihilating along with severing Bianca's hands through the phone.

What terrified me is why I was back.

Standing in front of them. My hands tucked deep inside the pockets of another trench coat, looking down on them sitting on one of the blocks of granite surrounding a oddly placed tree in the middle of the hall, drawing whatever there is to draw.

"Hello." I greeted them. They almost looked startled, surprised that I was even talking to them, like I was some vengeful ghost who returned to seek revenge. Though they weren't far off.

They looked up, immediately flipping over their clipboard as they locked eyes with me.

"Oh—" They cleared their throat, "Hi. Hey, hello." They smiled, albeit awkward. But that feeling of dread, or whatever, came back. Stronger than ever, I feared. I almost had half the mind of punching them in the gut and questioning them why they had this effect on me.

"Didn't know you come here often." A chuckle followed their question, or maybe it was a statement, placing their elbows on their lap while they gazed right at me.

I scoffed, murmuring against gritted teeth why did I even approach them in the first place. "And I didn't know you draw me that often."

I look down on the piece of paper, their deliberate and aggressive brush strokes having an effect on the paper, leaving marks upon marks. It was clear that I've been their subject for days on end. Even if I were to absent, I'd still be able to be the pinnacle of their sketches.

It was funny back then, humorous in my mind on how quick they snatched the piece of paper and tried to explain with little to no comprehension that went across their mind.

"Oh, God, no, no! I just—Okay, well, maybe I've been drawing you ever since I saw you, it's creepy now that I mention it... but it's just—it's dumb of me to not draw you, you know?" They were flustered, their mouth opening and closing only for me to receive words that were out of the dictionary.

They sighed, my lips twitched.

"I'd like to ask," My voice trailed off, grimacing even at the thought of having to initiate a conversation with more or less than five words, "What's... your name?"

"Y/N," They nodded, "L/N. Y/N/L/N." They reached out for a handshake only to immediately retract after a brief awkward seconds of staring. Their name sounded familiar.

"Why are you here?"

"Do I need to reason to?"

"I suppose so, no. But I am curious." Even I don't know why I'm still back here.

Y/n sighed, like I was the one getting on their nerves while it was me who battling against whatever fucked-up demon spawned in my stomach that caused me to feel, things.

"Nothing."

I frowned. "You came here because of.... Nothing?"

"Mhm."

"You are drawing strangers you know nothing about because of nothing?"

"Thought I made myself clear on that first word."

"You've made yourself look foolish than any average person."

"Well, you never told me your name. I think that's foolish enough over my case."

It was my turn to sigh.

"Addams." I reluctantly said to them, "Wednesday, Addams."

Then Y/n looked up at me as if I was some sort of otherworldly deity going back down to earth to finish whatever I started. "Wednesday Addams. I think I've heard that name before."

"No. No, you haven't."

If it wasn't horribly obvious, the sole purpose of my visit to Italy was to neglect everything I left behind in New York—especially deadlines— and hoped my eyes would finally work some sense that would let me start anew.

It was shameful of me, passion that dwindled into something less. If I had the chance, I would've tortured myself for even considering abandoning all of my life's work.

Though, I had my reasons. Even if I had threatened my target population and my audience, it still wouldn't be enough.

In short, I had lost motivation to pursue another book.

I felt as if there was something missing, that I couldn't even dare to even blow the collecting dust in the rims of my typewriter.

I begged for my brain to work, to even produce the slightest idea or word that could have some meaning to it. I was ready to write anything that came to mind, even if it was mediocre.

But, instead, my heart responded.

When I met Y/n, I started writing, and we started talking.

Words flowed through, and my time was wasted on Y/n.

My time was wasted, and they were wasted with their significant other.

I always thought I would suffer the thought of having to live an eternal life with none other than myself, that it was inevitable I was going to perish alone in my own woe.

It remained the same. Now, it's just having to live with the fact that my only greatest love had another.

I felt as if I ate a forbidden fruit once I heard they had someone that loved them as much as I denied myself of the same kind, like I plagued myself with hundreds of years of worry and attachment to someone who had eyes on another, a special muse they had.

Only that I would crumble immediately, tempted to take the fruit in my hands, forever stain my lips of something immoral so that I could forever crawl and weep over them.

In my time in Italy, I thought i'd be avoiding acquaintances that would be much more of a burden to me rather than someone useful. Yet there I was, watching Y/n saunter into my life like the revelation they were.

It's safe to say that Y/n turned out to be anything but a burden. They became someone I looked forward to seeing every day, though I hadn't realized they were motivation until then.

"Wends!"

Their awfully cheerful voice pierced through the air of the restaurant, almost granting the attention from other people as if they shared the same horrendous and dreadful nickname as me.

As much as I fantasized about walking out of the restaurant with y/n's half-broken jaw, I couldn't deny whatever was swirling in my head.

Ever since they knew of that wretched nickname unfortunately given to me by none other by that infectious and the ever infuriating ball of sunshine, Enid Sinclair, they've been calling me it as if I don't have a birth name.

It was a month ever since I've known Y/n, and it was a month of them being a constant presence in my life. They shared breakfast with me, lunches, and sometimes dinners that I somehow always and reluctantly accepted.

They became my routine, and it was a fact I'd sooner die with than confess to anyone.

Y/n slowly approached my table that was filled to the brim with countless of books and my oddly placed typewriter, putting their own stuff down on the seat beside them. "You're here early. You ordered something yet?"

It was 12PM. We agreed on 1, and I came at 10.

I scoffed, keeping my eyes on the typewriter. "You, of all people, should know by now that I would much rather sooner paint myself neon than touch anything on this menu."

I hear y/n setting their elbows on the table, resting their face between their hands. "Aw, c'mon Wends, it wouldn't kill you.

"Cyanide won't, but this will." I stopped writing to take one look at them, obviously and oddly, my gaze never and will never work on them. "Take my advice if you're eager to leave this restaurant with a mouth able to eat and speak."

"Ever the happiest person, Wends." They chuckled, sliding a somehow too bright and colorful menu towards them, "I'll order for you."

I stopped writing all together, "Y/n."

"Wednesday." They raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at her lips. It was over before I was even playing the game. Resistance over their lips felt futile anyway.

"Fine." I sighed, shutting my eyes closed just so that for once I can't have my stomach doing fucking acrobatics at the sight of them. "I will... allow it."

The ever-growing smile that crept up to their face was priceless, I couldn't bring myself to pry my eyes away. Murmuring something along the lines that I was too easy to lure in.

Once a waiter passed our table, Y/n ordered something along the lines of whatever the fuck 'Due Cream Soda Alla Vaniglia e Lampone con Glitter Commestibili' was. I was certain I was going to leave the restaurant with a non-working heart and a stomach turning inside and out.

It took no longer than a minute for Y/n to get a hold one of the numerous books piled infront of me. "Are you studying for something?" They asked, opening it only to close it once they noticed how outdated some of the languages are.

I let a small chuckle pass my lips. "What drives you to such a hypothesis."

They gestured to the books and my typewriter, "By how you're literally surrounded by books and you're on a fucking typewriter instead of a laptop." They pointed out, murmuring another, "Also, who the hell says hypothesis."

"People with functioning frontal lobes." I quipped, letting my fingers write on instinct across the typewriter keys as I listened to Y/n's ramblings. "I'm... writing."

"You're an author?"

"No."

"Then why—"

"Are you a painter? An artist?"

"Well... I—no?"

"Then we both don't know what we're doing."

Y/n fell silent moments after, I couldn't help but miss the sound of their voice. Admitting the mere thought aloud seemed absurd, let alone thinking it in the first place. I would've bashed my head on top of my typewriter if not for my resistance.

"How long will you be staying in Italy?" they eventually asked.

"Two more weeks," I replied. "My flight is already scheduled, I'll be leaving then on."

"Oh."

I wasn't expecting an answer anything other than a hint of happiness that I was eventually leaving their life.

"You are?" They repeated, as if they couldn't believe such a statement even escaped my lips, clear disappointment flickering across their face. "That's not... long."

"I am certainly not saying here indefinitely now that I have something to continue when I've arrived at my destination." I cleared out, doing my very best to escape the impending guilt washing over me.

"I'll miss you, Wednesday."

Their words were sincere. Lovely. It had stopped me from writing all together.

Guilt wasn't a feeling I was familiar with at the time. I rarely come across such a feeble emotion. Now it felt like I've committed something immoral. There were times that I lie for my own convenience, and nothing more than my own reason.

Now it felt like I should've lied for them.

I will forever miss you.

I wrote. I never showed them.

One week had passed and I rarely ever got to see Y/n after. Our encounters became increasingly scarce, and their voice plagued me from days on end.

I clung to the faithless hope I had that they would text me, to reach out, to even show me they're alive and well.

I returned to the museum for every day they were absent in my life, searching for any sign of their presence, but each day ended in disappointment.

Of course, fate is indifferent to my yearning, refusing to grant someone I so desperately sought.

Regret gnawed at me as the days turned into a week, and the week turned into the day before my flight.

"Addams. I've heard from others that you've been writing."

"Who others?"

"I'll spare a name to spare New York a corpse found in their sewage pipes by the time you've, hopefully I assume, returned and not jump off the plane."

"Even if I went off the grid, your nagging would've been in spirit."

"Don't flatter me."

"Don't kill yourself without showing me a video tape in full resolution for me to get through rough weeks. Or maybe take a shotgun and shoot yourself in your garage and let me have the keys to your house."

"Addams."

I sigh. "Yes, the rumors—though I would want that vampires head on a stake—are true. I've been writing."

"What happened to you there? You met someone?"

"How'd you know—No. No, I—I haven't. What makes you come to such a foolish conclusion?"

"Oh my God, someone actually managed Wednesday—I'd rather kill myself before loving anyone—Addams to fall terribly in love with them. Who's the unfortunate soul?"

"I would not be naming them because they do not exist."

"You just stuttered, Wednesday. The only thing making you stumble your words is when you're overdosing on whatever poison you're having for breakfast."

"They're no one."

"How are you such a bad liar when you have countless of bodies hidden across the globe?"

I sigh again, this time, it was out of annoyance. "I'll be hanging up. Goodbye, Barclay. If ever you are considering to kill yourself, call me. I'll be at my most happiest to watch."

"Wait, no, Wednesday! I need progress on your—"

I hung up. It was pointless to answer her calls when I was a mere few step away from boarding a plane. She always had a way of getting under my skin, even from across the damn globe.

But there was one name that would always surface in my thoughts: Y/n.

The mere thought of their name will forever remind me of how my heart wasn't programmed to love.

I reached for my phone, fingers tracing over the cold screen. My mind was tired, blank. The only thing I could ever do is stare at their contact and wish I could've done something better.

I typed out a hesitant message, my thumb hovering over the send button as if it was something that could end my world. Only two thoughts ran to my mind: Would they reply, or would my message be nothing to them?

I almost hit send before I heard footsteps approaching me.

"Y/n?"

I whispered their name, the love I carried for them being surrendered like I'd crawl for them once I reached purgatory.

"What are you doing here?" My eyebrows furrowed. How could they leave me, only to return as I was about to depart? "Why are you here, you disappeared, avoided me, why—"

"He proposed to me."

Oh.

I always thought a near-death experience with a loved one would be the deepest I could feel.

I realized I was wrong.

Now my eyes ached to the sting. Like I was weeping for someone that perished in my heart, I grieve for a living soul that was me. It was pathetic.

I expected them to be overjoyed, over the moon as they would express themselves from time to time.

But when I met their eyes, all I saw were tears streaming down their face.

Oh, how I wished to wipe their worries away.

"Then why are you crying?"

"I don't know if I love him."

"Nonsense... You told me you loved him—"

"Well, maybe I haven't been saying anything true to you!"

"Look, I don't know what I'm doing—I don't know what the hell are we doing. I'm living in some apartment with some guy I don't even know I even love, I'm currently standing here like an idiot to a girl who's just about to leave my life, and you're—"

"You're everything."

It was that moment I realized I was lost in a haze of admiration and love for Y/n.

That I was far too deep in their life that they became mine. I never knew I needed them as much when I told them to leave with me and break up with their significant other.

I never knew I needed their lips onto mine until the moment I pulled them close to me.

Now I ache of them.

"Do you regret it, mother? Being such a fool for someone, you became what you hated most. But you endured it all for them."

Wednesday Addams, seating across the bed from her daughter, Blair Addams. She looked just like you, she'd always wonder.

Wednesday sighed, her hand reaching out to gently touch Blair's. "Do you know the phrase, 'Come ti vidi M’innamorai, E tu sorridi Perchè lo sai?'" she asked softly.

"You know I've never indulged myself in whatever you're reading." She shook her head with a smile. She looked even more like you.

She let her fingers trace patterns on her hand, her gaze wandering else where. "Well, it translates to 'When I first met you I fell in love, and you smiled because you knew," she explained.

"And do you believe in that, mother?"

Wednesday could almost smile. Her daughter was always the curious one, yet she always managed to be privy of her life from them. "I always believed Y/N knew the moment we first laid eyes on each other, I fell in love with them."

"So, yes, my raven." She nodded, "I do."

"I never knew Y/n would make me their title, their theme, their muse," Wednesday pondered, "I always wondered why i fell for them."

"Falling is an accident, gullible, like with people who fail to do basic things. But I am one of those people if not more if I fell for their on accident and continued to do so."

She sat beside Blair, her legs crossed beside her. "I've never told you at the time, but Y/n was a painter. And they wanted nothing more but than to forget about their past. They have never told me as to why, but I believe them.""

"I worried that my love was violence. It was pain, it was suffering. But y/n took care of themselves, they took care of me. There is no one in the world who had loved me more than them, I fear that it would break them, that I am deemed no longer someone who is a part of their story."

"Yet here we are."

Wednesday couldn't see the smile creeping from her daughters lips. But she knew it was there, just like how you looked like before. She will always and forever take pride in it.

She always thought her greatest love could be something of a passion, a talent, a hobby perhaps.

But no one told her it could be a person.

Blair stretched and turned on a light beside her bed, opening a drawer and taking out two of Wednesday's books. "Must they be the reason your books has been off to your prior ones, mother? You've written all your life of gore and mystery. Now it's romance."

"Well, I—"

"Oh, I'm definitely the reason why your mother has been subtly—not-so-subtly, switching to the romance genre."

You peered through the door, your body wrapped up in a cozy boritto style and everything with a train draping it's way to your back like some met-gala dress.

"Oh, mon chéri," Wednesday's face lit up at the sight of you, immediately standing up and pulled you close, her arms enveloping you in a warm embrace.

Her lips met yours in soft kisses, leaving the taste of faint vanilla chapstick lingering on your lips. "Why are you up so late?"

"Well," You grinned against her lips, "I felt our bed getting cold and to my surprise my wife isn't nowhere near me. You know how I can't sleep without you." She pulled away, you whined at the lost of contact, but you couldn't smile more brightly as she led you towards your daughter. "G'evening, Blair."

"Evening, Y/n." She greeted you before you kissed her on the forehead.

You leaned against Wednesday's shoulder, whispering softly, "You're telling her our story again?"

Wednesday would've thought her small chuckle went unnoticed, but you definitely heard it. The stupid smile on your face told everything.

Her hand found yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. "She loves it."

"You love it, mother. Probably more than me." Blair retorted back, evident that she was holding back a laugh.

"I do not! When did I ever—"

"Oh, honey, you know love turns your mother into a girl version of your abuelo.

"Do not ever refer to me as my love drunk father or I will subject you to sleeping on the couch." Wednesday rolled her eyes, pinching the back of your palm. "And please do not shame my work of referring to it as such. I've worked hard day and night yet you proceed call it by such an exasperate—"

You turned your head and pressed a kiss on her cheek, the same spot where her freckles resided, causing her to pause mid-sentence. After atleast ten years of being with her, it always made you so giddy.

"Not even in marriage am I spared by your passive aggressive comments," you teased, your lips curling into a smile as you leaned in closer to her.

You hear your daughter sigh after a brief second, "Addams."

Wednesday almost looked shocked, "My Raven, do not call us by our last—"

"Please exit my room. I'll be going to sleep."

And then, the both of them were shoved off before they could even hug their daughter and kiss her goodnight like they always did.

"I... We were rejected, Y/n." Wednesday exclaimed, like she just got struck with the most heartbreaking news. "She used to love our stories together when she was an infant."

You'd think Wednesday was the non-chalant mom who's strict on her child. But, to your surprise, she was the opposite.

She loved Blair just as much she loved you. Hell, you even considered just maybe, maybe not, disowning your daughter because she gets Wednesday's attention more than you do.

You shrugged, taking her hand and leading her to your upstairs bedroom. "It gets stale once in a whileeeOW!" You winced as Wednesday pinched the back of your palm, again. It was starting to become her love language at this point.

"I'm just kidding!" You reassured her, intertwining your fingers with hers as you walked up the stairs together, pulling the door open for your wife. "She's just in her rebellious teen phase, let it go."

Wednesday rolled her eyes, "Too cliche."

"You used to have one too," you scoffed, settling onto your side of the bed and watching as she laid down on hers.

It was a routine you found yourself often doing, taking in the sight of your beloved as if your life with Wednesday was all a dream. You pinch yourself like almost thrice a day just to really make sure.

"Since when?" Wednesday asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement, quietly shuffling towards you.

You sat up for a moment to undo her braids. You always liked playing with her hair, and that one time she asked of you to undo hers, it became a routine. "Since the beginning of time. And somehow, you never grew out of it."

"You didn't even meet me in my teenage years. I am far from rebellious."

"Yes, baby, but not too far from a death penalty." You chuckled, reaching out to gentle stroke her hair, leaning in to press a soft kiss against her forehead.

"Oh, you flatter me," she replied, a smirk across her lips, but the room was too dim to even notice it.

By now, if you were any ordinary person, Wednesday would've made you disappear entirely. But, the thing is, Wednesday always seemed to look at you as if her life never really started until she found you.

Silence managed to take over the atmosphere, you laid back on the comfortable mattress, feeling Wednesday's head nestled on your arms that were tucked under her hair.

You could almost fall asleep in pure bliss knowing that you've met and loved the girl of your dreams if not for her calling out for you.

"Amore." She whispered.

"Amore?" She whispered again, her voice softer than ever before.

You blinked, momentarily. You swore you just heard an angel. "Yes, amore?"

"Can I... Can you—"

You smiled, almost too knowingly. You knew Wednesday, for someone who's such a romantic soul, she's not too expressive on simple terms like these. "Do you want to be the little spoon?"

She grimaced, you could even hear her grunts of disapproval. "I would highly refrain from calling it that before I jump out of bed and skin you from limb to limb. But... yes, I would like to."

A soft chuckle escaped your lips at her response, suppressing a grin to avoid from literally being murdered as you wrapped your arms around her and pulled her close.

Ten years before, if someone had told you that you're going to be doing this to girl you've met at a museum while trying to escape your past, let alone be happily married to her, you would've told them "How the fuck do you know that and please stay away, I have... a boyfriend. I guess."

But now, it seemed so believable. Wednesday was always so relaxed in your arms, your warmth and hers bringing a sort of comfort for the both of you.

You nuzzled your head against the back of her neck, gently moving strands of her hair aside as you pressed soft kisses against her skin, hoping to kick away her tension from the day.

"Stop pouting, Wends," you murmured softly into her skin as you closed your eyes in pure relief.

You hear her scoff, "I am not doing such a humiliating act."

"Oh but you so are." Your grin widening as you pressed another gentle kiss against her nape, "I can hear it from here."

Wednesday let out a sigh, of annoyance? Maybe. But was it tinged with pure adoration and love? Much so. "You don't hear pouts, Y/n."

"When it comes to you, I do and I can."

Silence washed over. This time, you're worried you've teased her that much, she actually got annoyed with you.

"You're awfully quiet. By this time, you're probably threatening to kill me."

"I'm... Sorry." Wednesday whispered, it has an undying tone of tenderness that you don't often see it being expressed through words from her. Slowly, she shifted her body to face yours.

One thing is for certain: She was still so terrifyingly bewitching if not more. She looked pretty in every way possible, it's hard to even believe, it left you in awe.

You feel her gaze darting on your eyes and then drifting down to your lips, hesitating even. It was ridiculous, in the most adorable way possible there is for an Addams like her.

"May I kiss you?"

"You know you're always welcome. It's pointless to ask."

She was the first to reach out, her hand finding it's way to the curve of your cheek, her touch gentle than ever as she traced the line of your jaw as if she was memorizing every feature of yours.

You cupped her face in reciprocation, leaning in closer to where your lips were just hovering inches away from hers. Then, you closed the space between the both of you.

You pulled away, your eyes meeting hers with a soft smile. It was impossible to think that this woman held your heart in her hands like it was nothing.

"Have I ever told you that you're pretty?" you whispered, letting your hands fall to her waist and pulled her close.

"Ever since you've met me."

“You know, I’m surprised you even remember our first meeting.”

“Oh, how could I ever forget my lover?”

You laughed, a symphony that always gets Wednesday to have a slight tug in her lips. “Stop being so romantic. You are a grown woman with a daughter.”

You continued to stare into her eyes as you drape the rest of the blanket for the both for you. "It's hard to think you're the first one to fall in love and not me."

"It's hard to think of anything when you're here with me, te amo." Wednesday replied, her gaze softening almost immediately.

You sighed. "You know I love you, right?"

Wednesday blinked. "I always will."

You smiled.

And Wednesday smiled back.

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

a/n: this was longer than i thought. i yap too much in stories i fear

#wednesday x reader #wednesday addams x gnreader #wednesday addams x gn!reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega #jenna marie ortega #jenna ortega x female reader

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aseaofyoongi · 1 year

Text

behind pixels 1 | jjk

jjk x reader (f)

genre: sex worker au (jk)

rating: mature audiences only (strictly 18+)

summary: with rising stress, being caught touching yourself and no satisfaction for your own imagination you decide to take your friends advice of using a certain little app for assistance.

warnings: not another college smut au . . you guessed it lol; foul language; sensual/dirty talk; masturbation; computer sex; strangers to sex worker jk helping you out for the night lol (pls stay safe of the world wide web yall); mentions of sexual intercourse - but ofc there is none; cum eating. . she licks her fingers after.. yeah; open ending and no preparation for a pt. 2 so dont hate me.

next part: behins pixels the sequel

word count: 3,3 thousand words

posted: april 8th, 2023

BunnyBoy98 is typing…..

Is this your first time

here?

Sorta.

You can’t sorta be

here for the first time.

It's a yes or no question.

I thought this site was

no questions asked. No

strings attached?

You against conversation

or something? Desperate

to get right to it?

Not desperate. . but that is

what we’re here for.

Right bunny boy?

Right.

There was a second of silence in between messages. For a brief moment you interpreted his quietness as a goodbye but he was still online. . Perhaps, he thought you to be too straightforward and that turned him off entirely and he moved on to the next user.

Still, there was a faint hope within you that he would reply so you sat in the dead stillness of your room, lights turned off to avoid recognition, door locked with only your undergarments to hug your body.

Typically, this wouldn’t be the event to make-up your Friday night however stressed induced days. . and the simple fact that you were in a torment of arousal twenty-four seven with no further satisfaction stemming from the guidance your imagination had on your fingers.

BunnyBoy98 is typing…..

You sat up on the bed in anticipation of his reply even though you'd never admit it to the stranger on the other side of the screen. He was about to help you get off, so you were definitely at the gates of desperation. It trickled all throughout your body as if a rain cloud sat right above you drenching you in its honeyed ardor.

Your skin turned to goosebumps as the chat bubble continued appearing and disappearing again and again.

Fine. But at least

tell me how you

found me.

I wasn’t specifically

searching for you.

Then who?

Anyone really.

Ouch. You know

I actually felt a bit

special for a second.

You still should. You’re

description helped me

choose you.

Be honest, was it

the tattoos?

If I say maybe would

you be mad at me?

Not at all.

Then, yes.

Plus your description

says you have long hair.

Who was the

runner-up?

Someone named Tae. But

I remembered a friend

visits him often.

So you found out

about us through

a friend?

Yes.

We can do either a

video call or messages.

Which do you prefer?

Video call.

If you’re up for it.

I’m OK with it

as long as you are.

I’ll call you in 5.

I’ll be here.

The rippling anticipation waved through you like electric currents rumbling your entire being right off its course. Though, BunnyBoy98 was a complete stranger you were minutes away from stripping yourself of every bit of shame and vulnerability right before him.

You couldn’t believe you actually went through with it.

And it all began about a week prior. When your friend had walked in on you in a . . less than ideal situation. You succumbed to the pleasure of your favorite toy, legs stretched wide and completely bare on your bottom half. Overcome in the feeling as you maintain focus on chasing your own orgasm. You remember hearing the hinges on the door creak but you weren’t expecting anyone so you remained painting a fervor image behind your eyelids. Envisioning slender fingers being pumped in and out of you repeatedly.

There were beads of sweat strolling down your body as you were in position; about to be catapulted into outer space. The atmosphere you set for yourself was serene and the only sounds that could be heard were your occasional whimpers and the music that played softly in the background. Everything drove you closer and closer to where you wanted to be.

Where you needed to be.

You were so close then a gasp inundated the air around you. A gasp that most certainly did not come from you.

“What the fuck?” You shot your eyes open and quickly saw your friend buried into a corner near the door. She faced the wall but you could only imagine the revolted look on her face, “can you lock the door next time?”

“Oh my,” you quickly pulled the covers over your sweaty body, “can you knock next time?”

“I did knock,” she yelled back, “but you were a little busy.”

“So you just barge in?”

“I thought you might have been dead in the toilet or something,” she shrugged and turned back around to find you sprawled in your bed, “oh, you’re done?”

“What do you think?”

“I mean don’t stop on my account. We all do it,” she sat across from your bed and began spinning around on your computer chair, “I personally like to meet Tae when I’m in the mood but you know this all works too.”

“Who’s Tae?” you questioned sitting up in the bed; wrapping your bed sheets around your figure tightly.

“He’s from this app where guys kinda help girls get off,” she said it so casually you almost didn’t fully decipher the words escaping her lips.

“There’s an app for that?”

“It’s the twenty-first century there’s literally an app for everything.”

You cleared your throat, “is it safe?”

“Are you interested?” she waggled her brows.

“No,” you scoffed, “did you need something?”

“I can’t come over just to spend time?” she shook her head, “I should’ve let you finish. Maybe you would have been in a better mood.”

“Fuck you,” you giggled.

“At least use this next time,” your phone dinged after she quickly sent you a text, “let me know how it goes.”

Her exit was barely audible. You were too preoccupied studying the link she sent for the app called ‘Eargasm An App for Women in Need.’

BunnyBoy98 is typing…..

I’m ready.

Can I call you?

Yeah.

You can call.

The ringtone echoing amongst your walls was taunting, and your nerves nearly fooled you into letting it ring. And while it took a lot of physical and mental strength to actually pick your hand up and move it towards the mouse pad you were finally able to press the green button lighting up your screen.

BunnyBoy98 sat up against a wall; glowing under blue LED lights. His black hair was long as detailed in his description and it sat right above his shoulders. Though it was hard to tell under the stark ambiance his eyes mimicked the tint of chocolate and his piercing stare was aimed at you on the other side of the screen. . Well, it was actually aimed at your dark screen. Though, it was selfish of you, as you hid cowardly behind your turned off camera you wished he would remove the black mask hiding the bottom half of his face.

“Hi,” he greeted.

“Hi,” you murmured, perhaps a bit scared that someone might hear this interaction play out although no one would. You made sure your door was locked this time and you didn’t even have a roommate. “Should I continue calling you BunnyBoy or is there something else you prefer to be called?”

“You can call me JK,” his voice was sultry, soothing, grave. Somehow a mixture of all three in one; it vibrated in your inner ear like some sort of an invasively soft tune, one you know you’d be replaying many times after tonight.

“Sorry about the dark screen,” you attempted to swallow down any ounce of nervousness, “I guess you can say I’m a bit nervous.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” his reassurance quickly eased your frazzled nerves, “though I’ll admit you did sound a bit more assertive over messages.”

“I tend to come off over-confident through texts,” you snickered, “it’s a natural flaw.”

“Confidence is sexy so I would say it’s a blessing.”

The word sexy sounded so enticing coming from his lips even as they were hidden behind that damned black cloth. You roamed through countless fantasies of the man sitting right before you, about the way he possibly looked without being covered; how his touch might feel on your scorching skin and the tone of his whispers closer in the proximity of your ear.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he voice was playful, but it was so hard to read his expression behind his covered face, “have you begun having fun without me?”

“No,” you mumbled, “I haven’t.”

“Good,” he said, “why don’t you tell me what you like.”

“Like during. .” you drifted off.

He nodded, tucking his hair behind his ear, “What else are we here for darling?”

“Yes. Of course,” you huffed, slapping your palm on your forehead undoubtedly astounded by your own stupidity, “Uh, I like. .” You gave it some thought but kept rounding the same corners leading to you cluelessness, “I’m not sure I know what I like.”

“Forgive me for being blunt but have you touched yourself recently?”

“That’s the exact reason why I ended up here.”

“You’re addicted to masturbating?” He whispered as if he was keeping some big secret.

“No!” you answered back quickly, “Not at all. I’ve just been a bit stressed lately and well. . something else happened.”

“What happened?”

“My friend kinda walked in on me,” you whispered.

“It happens to the best of us sadly,” he chuckled, a sound so beautiful and gentle it matched the soft tune of songbirds in the morning, “how about you begin by telling me about the last time you were aroused. Just walk me through whatever got you in the mood that day.”

You closed your eyes leaning your head against the headboard. Your thoughts traveled back to a couple of days prior when your body sunk into the mattress under the hex of your fingertips. You were stripped down bare but you recalled the way every inch of your body was covered in a thin layer of sweat.

“I had just gotten home after my classes,” a small white lie was the price to pay to save any once of dignity you had left in the eyes of the stranger before you — in reality, that very day and every other day you’d found yourself under the amorous touches of your sinful fantasies whenever you saw him, the boy employed at the campus student center.

You didn’t know his name and in reality he only lived in your mind in small flashes. The first polaroid was composed of his cheeky smile framed by indents of his round cheeks. While other snap shots focused on the way he always wore in a half up half down style or a bun; others were centered around the numerous tattoos inked into his right arm, especially the snake sitting right above his wrist and the patchwork tattoos on the dorsal side of his hand.

“Were you thinking about someone?”

“Yes.”

“What were they doing?”

There was a rush of heat traveling through you as you recalled the way you dreamt up his touch against your body, the way his fingers left behind trails of goosebumps on your skin.

“First he began touching me softly,” It was like your body was on auto drive and before you knew it you set the laptop beside you on the bed and began getting comfortable on the bed.

“Was he touching you anywhere specific?”

You hummed in response, “he drew all kinds of figures into my inner thigh, kept inching closer and closer and then he would pull away abruptly.”

“Did you enjoy him pulling away?”

“Yes, it made me want it more.”

“Ok, I’m gonna ask you to do a couple of things. If you don’t want to do something just tell me. I’m here for your pleasure.”

You nodded, then realized he couldn’t see you, “Yea, that’s fine.”

A strain of the jitters ate away at your nerves and you weren’t sure if you’d ever come down from that rollercoaster of anxiety. You were sitting at the peak in a single-person cart waiting to be plummeted down the valley of the tracks leading you to the finale; the culmination of an enticing ride.

“Are you naked?”

“Somewhat.”

“Take it all off.”

Even in the stillness of darkness removing your bra and panties made you feel entirely vulnerable. You were technically alone but JK was right there just a couple of pixels away.

“Close your eyes, doll. I want you to begin touching yourself just wherever it feels good,” he instructed and you weren’t sure if it was your mind playing tricks on you but you could’ve sworn his voice became more bass, “start high and slowly make your way down to your breasts. When you’re there let me know.”

His words were tainted with sin meanwhile he still sat back nonchalantly. You'd imagined he was satisfied in the way your soft whimpers overtook the air as you began pinching your perked nipples but you couldn’t tell for sure not while he still wore his mask.

“I’m assuming you’ve made it.” he chuckled.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“You’re not very good at following instructions. Are you, doll?” he rolled up the sleeves of his crewneck, finally exposing the infamous tattoos he detailed in his description. They were like pieces of artwork adorning his entire arm, not a single spot was left visible—and as much as you tried to get a better look at them for some reason you found it impossible to focus on just one.

“Sorry,” you muttered once again, “I was caught up in the moment I guess.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he offered, “but I need you to be vocal since I can’t exactly see you.”

“I’ll be more vocal. I promise,” you said, still toying with your nipples in between your fingers, “right now my hands are still at my tits.”

“Are you bored of that yet, doll?” the onset of his tumultuous utter; it was thunderous, like music for the soul, “you wanna aim lower?”

“Yes.”

“With the tips of your fingers I want you to move down your cleavage,” he said, “and stop right at your pelvis.”

Quickly, it felt like the evening had rushed by and the sun had been relocated right beside your bed. Though you complied with his command any form of coherent words became jammed in your throat incapable of rolling off your tongue.

The way your fingers slid past your folds earned a string of whimpers from your lips earning a satisfied titter from JK on the other side of the screen.

“Nice and slow, doll,” JK said, “be gentle but I want you to apply a bit of pressure every time your fingers meet your clit.”

JK’s voice was no longer muffled from the laptop’s static microphone. Instead in this version of your altered reality he was laying right beside you on your bed, and his fingers substituted yours against your cunt. His touch contained something yours simply did not possess, composed of a sort of spell that left you babbling moans. And as his fingers traced whichever incoherence they wanted into your clit you felt closer to your pinnacle.

“Fuck,” he stuttered, “I love the way you say my name.”

The bubbling daringness dazed with pleasure drove you to chant his name over and over in between your pants and obscenities. “You have no idea the things I would do for you to fuck me right now,” It was your best attempt at trying to break past his professional shell — His head fell back against the wall as his adam’s apple bobbed up and up, his eyes were shut tightly and his hands fidgeted with something off frame.

“You have no idea how much I’d love to fuck you but this is a contactless doll,” his breathing became uneven, “I’m afraid we could never meet. You could never know who I am and I could never know who you are.”

“N-never say never,” the contract enforced by the site was clear and simple, both parties must grant their consent to the meeting online without disclosing their identities. For safety measures you understood the implications of the rules applied but what of it when you genuinely just wanted to meet the dulcet stranger and ride along him for the wildest time of your life.

“Just focus on the feeling,” his voice was rugged; raspy as a result of the groans he sang into the air, “Focus on that shiver taking your back hostage and that very knot tightening in your core. I want you to only let your thoughts be consumed by that very feeling.”

You sat up using your elbow for support, still thriving to maintain the mental image of having JK near in curated colors. Again, you were in the presence of the man dipping the mattress beside you as he laid down with eyes to scorching their umber tone surrounding you in warmth.

“Now, finger yourself.”

The squelching sound of your finger pushing past your entrance had JK sitting up straight like he was intrigued by your facile compliance but you thought it was obvious that by now there was very little you wouldn’t do as long as it came from him.

“I wish I could see you doll,” he confessed, “I bet you look heavenly with your fingers inside of you.”

“C-contactless r-remember,” The motion living up to your satisfaction was hastened —you became divulged in the feeling of your walls on your fingers. You felt soft, warm, tight. All of the sensations combined to create a feeling so addicting your fingers developed a mind of their own as you drove themselves in and out of you with ease.

“Right. .”

“Fuck, this f-feels,” you swallowed to ease the desert developing in the back of your throat, “it feels s-so fucking good.”

“If I were there,” he mumbled, barely audible but your ears still perked up at the lulls of his voice, “First, I would serenade every inch of your skin. Your body would be the portrait I’d paint with my lips.”

“Mhm. .”

“I would cherish your body so well. Eat you out until your legs shake and fuck you until you’re a candid mess.”

“O-oh, fuck! JK don’t stop.”

“I would fuck you so well, doll.”

“I-I’m so close,” your arm became numbed yet, you kept fucking yourself with your fingers still succumbing to the fantasy of having JK in replacement of your own hand.

The temperature in your room draws beads of sweat on your body and the more you strive to reach your high the more scorching the temperature becomes. The creaking of your bed accentuated the speed of your movements, it was like a song featuring your constant moans.

“Until you’re babbling nonsense, and your headboard is marking up the wall and the neighbors finally know my name.”

JK’s words were laced with a delectable nectar, so sweet, a once off taste wasn’t enough and as you pleaded for more and he complied, continuing to fill your ears with sinful promises you crashed hard. Coming in spurts of white coating your fingers.

“I have a surprise for you,” you panted in between almost every word, “you ready?”

He nodded.

Call it post orgasm tipsiness but after sitting up a bit and adjusting the laptop to leave anything that wasn’t your mouth out of frame you turned on your camera for the very first time that night, pushing your glistening fingers which once invaded your walls past your swollen lips.

His hands rose to his hair and he slithered his fingers through it lightly before gripping his roots into his fists looking a fair amount aroused and frustrated. The tattoos you desperately wanted a peek of were finally on full display. After turning off your camera once again and JK began uttering praises your way, you began scanning the ink on his arm from his forearm up slowly. The artwork adorned his skin beautifully.

As you neared his wrists you noticed a very similar serpentine snake—one who you have stared at too often.

“Typically, things here are a bit different,” you finally registered his voice, “you would turn on your camera and I would provide more detailed assistance but I hope you still had a good time. I did.”

“Yeah,” your mind was in outer space, “I had a really good time.”

“Don’t shy away from visiting me again, OK?”

“Yeah,” you said, “bye, JK.”

Once the camera was off and you shut your laptop tightly, coming to the realization.

JK was him.

The boy, your boy from the student center.

an: i was bored and im so sorry lol

reblogs, likes, comments, replies are always appreciated 🫶🏽

#bts #bts smut #bts imagines #bts reactions #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #bts jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #very brief mention of tae #jungkook drabble

1K notes · View notes

myhappylittlesideblog · 5 months

Text

On the Fence

A/N: Some Daryl comfort for y’all. Hope you enjoy :)

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

W/C: 2k

Warnings: typical TWD gore and violence, killing walkers on the fence (prison era after Woodbury falls), Daryl comfort

Summary: (Y/N) is new to life at the prison and terrified of what the world has come to after living in the safety of Woodbury. Daryl helps her with the transition and advises her on how to stay alive when walkers are near.

“What?” Daryl grunted once he saw Carol’s smirk. It was clearly aimed at him, cutting across her pleasant face, teasing him.

“Nothin’. Just didn’t know anything could take your attention off fresh venison.”

He took another bite and slurped the juice from his thumb as he glared at her.

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

She laughed. “I did thank you. Earlier. You probably didn’t hear me because you were distracted then too.”

He stared back out over the prison yard, trying to ignore Carol and the way she could read him at all times, know exactly what was on his mind even when he himself wasn’t quite sure. Even now his head swam with this feeling he couldn’t put words to. It circled through him, just out of reach and made things fuzzy.

“She’s down there again,” he said.

The girl from Woodbury.

These days there were a lot of people at the prison. He knew all the newcomers by their faces, if not their names, and as they grew to recognize him, they swarmed him, asking for his laundry, signing up to follow him on a run, thanking him for the latest meal he’d brought back from a hunting trip. He was slowly getting to know them all.

But the girl on the fence intrigued him the most.

“You’re right to worry about her,” Carol said.

“M’not worried,” he grunted.

“Sure.”

He turned to her. “M’not. Got enough ta worry ‘about these days without addin’ somethin’ else.”

Carol shrugged. “You’re right. I just meant that she seems a bit off. The transition from Woodbury must have been hard.”

“No harder than takin’ in a whole extra town a’ people.”

Carol held her hands up in surrender. “Hey, you’re the one watchin’ her all the time.”

She left his side before he could find a rebuttal. He chewed on his meal alone, trying to keep to his own business.

Everyone watched everyone around here. It was part of the ‘it takes a village’ mindset. Gotta keep an eye on everyone, especially the new ones, he thought. Most of them were inexperienced in the new world. Those are the ones who get into trouble.

From the beginning, he could see through you. You were just a girl- a young woman- who’d lived in a protected town during the entirety of the outbreak and now you were thrust into a prison surrounded by the walking dead. He knew Carol was right, that such a change would affect anyone. Hell, it could send some off the deep end and he didn’t want that to happen to you.

You were kind and helpful, generous with your time and smiles. But you stayed indoors as much as possible. You took on babysitting and story time regularly and happily spent your free time doing laundry and cooking for the crowd. Your whole demeanor changed when you looked outside, as if you too would be dead the minute your shoe touched the grass.

Which is why he was caught by surprise the first time he spotted you down on the fence line. Not only had you left the safety of the prison’s walls, but you had snuck past the gardens, all the way down to the outer fences. You stood, crowbar in hand, just a couple feet from a small herd of walkers pushing on the barrier wall.

You had never volunteered to work the fence and the council didn’t push anyone. After all, you always did more than your share of work inside. There was no need for you to take on more.

Daryl had watched you that first time, and each time after that. You’d walk down to the fence line and stand there, watching the walkers gather. You’d stare at them, but never raise your weapon. And then you’d leave.

He had a feeling he knew why.

***

They were so loud against the fence. Each one of them had a different growl or snarl or cry, like they would have all had different sounding voices when they were alive.

But they’re not alive, you had to remind yourself. They’re not who they once were and now, they’re dangerous. You had to learn how to kill them, even with their horrible, overwhelming noises that scared you almost to tears. And you weren’t even that close to them yet.

You forced yourself to take another step toward the outside fence, squeezing the iron crowbar in your hands. It’s safe behind the fence, you convinced yourself. Just stab them in the brain.

A squelching sound brought your attention fully back to the monsters in front of you. Gross, gray fingers grabbed at the fence and pushed through towards you. Like a twisted birth, the zombie’s hand wrenched through the diamond of metal, slicing off its own thumb to get through. Dirty brown blood spurted from the thing and the lost digit fell to the ground as the desperate fingers reached for you until the walker’s elbow caught in the fence next.

Dazed with terror and disgust, you backed away until a hand landed on your back. You screamed at the touch, only choking it off when you saw that it wasn’t one of the dead that had a hold of you, but the camp hunter, Daryl Dixon. You were grateful, albeit embarrassed and somewhat scared to see him standing there.

He only looked you over for a moment before turning his focus to the reaching walker. He kicked the reanimated arm hard against the fence, breaking it off at the elbow, and ripped the crowbar from your limp hands.

“Gotta git ‘em in the head, ya know that,” he said, finishing off the thumbless walker himself.

All you could do was nod. Tears dropped from where they pooled in your eyes and streamed down your cheeks, finally free to fall now that you had someone to protect you.

He held the crowbar out to you but you wouldn’t take it.

“Why’d ya come down here f’yer so scared of ‘em?” Daryl asked.

You couldn’t look at him. Adrenaline steeped in humiliation and fear rushed through you and made your hands tremble. You were shaking uncontrollably and you knew it was obvious to Daryl as you lifted your hands to wipe the tear tracks from your face.

“C’mon. We got food inside,” he said.

You grabbed the crowbar from him after dragging your fist across your eyes, clearing them of tears. “No, I’m gonna stay here.”

“Can’t stay by yerself.”

You shrugged, but didn’t answer.

“S’no reason to scare yourself shitless down here-”

“I don’t want to be scared anymore,” you said, gripping the crowbar tightly in your hands and turning your back to Daryl. You planted your feet and stared at the things gathering on the other side of the barrier.

It’s safe behind the fence. Just stab them in the brain.

You held the weapon in the air and aimed. The weight of your body rocked back and forth in preparation, but you couldn’t do it. You couldn’t thrust forward. You couldn’t kill it. You weren’t meant for this-

Then Daryl was behind you, his chest pressed to your back. His hands covered yours, fingers curling around the crowbar.

“Count a three, alrigh’?”

You nodded.

“One, two, three-”

The power he gave you was palpable. It wasn’t just that he was strong, his arms helping you plunge the weapon through the walker’s skull. It was also the strength of mind his presence gave you. He believed in you enough to teach you, cared enough to help you. With him there, you could do it.

You aimed at another. His chest bloomed against your back as it filled with breath, readying himself for another blow. Arms stained with sweat and dirt caged your head and neck as they held tight to the crowbar in front of you. The effort it took to stab the weapon through a skull was probably minimal for Daryl, but for you, the work sent a grunt pounding from your body.

When the hit landed, it stuck hard into bone, sending you stumbling forward. But so quickly, so easily, Daryl caught you before you could fall any closer to the heathens reaching through the barricade.

He helped you yank the crowbar back through your side of the fence. When your balance returned, he came to stand in front of you, wiping the spattered blood from your face. “Not that hard, right?”

With his help, no, it wasn’t. But even though you appreciated Daryl and selfishly wanted him near more often than not, you didn’t want to depend on him. You didn’t want to depend on anyone.

“I’m sick of being so fucking scared all the time,” you mumbled.

He straightened, pulling his hands from your dirtied face. He nodded. “Bein’ scared is good, ya know,” he said. “Keeps ya quick. An’ smart. If ya get too used to ‘em, that’s when they getcha.”

“Feels like they already have,” you said. “Like my life is already gone. Can’t even step outside most days-“ You swallowed hard.

“That’s why ya come down here ‘n watch ‘em. Ta get used to ‘em.”

You nodded, looking down at the shoes of the wobbling dead, the backdrop to the self-severed thumb and the walkers Daryl had helped you take down. Just two of many.

“I thought if I could desensitize myself to them it would all be easier,” you said.

“Jus’ takes some time,” he said, reaching for the crowbar.

You didn’t let him take it. “I’m already so far behind everyone else-”

“Dun matter.” He chewed his lip, looking back up to the prison. “We’re not goin’ anywhere. Yer part of the group now and we’ll help ya ‘til it gets easier.”

“What if it never does?”

He slid the weapon from your hands and shrugged. “S’okay too.”

***

You’d hugged him before. He remembered when you’d first stepped on the prison grounds, you’d wrapped your arms around his waist before someone else had pulled you away, inside to the cell blocks. You had been in shock and his was a safe face that you’d seen before. That was all.

There were other times you’d touched his shoulder or gave him a casual, sloppy one armed hug when he’d skinned his hunts instead of having you do it, or when he’d returned from a long run. You were always kind to him- kind to everyone.

But this was different. Something more. Now, when you hugged him in thanks, it made his insides burn and swell up into his throat. Every place your bodies met warmed his flesh as if he were sunbathing on the equator. It was pleasant and felt morbidly addicting.

He didn’t miss the way you skidded away from the outside fence and closer to him as he led you back up the hill to the prison walls. He saw the fear still wreaking its havoc in you and only letting up when he closed the door to the cell block behind you. It pulled at him- you pulled at him in a way he didn’t expect from an outsider.

Somewhere deep in his gut, he couldn’t help hoping that it didn’t get easier for you. That you stayed exactly who you were- full of light and compliments and smiles. He didn’t want you to fall into the apocalyptic haze everyone else he knew had given in to. He wanted life to be about more than just survival for you. He knew it was selfish of him. The consequences swam around his brain. What could happen if you didn’t know how to protect yourself, didn’t learn to kill as easily as breathing, or worse- trusted too easily. Your world view was so pure, but so dangerous, and yet, when he looked through your eyes, he felt a little lighter himself. Maybe that’s why he was drawn to you from the beginning.

You weren’t just the girl on the fence anymore. Or the nice girl in the kitchen or with the kids. You were (Y/N). He liked that.

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #twd #the walking dead #daryl dixon twd #twd daryl dixon #daryl twd #twd fanfiction #the walking dead daryl dixon #daryl fanfiction #twd daryl #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead daryl #daryl x reader #daryl x female reader #daryl dixion imagine

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misguidedasgardian · 1 year

Text

Storm's End

HOTD MASTERLIST

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Strong!Reader

Summary: your mother sends you to Storm’s End to rally Lord Borros Baratheon for your side, but your uncle arrived there before you

Warnings: Cursing, use of the word bastard, angst, heavy, canon level incest, thoughts about dying, mentions of bedding, and more, dark fic, Aemond is unhinged, mention's of children maiming, mentions of virginity loss and blood. READER MIGHT BE DEAD, OR MAYBE DEPENDS, COMPLETELY UP TO YOU, dragon's death though :(

+18 MINORS DNI

Wordcount: 3.5 k

Notes: I know this has been done before, but… this is my way to look at it. You are the daughter of Rhaenyra, she sends you to Storm’s End instead of Luke, and this is what ensues

You know you should have turned back the moment your dragon took flight away from Dragonstone.

There was something in the air

Grandmother Rhaenys, and your dear brothers flying by your side soothed you, made you remember you were not alone, but they soon parted way with you, Jace went North, as did Lucerys, Rhaenys went west, and you continued south

Towards Storm’s End

Those stormy clouds in the horizon must have been your first dark omen, but you didn’t pay attention to them, or to anything else really

Your mind was set

You had begged your mother to let you helped her, so she send you to the closest place, a short fly, a message delivered, and then you could return.

But what were you going to say?

you wanted to believe your mother’s words, that Lord Borros was going to be honored to receive you there, you were a young princess, no real threat, only a messenger, he was going to respect you, you were going to say your piece, and then you were going to take his answer back to your mother, as easy as that.

You held tightly onto your dragon’s reins as you flew amidst a cloud with rain within, getting you drenched within second

Karnax, under you, roared softly, feeling your uneasiness, trying to make you feel safer, and you did.

It was not relief what you felt when you saw the tall tower of Storm’s End in the horizon, it actually felt like your stomach had turned on itself, but that is the second sign you decided to ignore

Karnax was small, bigger than Arrax and a bit than Vermax, but he was still small enough to land in the outer courtyard, and you did

Your saddle was wet, and you slid right off of it, landing heavily with your boots in the ground.

You jumped when the light of a thunder brightened the sky for just a second, and then moments later the thunderous sound made the floor shake.

Karnax whined when you touched him, trying to soothe him, he was nervous, and soon you learnt why

Another, even louder, more monstrous sound made you flinch, and when you looked over the huge defensive walls of the castle, there she was. Vhagar raised her head, dwarfing the constructions covering her, growling as a warning.

She was indeed the largest and most dangerous dragon in the world

And she was here

That means that Aemond was also

Probably doing the same thing as you, trying to rally Lord Borros to his cause, to his side

To the Usurpers

The prospect of seeing your uncle made you tremble in fear, you had always been afraid of him, ever since he lost his eye, even more so after the last time you saw him

You have eavesdropped a conversation in which he had asked for your hand in marriage and Rhaenyra had crudely rejected him, he did not reacted well

It did not help that it was the same day of the Driftmark trials

He had frighten you so much your mother send you back the same night, only a few weeks away

“Sobes Karnax, Lykyri”, you whispered soothingly, patting her snout, he whined, worried, but it was too late now, you couldn’t back down, you wondered if you were trying to calm him, or expected that he would sooth you back.

So ignoring your body, mind, heart, soul, dragons, the weather and everything in existence around you, you decided to walk towards the guards guarding the entrance to the Castle

“I have a message for Lord Borros from Queen Rhaenyra”, you said quickly, before you lose your momentum, they barely nodded and started walking, you followed suit, trying to fix your drenched clothes

The Storm had catched up with you.

You could still hear it raging behind you as you entered the main hall of the castle of the Baratheons, you had never been here before, and it amazed you the immensity of it, it was rounded and at least three stories tall, ending in a huge vault over your heads, front here you could see multiple passages leading to the rest of the construction, but you could look no more

“The Princess (Y/N) Velaryon”, presented the guard, “Daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen”

Queen

You thought bitterly, as you found Lord Borros seated on his throne.

But your gaze was immediately taken away

Aemond

He stood at the side of the throne, standing straight by one of Borros’ daughters, as he heard your name he immediately turned

He looked dangerous

Dresses head to toe in black leather, his hair combed perfectly, the eyepatch cutting his face in half

You wondered if he could notice you trembling from that far

You guessed he could since he looked terribly amused at your presence, his naturally curved lips smirked.

But you didn't came here for him, you turned your gaze towards to the Lord of the Stormlands

“Lord Borros, I brought you a message from my mother, the Queen”, you didn’t realize you had a stone inside your throat until now, almost choking in our own words, you were thankful for the acoustic of the place or else nobody could have heard you

“Yet early this day I received an envoy from the king”, he said then, “so which is it? King or Queen? the House of the dragon doesn’t seem to know who rules it”, he was already crossed with someone or something and you cursed yourself for being so weak, sounded so pathetically

And then he laughed at his own joke and you shook, perhaps he was laughing at you

You looked fleetingly at Aemond

Perhaps to make sure he stood where he was

He frightened you

You begged the gods to make him stay there, as he stood, unmovable like the statues of Dragonstone

“What’s your mother’s message?”, the Lord of Storm’s End did not take well to your distraction, so you tried your best to reach with your arm and this one not to shake, to prove to everyone there, to Lord Borro’s daughters, him, your uncle, and the court, how scared you were

A soldier took your message hastily and gave it to the Lord

He sighed, frustrated, and call in the maester

In a silly second you thought fleetingly of your brother’s giggles when you tell them the rumors were true and indeed Lord Borros didn’t know how to read, you remembered fleetingly that you suggested it was because he had hit himself many times on the head while jousting

But you shook those thoughts away, when you felt the small hairs in the back of your hair stand up, as Aemond’s deep gaze was on you

For a second, only the wind making the stones whistle as sing could be heard, and then the ruffling of paper the maester made while reading the letter.

Your uncle’s gaze didn’t leave you for a second, so you tried to look away from him, only stealing glances to make sure he hadn't move

That he was still several feet away from you, with people in between you

You didn't want him near you

He frightened you

He hated you

You knew this

“Remind me of my father’s oaths?”, asked Borros, enraged, you turned to look at him, scared, “King Aegon at least came with an offer, my banners and swords for a marriage pact”

Poor girl, you thought briefly

“If I do what your mother bids, who of my household will you marry, girl? uh?”

“My lord…”, you could turn this around, you could, you needed to try, to explain, to plead to his honor, “I’m not free to marry, I’m already betrothed to Cregan Stark”, you said, and you were not completely lying, your big brother was flying North now with the proposal in his hand

Aemond hummed mockingly at your words, so your gaze landed on him again.

He still was amused, even more so now, you shook in your place, trembling like a leaf in the autumn winds

“So you come with empty hands”, said Borros, more angry than before, “go home pup, and tell your mother the Lord of Storm’s End is not some dog she can whistle up in need to set against her enemies”, he said rapidly

You had failed

You tried to swallow your tears as the stone in your throat but you just couldn’t do it

“I shall take your answer to the Queen, My Lord”, you whimpered, and when you looked at the pity in the daughters’ faces you realized your voice did sounded broken and defeated

Weak

You turned to leave, sad because you failed, but relieved that this had come to an end

“Wait”, you trembled in your place, stopping immediately at your uncle’s call.

You turned slowly, fearfully, to look back at him

“My lady Strong”

You whimpered

“Uncle?’, you were acknowledging him, but it sounded more like a question

Weak

“Did you really think you could just fly upon the realms, trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?”

You are the thieves

But the words never reached your lips, instead you wanted to hide your head between your shoulders, almost feeling ashamed

That much power Aemond had over you, the power to make you feel like you were in the wrong, and he was in the right

Ever since that night

When your little brother took his eye

The girl by his side took a step back, like giving him space, and that made you take a step back, less and less things could protect you from your uncle, your hand instinctively went to the pommel of the short sword your stepfather Daemon had begged you to carry, you didn’t know how to use it, but nonetheless… it couldn’t hurt

“I will not fight with you uncle, I came as a messenger”, you said, your voice, again, broken, weak, with fear and sadness

You had failed

“A fight would be little challenge”, he said dismissively

“I’m aware”, you admitted, if it came to blows, you stood no chance against his incredible skill with the sword, even if you meant a fight with words filled with poison

“No…”, his hand went to his eyepatch, and form one single movement he took it out of his face, revealing a sapphire where his eyeball should be

You whimpered, taking a step back

It had taken you by surprise, not that you found him monstrous, or anything, it was just… incredible

“...You brother is indebted to me”

You really wished, in the bottom of your heart, that he would have let this go, if not for your brother, for himself, but he didn’t he hasn't, and that made him so incredible dark, resentful, twisted and mean

And that is what you were most afraid of

“It was an accident…”

“I want you to pay instead”, you whined, taking a step back

“I have nothing…”

“A small payment in blood will suffice…”, you looked at Lord Borros, alarmed, he clearly was not meant for THAT, did he? Did he plan on slaying you there where you stood?, in front of all this people?

“...I will not breed you”, a single tear escaped your eye at his crude words, “I plan on gifting our bloodied sheets to your mother”, you looked back at the Lord of Storm’s End and he looked back at you, concerned

This was the man supposed to wed one of his daughters

“No!”, you cried, in defense of yourself

“So you are a craven as well as a traitor, as your brothers…”

“Not here!”, Borros finally intervened, but still you could not breathe, you were terrified

You never wanted to believe the gazes your uncle gave you were ones of desire, and dark intentions of bedding you, you never thought…

“GIVE YOURSELF TO ME, OR I WILL TAKE YOU BASTARD!”, you shrieked as he advanced on you with certain and long steps, you stumbled backwards trying to prevent him getting near you

“NOT IN MY HALL!”, the thunderous voice of Borros made him stop in his tracks, “the girl came as an envoy, I will not have bloodshed of any kind beneath my roof”

Lord Borros’ words came of little comfort, not when your uncle had taken a dagger of his belt and was threatening you with it, the storm outside, the lightning made his sapphire gleam meanly

“Take the princess back to her dragon, now!”, commanded Lord Borros and you, giving a titanic effort, managed to walk (and not sprint at high speed) out of the hall

Aemond watched you go and smirked, making the dagger dance in his hand

You were his to take

He looked back at the girl he had begun to court to notice she was far away from him now, clearly scared of him

“I will be back shortly to resume negotiations”, he said meanly

“Don’t bother”, said Floris, standing now next to a guard, she would not like to be courted by him now, “I’m not interested in a man that is pure bark and no bite”

When you stepped outside, the storm was raging, you were drenched in second, wet from head to toes, but you couldn’t paid no mind to such things now

Karnax felt your fear, how frightening you were and he advanced towards you whining and growling desperate

“Lykiri Karnax” [calm], “gūrogon īlva hen kesīr” [take us out of here]

Something was wrong, something was terribly wrong, you let your tears fall freely now that nobody could notice nor see you, another Lightning broke the skies from afar and when you turned…

Vhagar was gone

There was no way he could have left before you, it couldn’t, it wasn’t possible

He was in negotiations with the Baratheons, you had to go, so he wouldn’t catch you.

You thought he was going to let you be, because it had been your brother who took his eye, not you

Oh how wrong you were

“Why?”, you cried, trying to make sense of it all as you climbed onto your dragon’s saddle, “Sobes, Karnax”, you called, he growled but obeyed you, he also wanted to get out of here.

You needed to get back to your mother, to Dragonstone, to your brothers and stepfather, they needed you, but you somehow knew that wasn’t going to be possible, a crippling fear took a hold in your body, you felt like you could barely move, your body being so tense.

The rain hit your face with strength, the highers you flied, you only secured your staps tightly and held into your reins hardly

Karnax flapped his wings with difficulty, but he succeeded in keep flying, you wanted to relax, you were flying away from Storm’s End, the Baratheons, your uncle, everyone, but something told you it wasn’t going to be that easy

You wanted Karnax to fly faster, an uneasy feeling settling in your stomach

You whimpered in fear

something was wrong, terribly wrong

You felt a low growl coming from above and you cried, lowering your head, not wanting to face it, face him, and what he was going to do to you once he had you within his grasp

He was coming for you

And the moment you took to the skies, you raised the bet, he was not simply going to take you now, he couldn't not flying like this...

He rode the largest dragon in the world and you one of the smallest

You grabbed into your reigns and hoped Karnax would fly faster, but you couldn’t ask more of him of what you were already asking

You gained the courage to look up and you got a glimpse of a large looming shadow over you

Why?, you whimpered, crying harder, and Karnax growled

Why you?, you loved him once, you were friends, you played, and read together as kids, you had promised you could share little Karnax, and he had agreed.

But he got his own dragon, the largest in the world, and from that moment he pushed you aside and called you a bastard despite your Targaryen features and the fact that he had never called you that

He almost killed your brothers and then Luke took his eye.

After what transcurred in Driftmark with the Queen and your mom Aemond had come to your room in the hour of the bat, you woke up with a knife in your cheek and him over you, his hand in your throat

You never knew why he had come to your chambers and not luke’s or jace’s

He always knew you were the weakest one

You were a woman, he was a man

You looked ahead and shrieked once again when you saw Vhagar coming at you amongst the dark stormy clouds, at full speed

“NO!”, she changed her trajectory, going up in the last second, her feet and claws passing right by you, you could even feel them passing right by your head

Please

You were going to die

You could hear Aemond’s laugh, ricocheting amongst the clouds

He was amused by you

He hated you

And now he was going to kill you.

Karnax growled, scared too out of his mind, you could feel him, deep in your gut, the pure and sheer instinct to fight or fly kicking in, and both of you opting for the latter

just when you thought you had lost him, you heard the flap of huge wings behind you, you turned to look, and Vhagar huge open jaws appeared trough the storm, ready to swallow you whole.

But Karnax was fast, and Vhagar liked to play with her food

“I see you!”, you heard from behind, and the sound that Vhagar’s jaws made when they close grabbing into thin air made your skin prickle, “Libōnos”, [bastard]

Your body was tense as a bow, you could barely feel your legs that were tightened around your saddle, the water, despite your leather cape, has got under the clothes, and froze you all over, that you felt like you were made of ice, you could barely move, your fingers were not going to survive this even if you did

Vhagar was still behind you as you commanded your dragon to fly downwards, to gain speed

You made him turn and twist in the air, but to no avail, the monstrous Vhagar had her eyes set on her prey and she was not going to let go, you use your whole body and strength to pull her to make her change her trajectory from one moment to another, she might be bigger, but you were faster

Deep down you knew it was all going to be for nothing

He was coming for you

He hated you

And you could hear his sick laugh as he was laughing in your ear

You soon could make out the sea under you and as you looked to your left there was a cliff splitted in two, a risk in the middle, you had a change, you might be able to flight in between, but Vhagar wouldn’t

Your dragon read your mind and went there, seeking refuge

It has worked, you looked back to see VHagar fighting to make her heavy body fly upwards, your uncle’s grunts cut trough the air reaching you, it was insane

He was insane

He had a grudge for 8 years, boiling and simmering in rage, anger, and sadness, and you were the one that was going to get the worst of it

You felt relieved even, that it was you and not sweet Lucerys

Better you than him

“JĒMELÃ GÊLŸNI ENKÂ!”, he screamed [you owe me a debt], “BYKA!”, little one

Karnax flied diligently through the cliffs and rocks, you looked up and he was still there, chasing you, looming over you

“I lied!”, you heard then, “I will give you my bastard”, a pain spread through your chest, all your sorrow, pain, fear, exploding, taking a hold on your body, preventing you from breathing properly, even with the skies falling upon your head, with your life in your uncle’s hands.

You screamed when Karnax again flew in open skies as the protection of the cliff was taken away. It was a scream of agony, frustration, and fear

Oh so much fear

But the gods, or whomever, granted you a small mercy, the clouds were thick and the sea was a few feet under you, they concealed you from your predator chasing you.

You took a shaky, long breath, despite the lump in your throat present since you left Dragonstone

You needed to get yourself together

Keep flying North, soon the skies will clear, you couldn’t let fear control you….

Fear

The last thing you heard was Vhagar growling, and Karnax high screeched when the biggest dragon in the world sank her teeth in him, catching his legs and tail, completely destroying him.

“AH!”, you barely got a scream yourself, she didn’t catch you, but so did half your dragon, now dead.

“VHAGAR! NO! NO VHAGAR!”, is the last thing you heard

The next?

The white noise of water, all around you, the cold grasping you, hugging you tightly, not letting you move as the water moved around you taking you prisoner

For better or worse, Vhagar’s had completely destroyed the saddle, releasing you, and now you were there, by a gift or a curse from the gods, amongst the dark tides of Shipwreck bay, sinking slowly, finally you didn’t feel more fear, only the instinct to survive.

You were a true Velaryon at last.

#misguidedhouse #aemond the kinslayer #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x alys rivers #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen #misguidedhotd #house of the dragon #hbo house of the dragon #house targaryen #targaryen!reader #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #prince aemond #house of the dragon aemond

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bulkyphrase · 22 days

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Avengers in Space - a fic rec list

I love the Avengers and I love outer space, and these are a few of my favorite stories that combine the two.

What do you mean we left Clint on Mars? by sara_holmes (@captn-sara-holmes) (WinterHawk, Teen And Up Audiences, 24,537 words)

Summary: “What do you mean we left Clint on Mars?” Cap’s incredulous voice cuts through the stunned silence of the cockpit, loud and shocked. He’s standing there with his cowl in hand, gaping at the holo-screen at the front of the jet. Next to him, Tony is standing with his hands on his head, mouth hanging open in a similar fashion. Over on the other side of the cockpit is Jane, who has both palms clapped across her mouth like she’s trying to hold back hysterical giggles. For his part, Bucky is just staring at the screen like he can’t quite believe what’s going on.

Straight on till Morning by @sineala (Stony, Explicit, 109,848 words)

Summary: Tony Stark resigned his commission in Starfleet five years ago, after a disastrous away mission, and he swore he'd never go back. He just wants to be left alone to build warp engines in peace. But the universe has more in store for him than that, as he discovers when Admiral Fury comes to him with an offer he could never have expected and cannot possibly refuse: first officer and chief engineer aboard the all-new USS Avenger, a starship of Tony's own design. What's more, the Avenger's captain is Steve Rogers, hero of the Earth-Romulan War. Believed dead for over a century, Steve is miraculously alive... and very, very attractive. But nothing is ever easy for Tony. As he wrestles with his secret desire for his new captain and his not-so-dormant fears, another mission starts to go wrong, and Tony becomes aware that Steve has secrets of his own -- and the truth could change everything. Also available as a podfic read by M_Samro (@msamro)

More below the cut!

A Far Better Thing I Do by @brighteyedjill (Gen, Teen And Up Audiences, 5,333 words)

Summary: A mysterious man with no paper trail was involved in a bloody attack on a meeting of Starfleet admirals. James T. Kirk and the crew of the starship Enterprise have tracked him to the Klingon home wold, Kronos, where they have threatened to unleash the experimental torpedoes Admiral Marcus sent with them unless the man surrenders. That man, Steve Rogers, has other ideas.

Into That Good Night by Nonymos (Stucky, Explicit, 73,540 words)

Summary: Steve Rogers has lived for entirely too long—long enough to see the world's end. The heroes are gone, and the Earth is pushing what's left of mankind towards the exit. But when a makeshift team rises from the ashes, when a mysterious presence all but drags Steve there, he begins to think there may be hope yet. As they shoot for the stars one last time, Steve will get proof yet again that the future is nothing if not an echo of the past.

Wandering Stars by @sabrecmc (Stony, Explicit, 24,470 words)

Summary: Alien Steve/Astronaut Tony (oviposition)

Cold Space, Warm Welcome by Annie D (@no-gorms) (Stony, Teen And Up Audiences, 15,572 words)

Summary: Tony’s spent a couple of years flying around the galaxy in his best friend Rhodey’s spaceship the Iron Advance, doing what could perhaps be counted as ‘hero’ work. Among their allies is Steve Rogers, captain of his own crew, with whom Tony has a… potentially friendly relationship. When Steve’s ship is irreparably damaged, Rhodey takes him and his whole crew onto the Iron Advance to recover. Tony’s not at all nervous about this, because so what if this is the first time Steve will see him without the Iron Man armor?

Space Between by NachoDiablo (Samsteve, Teen And Up Audiences, 9,157 words)

Summary: Sam has a quiet life on a newly inhabited planet. He spends his days tending the garden plots and avoiding his past. But right before an impending storm, a fugitive crash lands in his space and upsets his solitude.

The Truth When Captains Meet by Kimra (Gen, Teen And Up Audiences, 2,303 words)

Summary: Steve Rogers wakes up on an alien’s space ship being carried bridal style by Carol Danvers. As far as first meetings go, it’s memorable.

Brisingr by @ironychan (Gen, Teen And Up Audiences, 155,649 words)

Summary: When Jane Foster discovers an object on a course for the inner solar system, it looks like a job for the Avengers. But when what looked like a comet turns out to be a refugee ship from another galaxy, it's not clear whose job this is anymore. Tony Stark and the Vision find they have an uncomfortable amount in common with the creatures called the Brisings, while Jane learns that the aliens are being followed by something they thought they'd left behind five million years ago. Set post-AOU, pre-CW.

Liberate Tutemet Ex Inferis (Save yourself from hell) by Terrenis, with art by @kaiwrites (James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson, Explicit, 55,989 words)

Summary: In the Year 2060, Stark Aeronautics and Space Administration's prestige project, the “Event Horizon”, was on its maiden voyage with the newly developed Arc Reactor Gravity Drive, only to disappear beyond Neptune’s orbit without a trace. Now, seven years later, a transmission from the eighth planet is received, along with a very disturbing audio record. Tony Stark, who not only wants to redeem his reputation, but also needs to know what happened on the ship, goes on a mission with the enhanced Inhuman ragtag crew of the Singularity to salvage his baby. Little do they know that this is literally going to be a trip to hell… Or that totally unnecessary Event Horizon AU that no one asked for. But I’m going to write it anyway.

Catch a Falling Star by tsukinofaerii (Stony, Explicit, 42,741 words)

Summary: When Tony was sixteen, he got to meet his hero, Captain Steve Rogers, the Empire's not-literally-golden boy from the Continuity Wars. When he was twenty-seven, the aforementioned Captain turned Pirate picked him up at the outer edges of space. It would have been a good time to appreciate the abundant nudity that came from spending too much time with space colonists, but Tony had bigger worries than even Rogers' amazing hip-to-shoulder ratio. Something was sending the star-encircling computers that power the galaxy into a tailspin, and it was going to take a lot more than luck and skill to clean the mess up.

Luminosity by CSHfic, VSfic (Stony, Mature, 60,922 words)

Summary: The Avengers organize a two month mission to investigate an anomaly in space that appears to be engulfing planets, Steve is worried about leaving Tony alone, and Hawkeye is just worried about being left behind. But then something goes wrong. Steve drags himself out of the wreckage of their ship, on a planet that shouldn’t exist, the Avengers are missing, Iron Man is torn to scraps, and Tony has a lot of explaining to do. Or, in which Steve has no clue that Tony is Iron Man, and it takes crash-landing on an alien planet for him to find out.

Gravitational Pull by @antigrav-vector (Stony, Explicit, 29,718 words)

Summary: A strange temple floating in space is discovered, and Steve and Tony are the logical choices to go investigate. What they find is going to make or break their relationship...

Inquiries into Orbital Dynamics (The Mission Controllers' Remix) by Muccamukk (Stony, Teen And Up Audiences, 5,591 words)

Summary: When a mysterious object appears in orbit around the Moon, NASA teams up with the Avengers to investigate it. This is NASA's story. Inspired by Gravitational Pull

everybody needs a reason why they run by napricot (Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes/Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Explicit, 77,888 words)

Summary: Pepper doesn’t often regret the improbable circumstances and choices that brought her, Tony, and Jim to the SGC and then to Atlantis. After all, being an intergalactic explorer is way cooler than being the right hand woman of Stark Industries’ heir Tony Stark. But when strangers show up during her Gate team’s milk run of a trading mission, she’s got a bad feeling she knows better than to ignore. Which is how Pepper’s Gate team ends up picking up a stray in the form of a metal-armed runner with a mysterious past and learning about a dangerous new sect of Wraith worshippers called Hydrans. But the Atlanteans aren’t the only ones interested in the Hydrans: there are stories spreading throughout the Pegasus Galaxy about the Nomad and the Widows, three maybe-heroes who have set their sights on the Hydrans and the Wraith. Meanwhile, Tony’s trying to figure out if there’s something more to Atlantis’s helpful new hospitality-oriented subroutines, and Master Sergeant Sam Wilson is trying to have just one offworld mission where shit doesn’t get weird.

a war could be our only hope by @aceofwands (Stony, Explicit, 62,817 words)

Summary: Steve emerges in the future, where the Federation is fighting a war against the totalitarian Dominion. Traumatised from his experience with the Borg, Tony already has enough trouble coping without Steve's return bringing up unexpected feelings.

#marvel fic rec

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words-dead-to-the-outer-world · 1 year

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Hi there! Its Week 1 of the Sunday Writeblr Ask-A-Thon! I'm Athena, my question for you is: Do your family read your writing? Does anybody in real life read your writing?

Hey Athena!!

I would die if my family read my writing 😅

But, once I get into my college dorm, my roommates happily volunteered to read my writing.

#writeblr #welcome to hell #writers on tumblr #dead to the outer world #mentally fucked #my words #therapy #words dead to the outer world #words

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myfandomrealitea · 2 months

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ok I’ll be honest, I was one of the people who approached your safe space post with the mindset “yeah, but…” like, I now whole-heartedly agree that there should absolutely be fandom spaces devoid of real world issues. We all need our spaces to rest and relax. I think I just felt weird about your post because previously ive been in fandom spaces which did operate on the (perfectly fine) rule of ‘no politics’…but ‘politics’ would also include talking about a gay ship or any queer headcannons.

That obviously wasn’t fair to you because you obviously didn’t mean that w/ your post, but I can personally see as to why some people would feel that way if they were in similar fandom spaces. I do still want to reiterate I do agree with your post and I think some of the rebloggers took it…a bit far? Like Jesus Christ some of y’all need to eat a snickers. I also think some of the wording like “bitching about world issues” and “whining about their shitty parents” might’ve thrown me off but that’s not your fault and really a non-issue 🤷🏽‍♀️

you can delete this ask if you want I really won’t mind, I think I can just see as to why there were so many ‘yeah, but…’ rebloggers.

I actually really appreciate asks like this. For a multitude of reasons, but also because it gives really good insight and outer perspective for both me and other people who are aware of or involved in the discussion.

I think what a lot of people don't yet grasp about me is that while I may hold an opposing view to yours (general, not directed), in the vast majority of cases I still very much understand why people would think the way they do and where that thought process comes from and goes.

Its very, very easy to fall into the mindset of thinking that not helping when you have the ability to makes you a bad person or however in/directly causes suffering. Its very easy to be in the mindset of one single individual making a magnitude of difference.

I fully and genuinely understand and comprehend a lot of the points being brought up.

I just don't agree with them and hold a different outlook on those issues.

For example:

Talking about enjoying a queer ship to me is not 'political' in the sense that, personally, if you're a homophobe and upset by generic conversations about queer people, I really could not give a fuck. And if you raise objections to me talking about two dudes kissing, I'm simply going to remove you from my space because clearly it is not beneficial for either of us to share it. And I made it.

Its obviously very very much down to personal discretion to decide where that line is and what that bracket encompasses, but I think the most universal aspect of that safe space post was trying to get people to understand that forcing others to suffer in solidarity isn't activism and that strangers are not obligated to allow you to use them as support and a dumping ground for your needs.

Spreading around videos of people's dead loved ones isn't activism.

Spamming taglines and buzzwords on completely unrelated posts and videos isn't activism.

Relying on complete strangers for emotional and mental support and regulation while dumping vulnerable, graphic, personal information on them is neither safe nor healthy.

People are not obligated to smother or confine their happiness because of your misery. If you're having a bad day you have no right to tell other people they can't be happy in front of you.

A lot of people, mostly white knighters and people of color took the post as "a white privileged pig saying its okay to let racism slide because you want to play your video games" (actual hate mail I received) and that's so laughably and wildly far from the actual basis of the post.

I've had bigots in my servers before. Homophobes or racists who've slipped through the cracks.

You know what happens when they say something homophobic or racist?

They're immediately removed, blocked and reported, and their information is placed in a private document I keep. I issue an apology to the members of the server for their actions, and life goes on.

People are, of course, entitled to take the post as they see fit. They're entitled to their own perspectives and opinions. I'm more than happy to simply focus on the people who have taken support, guidance and solace in the post.

#myfandomrealitea #sephiroth speaks #fandom #proship #reality #proshipping #discourse #that one safe space post #world issues #social issues #society #ustice #moral issues #profic #profiction #fiction

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bettyfrommars · 8 months

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v a c a n c y

Eddie x afab!Reader

This is a short snippet of a world I've been thinking about for a while, loosely inspired by the film Equilibrium where feeling is a crime punishable by death, but also by my fascination with abandoned places, wastelands, and the idea that, even though love sets us up for pain and grief, life is not worth living without it. I hope to expand on it eventually. Hint: this might also be interwoven with my nightmare Eddie.

wc: 1.3k

18+MDNI, dystopian au

This is rough, I just spit out this scene because I needed this Eddie to cheer me up.

The sting of the frosty air bit your cheeks when you stepped out of the motel room you shared with your aunt Ramona. Wiggling the knob to make sure it was locked, you zipped up your coat, and then checked to make sure it was locked one more time for good measure.

Nearby, someone whistled to get your attention.

You snapped a look across the way to find that the newest resident of the Grove Motel was out in the parking space in front of his room working on his van. He waved a wrench in the air at you. “She needs tender loving care when it’s cold outside,” he shouted, possibly unaware of the noise ordinance for loud voices on the premises.

You wondered if perhaps he had mistaken you for someone else, so you adjusted the bag on your shoulder, turned your back on him, and kept going.

The steel of the wrench clinked to the cement, and then, at a jog, he caught up to you, and extended the spread out fingers of his hand for you to see. “What do you think?”

He was referring to the new skull ring he wore, and was about to tell you a story about how a Hell’s Angel traded it for a six pack, but you were fixated on something else.

“You’re not supposed to do that,” you gestured to the chipped, black polish on his short fingernails, not to mention the jewelry adornments he so proudly wore. “If they catch you, you’ll get a fine.”

“Fuck ‘em,” he put a cigarette to his lips, lit the end with a metal zippo from his pocket, and then clapped the lighter shut, keeping the coffin nail in the corner of his mouth as he spoke. “They can put me in jail, wouldn’t be the first time.”

You came to a full halt on the pavement then, unnerved by his unique and utterly idiotic nonchalance. His gaudy rings, the flash on his vest over his leather jacket, his long hair, everything. Hell, you could very well get a fine for just associating with him. “They banish people too, you know? To the Outer Limits, I bet you wouldn’t be so cocky then?”

He puffed a laugh out his nose and leaned in, his voice a murmur that melted into a purr. “Well, then, you don’t know shit about me, sweetheart.”

You dodged to the side to avoid him, marching ahead with brutal determination.

“Hey, hey, hey, please wait,” he jumped in front of you, waving his arms. “I’m sorry okay? Just...wait,” and then his hands were up, palms out to mime the invisible wall between you.

Your gaze lingered on the dead tufts of grass around the sidewalk, but then cautiously rose to his brown orbs rimmed in gold.

“My name’s Eddie,” he bobbed forward before bouncing back on the balls of his feet. “I’ve been seeing you around for a couple weeks and thought maybe I’d introduce myself.”

“I know who you are,” you swallowed. “You moved into Curtis and Janey’s old place. They were friends of mine.”

“Oh shit, that’s right. He was taken away, wasn’t he? By those rent-a-cops with the cowboy hats.”

You nodded, working your jaw. “Curtis and his wife, they were always holding hands and kissing and…” a part of you worried you’d get in trouble just for speaking the words. “...being really affectionate with each other.”

Eddie gave an exaggerated grimace. “Yikes, that sound like some hardcore stuff.”

“Don’t make fun,” you inclined your head. “This is serious.”

He broke into a chuckle, biting his lip. “I can tell that you think it is.”

You kept walking, only to have him take backwards steps to keep pace with you, wallet chain bouncing with each jolly movement. “So, what’s your name?”

“You’re not from around here, I can tell,” you let him know, mumbling your name so it was almost inaudible.

“What gave it away?”

“Do they not have laws against feelings and self-expression where you’re from?”

“No, they do,” he spun on his heel to face the same direction as you. “I guess I just don’t care about their rules.”

You came to another abrupt stop to gape at his casual smile. You’d never met anyone like him before, and it made you curious almost as much as it infuriated you. He appeared to welcome your assessment of him with matched intensity, rolling his bottom lip through his teeth a few times.

“I have to get to work,” you stepped from the curb, gnashing your teeth.

“Are you taking the bus?”

“No genius,” you spat over your shoulder. “I’m waiting for my limousine to pick me up at the curb.”

At that, Eddie guffawed with laughter and sprang up next to you, shuffling in little hop-steps. “You had me worried there for a second. I thought maybe you were dead inside like the rest of them.”

“I’m plenty dead inside,” you muttered, thinking it was time to take your pills again, the medication that kept you from feeling anything and sucked any and all joy out of life.

“Do you want a ride?” He exhaled toward the sky, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “I know a guy with a van who has some time to kill.”

“No thank you,” was your quick and curt response.

“Suit yourself,” he flicked the butt into the street just as an old, rusted Plymouth cruised by with a huge dent in the door. “But if you ever need like, milk or sugar, you know where to find me.”

“I won’t.”

A few yards from the bus stop, he called your name, and you spun around to face him, brow creased with irritation.

“Was that Led Zeppelin I heard coming from your place the other day or was I dreaming?”

You froze, panic flushing arctic ice through your veins.

The enjoyment of music was absolutely forbidden in your territory, and the only thing on the radio were news and religious stations. You’d kept your dad’s old cassette player and a shoebox full of tapes hidden in the wall behind your dresser for years. It was a secret you’d kept so long, you were always very careful about when you listened and how loud.

You were shaking your head, moving your jaw, but no words could come out. He would tell on you, and then the Troopers would come and ransack your room and take the only thing of your father’s you had left.

“Please don’t,” you took cautious steps, searching his face. “I can’t, I won’t listen anymore, but please don’t tell anyone. I’m begging you.”

Eddie frowned and grinned at the same time, confused. “I would never—” and then he realized you were actually freaking out, and his tone got very soft. “Hey, listen, it’ll be our secret, alright? I like to listen to music too.”

You looked around, worried that the aluminum skeletons in the junkyard next door had ears. You believed him, you had to. You’d been caught and you were at his mercy.

“I was just going to say we need to get you some headphones.” He bucked his chin and gave a proud wink, “I know a guy.”

#Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson fic #Eddie Munson blurb

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umbralaether · 1 year

Text

You’re better than him, Astarion.

Her words ring in his ears long after she’d said them, but even they couldn’t cast away the dark feelings lingering in his mind.

He hadn’t left their shared room since Cazador’s death. He should be celebrating, maybe, or at least rejoicing in the fact his master was dead and gone— never to hunt him again. Instead, he found a heaviness that refused to leave his limbs, his own psyche weighing him down.

Ah, I see you found yourself a little pet. Or is it a snack? Peculiar choice, regardless.

He thinks of the first time he drank from her, how he’d almost gone too far in his bloodlust. How she woke weak and pale—a hard feat with her dark skin—yet continued to push herself beyond her limits. He thinks of the times she’d bruised from his fangs, how he had manipulated her into his orbit in the first place.

He had done that, and Cazador’s words dig deeper into his chest. Only a someone truly evil could do what he’s done. Once a monster, always a monster.

He doesn’t hear her come in, still staring at the ceiling, but he feels her sit on the bed beside him. She says nothing, taking off her boots and outer clothes. Her scent fills the room, refueling the dull ache in his body and he briefly wonders how many days have passed since he last fed.

Not that it mattered, he would refuse to use her like that ever again.

“Astarion,” his name coming from her mouth is a gift, and yet it stings. She should hate him, or at least be disgusted. Not soft, and gentle and loving.

“Please, look at me.”

He just wants to rot, lay in this dark room until he crumbles to dust. She would be better off, anyway, without a leech at her side. She could have a real life.

“What can I do? I’m begging you, love, please don’t push me away.”

“Go, Ceruli. You deserve better than a parasite.” His voice was rough from disuse, and when he finally looks her way, her face—that godsdamn beautiful face— looks at him as if he’d just slapped her.

Good one, he thinks miserably.

“Do you feel better, getting that off your chest?” She always was quick to regain her composure, “Because I have a few counter arguments.”

He says nothing, and goes back to staring at the ceiling.

“Parasites don’t ask permission, first of all. They just show up and take. That’s not you, no matter what Cazador said.” She moves closer to him, legs tucked under her and her warmth radiating, “I love you. I made a choice to love you, and I won’t stop loving you just because you believe you’re unworthy.”

He feels tears forming, and closes his eyes to keep them from falling.

“If I have to remind you everyday how much you mean to me, I will. I’ll make a list of everything I love about you, engrave it in stone forevermore.” She reaches for him, her hand cupping his cheek, thumb moving back and forth rhythmically. Her signature loving gesture.

A dam breaks, and suddenly he’s pulling her to him. He all but crushes her to him, arms wrapped tightly around her, face buried in her chest— her heart beats steadily, an endless comfort.

Sobs wrack his body; all the guilt, shame, and grief bleeding from him after decades of forming a shell around them. He clings to her, desperate for her touch, her warmth, after refusing her touch for who knows how many days.

She gives it without hesitation. Fingers running through his unkempt hair, down his back. Kisses peppered along his hairline, his temples, his forehead. Anywhere she can reach. She murmurs sweet nothings to him, the kindest of words and just when he feels as though he’ll crumble from her love, she says a name he has not heard in centuries.

“My sweet, shining star.”

It’s like the world spins to a stop. He peers up at her, “What did you say?”

“Your name. In elvish, it means ‘little star’. Or at least I think it does, I’m not fluent but…”

He chokes out a quiet laugh, “You, my love, are incredible.”

He closes the small gap between them with a kiss, reveling once again in the taste of her mouth, her skin. He trails them down her face, along her jaw, then her throat. He hovers over her pulse point, hesitating.

Her hand cups his face again, “Go on, love. You’ll feel better if you feed. Please don’t torture yourself anymore.”

His resolve breaks. He would do anything for her, after all. He sinks his teeth in, and the ecstasy of her blood in his mouth has him groaning with pleasure. He drinks until she stops him, and he kisses all along her face afterwards.

“Thank you, my lovely gem.” He feels lighter, the weight of all his baggage finally dissolving, albeit slowly, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Always, my star. I’m not going anywhere.”

They stay there, holding each other, neither one willing to let go first.

#be nice I’m new to this fandom and not very far into it yet lol #my writing #bg3 #bg3 astarion #tav x astarion #astarion x tav #astarion #bg3 spoilers #baldur’s gate 3 #oc x astarion #mc x astarion #baldur’s gate #ship: love me tender #astarion ancunin #bg3 fanfic #tavstarion

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scarletcomalies · 1 year

Text

treacherous

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word count: 6,994

A/N: Hey! I received an anonymous request, but I accidentally deleted the draft where I directly responded it. The request said pretty much what says in the synopsis. Thanks to whoever sent it, made me happy <3! I hope you like it.

A/N II: Also, it’s 3:27 AM and I wrote this half asleep whilst listening Red TV three times in a row.

Warnings: Unspecified legal age gap (Natasha is older), mention of guns, shooting, manipulation (from a father), intrafamiliar abuse, trust issues.

Natasha Romanoff struggled with trust issues due to past relationships. Her fear of being hurt overshadowed any chance to open herself up to the possibility of a relationship. That was, of course, until she met you.

Hydra was a group of evil masterminds with a mission to take over the world, employing advanced technology and weapons to achieve said objective.

It hurt you too much to even think about the fact that you were part of it all, for ever since you were incredibly young, you were the victim of experiments and ruthless training to basically turn you into another of their deadly weapons.

You were just a little one, desperate to get your adoptive father's approval, and deep down, you still were, despite the fact that you were a young adult now. However, no matter how hard you tried, he always seemed disappointed in you, and you were willing to do anything to make him proud.

That's what you thought, of course, until you couldn't take it anymore. So much spilled blood, uncountable innocent lives lost, all in the name of greed and evil. You switched sides, and betrayed the organization you once called home.

You didn't know how many hours you spent hiding in one of the lockers from the Hydra facility that was attacked by the Avengers, while you listened to the tragedy happen outside this cold little compartment. You were supposed to be the main counter-attacker, and you were expected to kill at least one of them in order for the others to back off for a few months.

However, it was too much. As you fought them, the dilemma you found yourself in was too much to bear; you wanted to make your adoptive father proud, but you also wanted them to win because you repudiated every aspect that made up the twisted organization which you were unfortunately a part of.

So, as you walked down the corridors to attack one of them, you simply stopped dead in your tracks and went to hide instead. Until you heard nothing, only a silence that was somehow deafening, while intrigue kept eating you out - had good won over evil again?

When you kicked the door of the locker so you could get out, the first sight you encountered was the Black Widow, who got startled when she saw you and immediately pointed a gun at you. Your first instinct was to raise your arms.

Your face was streaked with tears, for you had sobbed desperately, fearing what your father would do when he found out you had failed this mission, but you were also drowning in shame for your actions.

And you didn't need to say anything, Natasha knew everything as soon as she saw you in that disconsolate and defeated state. You didn't want to do any of this, you desperately wanted to be good.

The Avengers welcomed you with open arms, and as you stood beside them, fighting for what was right, you finally felt you were part of a family, where your efforts were seen and appreciated, something you never felt with Hydra.

"I know these brutal injuries are a little bit of a scratch for you, but..."

"But it worries you when I go on missions that involve more than big men fighting me," Natasha finished the sentence before you could, a huge grin plastered from ear to ear.

You just chuckled, as you carefully worked to heal those terrible wounds on her face, product of a more complex mission than usual.

"Come on! Who knows if that creature that hurt you might give you some disease from the outer-space microbes it had in its claws. It could get infected and you could start a new pandemic, you know?" You half-joked.ñ

Natasha let out a loud laugh, that could be perhaps be heard all over facility.

"Well, look on the bright side, maybe I'll get to be the one to name it," she chuckled, and she flinched subsequently, her wounds hurt due to her smiling-facial expression.

"Silly!" You playfully nudged her shoulder with your fist, as you kept smiling enormously. "Jokes aside, please promise me you'll keep those wounds clean. You'll apply this," you showed her a small container of antiseptic soap, "And after that, you must apply this as well," you showed her a spray of alcohol.

She never told you this at first, but she appreciated enormously that you cared for her in this way, and that, on top of that, you were always willing to look after her as if she wasn't used to risking her life in all sorts of places.

The older woman nodded and laughed a little. "Of course, I'll make sure to clean the wounds and apply those, it's not too bad really. Don't worry yourself, okay?" She smiled kindly and warmly at you.

"Perfect... I'll let you off, then," you replied, with a grin. "Go get some rest, and I'll see you again when..." you paused. "I'll see you again," you affirmed this time.

You didn't know when you would see her again.

You had a very simple mission, so simple that you didn't need to go out and take risks as you normally did. You just needed to find information, leak some documents, hack into certain bases, and you could do it all from the comfort of the Avengers Tower. You were almost done when Natasha returned from her mission with the rest of the Avengers, and you insisted in helping her with all those wounds she had in her face, which again, were not something new for any of you, but still... you hated to see her even in the slightest discomfort. And just like on the other times, she refused to receive your help, but eventually gave in.

Outside of coincidences like these and the missions you had together, you didn't convive with her. And you missed her more than you could admit.

It was a strange feeling. You both got along well... excellent, to tell the truth, and you liked each other's company. However, that was no different than your relationship with the other Avengers, even so, Natasha Romanoff was the only one whose presence you longed more than usual whenever you were apart.

"Sure, I'll see you again," she nodded, as she rose from the seat she was in, and patted your shoulder affectionately.

This was always the way goodbyes were, and you couldn't lie, it hurt a little bit to realize that you didn't have a relationship with her outside of work. That was to be expected, many years of knowing her teammates didn't compare to a couple of months of knowing you, but you had to start somewhere, right?

That day, Natasha did as you told her and rested in her room of the Tower, and you, on the other hand, returned to the solitude of your apartment, watched a few episodes of your favorite series and waited to be summoned again on another occasion.

Said occasion was about a week later, and amidst the catastrophe that ensued, the taste of victory for having done well never ceased to leave you with a feeling of accomplishment.

It was even better than the others, since it was a mission against the organization you had unwillingly dedicated your life to serving. And this time, you were on the right side.

Your eyes watered a little. And Natasha didn't say it at first either, but she was the first to notice it because she used to watch you more than she would like to admit.

"Oh, sweetheart, what's wrong?" She asked you, turning to you with a concerned expression on her face. "Don't tell me you regretted joining us, because I'm going to hit you," she joked, and there you realized that was a habit of hers, for the purpose of lightening the mood.

And she succeeded, because you laughed, "Quite the opposite. I'm so happy to find myself on this side and to be able to make up even a little bit for all the bad I did," you confessed.

She let out a little 'Awww' and proceeded to hug you.

It felt like... like home. And maybe your home wasn't the kindest to you, so it was more like you found a new place where you could feel warm and comfortable.

It felt like a shelter from the world's harshness, and that you were at last somewhere you belonged. The embrace was gentle and firm at the same time, somehow it was a combination that could go well altogether, and it was as if every little thing that had ever hurt you was washed away by the love in that hug.

She stayed that way for as long as you needed. And later, at the Avengers Tower, everyone asked you if you were all right, and when they made sure you were calmer, they left to their respective rooms, but not before giving you words of affirmation telling you how valuable you were and what a priceless job you had done on the mission.

And after that little moment of closeness you had with Natasha, two days passed when you saw her again.

You were not specifically summoned for a mission, rather, Tony Stark needed your help to develop a new artificial intelligence prototype that would assist Peter Parker. The only difference was that Tony wanted her to ask him about his feelings and get concerned for his well-being, almost like a therapist or a mother would.

There had been maybe four or five opportunities where you had the pleasure of demonstrating your mental abilities, which were numerous.

Of course at Hydra they weren't going to raise you to be physically astute, they needed to train you mentally as well, and sure as hell they did. Because, maybe it would take Tony Stark more than four or five tasks to trust someone, but you completed them so efficiently, that very little was enough for him to be impressed and take you into consideration for this field as well.

About seven hours had passed, where you were discussing and employing the famous "trial and error", when Natasha came to interrupt. Tony wasn't too happy about it, but you were delighted.

"It turned out like shit," she concluded. She had a little dirt on her suit and her face was scarred with small injuries, but these weren't man-made, they were more like falls. "The target had already left the base by the time we got there, and took everything. All we did was kill the guards for nothing, no objective."

Tony took a deep breath, leaning back in his seat. For him, if there was anything worse than interruptions, it was interruptions for bad news.

"That's the third time in a row they've had us looking like idiots playing Tag," he snorted. "We'll figure out what to do. We did what we could."

Natasha was not at all pleased with his answer, as she wanted an immediate solution, and for her, the worst thing that could happen was to fail in something as simple as attacking a Hydra base.

"That's it?" She exclaimed, and at Tony's lack of response, she let out a groan and with giant strides, she left the room.

You ran after her, caring very little if she yelled at you to leave her alone. You wanted to at least make an attempt to be there for her.

"Nat!" You called out to her. "Nat, come on!"

She stopped, and turned to look at you, "What do you want?"

Now thar you were close to her, you noticed how fresh the small wounds on her face looked, and you would soon set out to help her with that, but the support she needed the most was the emotional kind.

"There's this place near Willow Lake," you laughed at her mild surprise. "I know, it's a bit far from here, but we can grab a bite to eat, take a walk down to the lake afterwards... you don't have to talk if you don't want to, I just want to offer you this little method of escape that has helped me in my darkest days."

There was no power on earth that would make her turn down such an offer, not only because this would be the first time she would be spending time with you outside of missions and work, but because it really sounded like a plan that would help her tremendously in all that stress she was going through.

After Natasha took a shower and changed, she went to find you in the room where you were working with Tony, who gave you a grateful smile before you left.

The drive there was long, and neither of you said much more than small talk, but it was extremely comfortable at the same time, with Taylor Swift's music playing on the car's speakers.

With this alone, she seemed more relaxed as she remained in the passenger seat. It was clear that the unsuccessful mission was eating her mind, but by having a moment to think about it, she gradually lightened up. She was very grateful that you gave her space and didn't try to distract her.

As soon as you guys got out of the car, the first thing you could feel was how pure the air was in that area, and how uncrowded it was compared to the noisy city. With that alone, Natasha understood why you brought her there, it was a peaceful and perfect place to think.

"Do you like it?" You asked, and if the redhead hadn't been too invested taking in her surroundings, she would have noticed that you were in turn, completely dumbfounded watching her..

"I love it," she nodded, with a huge smile, and proceeded to close her eyes and take a deep breath to enjoy the air.

When you entered the small cafe, you ordered a panini and a soda, and encouraged Natasha to order whatever she wanted, it would be your treat. Neither of you had eaten and it was already four in the afternoon, so you couldn't wait for the food to arrive.

You didn't ask her anything about it, and you didn't bring the subject up, you just waited patiently for her to speak first. And she did so about five minutes after she ordered.

"I feel better already," she said. "Maybe Tony's approach wasn't the best, but he's right, we'll find a way, in the meantime, we did what we could."

You smiled.

"We'll find a way to come out of this victoriously. Believe me when I tell you that they no longer have any threats and all they have left is to run. We'll find a way to corner them," you encouraged her, almost sensing firsthand how frustrated she might have felt earlier.

She nodded in agreement, "We have to come up with a plan," she replied. "I've already given a lot of thought to it, and I think right now, what I want to do is enjoy this moment with you, because, you do realize this is our first outing together?"

You did realize, and you couldn't begin to express how much you looked forward to this moment. While the conversations during missions or at the Tower were enough for you to grow fond of each other, there was always work involved.

"You're right. I wouldn't have wanted to wait this long, but I understand you're busy, and, I wasn't sure if you were in the mood to go out during your rest time."

She chuckled at the comment, "Oh, no! I like going out. And look, maybe I am busy, but you might just be worth dropping everything for... you know, once in a while!"

You reacted with a small and subtle giggle, feeling even more charmed and flattered by her.

"I must say, it's an honor to potentially be worth dropping everything for, even once in a while," you responded lightheartedly.

The food arrived just in time, and you both exchanged a look of acknowledgement at how good it looked.

"Well, bon appétit," she smiled, and didn't wait five seconds to start devouring her lunch.

You both ate in silence, very focused on enjoying the food as it was already too late after the regular lunch hour. You were starving.

When you finished your meal, you talked about banal topics to get to know each other better, such as favorite books, movies and series, hobbies, the music you enjoyed the most and whether you preferred summer or winter. It was a nice chat, where you both found a lot of common ground and were introduced to new possibilities, because let's say you left that restaurant with at least twenty songs to listen to, ten books to read and five movies and series to check out.

It was until you left the restaurant and walked to the lake that the conversation deepened. She asked you about your past, and although you didn't spill those details so easily, you ended up telling her even more than your closest friends knew. Natasha was just that kind of person.

And when Natasha shared her story with you, that was the most painful, deepest and perhaps most precious aspect that you shared — that intrinsic feeling that impelled you to abandon all evil sown in your hearts.

You were so immersed in conversation, that it seemed like in five minutes the sky went dark when in reality it had been about three hours straight.

From then on, whenever your free times coincided, you made the most of it. You made it a regular part of your lives, would always make plans for upcoming meet-ups and, naturally, your relationship slowly started to grow and deepen over time as a result.

You started to appreciate the little details that shaped Natasha, from her stunning smile to her sweet laugh, from her thoughtful glances to her kind words. It was like a flame had been lit inside of you, eventually growing into a roaring blaze that could not be tamed. You were slowly and deeply falling in love with her, there was no denying it anymore.

"Nat, I'm so sorry for what I'm about to do, but you leave me no choice," you said, as soon as you pulled a +4 card as a last resource. Your only cards remaining were two red ones and of course you would decide said color as the next.

Natasha let out a gasp of surprise, and shook her head.

"How could you?" She exclaimed, and with much indignation, took the four cards.

"I choose red," you stated, very indifferent to her reaction.

She checked the cards she had taken, and the red card she placed, was one that would prevent you from your turn, and then, she placed a red one with a number on it.

With a victorious smile, you shouted "UNO" as you placed the second to last card you had left. And to your bad luck, Natasha didn't have one of the same color, but she did have a blue one with the same number.

"Excuse me, you were saying?" She replied, in a mocking tone.

It was your turn to gasp in surprise.

"Natalia, you monster!" You exclaimed. "My devious scheme has been disrupted, and I have been bested. I expected this from everyone, but you?" You said in an over-dramatic tone, placing your hands on your chest, as if you had been stabbed.

You two were cross-legged playing UNO on Natasha's bed, having watched a couple of movies and ordered food. You had been playing for maybe an hour and a half now, and this last round was no different than the previous ones, since you were always looking for ways to trick and betray each other in this little game. Until, Natasha finally won.

"Ahhh! This was a tough one!" You commented, collecting the cards from the pile and sorting them. As you were doing this, you noticed something under Natasha's leg, sticking out slightly. "But of course, it was honest play, wasn't it? It would be a shame if you cheated."

She snorted, "Yes, honesty first and foremost, I agree," she acted innocent. You did your best to hold your laughter.

"Hey, since you're closer, would you mind getting up and handing me my phone?" You pointed to your phone, which was charging in her bedside table.

"You get up, lazy!" She teased, making you gasp in surprise.

"Well, I may be lazy, but I'm no cheater!" You exclaimed, pointing to the card under her leg.

"Oh, whaaaaat?! How did this even get here?!" She said, making her voice a little higher pitched and feigning surprise.

You couldn't help it and laughed loudly.

"Oh, come on, Nat!" You answered. "We're resuming this game, now!"

Luckily, you caught on to her trick before you rearranged the cards, and you hadn't yet touched hers and yours.

"Give me that card," you ordered her, and at that, she didn't let you have it and kept moving the card just out of your reach.

You suddenly realized you've leaned forward to try and grab at the card, and you accidentally ended up on top of her, with her lying on her back underneath you.

The world around you faded into the background, leaving only the two of you exchanging a few shy looks and smiles, acknowledging the position you were in, feeling a little nervous and uncertain about it.

The pounding of your heart was racing a million beats per second, its rhythm matching the rapid pace of your thoughts. Your cheeks flushed with warmth whilst you embraced the profound effect she had on you.

And after a while, you summoned all your courage and made the first move. You leaned in, closing the distance between you and Natasha. In that intimate moment, your lips gently met hers, softly and tenderly.

However, the thrill of the moment was replaced with confusion and disappointment when Natasha pulled away.

"I can't," her words hung in the air.

You reluctantly drew back, giving her the space she needed, and you searched her eyes, longing to find the reason behind her hesitance, but all you could see was a glimpse of regret and shame.

It was as if she carried a secret, a secret that prevented her from fully embracing the moment, despite the chemistry you thought there was between you both. Or maybe you got lost in translation, maybe she simply didn’t share your feelings.

"I'm sorry," you apologized, your voice breaking. "I didn't mean to overstep. I misunderstood."

"Please, just go," Natasha's expression remained resolute.

Her words felt like a cold-hearted stab in your chest, leaving you at a loss for what to say or do. Nevertheless, you decided to respect her boundaries, honoring her wish to be left alone.

With a heavy heart, you nodded, gathering your things. Subsequently, you whispered another "I’m sorry" as you started to walk away.

The taste of that stolen kiss lingered on your lips for a long time, as a reminder of the brief, tantalizing ephemeral glance of something that could have been.

In the meantime, you only hoped that someday, the circumstances would align, allowing both of you to talk it out and move on.

That happened when you were contacted for another mission. With the help of the advanced technology and scientific knowledge that the Tower counted with, everyone contributed to analyze the data collected.

Each member expressed their concerns, ideas and proposals for the next step to take. Natasha, in particular, treated you with incredible disdain and professionalism, leaving everyone around you surprised. It was as if she created a barrier between you both, as if she barely recognized your presence now. There was no trace of shame or shyness on her face, unlike you, who struggled to even hold eye contact with her.

Finally, the meeting concluded. As the team prepared to disperse, the opportunity to talk to Natasha presented itself. The others began to head out, leaving the two of you alone in the room. This was the moment you had been waiting for.

"Nat, can we talk?" You gently drew her attention as she evaluated the information presented in the screens.

She turned to look at you, and then nodded. It was a small gesture, but it gave you the reassurance you needed to proceed.

"I… just want to apologize," you began. "For what happened before, for misunderstanding and crossing a line that should’ve never been. I never meant to make you uncomfortable."

Her gaze softened, and she sighed, "It's not entirely your fault," she reassured you. "I should have been clearer. It's just… I have a lot of conflicts in my mind, it’s complicated."

You nodded, understanding that there was more to her story than you were told, "I want you to know that I treasure our connection, whatever it may be," you confessed, your sincerity present in every single world. "And if there's anything you're willing to share, I'm here to listen."

There was a brief pause as Natasha contemplated her response, but as the minutes passed, she felt more and more comfortable with sharing her past experiences with relationships, and how they caused her to struggle with trust issues.

"Nat, I’m going to be honest, I can't erase the mistakes of others, but I swear to you, I'm not here for just a fleeting encounter. And I’m willing to earn your trust, if you give me the opportunity."

"It's hard for me to believe that," she admitted. "But at the same time, there's something about you that makes me want to give you that opportunity, despite my reservations. It’s complicated, as I said."

In that precious moment, your feelings swirled together - joy, relief, and gratitude. You had been given a chance, an opportunity to show Natasha that your love for her could prevail over the scars of the past.

Ever since, every date you planned with her was a thoughtful gesture, meticulously adapted to her preferences as you were eager to give your best to create cherished memories. From intimate dinners at her favorite restaurants to adventurous outings exploring new places, your attention to the small details that made her happy did not go unnoticed, because she appreciated the genuine effort you put into making her feel seen and loved. She also appreciated that you never pressed her for more than she was ready to give.

You provided a safe space where she could open up at her own pace. Naturally, time went on, and Natasha began to let her guard down in your presence.

Until, one —ironically— rainy night, your phone buzzed discreetly. You glanced down and read the words from your adoptive father, that were capable of disturbing your peace within seconds…

"I hope our deal still stands, and that you didn't actually move to the Avengers' side."

Unbeknownst to you, Natasha could perfectly read the message, her expression shifting from serenity to one of concern and anger. In an instant, the world seemed to hold its breath.

Time slowed as Natasha's eyes found yours, and the depth of her pain and distrust pierced through every fiber of your being. The delicate thread of trust that had been formed between you threatened to break under the weight of betrayal.

"What is this, (Y/N)?" She asked as her voice trembled. "Have you been playing both sides all along?!"

Before you could even respond, Natasha's eyes glazed over and she proceeded to rise abruptly from her seat to leave the restaurant where you were having dinner. Little did you care and you placed a hundred dollar bill that would cover both of your consumption plus a generous tip.

Afterwards, you ran out of the place to follow her. The first thing you felt was an overwhelming cold and the rain soaking you.

"Nat, please believe me," you pleaded. "I never wanted any of this. My loyalty lies with you and the Avengers."

"Yes, yes. I've heard that story a thousand times, and I didn't like the ending," she replied.

"Nat...—"

"I don't want to hear you!" She shouted suddenly, startling you. "You expect me to believe your empty words? I thought you were different, but I see now that you're just like everyone… no, you’re worst, way worst."

The rain that drenched you seemed insignificant compared to the icy chill that her words settled within you, making the ache in your chest unbereable.

"No, Nat, please," you begged desperately, your voice being interrupted by occasional sobs. "Let’s get inside and talk, I’ll explain you everything. I love you."

She shuddered as if your words had hurt her even more. The pain in her eyes reflected the storm that ravaged her soul.

"Love? Is that what you call it?" Her voice exuded bitterness as she lashed out, determined to protect herself from further pain. "You have a funny way of showing it. Actions speak louder than empty declarations."

Her words crushed you completely, as the rain mixed with your tears.

As Natasha turned, her silhouette blurred by the rain, you eventually felt too weak to even be standing, and you kneeled in the pavement, feeling your entire body twist in pain and regret.

"Natasha, my love, please don't leave," you sobbed. "Nat… don’t leave,” you whispered this time.

But she was gone, swallowed up by the darkness and the pouring rain. And you were right where she left you drenched and devastated, unable to understand how everything could fall apart so quickly.

Your mission as an infiltrator within the Avengers was the following: to steal a valuable possession and to disrupt their missions, weakening their defenses and providing Hydra a strategic advantage.

You proposed to your adoptive father the tip of the iceberg of your original plan. You told him you would deceive everyone, in order to gain their trust and position yourself as Hydra's eyes within the mighty Avengers' Tower.

However, your true motives remained hidden. Little did he know that you yearned for a chance to redeem yourself from the shadows of your past. You genuinely wanted to make a connection with the Avengers, to join their ranks and fight for the greater good.

At first, you walked a tightrope, subtly sabotaging the Avengers' efforts against Hydra to maintain your adoptive father's trust, so he would not proceed against you or your teammates. But as time went on, you stopped even doing that, and instead, made excuses to prevent suspicion that you didn't align with Hydra's twisted ideals. And that message he sent you during your date with Natasha couldn't have been more inopportune.

Days turned into weeks, and the weight of loneliness suffocated any hint of hope that remained, because as expected, you heard nothing from Natasha, or any of the Avengers for that matter. All those friendships, laughs, trust… shattered into a thousand pieces by a message that didn't represent you at all.

You even began to consider packing your belongings and escape to another country to start from scratch. Your stupid choices held you captive, and the desire to break free consumed you.

In the midst of this overwhelming despair, you received a message from your adoptive father.

"Fine, if that’s how you want to play, then so be it. If you don't bring something valuable to us TODAY, she will suffer. We have her."

The message cut through your being like a searing blade, slashing through the delicate fabric of your soul. There was no hiding what you have done, and a life was held hostage, a life intertwined with your own.

As if the threat wasn't enough, he continued…

"Also, if you call the Avengers, we'll know, and she'll die painfully before they even get there. Steal something like I raised you to do. No tricks this time."

You felt the air rushing out from your lungs, as fear gripped your heart mercilessly. The mere thought of your beloved enduring torment struck you with agony, and there was no doubt that you would protect her at all costs.

In the midst of your despair, a plan began to take shape. You would infiltrate into the Avengers' Tower and steal the highly advanced AI system you and Tony initially designed for Peter Parker.

It seemed like the perfect key to Natasha’s safety, and to meet your adoptive father’s demands. Hydra's capabilities would be significantly amplified with it.

Your exile also translated into losing access to everything you used to come and go. In consequence, using your years of training, reflected through skills and expertise, you successfully manipulated the electronic locks and bypassed the intricate security measures.

Finally, you stood before the AI, and with a steady hand, you carefully detached the system, making sure not to leave a trace of your presence. The stolen AI system nestled securely in your possession, and therefore, Natasha would be safe and sound in no time.

You headed to the place you were ordered to, and it was conveniently apart from the city, being a former abandoned factory.

You knew that Natasha was extremely dangerous and strong, therefore you couldn't stop thinking of the position she must have been in so that they managed to get her with no problem.

Once there, you took the suitcase containing AI Karen's chip and made your way towards the meeting point. You noticed that there were about ten guards guarding the area, and one of them checked if you didn't have a weapon.

As soon as the door slightly opened, you kicked it hard and entered the place.

You saw Natasha immobilized with smart handcuffs restraining on her wrists and ankles, but when you ran towards her, you were stopped by the man you most repudiated on the face of this earth.

"Hey, easy," he said mockingly. "Let's talk business."

Your eyes glazed over, as you felt your heart ache at the sight in front of you. There was nothing you wanted more than to hug her and reassure her that you would do everything in your power to save her. But in order to accomplish that, you had to obey what was being asked of you.

"This is what I got," you began after letting out a long sigh. "It is similar to the artificial intelligence that Tony Stark has in his suit, and I participated in its development," you continued. "It has various databases and security protocols that would facilitate the acquisition of classified information, allowing Hydra to infiltrate sensitive networks and manipulate events to suit its agenda. It can also analyze patterns, anticipate trends, and adjust strategies accordingly. It would make an incredible asset for global domination."

After giving him a quick demonstration, your adoptive father smiled wickedly and patted your shoulder.

"Oh, I'm so proud of you," he exclaimed, and perhaps your self of many years ago would have rejoiced at those words, but now that you knew the price you had to pay to hear those words, you realize that they are not worth all the suffering, and never were.

"Let Natasha Romanoff go, father," you commanded with your jaw clenched.

His laughter echoed through the dimly lit factory. His eyes bore into yours, devoid of any warmth or compassion, as he reveled in his victory.

"Let her go," he scoffed, his voice filled with disdain. "Why would I release her when I finally have you exactly where I want you?"

A surge of anger coursed through you, fueling a fire that burned fiercely within your chest.

"No," you declared firmly. "You should know by now that Natasha means more to me than any twisted ideology you spew."

Your adoptive father's eyes burned with fury. In that moment, you realized that your defiance had destroyed his illusion of control.

"After everything I have done for you? Don't you see? This is your purpose, your destiny!" He countered.

"That’s your purpose for me, as your puppet," you corrected. "My purpose is not to spread chaos and destruction. It's to protect the people I love and make amends for the wrongs I've done. And guess what? That’s what I’m doing."

"Ah, so the great (Y/N) has grown soft and weak in the arms of Natasha. I knew allowing emotions into your heart would be your downfall," he sneered, with an air of disappointment. "You were meant to be a weapon in our hands, an asset for the future of this organization," he added.

"… and I would rather be 'soft' in the eyes of Hydra than hardened and devoid of humanity like you," you stated. "I may have been created by Hydra, but I am not defined by them. I choose my own path, and it's one that leads away from your darkness."

He took a deep breath, characteristic of when he already lost his patience. You knew it so well, and it never failed to frighten you.

He stepped closer, his menacing presence closing in around you, "I raised you to be better, so you have one last chance," he hissed, handing you a gun. "You end Natasha Romanoff's life, or I will do it myself. And trust me, my methods are far more agonizing than a quick death."

You trembled, feeling your heart suffocating, your mind finding its way of reminding you of the laughter you shared, the tender moments, the unbreakable bond between you and Natasha. But at the same time, you knew what your adoptive father was capable of, and it filled you with dread.

There were no other options, no escape from the cruel fate that awaited her if you refused. With tears welling in your eyes, you whispered your surrender. "Fine. I'll do it."

When Natasha heard the words escape your trembling lips, her eyes widened in disbelief, and her features contorted in a mixture of shock and heartbreak.

The knot in your stomach tightened, constricting your breath and making it difficult to think clearly. Your palms grew clammy, sweat trickling down your forehead as your heart pounded in your chest.

You cautiously approached Natasha. Every step felt like an eternity, the deafening thud echoing in your ears. When you were close enough, you saw the beads of sweat glistening on her forehead, her muscles straining against the unyielding bonds that sought to confine her. It was a testament to her resilience, her unyielding spirit that refused to be broken.

In the end, this was you, a deadly weapon raised to make these kinds of actions. What was one more kill? Your entire life had been shaped by the manipulations and training of your adoptive father, molding you into a merciless instrument of his will and the will of the company he worked for.

You raised the gun, as the metal felt cold and unforgiving in your sweaty hands. And then, as if guided by an invisible force, your finger began to tighten around the trigger.

You made the last choice, the choice that would determine the path of your future and, ultimately, save both yourself and Natasha. There was no other way out.

With a determination that burned bright within you, you aimed at your objective. So, when your finger curled around the trigger, a deafening shotgun erupted in the room, shattering the suffocating silence.

In that instant, your adoptive father's body crumpled to the ground, unconscious and defeated. His presence, once so menacing and dominant, now lay broken, a mere shadow of the authority he once commanded.

Natasha's body jerked in a sudden startle when she heard the shotgun, and her eyes clenched shut, as if shielding herself from the inevitable horror that awaited her. Every muscle in her body tensed, bracing for the impact, but then, a familiar voice made itself present.

"Open your eyes, darling, it's over," you uttered, your voice trembling with the shock of what had just transpired.

Slowly, Natasha's eyes fluttered open. The room came into focus, and as her gaze fell upon you, the realization of what you did hit her immediately.

You then reached for the small monitor that was in your adoptive father’s pocket and unlocked the restraints that held Natasha captive. She carefully removed the tape on her mouth.

Her eyes glistened with shed tears as she threw herself into your arms, her body trembling against yours. The resentment and doubt she once had towards you seemed to dissolve in that moment whilst she held onto you as if her life depended on it.

"I thought I lost you," she whispered, her voice choked with tears and vulnerability.

You held her tightly, your own emotions spilling all over, "I'm here, Nat. This is me. This has always been me."

Her lips trembled, and she pressed them against yours, and in that single, stolen moment, the world around you ceased to exist. Time stood still as your lips met, fueled by a yearning that transcended mere physical desire. It was a fusion of souls, a merging of two hearts that had endured unimaginable pain and now reveled in the sweet taste of redemption.

"I love you," she whispered between kisses.

"I love you too," you murmured, and how unmatched was the feeling of being able to say it when there was no hint of uncertainty on the other side. "And as long as you allow me, I will do my best to keep showing it to you."

After securing the AI and taking down all the guards that prowled the place, you both emerged from the abandoned factory. Although the scars of the event would forever mark your souls, you knew that you had emerged stronger than ever.

Together, you would forge a new path, rewriting the narratives that had threatened to tear you apart, and embracing the love that had always been destined to bring you back together.

This was the accomplished mission that you both were most proud of. Especially because, in addition to having shared years of experiences, adventures, and everlasting memories, it was only a matter of time before you also shared the "Romanoff" last name.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #scarlett johansson #black widow #black widow x reader #marvel

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starrydixon · 1 year

Text

Restless

*Requested from this ask :)*

Era: Prison Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Pronouns: She/Her Word Count: 2.2k Warnings: language, anxiety, nightmares, brief descriptions of typical twd violence/gore, comfort-fluff!!

Summary: After another nightmare startles you awake in the middle of the night, you find it hard to fall back to sleep. Your boyfriend Daryl comes to the rescue when he senses your spot beside him in bed is empty.

“You should be sleepin’.” Daryl drawled as his gravelly voice sounded from the doorway behind you as you stood outside on the bridge that connected one cellblock to another.

“I’m sorry for waking you.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, mental and physical exhaustion making you too weary to sound any louder.

Although you didn't directly wake Daryl up when you snuck out of your shared cell, despite him being a notoriously light sleeper, the archer seemed to have a sixth sense about you and only awoke when his subconscious didn’t feel you beside him anymore. Daryl wasn’t surprised when he rolled over and only felt a cold mattress under his hand after blindly searching for your figure in the dark.

“Don’t gotta be.” Daryl quickly dismissed as he shuffled over so he was standing beside you. Wordlessly, he handed you a cup of water that he knew you needed. You always got cottonmouth after being awoken from a nightmare, and often neglected the task of getting yourself some water so you could relieve the dryness in your throat.

“You rarely sleep, and I woke you up.” You insisted after taking a few gracious sips of the refreshing water. Your head ducked in shame and your posture slumped in defeat when you thought back to the image of Daryl’s sleeping figure snoring into his pillow only a few moments ago.

“Was probably gonna wake up anyway from my own hellish mind, so I should be thankin’ ya for sparin’ me the trouble.” Daryl glanced over at you as a half smile lifted one corner of his mouth. He was unsure if his attempt at comforting you worked, judging by the worry line that only seemed to deepen between your furrowed eyebrows.

A bittersweet silence fell over you both as you looked out at the darkened landscape of the prison yard and shadowy trees that lined the woods in the distance. Through the holes of the wired fence in front of you, your gaze would occasionally skim over the darkened outlines of the lifeless walkers as they stalked around the most outer fence. If you strained your hearing just enough, you could make out their groans and snarls. You tried to ignore their burdening presence as much as possible.

“What was it about this time?” Daryl lightly prodded; not wanting to upset you and make you even more uncomfortable than you already were, but still wanting to give you the chance to open up if you chose too.

“Those dead assholes over there.” You scoffed while pointing an accusing finger at the walkers that lined the fence. “I’m pretty sure I was just about to get torn to bits before waking up.”

Before the end of the world happened, going to sleep was a way for you to escape from the daily stresses of your once domestic life. Although it wasn’t the healthiest coping mechanism, it worked for you. After coming home from a particularly demanding work shift, you’d often take a nap the second your head hit the pillow of your couch. If you had the type of day that required you to be on your feet all day, you’d look forward to the moment you’d be able to sleep the stress away in the comfort of your bed.

The escape that sleep once gave you was now taken away, thanks to the apocalypse. The horror, anxiety, and daily stress that came with living in a corrupt world didn’t leave you even when you slept. It haunted your consciousness during the day, and infiltrated your dreams whenever you managed to get a couple of hours of shuteye. Your dreams were no longer filled with weird scenarios that often made you laugh for the few moments you could remember them whenever you awoke in the morning. All you knew now were nightmares that seemed far too plausible for your liking.

Some nights you’d dream about your new found family getting eaten by walkers: hearing their pained and desperate pleas for help that your dream prevented you from giving them. Other times, you’d dream about their walkerfied corpses chasing you, trying to tear your flesh apart in order to satisfy their indefinite hunger. Most nights though, you’d dream about the Governor. His voice haunted you as he spoke of his bloodlust for your family. You could vividly see him breaking down the protective fences surrounding the prison as he came back for vengeance. Just before you awoke, the last thing that would be engraved in your mind’s eye would be the bloodbath the dictator would leave in his wake.

The gruesome and haunting images of walkers and the Governor isn’t what scared you the most, it was the fear of losing the ones you loved.

You would often fight sleep for as long as you could, just so you could avoid those poignant dreams. This resulted in you volunteering to take the nightly watch shift. You took as many shifts as you could, which was a lot since a majority of the people who lived in the prison were more than willing to give their shift to you. That coping mechanism got shut down before it even had the chance to start, since Daryl quickly caught wind of your extensive nightly shift-load. In a rare move, the archer had personally reported to the board to demand that they restrict the number of shifts you could take in a week.

Daryl didn’t push matters, as he often let you come to him when you were ready to talk about whatever it was that was bothering you. However, he cared about your well being tremendously and grew concerned when he began to notice just how dark and heavy the circles and bags under your eyes were getting. You couldn’t be mad at the archer for too long, since his attentiveness was quite endearing.

Whenever you did manage to fall asleep, a distressing nightmare would commonly wake you up with a start a few hours later. Much like tonight, your eyes would dart around every wall and dark corner that made up your tiny cell like a ritual, and you would struggle to differentiate between what was fiction and reality due to the disorienting fog that clouded your brain.

From the cold sweat you had accumulated while you slept, your mismatched pajama set stuck to your body like glue; drenched and causing chills to wrack through your bones. Your body would still be in fight or flight mode, adrenaline surging through your veins and causing anxiety to keep you from finding sleep once again.

Daryl didn’t know how to respond. Everything he thought of saying would only make him sound like a broken record. You knew you were safe within the prison walls, and that walkers wouldn’t get to you unless you ventured outside the protective fences. You knew that Daryl would do everything in his power to protect you from harm if it ever came your way. You knew that he, Michonne, and yourself were going above and beyond to try to find the governor and take him down once and for all.

The only thing Daryl could do was wrap his arm around your shoulders and pull you into his warm chest. You practically melted into his touch, your achy muscles going limp as you basked in his comforting embrace. No words had to be said between you two during times like these; his presence was enough to calm you down and make the looming aftershocks of your nightmare become still once again.

“I wish it got easier…living like this.” You admitted in a whisper as your gaze drifted back towards the dark prison yard.

Daryl could relate to what you were feeling, he felt it too. It was hard not to. A pang shot through his chest in empathy. “It ain’t supposed to be…if we don’t feel it, then we’re just as bad as those assholes out there.” Daryl expressed earnestly after a few moments of stilled silence had passed.

You didn’t respond. Instead, you pried your eyes away from the looming figures of the walkers that swayed in the distance and hid your face in Daryl’s chest.

“What do ya wanna do?” Daryl asked gently as he adjusted his chin against your head. His large hand rubbed soothing strides up and down your arm before moving to your back.

“I don’t know.” You admitted with your eyes closed. Your body was practically screaming at you to go to sleep, as the exhaustion was threatening to forcibly knock you unconscious. You didn’t know if you were ready to reface the daunting shadows that made up your tiny cell and practically suffocated you every time you laid down for the night.

Swallowing the lump that was beginning to form in your throat, you lifted your head up from Daryl’s broad chest just enough to look at his moonlit face. “Would you make fun of me if I lit a candle?”

“What, like a nightlight?” Daryl raised an eyebrow as he glanced down at you. His heart simultaneously broke and swelled at the sight of the pout that contorted your fatigued face.

“Sort of.” You mumbled in embarrassment while ducking your eyes from him. Letting out a chuckle, Daryl tightened his arms around your body.

“Nah, I won’t make fun of ya…at least not tonight.”

Groaning in embarrassment at his goading, you weakly whacked Daryl in the chest with your open palm. You could feel heat rush to the tips of your ears and the apples of your cheeks at your rather juvenile request. With your head still laid on Daryl’s chest, you turned so your gaze fell back onto the darkened prison yard for one last lingering glance.

“Alright, let’s go.”

Daryl kept his arm wrapped over your shoulders as he led you back into the cellblock and into the dank and small cell you now called home. Although you avoided looking at him as you struck a match to light the candle that sat on the nightstand, you knew Daryl was smirking at you; and most likely having hundreds of teasing remarks burning the tip of his tongue.

With a sigh, you slipped out of your slippers and set your hunting knife back on the nightstand before getting into bed. Daryl already had an arm open for you, waiting for the moment you’d scoot yourself into his side and rest your head on his chest. The archer didn’t mind when you spent the next few moments squirming around beside him, struggling to find a comfortable position that wouldn’t flare up your sensitive anxiety. When you did find that sweet spot, your muscles relaxed as you let the feeling of Daryl’s soothing heartbeat settle your heightened nerves.

“Thank you.” You murmured into the material of Daryl’s cotton black t-shirt after a few moments of comfortable silence had passed.

“For?” Daryl was genuinely unsure about what you were thankful for as he couldn’t recall doing anything within the last twenty minutes or so that was worthy of gratitude.

You felt the pads of Daryl’s calloused fingers trail up and down your spine and occasionally massage your scalp, not only bringing you comfort, but for himself as well. Your fingers traced random designs on the expanse of his chest as you thought of a way to accurately express what you were feeling and thinking.

“For helping me.” You stated simply before lifting your head up slightly so you could peer up at him. Daryl scoffed lightly at your notion before tightening his arms around your frame. Your eyes closed as he placed a kiss on your hairline.

“Told ya it’s nothin’,” Pausing, Daryl looked down at you and raised his hand to gently sweep a few strands of loose hair from out of your face. “It don’t matter what time of day or night it is, I’ll always be here for ya…you know that.”

You didn’t know if it was the sleep deprivation, the crash that followed the adrenaline rush you had, or both, but your eyes began to pool with salty tears that stung the corners of your eyes. Daryl’s thumb caressed over your cheek and you found yourself melting into the comforting touch. Nodding your head in acknowledgment, you leaned forwards and placed a gentle kiss on Daryl’s lips. The archer found himself holding the back of your neck more securely so he could deepen the kiss as a way to wordlessly express to you how much he meant what he had previously stated.

Soon, when the kiss you two shared had simmered down, you settled back down against Daryl’s chest and watched the dim light of the candle flicker against the concrete walls that surrounded you. Daryl’s hand resumed its soothing motions on your back. The longer you laid like that, basking in the safety that Daryl’s arms gave you, impending sleep began to loom over you.

When you heard Daryl whisper the three words that always filled your heart with warmth and caused your stomach to flutter, you allowed sleep to overcome you with a smile uplifting the corners of your mouth.

A/N: Thank you to the anon for this request! I hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading!❤️

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #the walking dead #twd #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfiction

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grievedeeply · 1 year

Note

I saw you want requests after playing Survivor

👁👄👁

One shot of Cal running across fem reader that he knew when he was a padiwan (assumed dead)? And realizing why he was always so flustered and agitated by her 🤭🤭

this is so cute i loooove these reunion prompts i'm getting!!

fem!reader (no pronouns used) | tws/tags: death, sorta in depth order 66, use of y/n

JOIN MY NEW TAGLIST!!

they never left — cal kestis

you remembered the day clear in your mind as though it had happened yesterday. the purge. the clones tore through your master as though they were never even there. their last words to you ring true in your mind even ten years later, "run," and you did. you ran, using the force to reach into places they couldn't. you snuck past those who used to be your friends. you thought they cared for you. why had they all had a sudden change of heart? whatever the reason was, you knew you couldn't dwell. it wouldn't do you any good to be miserable.. even if that's all you wanted to do, sometimes.

over the years, you hid your abilities and tucked away your lightsaber for good. you swore to never use the force ever again. your family was gone. the order was gone, your master was gone.. and you couldn't reach out into the force to attempt to sense anyone. it was too risky.

cal. was he gone, too? he was another padawan under the tutelage of jedi master jaro tapal, a kind but intimidating lasat who you had met a few times. but cal.. cal was warm. he was inviting, he was friendly. he was everything an introverted child like yourself needed in a friend. the two of you quickly became rule breakers, sneaking out past curfews and past the temple guards who— looking back on it now— definitely saw you. you snuck out so often to spend time together, knowing that the likelihood of being assigned together on a mission was slim to none, it was the next best thing. maybe even better. at least there wasn't a risk of death, now.

you managed to get on each others nerves often, too. disagreeing and arguing and avoiding each other until you both forgot what happened. though, as you grew older, cal found himself getting more and more.. flustered.. when you were around. his face was constantly red, his palms were sweaty, his chest so tight it practically hurt to breath, and it irritated him. you irritated him. was it your fault? he didn't know. it only happened around you, so it had to be your fault, so he tried to avoid you.

it wasn't as though he treated you poorly. he could never do that. his heart and soul were too kind, too gentle. he didn't have a mean bone in his body.. but he wished you would just go away sometimes, to get that sinking feeling in his stomach to fade as it always did when you left.

now, cal knows what that feeling was. it was the beginnings of a crush. attachment and relationships were forbidden in the order. attachment made you selfish. it lead to jealousy, anger and resentment. a path to the dark side of the force. but now.. the jedi order was no more. it was destroyed years ago, but you hadn't lived to see it.

he heard your name. whispered in hushed voices by people on every planet he visited. your name, and the names of plenty of other jedi. plo koon, aayla secura.. anakin skywalker. but he focused on solely on you. you were killed alongside your master during the purge. you died, and he wasn't there to protect you. he reached into the force over and over, desperately trying to find a trace of you throughout it as time went on, but he found nothing. your death was confirmed, and there was nothing he could do about it.

you were glad word of your death spread fast. it was much easier to hide, and you had to move less often. your life proved more relaxed.. or as relaxed as it could be. despite your supposed death, your world would never be safe as long as you were force sensitive.

this time, kohbo was the world of choice. it was a nice, relatively backwater world in the outer rim. imperial presence, but as long as you kept your head down, you would fit in well. people from all sorts of backgrounds flocked to it. it wasn't like you would be out of place, and that fact was a relief. you'd stick to yourself as you always did, and everything would be well.

you stood, back pressed against the cold stone of the wall as you stared up towards the landing platform. a ship, a S-161 'stinger' XL, sat on the dock. you'd heard that it'd crashed out in the gorge a little ways away from rambler's reach. whoever piloted it knew greez in some way or another, and he'd managed to fix it, along with someone else you didn't know the name of. you didn't much care for their name, anyway. keeping your head down, staying out of trouble, that was the main goal.

until turgle fell off of the platform, screaming as he hurtled towards the ground. before you could even think, you reached out your hand and looked deep into the force, watching as he floated to the ground. his eyes were still closed and he yelped as you caught him, but other than that, he looked confused until his eyes landed on you, your hand extended out in his direction. he might be clumsy, but he wasn't exactly stupid.

you cringed, awkwardly sinking in on yourself as you turned around, ready to go back to your ship and leave koboh and everyone else on this planet behind.. until you heard turgle's voice call out your name.

"you," you heard him come up behind you, out of breath and looking red in the face, "you saved me!" he exclaimed, "with your.. your force magic." he said, eyes wide in disbelief. he stared you down, and you pursed your lips as you stared right back at him. "you're a jedi, aren't you?" he spoke up again, and all you could do was roll your eyes. "ha, of course not. you're just seeing things." you insisted to him with a simple shrug of your shoulders, turning on your heel to leave once again. by now, greez was hot on turgle's tail, his expression wide eyed and excited.

"oh, come on! i saw you," he retorted, "you saved me from imminent death.. and i am in your debt." he told you with a nod of his head, and you sighed. "you don't owe me anything, okay? just keep this quiet and we're even." you responded, and he nodded once again, eagerly. he stood there for a few moments until you raised your eyebrows, waiting for him to leave. finally taking the hint, he skipped away from you and into the cantina.

you let out a groan. turgle could barely be trusted. he would blabber about you eventually, and you didn't want to be around when he did. this place wasn't safe anymore. once more, you turned to leave, but heard the sound of greez clearing his throat. you weren't out of the woods, yet.

you shut your eyes, but glanced over your shoulder at him. his arms were crossed over his chest, but he wore a smile.

"there's someone i think you should meet, kid."

you furrowed your brow. you couldn't exactly say no, could you?

greez led you into the cantina through the back entrance, clambering up the steps through heavy breaths. who could he possibly want you to meet? a million questions ran through your mind as you came out into the main area of the cantina, and he gestured for you to take a seat next to him at the bar. you did so after a moment's hesitation, and you sat there, hunched over in your seat, feeling completely exposed. still, no one looked at you any differently as they did before.

"what am i doing here?" you asked, letting your elbow rest uncomfortably against the bar. greez spared you a glance, but kept at his drink. "someone i want you to meet, s'all." he reassured you, finally turning his chair to face you. you blinked a few times. his words did nothing to reassure you, for all you knew, he could be turning you in to the raiders or even the empire. you sighed, but decided to keep your mouth shut.

you watched the door as people entered and exited, waving goodbye to moran as he left for the night. over the few months you'd been staying on koboh, he was the only one you spoke to regularly. he came off as prickly, but the truth was, he was a sad, lonely man who needed a friend. even if making connections, getting attached, wad a bad idea.. moran was there for you when you needed someone, even if he didn't know it. he returned your wave with a smile, and the door slid shut behind him.

"it's been hours, who am i waiting for?" you spoke up again for the first time since you'd arrived. "any minute now," he reassured you, a knowing grin spread across his lips. what was he even talking abou-

the door slid open.. red hair. you froze in your seat, your hands suddenly felt sweaty and your heart fell into your stomach. the boy you once knew was now a man, but you would recognize his face anywhere. cal. he was alive. you practically jumped out of your seat and rushed into him without thinking, arms wrapped around his midsection in a tight hug. "cal.." you muttered his name under your breath, finally finding your voice as you pulled away to get a better look at him.

he had matured, grown into his features. he carried a newly fashioned saber on his belt, and on his shoulders was a cute BD unit. his cheeks were covered in freckles, his eyes still that same beautiful green, splattered with specks of blue.

"i thought.. i thought you were-" cal said, his voice barely a whisper. "i'm sorry," you told him, "i.. wish i knew you were alive." you continued after a pause, still taking in his new look. he looked.. handsome.

"i tried to find you," he swallowed, "through the force."

that feeling was back. the feeling from ten years ago. his palms were sweaty, and his heart pounded against his ribcage. a crush that never faded, that only grew once he saw how you'd grown. you were incredible then.. but now? you were stunning. his breath hitched in his throat, but he lifted his hand to your face. "i.. i'm so glad you're okay." he whispered to you, and you nodded, a small smile on your lips.

"okay, kids. break it up. you can.. make out later, or whatever." greez cut into the moment, his grating voice ringing unpleasantly in cal's ears. he chuckled awkwardly under his breath but took a few steps away from you. still, his eyes never left your face.

"we aren't.. we weren't-" you said, cheeks flushed in embarrassment at his suggestion. "uhuh.. whatever." he responded, eyes flickering back and forth between the two of you, and you felt as though he saw right through you. for a man as strange as he was, he read people incredibly well. "figured you'd get along. glad i was right." he continued before you had the chance to dig yourself further into the hole in your mind you were forming.

"i'll leave you two alone," he laughed, glancing knowingly between you and cal, a smirk on his face. still, he stayed true to his word and climbed out of his chair, walking out of the front entrance with a skip in his step.

you watched as he left, only turning back to cal once the door closed behind him. your mouth felt dry, and you licked your lips. "you.. um, you have a new lightsaber?" you asked, glancing down at the weapon hanging from his hip. he nodded, "my.. my first one, i lost it during the purge." you didn't reply to his words verbally, but sat your hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"and who's this?" you asked, a smile on your features as you glanced at the BD unit. "oh," cal said, matching your expression even though it seemed as though he forgot the droid was there at all. "this is BD-1," he told you, and you directed your grin at him, "you've been taking care of cal while i've been gone?" you teased, but the droid replied in completely serious beeps, much to his dismay.

"how long have you been here?" cal asked you after a pause, and you glanced around at your surroundings. the cantina needed some work.. and a deep cleaning. you turned your attention back to him, but a sigh fell from your lips. "a couple of months now." his gaze was soft as he stared into your eyes, and he took your hands into his own, grounding himself into this moment. "i heard you were dead, y/n." he muttered. "i.. i know." you spoke, your heart aching at the thought of him mourning for you. "the force.. i couldn't.. i couldn't feel you." he told you, and you said nothing in response, averting your gaze to his hands in your own.

this.. this moment reminded you of your childhood, running around the gardens of the temple with your hands entwined, completely ignoring your assigned training to play for awhile. except now, cal's hands were rough, and so were yours.

"i cut myself off from the force." you explained to him, "i had to hide. i've been hiding.. up until today." you could hear his breathing through the silence of the empty cantina, and he didn't say anything else. instead, he dropped your hands and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest.

"i love you." cal whispered into your neck, and you swore your breathing stopped. "what?" your arms fell to your sides, but he didn't pull away. "i love you." he repeated himself, pulling away to look into your eyes. his face was red, but the expression he wore was serious. "how could you.. how could you say that?" you asked, brows furrowed. his hands gripped your shoulders, and he let out a breathless chuckle.

"i've known it for years. when we were kids.. i had the biggest crush on you, and it bothered me. it bothered me how flustered i'd get around you even when you did.. absolutely nothing but smile." he explained, a growing smile forming across his face. "and irritated me. so i stayed away from you, thinking you were the one who bothered me all along." he said.

"but now the order doesn't exist anymore. the code is gone. but my.. my feelings for you- they never left." cal's voice fell to a whisper, "and seeing you now, it just makes me realize it all.. all over again." he took in a deep breath, but kept his eyes trained on your face. "so.."

"cal," you shut your eyes, shaking your head, "you actually felt that way that entire time when i thought you just started hating me for no reason?" you sighed, his lack of response telling you everything you needed to know.

you took a step closer to him, pressing your lips to his for a few seconds before pulling away. to cal, it wasn't nearly long enough. he leaned after your lips, eyes already completely closed as he'd relaxed into your touch. "i love you too. i always have." you told him, the feeling of his lips burned into your memory. they were chapped and dry.. but they fit against yours perfectly.

"really?"

"really."

he grinned, and kissed you again.

tags: @starwalkerwriting @war-in-time

#star wars #star wars x reader #star wars x reader headcanons #star wars x y/n #star wars x reader imagines #star wars x you #reader x cal kestis #cal kestis #cal kestis x y/n #cal kestis x reader #cal kestis x you

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