#❀ ‘゚ /  feelings pushed aside in silence are freezing ; musings.
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yuki4amano · 9 months ago
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Midnight Musings. Confessions in the Night: The Vigilante's Dilemma
The night was thick with tension as Izuku Midoriya, known to the world as the vigilante Phoenix, stood on the balcony of Yuki Amano's apartment, his heart pounding in his chest. He had come here with a purpose, a mission to finally confess his feelings to the girl who had captured his heart with her kindness and resilience.
But as he peered through the glass door, Izuku's determination wavered, replaced by a sudden rush of uncertainty. What if Yuki rejected him? What if she didn't feel the same way? These thoughts swirled in his mind, threatening to consume him whole.
With a deep breath, Izuku pushed aside his doubts and resolved to face his fears head-on. He would do whatever it took to win Yuki's heart, even if it meant risking rejection. Steeling himself, he reached for the door handle, only to freeze as a realization struck him like a bolt of lightning.
He was still wearing his vigilante outfit.
Cursing his forgetfulness, Izuku glanced down at the green and black costume that clung to his frame, the symbol of Phoenix emblazoned proudly across his chest. He couldn't confess his feelings to Yuki while dressed as a vigilante; it would only complicate things further.
With a resigned sigh, Izuku turned to leave, intent on returning home to change into something more suitable for a heartfelt confession. But before he could make his escape, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway, followed by the soft click of the bedroom door opening.
Panic surged through Izuku's veins as he realized he was trapped, caught between the desire to reveal his true feelings and the need to maintain his secret identity. In a split-second decision, he dove beneath Yuki's bed, praying that she wouldn't notice his presence.
As Yuki entered the room, Izuku held his breath, his heart pounding in his ears as he listened to her movements. To his relief, she seemed oblivious to his presence, lost in her world as she began to act out a scene from one of her daydreams.
Izuku's cheeks burned crimson as he listened to Yuki's fantasies, her voice filled with longing and passion as she spoke of dating a fictional character named Mikaela. It was both endearing and agonizing to hear, knowing that he could never compete with the image of her perfect fantasy.
But as he lay there in silence, Izuku couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for Yuki, her vulnerability tugging at his heartstrings in ways he never thought possible. She was so much more than he had ever imagined, a complex and multifaceted person with hopes and dreams of her own.
And at that moment, as he lay hidden beneath her bed, Izuku made a silent vow to himself. He would do whatever it took to win Yuki's heart, even if it meant revealing his true identity as Phoenix. For she was worth more to him than anything in this world, and he would stop at nothing to make her his own.
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whumpdrivethru · 1 year ago
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can i get a human whumpee stumbling into an abandoned house when they’re seeking shelter from a thunderstorm. except it turns out this place is home to a vampire who doesn’t like intruders. please make it very hurt/comfort and maybe the vampire feels bad for the human in the end. thanks!
Hey, sorry for the wait! I've been real sick so working the drive-thru's been tough. Hope this tastes good!
- Dmitri
Startled awake by a resounding thud from the floor below, the monster rose from their coffin. It was not the first time someone had come to slay them, and they knew it would not be the last. They would come in packs sometimes, with crossbows and crude wooden stakes, and cross pendants hung about their necks. Men and women, strong or scrawny, all ready to take a shot at the horrid vampire in the old house on the hill.
Rain slammed down against the roof above, the low growl of thunder reminding the vampire of their own growing hunger. Yawning, they brushed their fingers through their hair and took a deep sigh as they prepared for the confrontation. Fangs sheathed behind drawn lips, claws curled at their sides, they began the careful descent down the rotting stairs. The stench of old wood and dust did not bother them anymore, as it had done when they first moved in. One does get used to dwelling in squalor when there is nowhere else to go.
The vampire stepped into the foyer, silent and cautious, to see a young man slumped against the dresser by the door. He was breathing heavily, clothes and hair soaked from the rain, shivering. The vampire kept to the shadows, observing, and noticed something rather curious. This human carried no weapons, no cloves of garlic, no silver crosses, or holy texts. He was not here to hunt. He sat still for some time, the vampire watching as his chest heaved and his shoulder shook as his body was wracked with shivers.
The poor thing’s going to freeze to death, the vampire mused, aware of their terribly insulated home, before catching themselves; poor thing? Since when do I pity humans? They pushed those thoughts aside and considered for a moment what to do with this human – the vampire usually only drank from those who came to harm them, though, to be fair, this was the first time that hadn’t been the case. Regardless, the human had to go. His reaction to the vampire’s next move would determine how.
As swift and dark as a swooping raven, the vampire emerged from the shadows and knelt before the human, cold hands grabbing his throat and sharp claws pointing up under his chin. He froze instantly – as much as one could when shivering madly – and stared straight into the creature’s eyes, his own eyes widened in shock.
“This is my home,” the vampire said quietly, voice steady and low. “You are trespassing.” There was a moment of tense silence, broken only by the human’s tense breaths and the rhythmic thrumming of the rain outside.
“C-Clearly,” the human answered, swallowing thickly. “You, uh- you have a l-lovely home.” At this, the vampire raised their eyebrows.
“Flattery is more effective when you mean it,” they said dryly, pressing their claws in a little deeper. A drop of blood oozed out of the small wound and ran tantalisingly down the vampire’s finger. Strangely, the human’s features shifted; he set his jaw and looked straight into the vampire’s eyes, looking oddly determined.
“I’m w-worthless to my family now,” he said, “Might as well be useful to someone. Go on, suck me dry. Make my death mean s-something.” At that, the vampire seemed to choke on air and go very still, before slowly drawing their hands away. The two stared at each other for a moment, in which the human looked simultaneously offended and confused.
“Why would you-” he started, falling silent as the vampire’s hands curled around his wrists, slowly drawing them up so he was applying pressure to his wounds. They held them there for a moment before pulling away, standing up with a heavy sigh.
“I ate yesterday,” they lied. Truthfully, they weren’t entirely sure what to do with this clearly troubled human that’d stumbled into their abode. Killing him would probably be smart, but they weren’t all that fond of striking unprovoked.
“So what- what do I do? Just s-sit here and freez-” the human was interrupted by another fit of harsh coughing, doubling over and pressing a hand to his chest. The vampire looked at him, curled up and lost and bitter, and was jarringly reminded of something they’d been trying to forget.
“Please, just let me out! I-I promise, I won’t hurt anyone! I’m so cold, please…”
“That creature in there is not our child, dear. Don’t listen. It’s just trying to get in your head.”
The vampire bit their lip, hissing as their fangs pierced the skin. They still had moments like that, getting lost in memories or concentration and resorting to old human habits. Taking a deep breath, they steadied themselves and faced the human again.
“Don’t be dramatic,” they said sternly, “You aren’t going to die here, and I’m not going to kill you. Come.” He stood and cautiously followed them into the room at the end of the hall, still holding his hands over the small wounds under his chin. The vampire ushered him to a plush chair and aimed to push him down gently, wincing as they remembered their own strength. The human sat heavily with a little ‘oof’, watching as the vampire crossed the room and returned with an old cotton blanket. They shook it out before draping it over his shoulders, then stepping away as if they were afraid of any further contact.
“Thank you?” The human said, though it came out like a question. He wasn’t sure why this being clearly capable of killing him had decided to spare him, but he wasn’t going to protest. He had meant what he’d said before, about being willing to die, but it was at least a small relief to be breathing still.
“I’m sure you’re… not quite as worthless as you think,” the vampire responded with a light sigh. “Family has a habit of turning on you the moment you become different. Do not take it so personally.”
“You’ve been hurt too, huh?” The human asked, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. When he looked up, the vampire was gone. He sat for a moment, wondering if he’d offended them, when they strolled casually back into the room with small pieces of gauze in their hands. They knelt before the human, but this time as a healer instead of an assailant, carefully pressing the gauze between the human’s hands and the wounds.
“You could say that,” they finally answered, raising their piercing ruby eyes to the human’s for just a moment. Then they were gone again, stepping back deftly. They regarded him with apprehension before speaking quietly. “There’s a little wood left in the fireplace. Stay until the storm passes.” They vanished in the blink of an eye, leaving the human alone in the musty sitting room. Still, he was warm and oddly comforted, and decided perhaps he’d visit next time he was out hunting – he imagined the vampire would enjoy some rare meat in return for their odd hospitality.
As it turns out, they did.
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kougetsuin · 4 years ago
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redropping my tags. 
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gingersnaaps · 4 years ago
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ctrl + shift + n
you should always remember to close your tabs - especially your tabs of tumblr smut, and especially around miya atsumu.
wc: 1.6k
tags/tw's(PLEASE READ): explicit n*fw, noncon, fingering, panty gag, finger sucking, condescension, super meta, fem!reader with internal genitals, college!au
a/n: i feel like this has been done before but i’ve had this concept on my mind for a while
i don’t want minors interacting with my content
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Miya Atsumu. Star volleyball player at your college. Undeniably talented. Riddled with scholarship offers and professional opportunities. Infuriatingly attractive.
Also: a terrible group project member.
“Just lemme have a look,” he whines, grabbing at your laptop. “It’ll only take a few seconds. Promise.”
It’s a heroic task, ignoring him. It almost takes as much brainpower as doing his portion of the project for him.
Your eye begins to twitch as his perfectly-filed fingernails intrude at the edge of your screen, obscuring part of the slide you’d been working on. Technically, he should have been the one doing them, but as much of a genius as he may be at volleyball(this fact was grudgingly admitted after you’d watched him play once), he was utterly useless when it came to anatomy and physiology.
And you really, really, needed to end the semester without failing.
The cool metal of the laptop slips out of your grasp, and you roll your eyes so hard that you think they might get stuck in your head.
“Just wanted to see what you’d been workin’ on,” Atsumu says sheepishly. He’s sitting at the opposite end of your couch, legs kicked up and crossed on the coffee table, and the bright screen disappears from view as he begins clicking through the slideshow. “Not bad,” he muses. He presses a few more keys.
His face suddenly changes, a brow quirking as his eyes darken.
“What?” you snap. “Should’ve done it yourself earlier if there’s something you don’t like.”
He jumps slightly, startled by your harsh reaction. “No,” he says quickly. Too quickly. “It’s good. I like it.”
One more thing to note about Miya Atsumu, you thought to yourself: he was probably terrible at poker.
He returns the laptop to you, as promised, and hums idly as you resume working. The two of you sit in silence, but it’s not exactly comfortable - after the awkward exchange, there’s a layer of tension that hangs thick and heavy in the air. The air conditioning drones on in the background, like white noise meant to soothe, but it worms its way into your conscious mind and sits there, just noticeable enough to be irritating. Aside from that, it’s quiet enough to hear a pin drop.
Of course, he’s the one to break the silence.
“Didn’t know you were into that kinda’ stuff.”
You freeze.
“Didn’t think that a girl like you would ever be lookin’ at something so messed up.”
Panic clenches at your stomach, and you reply carefully, voice measured and cold. “What are you talking about?”
“Should really be more careful about which tabs you leave open,” he chuckles.
You scan the cluttered row of tabs at the top; there’s nothing missing. Your eyes dart around the screen frantically -
There’s an incognito window open along your taskbar.
“Rough sex, violent sex, rape? Jesus christ, sweetheart.”
You click nervously, and on the screen, clear as day, is the fic you’d been reading earlier that morning. It’s one of the blogs you frequent - normally one of your favorite places to scroll through after a nasty day - but right now, it seems almost sinister, black font on a white background staring back accusingly as your skin prickles under his gaze. You swallow; a heavy, sinking feeling squeezes at your chest, closes up your throat, makes you feel like you’re dry drowning.
He grabs the laptop back. He’s sitting a lot closer now.
“I mean, just look at this shit. You really want this, huh?”
“No, I- I don’t.” Your voice sounds foreign, far away - you feel like you’re underwater, and your denial sounds guilty even to your own ears.
His lips graze your ear, the warmth of his body spreading to yours as he slides an arm around waist.
“If you wanted to be raped, angel,” he whispers, a terrifying grin stretched wide across his face. “All you had to do was ask.”
He laughs at his clever little joke, and pulls you onto his lap.
You feel numb, paralyzed, unable to fight back or move at all as his hands glide along your inner thighs, kneading the soft, puffy, flesh, spreading them apart until you’re straddling his lap. He pulls your hair to one side and starts kissing along your jaw, rough and sloppy, sharp teeth nipping at the underside of your jaw as you shiver.
He punctuates his words with a harsh squeeze to your thigh, thumb brushing dangerously close to your cunt. “I bet you were getting off t’ this, weren’t you?” he hisses. “Bet you were just dripping down your thighs, squirmin’ around ‘n moaning, fantasizing about some scary man who just takes what he wants.”
The dull, pained, look in your eyes reads like defeat to him, sending a thrill of pleasure through his veins. He’s right, isn’t he? He’s fuckn’ spot on about your little habits, your little fantasies, and he’s gonna make sure that all your dreams come true.
“Let’s do this exactly how it’s written out, how’s that sound? Follow along with your cute story ‘nd everything,” he muses, scrolling down the page. “Starts out with her - you - getting fingerfucked.”
It’s as if those words break some sort of dam inside you, a flurry of tears and sobs heaving out of your chest as his fingers trail up to your clothed clit. You squirm back and forth in his lap, ass rutting against his hardening cock. “Don’t want it,” you whimper. “Don’t make me. Please.”
“Playin’ along, angel? That’s cute.”
He peels your skirt off of you, thumbs hooking around the waistband of your panties as he pulls them off and stuffs them in your mouth. You can taste yourself on the damp fabric that clings to the roof of your mouth, spit soaking through as your whines and protests become muffled.
Fingers spread your pussy apart, sliding and squelching embarrassingly in the slick, your skin cold and exposed in the open air. As he rests his thumb lightly on your clit, he quirks his lips at the way your heartbeat thrums in your cunt, your pussy twitching as you clench around nothing.
Best part is that you like this, that you're turned on by this, he thinks. The fat, silvery, tears streaming down your face mean absolutely nothing when you’re so obviously into it.
He thrusts a long, thick, finger in, all the way to the last knuckle, the calloused pad of his fingertip brushing up against your spongy walls as your pussy contracts and squeezes him tight. “So eager,” he coos. “It’s jus’ like you always imagined, huh?”
You sniffle as the outline of his cock presses into your ass, rutting his hips against you and moaning from the delicious friction of the fabric. There’s nowhere for you to go, one large hand squeezing your waist and holding you down, the other fucking you backwards into his broad chest.
He crooks his finger; you sob, body drawn taught with pleasure, and he pushes another inside as you spasm. He’s good with his hands, unfairly good, his thumb nudging against your sweet clit in circles as his fingers scissor your walls and stretch you out so good. It’s as if you’re his little puppet, jerking around whenever he drags his fingers roughly against your g-spot, crying out through your stuffed mouth as blunt teeth sink into your neck and his tongue runs along the ridge of your ear.
“You’re makin’ a mess, pretty girl,” he murmurs, watching in delight as you flush with shame. “Dripping into my palm and all down your thighs, just like the girl in the story.”
You turn your head, trying to look away, but he grabs at the hinge of your jaw and forces you to meet his gaze. It’s taunting, cruel - he looks so pleased with himself as he fingers you until your thighs start trembling, walls clenching erratically as pleasure builds and builds.
His grip on your face turns tight, pressing bruises into your skin as you cream and gush around his thick digits. The orgasm crashes down on you in waves of pleasure, his fingers fucking you through it with constant probing and circling and stimulation.
His nimble fingers pluck the panties from your mouth, soaked with drool, and tosses them aside onto the floor. “Open up,” he says, prying at your mouth.
Your jaw goes slack, falling open, too tired to put up a fight as he shoves his fingers in. You’re not sure there’s much of a point. You suck sloppily, tongue laving around his digits, cleaning your cum off of him as he shoves his hand in deeper, making you gag and retch, and he moans loudly at the sight. You look so perfect - his precious little angel choking on his fingers, eyes watering and body trembling as you do everything he makes you.
You’re shivering when he withdraws his fingers with a pop.
He helps you put your clothes back on, wet panties sliding across your skin and leaving trails of shining slick. It sticks and clings to your pussy, makes you feel all filthy and used, and bile rises in your throat. Goosebumps ripple down your thigh at the sensation of cool air.
Atsumu nuzzles at your neck, fingers patting at your spent pussy, his tenderness almost mocking, and clicks back to the slideshow you’d been working on.
“Let’s save the cock for after you get us the A, hmm?”
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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years ago
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Crimson Ties (Bela Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 4
Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language Warnings: None for this chap Genre: Hurt + comfort Summary: Sure, your soulmate may be a vampire (of sorts), but there's nothing that love can't conquer, right?... Maybe it's time you learn a little more about the odd circumstances of your soulmate's existence- and the fear that lies beneath the surface. Notes: If the last chapter was "hurt" followed by comfort, this is "comfort" followed by hurt, also known as the part where the story's central conflict comes into play. Features an appearance from Daniela, who reminds us that Cassandra's not the only one with a sharp tongue around here. Previous Chapters: 1: Stem the Flow, 2: Tangled Strands, 3: Rumbling Thunder
4: That Which Burns
“Of all the stars, the fairest,” Bela murmurs in your ear, keeping her arms wrapped loosely around your waist, before giving you a gentle kiss on the cheek. If you hadn’t already been blushing, you certainly would have now done so. You’re leaning into her touch, face flushed as can be, loving every moment of this. For a while now you’ve been curled up with her, while she reads excerpts from her favorite works. Although both of you would have preferred to do this outside, enjoying the view of the stars, you figured it would be best not to push your health too much. After all, you had lost a huge percentage of your blood. Well, temporarily, but it was still better to be safe than sorry.
“That’s probably my favorite line from Sappho,” you chimed, fondly remembering some of your schooling. “Though the one about being remembered always stands out to me. I’m not sure I remember it correctly, and I’m sure it’s been translated a few different ways over the years… but I think it’s ‘someone, I tell you, will remember us in another time’. Might have gotten that backwards, actually.” Giving an awkward little smile, you sheepishly rub the back of your head with one hand. “Either way it feels so romantic. To think of a love so strong that it echoes throughout time, fondly remembered for generations… it warms the heart.”
“Mhmm, most definitely, my dear. Many aren’t as lucky, however,” Bela laments, an odd expression crawling onto her face. There’s the slightest waver to her lower lip as she speaks. Concerned, you turn in place to get a better look, gently reaching out to caress her cheek. Is there something I’m missing? You think, wondering what you should say. “I’m alright, I promise. Merely distracted by a fleeting thought. Let’s read another, yes?” Before you can protest, she’s already turned to another page, starting to read as if she already knew which one was next (which would not, at all, surprise you).
Love shook my heart, Like the wind on the mountain, Troubling the oak-trees
“Oh, if only I could speak Aeolic Greek, so that I could serenade you with tender prose, all the days of your life… just as it was originally written. Wouldn’t that be lovely?” Bela offers, once again smiling wide, as if nothing in the world was wrong, at least not when you were by her side. Though you are not keen to ignore her earlier stroke of misery, you are equally reluctant to put a damper on her current upswing. Now what were you to do? Little comes to mind, other than the simplicity of human warmth, and so you lean once more into her embrace, head held aloft on the strength of her shoulder.
“Here, as I am now, is more than lovely enough. Your voice is soothing in any language, sweet as sugar, relaxing as can be,” you reassure her in your softest tone. Heart fluttering, she finds herself easing back into the comfort of the moment, forgetting all about her earlier woes. “Shall we read another?” Nodding, Bela again turns the page and begins to read:
He’s equal with the gods, that man Who sits across from you, Face to face, close enough to sip Your voice’s sweetness
And what excites my mind, Your laughter, glittering. So, When I see you, for a moment, My voice goes,
My tongue freezes. Fire, Delicate fire, in the flesh. Blind, stunned, the sound Of thunder, in my ears.
Shivering with sweat, cold Tremors over the skin, I turn the colour of dead grass, And I’m an inch from dying.
“Does that make me equal to the gods, then?” You ask, as soon as the last line is given its moment to shine. A small hum comes from your soulmate, who seems equal parts intrigued and confused. “I look in your eyes and my lungs light on fire, my heart ricochets around my chest, and I hear the chorus of angels singing your holy praises. The fact that I can manage to speak at all is confounding. Maybe the muses have seen fit to lend me their artistry, so that I might make conversation worthy of your existence, my dear.” With that said, you find yourself being squeezed gently, Bela placing another kiss against the top of your head. Now, it seems she is the one without the ability to speak. “The divine witnessing the divine, yes?... Let me read the next one, and we’ll see if my voice could ever compare to your own.”
It’s innocent enough, your choice. A turn of the page, just another poem, selected for nothing more than respect for chronology. Yet something drains from the space around you as you begin to read, so subtly slow that you hardly notice.
Girls, you be ardent for the fragrant-blossomed Muses’ lovely gifts, for the clear melodious lyre: But now old age has seized my tender body, Now my hair is white, and no longer dark
How were you to realize that the great shadow of fear loomed over your soulmate, when she had refused to name it mere minutes ago? How were you to know to halt your reciting, when the aching of her heart rendered her throat dry, and she could not bring herself to call out to you? Words poured like poisoned wine from your lips… your soulmate having no choice but to drink up every last drop.
My heart’s heavy, my legs won’t support me, That once were fleet as fawns, in the dance I grieve often for my state; what can I do? Being human, there’s no way not to grow old
A shaky breath from age-old lungs, exhaled into tense air, forced out past a trembling jaw. Say something, Bela tells herself, any poem but this. For a split second you pause, and she wonders if her thoughts have found new light in your own mind. But you break the momentary silence without much care, simply having been unsure of your pending pronunciation of an old name, perfectly unaware of your partner’s panic.
Rosy-armed Dawn, they say, love-smitten Once carried Tithonus off to the world’s end: Handsome and young he was then, yet at last Grey age caught that spouse of an immortal wife
At last her ordeal was over. The final words hang heavy in the air, weighing down her shoulders, but they are done. Her fears had been dragged out from the pit in her stomach, now waving about like dirty laundry. There was only one way for her to avoid this happening another time: Tell you the truth. By now her silence had earned your attention, with you turning in her lap again, concerned gaze meeting her hollow one. Gently, she gives you a reassuring squeeze.
“I… am not one to balk at the nature of things, however painful the truth. Yet I hesitate now, with the very person I am bound to with crimson ties… How cowardly of me,” Bela all but snarls, anger clearly not directed at you. It’s clear in the way that she holds herself that she has more to say. There’s not much you can do other than wait, though you do tuck an arm around her waist, beginning to rub soft circles against her back. “Allow me to drop the pretenses. You are not immortal, but I am. We’ve only been together for a day and a half, and already I’m worrying about your lifespan. It’s safe to say that this particular poem was an unfriendly reminder of our situation.”
Oh. How exactly were you supposed to respond to that?... Your girlfriend- your soulmate- was immortal. Hmph, as if her essentially being a vampire hadn’t already been enough to freak you out. Now this? Well, maybe it wasn’t too much farther of a stretch from the last revelation, even if you were still recovering from that one. Even then, something told you that this was equally hard for Bela- both to say, and to simply feel. As if she needed more stress surrounding her partnership with you…
“Of all the ways for us to mimic legends… I don’t even know what to say, my dear. I… I suppose that I can only reassure you that we will make the most of every moment we have. However much time we are destined to get, we’ll make sure it is filled with bliss,” you reply, slowly, making it up as you go. An ache builds in the center of your chest as you talk, an internal yearning for greater confidence. Although words were your “weapon” of choice, you were not always a master in your use of them, too human to be infallible. “Maybe we should set aside the poetry for now, shift our focus to something, ah, less meaningful?”
“That would be for the best,” Bela agrees, already shifting like she was going to stand up, before you even had a chance to get off of her lap. Something strange had fallen over her expression, an invisible veil, putting an uncomfortable distance between the two of you. Inside your chest, a thundering heart threatens to go still. Had you done something wrong? Did you commit some unspoken sin? Together the two of you rise, in sync yet more separate than before, a thousand questions and anxieties rendering both of you silent...
—————————
Across the room from you, a pair of bright eyes watch your every movement, peering out from over an open book. If you didn’t know better, you might have thought that the “ruse” was intentionally poor. But for all the five hours you had known her, Daniela Dimitrescu had done nothing other than prove herself odd, clumsy, and quite possibly… overconfident. Admittedly, that still made her undeniably more pleasant than Cassandra. If you had to be stuck alongside someone other than your soulmate, well, ‘twas best that it was this strange redheaded gremlin. Even if she had expressed an unfortunate interest in eating you.
Gods, what is wrong with this family? You think, frowning a tad, unable to stop yourself from making eye contact with Daniela. Instantly she’s looking away, pretending to be engrossed within her book. The very same book that had remained open to the same page for half an hour now. I do hope Bela is having more fun right now, with whatever “business” called her away so unexpectedly. She hadn’t seemed happy to have to leave your side, earlier tension notwithstanding. Coming here to the library had been her suggestion, though you doubted she knew that Daniela was there, or at least hadn’t anticipated her sister’s unnerving behavior. Already the redhead was looking back at you, even less subtly than before.
Sighing, you decided that you could only put up with so much of this tomfoolery.
“Are you in need of something? Or is there something on my face?” You ask, setting your own book aside as you do. There’s a few moments of silence, as Daniela glances around the room, as if you might actually be speaking to someone else. When no scapegoats teleport to her rescue, she very awkwardly clears her throat, then moves to sit at your table. Though you are loath to admit it, your heart starts beating faster as she approaches. Not out of attraction, hell no, rather fear. Perhaps getting her attention hadn’t been the wisest choice after all…
“I just think it’s funny,” Daniela chimes, trailing off just long enough to run a finger down the length of your arm, “that Bela abandoned you so quickly. You’re so… fragile. Cassandra told me about the fun little introduction you had to our family- the blood loss, being chained up, the fear you felt when you got caught in our territory.” Suddenly she’s devolving into a fit of giggles, hand resting not-so-gently on your wrist. When you try to pull away, her nails dig in, and her gaze snaps back to your own. “But you don’t remember that part, do you? If you did… oh, we’d have to lock you up, like the little pet you are, to keep you from running away. I’m sure Bela wouldn’t mind seeing you in chains.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” You snap, uncharacteristically furious. While it was true that you couldn’t recall exactly how you made it into the castle’s dungeons, you refuse to accept Daniela’s implications about your soulmate, or her assessment of your dedication. A brief second passes where you think she’s about to lunge towards you. Instead, she withdraws her hand, moving it to prop up her chin instead. Then, her lips slowly drag upwards into a wicked grin, wide eyes filled with dangerous amusement.
“So you’re more than a wannabe Shakespeare, after all? A bit more teeth, a touch more vulgarity, maybe a twinge of bloodlust, and you might actually fit in around here. Not enough to get our family’s ‘gift’- our secret to a long, happy life- but enough that Bela won’t grow bored of your sappy poems,” she teases with another string of laughter. Before you can question her about this ‘gift’, she’s all but jumping to her feet, stretching out her arms as she does. “I can’t wait to update Cassandra about you. We’ll be betting on how entertaining you’ll end up being. Try to keep from bailing on my dear sister too soon, alright?”
Just like that she’s disappearing into a swarm of flies, leaving you more confused (and angry) than ever. Taking a deep breath, you try to focus on what you need to do next: Find Bela. Talk to her. Get some goddamn answers.
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kougetsuin · 4 years ago
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@tragedestined
What do you think of the "revenge bad" tropes frequently found
it actually pisses me off sooooo much when characters are like "ohhh but if i hurt or kill the bastard who made my life and others' a living hell i'm just as bad as they are!" like grow up and shoot him what are you catholic
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persephone-plasmids · 3 years ago
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Safe
A Danse and Nora fic.
[Read on AO3]
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“It’s eerie how well preserved this area is,” Paladin Danse said, as the elevator cage opened to reveal the silent Vault 111 in front of him.
“That was kind of the whole point, Danse,” Nora said, smiling over at him. “If they could preserve me this well for 200 years, it only makes sense that the metal walls held up too.”
“They preserved you wonderfully,” Danse agreed with a nod.
“Is that a line?” Nora asked, raising an eyebrow at the Paladin and making a slight blush rise in his stubbly cheeks.
“I… of course not,” Danse fumbled. “I just meant, from a medical standpoint, what they were able to achieve in this vault was… impressive.” Danse let his words trail off towards the end of his sentence, finding that he was only making things worse.
“Relax, Paladin,” Nora said, her grin still in place. “I was only joking.”
“Of course,” Danse said, trying to sound confident even though he still felt flustered. “I knew that.”
The way Nora gave him a short nod and held back a laugh before walking further into the vault told him that she knew he was lying. He appreciated that she didn’t state this outright.
Danse followed behind the vault dweller in silence. Or, in as much silence as he could manage when the sound of his power armor reverberated off the walls so loudly.
“The gun should be right through here,” Nora said, leading Danse through the halls of Vault 111 expertly. “I saw it when I first… woke up in here. But I wasn’t as familiar with lockpicking back then.”
“You’ve definitely honed that skill since wandering the Wasteland,” Danse agreed, giving her the smallest ghost of a smile.
He admired Nora for so many reasons. Her lockpicking skill was just one of the many ways she’d adapted to an impossible situation after waking up to a world she didn’t recognize.
She’d lost her son. She’d lost her husband. And yet, Danse had never seen her show the people of the Commonwealth anything but kindness. He didn’t know such people still existed in the world. Meeting her had shifted his perspective on a lot of things.
“If I can get the lock open, will you check out the gun to see if it’s something that might be useful for us?” Nora asked, shaking Danse from his internal musings.
“Of course,” he answered.
Nora led him to a small room within the vault and quickly began working on the locked glass case that held the gun.
“It’s called a Cryolator,” Nora explained, puckering her lips as she moved the bobby pin and screwdriver in such small subtle ways that Danse could hardly tell she was moving them at all. “From what I read on the terminals when I first woke up here, the Overseer of the vault made it as a way to pass time. It’s supposed to freeze enemies.”
“That definitely sounds like a unique weapon to have in your arsenal.
Nora nodded but didn’t say anything. She was focused on the lock in front of her, still trying to crack it as Danse watched her.
In this moment, with her full attention taken up by something else, Danse allowed himself a moment of self-indulgence. He watched the way her brown hair fell out of its bun in small wispy strands. He saw the freckles on her cheeks that she swore she didn’t have before leaving the vault. He studied the way her vault suit fit her a little too perfectly, which had been one of the reasons he’d tried to convince her to trade it in for a Brotherhood suit.
Her pink lips were still puckered as her long fingers worked at the lock.
Danse swallowed hard, realizing that he shouldn’t be staring at his partner this way.
“Bingo!” Nora said, standing aside with a triumphant smile.
“Outstanding, soldier,” Danse said, hating the way his voice sounded ever-so-slightly off after studying her so closely.
“Have at it, partner,” Nora said, gesturing to the gun and standing aside.
The Cryolator was definitely something Sanctuary could use to keep the settlement well-defended. And as Danse studied the weapon, he imagined the various ways it could be used to ward off Raiders.
“You really do wonderful work, soldier. Have I told you that lately?” Danse asked, turning around to find that he was alone. “Nora?”
Feeling his pulse pick up a few paces, he left the small room and began making his way through the halls of Vault 111.
What if something had happened to her? What if Raiders had been camping out inside the vault and they’d somehow missed them on the way in?
It wasn’t until Danse entered a cold room full of large metal containers that he found his partner. She was standing in front of one of the pods with an expression he couldn’t read. When Danse approached and curiously looked at the frozen man behind the glass, his brain made the connection.
This had to be Nate. This had to be the man Nora had loved. The man she’d built a life with, only to have it all stripped away in mere seconds.
He looked from the man in the pod to Nora, watching the way her jaw tightened as she stared at her spouse. She didn’t let any tears fall, though Danse wouldn't have faulted her if she did.
He wasn’t sure what to say to her at a moment like this. He wanted to tell her that she was welcome to grieve however she wanted. He wanted to make this better for her. But he was at a loss.
“Take all the time you need, soldier,” he said, because what else could he really say?
“I’m fine,” Nora replied, taking a deep breath, turning on her heel, and walking quickly away from the room.
Danse barely had time to register what had happened before she disappeared completely.
He could hear the sound of the vault elevator in the distance as it brought Nora back up to the surface.
She probably needs a few moments alone, he thought to himself, looking back at the lifeless form of the man Nora had loved. The one she had trusted.
His heart ached for her.
Danse waited a while before making his way back to the vault elevator, not wanting to impose on Nora’s private moment the way he accidentally had when he’d clomped into the cryochamber. But to his surprise, Nora wasn’t waiting for him on the surface.
She probably went back to Sanctuary.
He wasn’t sure if this was true, but he hoped it was. Any time he lost sight of Nora, he began to feel a panic take over his heart. He’d had a lot of partners and lost a lot of partners. But he’d never worried so much over someone in his life.
Nora had proven herself a capable soldier in the field. Despite her kindness and her tenderness, she could also be tough. She was a walking contradiction wrapped up in a blue and gold vault suit. Danse didn’t have to worry about her being safe on her own.
And yet, he did.
The sound of Danse’s power armor tromping through the dirt was anything but stealthy, but he didn’t care about being quiet at the moment. He only cared about finding Nora and making sure she was okay.
Walking through the streets of Sanctuary, Danse found the first settler he could, even though he wasn’t exactly happy with who it was.
“Have you seen Nora?” he asked the ghoul in front of him.
“Wait… are you actually asking me, a lowly ghoul, for help?” Hancock asked, his mouth quirked up into a half smile.
The Paladin knew the ghoul was pushing his buttons on purpose. And in the back of his mind, he knew he deserved it. But that knowledge didn’t do anything to quell Danse’s rage.
“Listen to me, you…”
“Careful Danse, if you get too worked up, your power armor might rust and you’ll be stuck in there forever,” Deacon said, stepping up beside Hancock with a matching smile.
Of course it had to be Deacon.
If there was one person who liked to get under Danse’s skin more than Hancock, it was Deacon.
Danse clenched his jaw tightly, to try to keep his temper from flaring up. “Nora is distraught from something we encountered on our mission,” Danse began. “As her partner, it’s my job to make sure she’s okay.”
“I think he still thinks he’s part of the Brotherhood of Steel,” Hancock said to Deacon.
The jab shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did. But the reminder that the organization he’d dedicated his entire life to had thrown him out like an old pipe pistol after they’d found out who he really was, stung him to his core.
He wasn’t sure he’d ever be okay with the way things had ended. And he wasn’t sure he’d ever be okay with who… or what… he truly was.
But Nora was. She wasn’t just okay with what he was, she’d convinced him that he had something to live for. She’d saved his life in so many ways. Because that’s who she was.
“Garvey,” Danse said, while still keeping his eyes locked on Hancock’s in a scowl.
He’d been aware that Preston Garvey had been watching the exchange with mild interest. He also knew that Preston would give him the information he needed, rather than needling him for fun.
“The General is in her old house,” Preston said.
“Oh come on,” Deacon whined. “Why did you have to ruin our fun?”
Danse simply shook his head in annoyance, never letting the scowl leave his features as he walked away from Hancock and Deacon. “Thank you, Garvey.”
“Ad Victorium!” Deacon called after Danse’s retreating form.
“Ingrates,” Danse mumbled under his breath as he made his way to Nora’s old home in the quickly fading light.
It didn’t take long for his expression to soften as he heard the soft sounds of music coming from her living room.
Danse exited his power armor and knocked on the front door, straightening his posture and trying to figure out what he could possibly say to Nora about what she’d just seen. He should have known that going back into Vault 111 would be difficult for her. The fact that it had never crossed his mind only made him feel that much more responsible for her current dismay.
“Come in,” she called over the music.
Danse opened the door to her home and entered the living room to find Nora sitting on the couch with a large bottle of bourbon in her hand.
“Soldier,” Danse warned. “I know it’s tempting to lose yourself to something like that. But it isn’t wise.”
Nora laughed at his words before patting the couch beside her. “Come sit with me, Danse.”
The Paladin looked around the room, as if he’d find someone else there who would tell him it was a bad idea. There was no one. And the voice in his head that was constantly telling him to be better was nowhere to be found right at that moment.
Danse swallowed hard before taking a seat beside Nora. He felt oddly exposed without his power armor on. With only the orange Brotherhood jumpsuit between himself and the outside world, he wasn’t quite sure how to act. He felt too vulnerable.
“Why do you still wear that thing?” Nora asked, running her free hand over the arm of Danse’s jumpsuit in a way that gave him goosebumps.
“I could ask you the same question,” he answered with a smile, looking at her blue vault suit.
She took another long drink from the bourbon bottle before smiling at him. “Touche, Paladin.”
The bottle was almost empty and he silently cursed himself for giving her so much time to herself after she left the vault. She’d most definitely be inebriated by now.
The way she lazily watched him told him that the alcohol was definitely doing its job. And while he didn’t approve of her drinking, he had to admit it made it easier for him to address what had just happened.
“Are you… okay?” he asked.
“You mean after seeing my dead husband frozen in a metal container?” her words should have sounded harsh, but coming from Nora, nothing sounded harsh. “I’ve felt better.”
“I know that couldn’t have been easy, seeing him like that again.”
“I wasn’t planning on going into that room,” Nora admitted after another drink. She looked down at the bottle in her hands. “I told myself I wouldn’t do it. And then I did.”
Danse watched her carefully. Her cheeks and nose were red from the bourbon and she looked sad. Sadder than he’d seen her in a while. How could he possibly make this better.
“I’m sorry,” he said simply.
Nora looked over at him. Her green eyes were wide as she watched him. “You remind me of Nate sometimes.”
“Oh?” Danse wasn’t sure how he should respond to that. Keeping his response vague felt like the best course of action.
“I mean… you don’t really remind me of him. But that feeling of safety I always felt with him… I feel that with you too.” Nora smiled now, before setting the bottle down on the coffee table in front of her. “I feel safe with you. And that’s… it’s an invaluable thing in the Commonwealth.”
Danse tried to look away from Nora as she spoke, feeling uncomfortable with how vulnerable she was being. But he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away. “Thank you, soldier.”
Nora laughed softly at his response. “You don’t have to call me that,” she said, nudging him with her shoulder. “We’re not on some official assignment. You were just… accompanying me on my own little recon mission.”
“I prefer keeping things formal,” Danse lied. The truth was, he didn’t feel like keeping things formal with Nora. But he wouldn’t tell her that in a million years. Danse was broken beyond repair. Nora was many things, but there was no way she would be saintly enough to look past what he was.
“Do you really, Danse?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at him and leaning in closer.
“I think you should probably go lie down for the night,” Danse said, suddenly feeling uncomfortable at just how close they were on the couch. “Sleep off that bourbon.”
Nora leaned away from him and sighed. “You’re probably right.”
She seemed… disappointed. Danse wasn’t sure why she’d be upset by his suggestion.
As Nora stood up from the couch, she stumbled slightly, catching herself on the arm of the sofa.
“Okay fine,” she said with a giggle. “Maybe you’re right. I do need to sleep this off.”
“Indeed,” Danse answered, standing up and placing his hand under her elbow to help keep her steady. “Easy now.”
Nora leaned against him as he walked her through the hall to her bedroom at the back of the house. He tried to ignore the way his breath seemed to catch in his throat at her touch.
When they entered her room, Danse let her go for a moment to pull her covers down for her. When he turned back around, she was staring at him with a look he couldn’t quite read.
“You always take good care of me,” she said, her voice so low that he could barely hear it.
“I'll always have your back,” he said. “That’s what we do. We watch out for each other.”
“We do,” she said, the lazy smile returning to her lips.
Danse watched her in silence for a moment before his discomfort grew to be too much. “Are you ready for bed?” he asked, looking away from Nora for a moment.
“Was that a line?” she asked, her grin widening.
“Nothing I’ve said today has been a line,” Danse said, hoping she was too intoxicated to notice how red his cheeks had become.
Nora stepped closer to Danse with the grin still in place. “Are you sure about that?”
Danse backed away from her but couldn’t move very far before the back of his legs hit the mattress. Not wanting to encourage her further, he stepped away from the bed. Of course, this only brought him closer to her.
Seeming to take this as a sign, Nora pressed her lips firmly against his. She tasted like alcohol, which only helped to remind Danse of why this was incredibly inappropriate.
Pushing her away gently he tried to gather his thoughts as his mind desperately tried to push him closer to her again. “Soldier, this is… inappropriate.” His words were stilted and his voice sounded tight.
“Again, Danse, that’s kind of the point,” Nora said, bringing her lips to his again and wrapping her arms around his neck.
Danse knew he should push her away. She was intoxicated and he had no business kissing her. But he couldn’t stop himself from kissing her back. Only for a moment. Only long enough for his heart to begin hammering inside of his chest.
His breathing was shallow as his mouth moved with hers, and he hated himself for kissing her back when it was so obvious she wasn’t in her right mind. The guilt that flooded his mind was only outweighed by the sudden deep desire he had to deepen the kiss.
Danse couldn’t remember the last time he’d been properly kissed. And as much as his hands were itching to pull Nora closer, he pushed her away again.
“Soldier,” he began. “Nora… this… this isn’t okay. You’re drunk.” His voice was soft as he stared into her green eyes. Those beautiful eyes that had looked into his soul when he’d first found out he was a synth. Those green eyes that had convinced him he had something to live for.
“I’m not that drunk,” she said. “And I know what I want.”
Nora kissed him again, this time more desperately. She parted his lips with her own, tangling her fingers in his dark hair and pulling him closer and closer. Her kisses grew hungrier with every second and with each one, Danse found himself less able to do the right thing.
He wanted her. And that realization terrified him. He’d never wanted anyone this way.
“Nora, please,” he insisted between kisses. He wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to resist the woman he’d spent so long admiring.
In response, Nora dropped her hands to Danse’s waist, pulling him against her. “Don’t you want this?” she asked breathlessly. “I’ve always thought you did.”
How did he respond to that? He couldn’t possibly tell her the truth. That he’d wanted this since he’d met her. That would only encourage her. And Danse wasn’t the type of person to take advantage of someone when they couldn’t properly think for themselves.
“Nora,” he said, pushing her hands away and taking a breathless step back. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he watched her. Even now, knowing he had to do the right thing, his body was screaming at him to pull her close again. “You’ve had too much to drink.” His words were short and to the point. He didn’t think he’d be able to stay away if he let any emotion sneak into his voice right at that moment. “If this happened, it wouldn’t be right.”
“I already told you I want this,” Nora insisted, but as she took a step closer to Danse, he sidestepped her.
“You aren’t sober enough to make that decision,” Danse answered, furrowing his brow and wishing Nora hadn’t found that bottle of bourbon. “So I’m making it for you. You need to go to sleep.”
Nora watched him with hurt in her green eyes, her brows knitting together. “I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable,” she said, turning away from him. She seemed to take a deep breath before crawling into her bed.
Nora turned her back to Danse, instead facing the wall after lying down. The silence between them was suddenly deafening.
Even though he knew he was doing the right thing, her response made him feel like the bad guy.
“I wasn’t uncomfortable,” he said. “I just… want you to be safe.”
He watched her for a moment longer, feeling like he’d done something wrong somehow.
“Goodnight, Danse,” Nora said.
He sighed deeply at her words. In the morning, he’d come by and check on her. She probably wouldn’t remember any of this. He wasn’t sure if he was happy or sad that he couldn’t say the same.
This evening would be burned into his memory for the rest of his life. The feeling of Nora kissing him was going to make it almost impossible for him to keep working with her. He’d always been vaguely aware of his feelings for her, but he’d managed to tell himself that they were simply a result of finding a genuinely kind human being in the midst of a place as awful as the Commonwealth.
Now he knew the truth. He was head over heels for Nora. But he knew there was no way she’d ever want a synth. And why should she? He’d brought her into the Brotherhood. He’d taught her that synths were an abomination. And now he’d have to reap what he’d sown.
He watched her with sad eyes as her breathing slowed down and she fell asleep.
He’d be a good friend to her. He’d always try to be a good friend to her. Because despite his feelings that he knew couldn’t be reciprocated, she deserved a good friend. Danse would rather have Nora in his life as a friend than not at all. And even though he knew it would be torture to be around her after realizing just how much he cared for her, he couldn’t live with the alternative.
“Goodnight, Nora,” he said into the now-dark house.
.
[Part 2]
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choiwrites · 4 years ago
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kth | wolfgirl (m.)
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Words: 10k  Genre: twlight!au, it’s new moon but taetae as jacob, ur bella but you have a personality :o, oh also smut and a little angst Warnings: no protection and no fcks given, language ig?, descriptive seggs lol, vampires and all that bs if that triggers sum of yall, oral (f receiving), tae is younger than u and kind of a sub (dom tae is overdone we need change in this country) i cant think no more no thots hed mt Rating: 18+ Song: Iron & Wine - Flightless Bird, American Mouth Summary:  During your stay at your Aunt's house in the wet town of Forks, you never thought the boys next door will change your perspective in how you see the world.
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The weather in Washington was something you’re not used to. You can never go places without getting mud on your shoes and it takes more than your patience to clean them every time before going out. Sure, it was great to experience a different weather other than the blazing sun in Los Angeles, but it was hard to adjust. You weren’t ready for it with all the sleeveless and loose tops you brought from Los Angeles.
After months of debating with your mom, you decided it would be a great way to spend your summer vacation turning your camera focus into something more dark and cloudy. Your professor had also suggested that it would look good in your portfolio if you try different moods in photos other than the hot weather in Angeles. So, you thought about it for months before asking your mom to buy you tickets to see your Aunt Sylvia who you're currently living with for the meantime.
She was in her mid-thirties, but she looked younger than her real age. She knew how to groom and with the way she looks, she probably had that life during her high school days. You rarely see her though, you can remember all the conversations you both had. She leaves home early for her duty at the police station as an attending desk officer. Her place wasn't big, an average suburban house painted in cold tones of white and gray with dark furniture inside. It's not your typical definition of cozy. Good thing you brought your two sweaters — one with a Christmas tree embroidered on it and one with the phrase "'tis the season!" Wearing a sweater in Los Angeles only means one thing, and that is the season of giving. But who cares, it's not like anyone was going to notice, right?
About to finish the second cup of black tea, an idea pops into your mind about what Sylvia had said about the landscapes nearby the house. However, she had warned you about the risks of a few wild coyote appearances, but one could call you a junkie. There’s no fun in danger, but dangerous does rhyme with adventurous.
A cool whip of breeze enters the thin fabric of your sweater, immediately regretting stepping out of the doorstep after locking the door. As you are approaching the back of the house to enter the woods, young laughters echo through the area, lessening your fear for a bit. It must be safe if a group of teenagers are hanging out in such a secluded forest.
Unbothered by the noises, whether they were from teenagers or not, you make your way further into the woods of coppery branches on the endless verdant ground with subtle eau de nils. It’s like walking into a surreal three-dimensional render of a forest, too perfect to be right in front of your eyes.
It was quiet and serene in the woods. Aside from birds chirping, it felt like out of this world. It was an alien planet. Everything was green — the moss surrounding the place, every tree had some sort of fungi beneath it, the soil dark brown as if staring right into the earth’s eyes. The very healthy kind of earthy, and it was easier to breathe in the forest than it was in the city of Los Angeles. No wonder why they're both on the opposite sides of the country. They're literally poles apart. Being at Forks, it's as if you were able to be in a different country. It was secluded, unlike in Angeles, there are people in every place you go.
While changing the film of the camera, a strong gust of wind on your left side. So strong that your body stumbled onto the ground. You were on your knees, camera shattered as it hits a hard medium-sized rock. You break a couple of curses to the wind.
The camera looked hopeless with lenses separated from it, lying in pieces against a rock.
"What the hell was that?" 
There had to be some kind of a fast animal that ran from your side, which quickens your pulse, but the devastation you felt for the camera overthrew that fear. When you caught a glimpse of the 'wind,' it was human-like. It ran around in every direction surrounding you,  freezing you into place. The only thing you were able to do was to keep watching the human-like creature run in circles like lightning. You tried standing up, but it approached you in a rapid current that you fell into place again. But you couldn't see it, you weren't able to look into its eyes.
"You shouldn't be out here alone,” behind you says.
You whimper, embarrassed when the deep voice sends hums into your nerves.. 
"Why didn't you run?" He looks at you with knitted brows as he approaches to help you get on your feet. He’s far too attractive to be a wild coyote, you slap that stupid thought away.
"I... I didn't know what to do,” you force out, still affected by the broken camera and creeping fear.
He was around four inches taller than you. He looked about your age. Dark thick hair, with light brown irides inside his almond-shaped eyes. His skin was of a rich walnut tan, and his dark green hoodie complements that. 
"You must be Sylvia's niece. I'm Taehyung,” he said in a sultry manner as he offered a hand for a handshake.
"How do you kno-"
"She told us. My family's close with Sylvia. Our mothers used to be best friends, y/n." He puts his hand back in the pocket of his hoodie.
A tinge of embarrassment brushes through your cheeks, feeling guilty that you didn't give him a handshake. But all of that is ignored when he smiles.
"Did I creep you out?"
You chuckle softly. "No, of course not. I'm just still in the moment... of processing." You ease him, as if you were able to read the tension in his undecipherable eyes.
There was a few seconds of silence before Taehyung spoke again when he noticed your camera on the ground.
"Hey, we have a technician at home, maybe he has some tools he could help you with."
He was absolutely gorgeous. You find yourself lost in his face, studying his features and every little action he does. He would look so good as a muse. If only you could capture him right now, he'd be perfect under the clouds that create shadows that contour his cheeks and makes his eyes even more mysterious.
"Don't worry, you can trust me. Sylvia knows where I live,” he adds. 
Though that doesn't really solve the problem, you find yourself walking with Taehyung in the woods, drifting away from the devastation and fear from earlier. 
The laughters were from them. The laughs you heard earlier before entering the woods were from Taehyung's friends. They confirmed that they were walking around the woods earlier and that they passed by your house. All looking friendly with similar doe eyes, almost like they were relatives. They were all in a circle, all of them sitting on a chunk of thick logs, dressed in a similar way. The men were younger than you, but there is a girl who's older than you. She didn't seem as friendly as the others as you notice the judging glances towards your way. She had shoulder length of hair and she was just as tan as Taehyung. Taehyung discussed each of them one by one to you, all of them introducing themselves in an endearing manner except for her. Only saying her name was Leah and that was it, which made you feel an ounce of intimidation.
"So, y/n, how long do you plan to stay?" Embry, the one with the shortest hair, asks as he plays with the two twigs he'd been digging up dirt with the moment you arrived. His color was a tad bit darker than the others. He had a grin that could steal every girl's heart. He was gorgeous. They were all just as gorgeous as Taehyung.
"Oh, one month. I have a college application to fix back home,” you answered surely. You were only here to take photos for your college portfolio, and making friends was out of the picture until today.
"Sucks for Tae, I had a feeling you could be more than a willing candidate to be his girlfriend." Everybody laughed except for you and Tae who exchanged awkward glances at each other.
"Stop it, Bry." Taehyung wanted to laugh along but embarrassment got the best of him.
"She looks so out of place. You probably party a lot in Los Angeles, don't you?" Leah gives you a stern look, seriously waiting for your response. She only wants to get a reaction from you and you weren’t the only one to get the feeling as the group feels the rising tension between the both of you.
"No, I don't go to parties. Mom is very strict." You tell her. You didn't want the group to feel that you were intimidated, after all, you wanted to befriend everyone.
"She'd be perfect for our overnight tomorrow then." She prickly grins.
"Right! Want to join us in La Push? It's the nearest beach out here. We'll have bonfires and such," Seth, the youngest one with the tiniest body (still bigger than yours), expresses in excitement. Out of all of them, Seth was the friendliest. 
"I'll go talk to Sylvia for you, if you want." Taehyung raises his brows. He had been laughing quietly ever since he had brought you to meet his friends - which seems like he regrets, additionally. He was more mysterious than you thought. He didn't share much of his life during the discussion, only three things: his last name was Kim, he’s 20 years old, and he lives at the rez along with the rest of the team.
"Sure. I'll just bring my other camera." You smiled.
Taehyung said that he'll get Chase, a friend of his who wasn’t part of the circle, to fix the broken film camera. He assured that it will only be a matter of three days before the camera is all yours again. After a few more useless fun discussions, you had forgotten that the sun had settled for a while. When Taehyung realizes your face of worry, he offers to give you a ride home. Great, a ride with the wild coyote who had immediately earned your trust by rising a brow. You wouldn’t be so shocked if you end up ‘missing’ in the news in the next hours.
He owned a Chevy pick up truck. It was red, but faded, making it seem vermillion in color. It had a few dents and you were sure that it wasn't one of the smoothest rides you've ever had. But Taehyung made a few jokes about how he feels uneasy with the truck as well, only to reveal that it has been with him ever since his birth.
"It's great. Very retro." You gave him a smile to let him know that he doesn't need to feel embarrassed with his truck.
"Shut up, Y/N. I know it sucks, okay. I can't even play a single song here without a static." He laughs and you admit it.
He gave a charming wave to your window and had a small chat with Sylvia, who’s been home for hours, before leaving, probably about the La Push trip for tomorrow. Once you've changed into your pyjamas, Sylvia knocks on your door as you are about to settle in bed.
"Tae told me about the La Push camping tomorrow,” she began.
"Are you gonna let me?"
She smiles in an assuring way. You can't deny how lovely she looked with her hair down, her waves framing her heart-shaped face. "Of course, honey. You better wake up early tomorrow. Tae told me that he'll pick you up by seven." She winks and rubs your shoulder before heading downstairs.
A beach trip in a cloudy town without bringing any hoodies with you? Sounds about perfect, if you’re looking for a hypothermia attack. And you were never a morning person either so it’s a big mystery why you even agreed to go in the first place. The waking time in Los Angeles was ten in the morning. In Forks, it was seven. 
When Taehyung arrived, he was wearing a black shirt and a black leather jacket, pairing it with slightly oversized pants. He looked bigger than yesterday, maybe it was the jacket that made him look buff. He waved softly before you even stepped out of the doorway. He was carrying a medium-sized paper bag with small wet stains.
"My sister made us breakfast. Just in case you didn't have enough time to prepare," he opens the car door for you and waved to Sylvia goodbye, "thought you'd take more time because you probably wake up late in the city."
“I’m somehow a little offended with that assumption,” you cooed and he replied with a stammering laugh, unsure whether to take it as a joke or not.
He fumbled with the stereo and it played better than yesterday, giving you a sloppy smile as the first chords of Creep by Radiohead plays.
"You fixed it?" You take a bite from the sandwich his sister prepared. You thank God his sister prepared it for you, your stomach would be growling by now.
"Yeah. I just didn't want us to have that awkward silence along the way." He breathily laughs.
Everything Taehyung has is beautiful. He had an amazing laugh, a deep sultry voice, and doe eyes. He's simply astonishing. You were sure that everyone he has met so far had fallen in love with him. You weren't one to deny that either.
It took around fifteen songs before the both of you arrived at the beach — thanks to Taehyung's amazing playlist. It was quiet, the weather didn't change much in the place. Still cold and dark, untouched by a glimpse of sunrise. It was windier than the rest of Forks, and you wore your Christmas sweater to at least help with the cold a bit.
It was weird to say, but Taehyung radiated heat whenever you were near him. It's like when you're not around Taehyung, you feel the coldness of Forks. His truck didn't even feel cold though his air conditioning was on, you just felt a sense of unfamiliar comfortable heat you found yourself curling in your seat minutes ago. The group welcomed the both of you except for Leah of course. Sooner or later, you knew you'd start to hate her.
"You guys are early,” you tell Embry and Paul as they greet you with warm hugs.
"Of course, we are. It's La Push, baby." Embry gives you a wink and you blush.
"Okay, Bry, I haven't had my breakfast and you're already winking." Paul fake puked and the rest of the group laughs.
They started setting up tents as Taehyung offered to take your bag when he noticed how it's weighing you down. Before he could put it in the tent, you took your digital camera and started roaming around by yourself to take pictures of the view. Astounding as you had expected. It's like you were in the middle of nowhere. Only Taehyung's friends were at the beach which was a lucky shot for you and the group.
"Set up the fire, Tae! We're having breakfast." Leah yells across the place as she places the logs in the middle of the circle the tents are built in.
Taehyung sighs loudly. "Get ready for the Quileute Tribe stories." 
"You seem tired of it, you joked.
While Taehyung builds a fire with the rest of the boys, you secretly take pictures of him busy as the both of you keep talking.
"It's always the story every camping day. The Quileute Legends, you know? The scary stuff." 
You knit your brows when the word ‘scary’ comes into play, bringing your camera down to take a better look at the almost sweaty Taehyung.
"Scary stuff? How scary? Thrill me." You weren't aware as to how much Taehyung also studies your features. He wanted to know you better, but he was afraid of scaring you away by asking too many questions. It had always been his issue, scaring people away from him. And this time, he didn't want to let you in like the others, he just wanted to be acquaintances. But the more he spends time with you, the more he wants to be near you as if there were magnets pulling you together.
"I don't know what would thrill you, y/n. But the world is darker than you think, it's not always safe." He gives you a look. It was impossible. You were five feet away from him, but you could almost see your reflection in his eyes. It was too comforting. You were devoured by his eyes, falling steadily into his charms.
"I know. It's just as scary in L.A., I mean," you gulped, "crime is everywhere. Can't really stop it." You explained.
"It's not always crime that's scary, y/n. I'm talking unexplainable things." He smirks.
"Like paranormal?" You gaze away from him, starting to take pictures of the beach. But no matter how hard you try to distract yourself from Taehyung, your eyes keep falling on him.
"More than paranormal. Ghosts are easier to believe in."
You inhaled sharply. "I mean those are just legends, right? What's with the obsession in the Qui-Quileute Tribe?" You struggled pronouncing the word.
"It's not me. It's a tradition." There was a moment of silence before you could think of what to say again.
"Delete my pictures by the way." He scoffed.
"I thought you didn't notice."
"I was posing." 
You laugh at his joke, still certain you're never deleting any of his pictures, most definitely the one when he accidentally looked at the camera.
"You look sort of beautiful in the camera." Your lids flutter like a high school girl. “Not just in the camera, I mean… haha.”
He stares at you in confusion, and somehow you always find yourself frozen and embarrassed whenever he looks at you. "Sort of beautiful? You're more naive than I thought." He removes his jacket and throws it on the log nearby, revealing his buff body. You look away in discomfort, you didn't want to find yourself checking him out. "I'm not what you think I am. And I don't think you want to know."
"Maybe I do." You point the camera towards him and take a shot of his reaction. You wink.
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The clouds hovering above the clamorous sea tell that there's probably rain coming, but it seems like the group wasn't bothered by it at all. You were sitting next to Taehyung two feet away from you on the logs nearby the fire that Seth had given up trying to help making after a couple of failed attempts. His heat never failed to linger around you though.
Sam was discussing the Quileute Legends and the group was very fascinated with the story, even though Taehyung had confirmed earlier that they've already heard the story too many times from their own families. Sam was good. He had a way in telling stories. You find yourself actually believing the legends. Werewolves and vampires? Shapeshifters and Children of the Moon? You weren't one to believe in such fantasies. You liked to watch historical movies more than fairytales, but with the way Sam elaborated every part of the legend, you can't deny the shiver that you felt when he discussed the cold ones.
Fast like lightning. Beautiful and alluring. Undead without a soul.
You thought it was ridiculous for Sam to even give out a warning about the cold ones. You were suppressing your laugh a little bit, and you were sure Leah already had her eyes on you. Why would Sam give out a warning about the cold ones? It's not like they were actually real. He also mentioned a treaty. And he sounded pretty serious about it too, even Taehyung was carefully listening. All of their eyes were on Sam, except for Leah.
Sam talked about a specific family of the cold ones, that they proposed a treaty. These cold ones are not allowed to hurt anybody from Forks, or else the mentioned werewolves are allowed to pose a fight with them. He talked about it like it was a plan.
It was afternoon and the clouds were still as thick as it was in the morning, but rays of sunlight shone through the gaps between the dark clouds. It looked ethereal, an aesthetic you'd only see in paintings. You thought those paintings are only manifestations of amplified emotions of the painter, but here you are, smiling to your camera as you take hundreds of shots.
"Save some memory for the other landscapes," Taehyung says beside you, throwing pebbles to the water, each bouncing impressively for three times.
"I know, I just can't get enough of this. You don't see that in L.A." You pointed your index finger towards the horizon of the sea.
"Yeah, but at least you can swim in LA. It's too cold out here to even go for a swim,” he emphasized.
"Not when you're around. It's weird, but I feel like you have a fever. You're too hot."
He raises his brows . "I know I'm hot," he chuckles.
"I didn't mean it like that,” you protest, though you know for a fact, Taehyung right. If he were to live in L.A., he'd be escorted many times by a modeling agency.
"So, I'm not hot?" You knew he was teasing and your embarrassment was obvious enough because of the blood rushing through your cheeks.
"You're attractive. I'm sure you know that." You roll your eyes, trying to keep everything casual — which is getting harder and harder every time he's around.
"No, I don't,” he teased. He was obviously getting pay back on you for taking candid shots of him earlier.
Your eyes landed on Sam and Emily play-fighting in the sea, just the sight of them being happy made you feel a bit of a heartache. You were a sucker for romance. The boys told you earlier that they were engaged for three months now. Leah was Sam's ex-girlfriend and Emily was Leah's ex-best friend. Finally putting the pieces together why Leah was one of the hardest to be with. She was extremely hurt and broken. She would rather shut the world out rather than let anybody in. She would rather be alone, than find anyone again who could possibly hurt her.
"Look," you poked Taehyung who was too busy throwing pebbles, "Sam and Emily are swimming. We should too!"
Though you were shivering, you bravely took off the mustard jacket that Taehyung had let you borrow. You were left with your thin brown tank top and denim shorts. He's still in his black shirt, unbothered to even take it off nor his jeans.
"What are you doing? Let's go." You tell him as you walk towards the sea.
This was a bad idea. It felt like ice was draping all over your body. How can Emily look like she's having fun when you're over here freezing just by stepping into the water? Half of your body was shivering from the wind, the lower half was for sure numb. You wanted to slap Taehyung for taking so long to get in with you, and you weren't even sure why you were so desperate for him to get in with you. It's not like he had a heater with him.
It took Taehyung a few more seconds before he started taking his shirt off, revealing his caramel skin, but it wasn't his color that caught your eyes, it was how built he is. His body looks like it was sculpted by the most talented and precise sculptor. It was defined, and shadows are doing magic in giving it silhouettes in the right areas. The best part about it was how shy he was taking off his clothes, like a teenager getting ready for his first swimming lesson.
He was for sure planning to swim today, revealing the gray trunks he’s wearing underneath his jeans. He needs a bigger one that fits him better, because the trunks he's wearing isn't doing him any justice.
Okay, no. Maybe it was justified by a subtle outline of his —
Don't even look down there, y/n, you tell yourself.
You didn't know where to focus. His thighs were just as eye-catching as his abs. Just as toned and thick. It would be such a material for thigh riding, you thought and you quickly shake your head at the idea. It has to be the waters that did this to you. Time has never been more relevant when he was walking towards your way, as he scoops water with his hands to wet his hair, while biting his bottom lip and giving you a small smile after.
"Freezing?" He smiles, eyes pierced on your small body. You were hugging yourself, embracing yourself from the fact that if you let go of your hands, you might touch something else.
"You were taking so long." 
He chuckles before holding your arm, taking it off your body. "Come on, dip your whole body." He pulls you softly towards the ocean, the sound of walking through water comforting your ears.
He was a foot away from you, the water level was on his chest and so was yours, but slightly higher. He looked even more godly. His hair pushed back, and to see his face in its entirety was a blessing, a gift.
None of you dared to talk, and you thought it was better that way. You just get to stare at him, as the sunlight lands itself upon his bronze eyes with specks of gold if you would close enough, majestic indeed to see something like that once in your life. You'd wish to wake up to that every morning.
There was this comfortable silence between the two of you. Drops of water fall under his eyelashes, fluttering them as he struggles to stare back at you. The moment was ruined when he suddenly smiled and looked towards Embry and Paul. Embry was sitting next to Paul, staring at the both of you while laughing. You shrug, feeling invaded.
"Why? What is it?" you asked Taehyung.
"They're thinking ridiculously."
 You furrow your forehead. "How do you know?" He tightens his hold around your arm as he keeps you steady near him, aware of you struggling to touch the floor.
"I just know," he softly plants circles on your arm with his thumb, "trust me."
"Maybe we shouldn't stand too close to each other then. I think they're making a big deal out of it." You didn't want to come off feisty, but you guessed it went that way for Taehyung as he moved away from you without letting you go.
"No, they're not. They're just teasing." When he said that, it was like he only said it to get near you, to assure you that it was okay to be close to him like that.
"Still cold?" he asked.
"Not so much anymore." You muttered. There were so many questions you wanted to ask Taehyung, but your voice isn't very trustworthy at the moment. You know it will betray you the moment you open your mouth.
"Penny for your thoughts? Why did you want to swim?" His voice was soft, calming as the ocean.
"I wanted to test how warm you can make me, even in freezing water."
He laughs breathily. "Seriously?"
You nod. He wanted to tell you a lot about himself, but like you, he was just as scared. Skinny dipping wasn't really your thing, especially in cold water, so after a few more moments of swimming and small talks with Taehyung, you let yourself dry by sitting next to the tent, keeping yourself busy by viewing all the pictures you took.
It was four in the afternoon, and the sun looked like it was already setting. Time was almost irrelevant at Forks, you wake up and the next thing you know, you're already getting ready for bed. Even though today was quite eventful, the clock still ticked quickly.
Feeling dry enough, you walked to the other side of the beach, Embry had mentioned that there was a cliff nearby along the woods. Though Taehyung was busy drying himself and laughing with the others, he glanced your way as you were heading towards the woods. You lifted your camera so he knew what your motive was, and he flashed a sly smile.
Trees. Cliffs. Birds.
The place could be a haven for the National Geographic Channel.
"I thought the pack wouldn't ever leave you alone like this." A deep voice spoke behind you, his english accent was thick and strong. You were sure that if you turn around, he’ll be ten feet away from you. You regret blinking your eyes, because the next thing you knew, he was right in front of you. His expression with so much thirst, so much hunger. For what?
You only inhaled sharply, first thing coming into your mind, confusion overpowering your nerves. You examined the man before you quickly. Olive skin, dark ruby eyes. His skin was inhumanly shiny, he almost looked dead, but in a mesmerizing type of way. He had dark purple circles, but his eyes were beautiful enough to distract you from it. He mirrored a cement under sunlight, he had fragments of diamonds and glitters on his skin. It wasn't your brain consuming you but his visual, his aura.
"Didn't bring your dog with you?" You weren't sure what he meant. He takes a step forward to lean into your ear, and your feet beg to stay, your eyes staring deeply in his beauty. You were too engaged, everything about him had you in place.
"You smell different from the others. Are you aware of that?" His breath touched your skin and there the exact opposite of heat seeping in your skin. “La tua cantante. I can hear your blood flowing through your veins. I can hear your heart. It's beautiful." He sniffs your neck as he hisses.
He wasn't human, and this time you were sure. He had danger lingering in his eyes, but it dressed so captivatingly beautiful, you found yourself lost.
"It won't hurt, I promise. It will be just a tiny bite, you won't even feel it."
There were words coming out of your mouth, you swore that. But nothing, your mouth still and close. It's sort of like he had power upon you, controlling and manipulating your body to be a mannequin. 
"Shh, don't fight it. You won't win over me." His teeth were grazing on your neck, seeking for a soft spot. You were unsure of his nature, what could he be?
An alien from this alien planet? An experiment gone wrong that escaped from a lab, perhaps? Maybe a demon, or an angel. A greek god of some kind?
They were all terrifying.
At the corner of your eye appeared a shirtless Taehyung, but he didn't look like himself. He was red, smoke flaring around his body. His chest expanded by time, and when you felt a small sensation of sharpness on your neck, Taehyung jumped towards the man.
No, it can't be.
This isn't Taehyung. Taehyung was gone. Maybe you were imagining things, but you felt all of them happening in front of you. As the man got distracted, your senses came back, falling on your side from losing balance. You pushed yourself away from the two monsters, as you would describe it. This wolf was huge, enormous. Any man who would try to fight it will easily lose. It stands almost seven foot, three bears wide.
Without trying, the creature had already decapitated the man. You weren't sure how to feel — safe or worried — but you were sure that you are mortified, and your face clearly expresses that.
You were only moving away from this huge thing in front of you, maybe that'll help you escape. But you don't even know if you wanted to escape. A part of you believes that Taehyung is inside that wolf, maybe eaten alive, or a spirit. 
So much for the wild coyotes, thanks for the heads up Sylvia.
Your eyes met his. Dark bronze eyes with specks of gold if you look close enough. You could almost see yourself in them, they were that kind. His eyes had a message for you, to approach him, to pet him, that it was okay and he will never hurt you. Before your hand could land on his lowered head, Sam and the others came running to help you, obviously seeing the wolf, but not even being bothered like you were.
"Y/n, are you alright?" Sam helps you stand on your feet.
Sam and the wolf had some kind of connection. Sam stared at it and the wolf left.
"So, wolves are normal here?" you spoke with a weak voice.
Sam opened his mouth and closed it again, thinking of how he can explain what just happened. You know that he knows something, and he was struggling to tell it.
"Where's Taehyung?" You scan their faces with no sign of Taehyung.
Holy shit! The wolf ate him! you thought. All you want to see right now is Taehyung. To prove himself. He can't be that wolf. The wolf must have eaten him. It is far too impossible for Quileute Legends to be real.
"We should get going before the other cold ones get here." Sam assists you to get back in the tents, completely ignoring your state of bewilderment.
Maybe it's a Forks thing to be mysterious and quiet. It irks you so much that none of them are even acknowledging what happened. This would be a great story for your mom.
Hey, Mom. Just wanted to call to tell you about how great my day was. So Taehyung, right? Aunt's neighbor, really hot guy I'd totally fuck, got eaten by a werewolf. But that's not too crazy, an incredibly beautiful medieval British man held me hostage, telling me he wanted to suck my blood. What a Forks thing! And everybody saw this huge tall wolf, I'm talking as big as a shelf kind of wolf, but they all acted like it was some puppy leaving the scene. Anyways, Mom, I'm traumatized. Going home in a week.
There is no way you can paraphrase that. No way you can make everything happening right now to sound normal at least one bit. This must be normal in Forks, but this is some Hollywood work in LA already. Things like these don't happen unless there was a shoot next door.
"Hey, you okay?" Leah approaches you. Her concern is seemingly genuine.
"I'm alive, guess I am okay. Where's Taehyung?" You don't bother to look at anyone at all, you drive your attention to the waves landing on the beach, hoping you could synchronize your breathing with them.
"Taehyung's fine. You don't have to worry about him."
"I saw him there. He was... he was red! Like he was burning! And... and there was smoke. Then I blinked, then there's a wolf. I swear it ate him!" Leah looked at you with wide eyes, but her lips were shaking trying to hide a smile.
"You're not taking me seriously! That wolf killed that guy! I don't know. He sounded British!" Leah bit her lip. "That was horrifying. I saw its head removed, there was no blood! What was that?" Leah inhaled sharply before looking at you with assurance.
"Can you calm down? The wolf you saw, don't you think it was described like the one in the legends?" Leah almost shouted, yet still controlling her laugh.
"Shapeshifters? Those are legends, Leah! The wolf ate Taehyung!" 
She chuckled. "No, they are real," she protested.
"The British man there was a cold one, a literal vampire. Taehyung didn't kill him, he was already dead."
No.
"Shut up, Leah. I know you hate me, but this is no time for jokes." 
She laughs harder. "You're right about me not liking you, but I'm not joking. That dark brown werewolf is Taehyung. One and only Taehyung. 20 year-old Taehyung who lives at the rez. That Taehyung."
'The world is darker than you think. It's not always safe.'
Taehyung had already given you clues from the start. But a word from Leah wouldn't be enough to stop your mind from going everywhere. You needed to hear this from Taehyung.
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It was twilight already and the group had decided to spend the night in their cabin, instead of the beach. Sam explained that it was for your safety which until now he hasn't elaborated yet. Emily offered newly baked muffins, but it was too late before you could grab one when all the boys devoured around them. You gave Emily a smile.
"You can have the next batch." She shied away.
Emily looks like an average girl next door. She had fringes and medium length hair, they were very flat. Her skin was like the others, tan and healthy-looking. One thing you haven't examined deeply about her were her eyes. Embry had told you once that staring at Emily would bother Sam, and when you first saw her, you knew immediately why. She had a scar on one of her eyes, they looked painful. It looks like a cat scratch, only if that cat was a lion. It covered half of her face, but that didn't stop her from being lovely. She was still pretty in every way.
Taehyung arrives at the cabin, looking at everybody except you, his body resting on the door frame. He was heavy-breathing like he just finished a race. Sam came after him, giving him a small pat then walking towards Emily. Taehyung's eyes remain on the floor. His actions were complicated. You haven't figured him out yet.
"Y/N, Tae, maybe you can talk outside alone." Sam smirks at Taehyung, and Taehyung smiles back.
'This is no time to be smiling!'
Taehyung finally looks at you before leaving the door and you follow. But he still hasn't talked. And your rage is piling up inside you, you finally take a step forward.
"Care to explain what the hell happened there? I thought you were swallowed by that — that thing!" He gulps, stopping his tracks and turning around to see your face.
"I was scared," you muttered.
He totally understood why you were scared. Because he was just as scared and confused as you when he first discovered who he was, and just like you, he chose to deny it in every way he can, and he hoped that denial can make a change.
"You're not supposed to know about this. I didn't want to put you in this position — of knowing what truly there is." His eyes are sad, like he was a missing child.
The same day Taehyung figured out what he was, his eyes looked exactly the same; with fear, agony, and deprecation.
"So, you're a werewolf?" You felt his pupils dilate.
He looked at you in disbelief as if he hadn't given enough clues yet.
"Werewolf. Shapeshifter. Monster. Dog. Whatever you call it, it wasn’t my choice." His voice was weak, almost ashamed of what he had just said.
"And you kill —"
"Vampires." He finishes your sentence before you could assume. "Just vampires. The cold ones? Those that violate the treaty? They’re real." And so the legends were correct and real, and the evidence stands right in front of you, breathing and staring at you.
But no matter what angle you look at him, he wasn't a monster. He is not what he is described in the fairytales. He wasn't a merciless creature, not even harmful. He was just this young boy who lived near you.
"I get that you're afraid of me. Trust me, so am I."
"I'm not scared of you. If it weren't for you I would be bloodless by now." You bit your lip. "But I'm still a little overwhelmed." You gulped.
He had no words, but he was relieved. And you knew that when his eyes twinkled, the kind he gave you when you were jamming to the songs he had in his truck.
"If it's okay for you, I'm inviting you and Sylvia to my birthday tomorrow. It's just a small gathering."
"Will there be drinks?" you kid.
"Sam doesn't really want me taking any drinks for the meantime." He chuckles.
"Why not?"
"He said that I can't be on alcohol during my first six months of phasing. Why? Do you drink?" he innocently asks.
"Was just teasing." You playfully pushed him before proceeding to walk back in the cabin.
Before you even knew it, Taehyung was irrevocably infatuated with you. He wouldn't have thought that a college girl would give a small attention to someone younger than her, or even finding out about who he truly is and still staying by his side. He had spent so much time denying who he was, but maybe being a werewolf isn't so bad after all, if phasing is what it takes to protect you or anyone at all.
You were just like what he thought you would be — kindred spirits.
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The party isn’t filled with loud chats and crowds, it is a gathering. Taehyung tried his best to always stand by your side to give you ease in enjoying such an unfamiliar place as Sylvia gets indulged in conversations with the others, completely forgetting you. Every minute though, he'd have to leave you alone on the couch but he'd return as soon as he can.
There weren't much talks between you and him either, only a couple of smiles exchanged whenever Embry and Quil do something embarrassing in front of the both of you.
It seemed as if the night was the longest night of your life, only occupied with listening to others’ stories and Taehyung sipping a punch from his red cup. He had asked a few questions to keep things interesting, but it was hard to keep the mood flowing. You had asked about his hobbies and all the boring stuff you could think of, and surprisingly he would reply with enthusiasm like he have always wanted to be asked those questions. This makes you more curious how his daily life goes, how many people does he actually talk to.
When the hand of the clock drops at ten, you were just patiently waiting for Sylvia to get on her feet and cut the conversation with the others but she seemed to have consumed more alcohol than she could tolerate and the next thing you knew she was laughing like a maniac. You were stuck in a loop circle of smiling so thinly to everyone you get eye contact with.
You distract yourself with admiring the intricate designs of Taehyung's small home, and the thought of a young Taehyung growing up in where you're sitting currently makes your heart jolt. It's uplifting seeing his pictures on the wall, but there was a difference between his smile before and his smile now. One can easily tell which was more true. You had no clue what it's like to be his kind, hell even now you still can't believe what he is. But it sure shows in the way he had changed judging from the innocent photos that hang on the wooden walls. You've never known him since then, yet you wanted to restore this angel-being beaming at the sight of a camera who now hates being in photos because he thinks he's some sort of a monster.
You wanted to ask him about the pictures, the one where he was wearing a towel with a headband, the one where he was framing his face. All of them speak some kind of connection with you, maybe it's your love for photography that makes you feel this way, but innocence is one of the hardest thing to lay your lenses on.
Then you finally got it. What your professor was talking about, drawing something intangible to your camera. This is what he meant. Your gallery is only filled with landscapes, mostly the aesthetic of architecture and nature. Taehyung is what you needed to change the mood of your photos, not the weather, not the dark ambience of Forks, but his story. If only there's a chance for you to grasp his mystery in a single picture, his adventurous smile in one flash.
A pang of pain in your forehead pulls you back into reality, and the lights that stood above you only made it worse. You needed to leave immediately before the pain has you grunting. Welcomed with a wrapping breeze, you brace yourself and regret wearing the dress Sylvia begged you to wear. She said it was her favorite when she was your age, a Prussian blue dress that stops before your knees with tulle around the hem and a lighter blue ribbon on the chest.
Of course Taehyung who sits beside you would notice your leaving, and before you can inhale the fresh air from the porch, he was already asking what's wrong.
"I don't feel so good. I think I'm gonna have to go home alone since Sylvia's still occupied," you said, pushing on your temples with your thumb and middle finger.
"I can drive you home. I don't think they'd notice that we left, they're all pretty wasted." He chuckles, complementing the high tones of the strong wind that travels past your bodies.
"I'm really sorry. I'm being rude, I mean this is your party... your birthday party and you're going to drive me home."
He places the sippy cup on a coffee table near the entrance, and he was palming his pocket to reach for his keys.
"It's fine, y/n. The party's been dead four hours ago and I can't send you home alone. Do you have the house key or should I go back inside and ask Sylvia for it?"
"She gave me a duplicate. I think it's best we go now. My head's really killing me."
It was unusual, headaches. They rarely come to you since you monitor your phone usage and water intake. You hate getting them because you hated taking meds for it, and you just hoped Sylvia would have a stock of it. Your fingers have been roaming your forehead for a while yet you can't seem to navigate where the pain is, where it's beating. It would be better if you could massage it along the ride but you were struggling to even keep your fingers raised.
Taehyung stops the car in the middle of somewhere as you are hitting your head continuously on the head rest. It was quiet, a deafening silence that rang your ears that brought you to open your eyes. Taehyung wasn't in his seat anymore, only fog filling for his place crawling under your skin.
There was your breathing, crickets, and rustles of trees that travel the air. You weren't sure how to react but one was definite, you were scared. The hand resting on your thigh turning white and wet, breathing faster and heavier as the air seems to be corrupted with toxic poison that does nothing but suffocate you.
Don't get out of the car, don't get out of the car, you chant internally hoping it will help your situation.
"Hello, dear," a slinky voice says through the window, almost similar to the man— vampire from yesterday. Could it be? Could there be more? "Don't make me wait, dear. Open the door and make this easy for the both of us, hm?"
It sounds the exact same as the accent the man had with an alluring tone that draws you to open the door. However, it wasn't just her tempting attempt into convincing you to endanger yourself, the pain in your head inflates as you try to control yourself.
"You want it hard, my dear?" She smirks, you weren't sure but you hear the spread of the corner of her lips.
Then she was in front of the headlights, filled with rage, her eyes dark and dangerous as she showed her predacious teeth. From here, you can feel the vibration of her anger as if she had the ability to let you feel all the harnessed emotions inside her. You can count them one by one: anger, vengeance, and the feeling you get before success. None of them were positive emotions, none of them was mercy. She came here to accomplish one thing.
Your death.
Finally understanding it, inside her browbeating eyes were agony and mourning. She was here to avenge the death of the vampire that Taehyung had killed. She was as beautiful, as seductive with her pale skin and ruby lips, curly strawberry blonde hair that flows until her shoulders.
You discovered that there was a split second of slow agonizing memory of your life before it's taken, and you wished there was none. She runs towards you, careless whether she bashes her head into the glass. She takes your neck, her fingers poking specifically at the sides and right before you can regain your breath your eyes open.
Gasping and catching air, awakening in the seat with Taehyung by your side who drives in silence as Midnight Rambler by The Rolling Stones plays from his rusty stereo.
So if you ever meet the midnight rambler
I'm coming down your marble hall
Well, he's pouncing like a proud black panther
Well, you can say I, I told you so
He sits there, unaware of the chaos that repeats in your head. It all felt so real, the grasp on your neck that locks your throat, you could've sworn you've given your last breath. The pain had stopped, replaced by dizziness that you knew would pass as minutes go by. 
"What's wrong?" he asked. "Is there something on my face?"
You shake your head. "I didn't know I was staring."
That's right. You didn't know you were staring. There was so much comfort in knowing he never left, the heat of his presence brings you a feeling of security. It's okay now. Taehyung's still here. By your side.
Once reaching home, Taehyung does his best to assist you as though you were ill. It's cute how he acts that way, so careful, so gentle. Upon reaching your room, Taehyung stops before your bedroom door, almost waiting for an invitation.
"I should get going now. I'll tell Sylvia you felt sick." And before he could say good bye, you're already wrapping yourself in the blankets as he passively makes a step away from your door.
"Taehyung," you said, reaching out. "Thank you for today."
He doesn't turn back. "You're welcome. Also, thank you for coming."
A shiver spreads across your back when your lids start to fall, and your body jolts upwards. The beautiful woman from the early nightmare visits your mind again, her face inches from yours close to ripping it apart.
"Taehyung," you whispered, but he heard you within the thin walls of the lonely house. "Can you... stay for a sec? I... I had a nightmare earlier... felt so real. C-can you?"
He walks back, eyes landing everywhere except your body that waits for him on the bed. Is she serious? he thought as you opened the blankets for a space behind you.
"Until you fall asleep?"
You nod. He kicks off his shoes and he positions himself behind you, both of your breaths synchronizing as he lies down softly. You bury your cheek into the pillow when you feel his warmth wrap the room, the security coming back. You turn your head to see him watching you inches away, his hand keeping his head up as he rests his cheek against it. You take his free hand that lies on his right side, pulling it to your stomach requesting for him to scoot closer until his body brushes your back.
You can stay like this, for longer than you can imagine. Just the sounds of your breaths and the hums of his loud thumping heart that makes its way to your upper back, the release of breath from his nostrils that flies over your hair. Peaceful. Safe and sound.
In his embrace, you forget everything: the packing for Los Angeles, the fear of not getting into any university, the supernatural that you had discovered that you still cannot comprehend, the clouding fear that something is coming to get you. In his arm, it's like they never existed. The worries are nothing but disappearing sea foams, a water in heat that evaporates into thin air.
You enclose the hold in Taehyung's hand above your stomach, intertwining them for ease. Falling back into his embrace, he subtly moves away hoping you wouldn't notice. His warmth turning into heat, breathing ragged, hold on you tighter and stronger. Then you feel it, a gentle thrust behind you and he pretends to adjust position. He pulls you closer with the hand on your stomach and you sigh which caused a poking at your butt.
You may not be the smartest person on earth, but it doesn't take a book to know what it was. Taehyung murmurs an apology, his words passing by your neck which sends your stomach into a spiral. You rub your thighs together hoping to dissipate the throbbing in your core, not now.
Not now that Taehyung's beside you. Or maybe it should be now that Taehyung's beside you, you were open for a helping hand. His hand over your head tucks a strand of your hair, the finger brushing on your temple made your aching much harder to ignore. There would be no distraction, no having to worry about who will hear the both of you, for God's sake the house was built in the middle of nowhere, so you thought 'Fuck it.'
You tug his hand to the middle of your chest, to rest them between your breasts as your head turns to face him. He gulps, looking at you intently with lust hovering over his hooded eyes. You lean towards him, your lips reaching his and he pulls away for a second before diving back in. He had pillowy lips, and if it weren't for your hot need at the moment you would let your lips sleep on them for a longer while, but as of right now there are a lot of tensions that need handling.
You leave his hand on your chest while he's still shy to grope one of your breasts. Your hand then wrapping the back of his head to pull him deeper into the kiss, he sighs. That sigh caused the aching to grow, shaking your behind to feel how needy he was and he sighs again. His hand that was on your chest now pushes below the curves of your breasts to pull you closer, to have more friction, to thrust into you.
Until he couldn't take it anymore, he wants you below him as much as you want him on top of you. He hovers above you, his knee swift in spreading your thighs open and he is bucking in a steady pace on your clothed entrance.
"Take me, Taehyung," you breathe the second he leaves your lips.
He takes it slow, burning your insides, as his fingers pull the bow on your chest, untying the effortless knot you had made in the mirror. Too slow to keep up with your throbbing heat, you trail his hand to open the loose front, exposing
your nude bra. His eyes are pinned on yours, and you would make quick glances at his moderate hand you're directing. You unclasp the front of your bra, and when he hears it setting on the bed, he kisses you as if asking if you were really sure. Beneath the feverish endless kiss were words of fear from him, what if he wasn't truly ready.
The last time he had experienced this was long ago, a time before he knew how dangerous he could be. Careless of what his hands could bring, when he hadn't given a single thought for any of his actions. Well, it was one time, only once with the first girl he had ever loved. And the first was always the quickest, but it was unforgettable, he had kept every detail of her daisy fresh skin remembered under his fingertips. The laughs they had shared in between, a significance of the innocence they were about to lose. His head loses in doubts, questions that can only be answered if he risks hurting you tonight.
Then you whisper, "It's okay, you're not going to hurt me." Because in your mind, that was the last thing in his abilities. You smile, "It's okay." Rubbing circles at the back of his trembling hand, his jaw clenches.
Once he had started kissing you again, you parted his lips with your tongue in which he had replied with a tender bite causing you to moan within your throat. This motivates him to grope your breast, aggressing as seconds pass by, pulling a nipple in between his fingers and you arch your back. You rest your feet on his back, synchronizing with the movement of his hips. You admire the way his head moves downward, stopping after every inch of your skin to place a soft kiss until he reaches your breasts to which he places a long stripe lick moving from one bud to another while his eyes remain on yours. He's going to be the death of you.
You pant, trying to reach his hips that came to a halt. His hands pushing the hem of your dress higher, stopping at the middle of your waist. And his evil slow hands, still taking his time, move behind your thighs to pull them away from his back and placing them on his shoulders as he gets comfortable right between them. With gaze pierced on yours, he flats his lips on your clothed slit, tracing the wet spot visible in your white underwear. The thought of you being almost naked underneath the dress ever since earlier brought Taehyung into insanity, he could've fucked you with his fingers on the couch, he could've removed them and left your pussy out in the open as he keeps it in his pocket, he could've done so many things if only he knew earlier how much you'd wanted him just the same.
You look at the empty ceiling, too affected by the darkness in his stare, you were scared you would cum too quickly if you remain watching. He pulls your garment upward to put his bare thumb against your clit, until you couldn't take it and you look down again to see him putting the said thumb in his mouth. Sweeter than the cranberry juice he'd been tolerating to drink, adding that to the list he could've done earlier while your panties were in his pocket; enjoying the sweet fervor of your cunt on his tongue. He plays at your clit, tongue curling to lap up the wetness that increases as his spit mixes in. He knows so well what he's doing, the fragile scoop of his bottom lip from your opening to your clit where he stops.
Everywhere around his lips glistens as the bright light from the hallway outside your room shines upon them. His hands still holding your thighs steady, he slips his tongue inside you which has you shaking and he had to adjust the control in his grip. Once they've settled, he puts his touch above your breasts, flicking both buds in each hand.
You were crumbling under him, desperate for release, grunting in a throaty voice as you tried to keep yourself together. Tears huddle in your eyes, blurring your vision until he stops, now smiling above you while he pulls your underwear away from your body. It doesn't take long for him to get naked and you take time to admire his build. His skin was made of honey, toned and reflective of the warmth he emits. His cock slapping his tummy before he could fully get out of his tight boxers, his tip reaching his button.
He returns to his position between your thighs but this time around he was the one to wrap your legs around his waist. His shaft falls between your slit and he makes subtle movements in burying himself between them.
"I just want to say," he began, "how amazing you are." A gravelly moan of your name escapes his lips as you take matters in your own hand, thumb going over the head of his cock while the rest of your fingers rest wraps his cock.
He thrusts into your hand. His face forming wrinkles, frustration painted across his face. Until he falls on both arms caging your head, bucking for more friction, enjoying the suppleness of your touch. He was groaning, panting, and making a mess of himself to which all echoes from one wall to another. You put a hand on his abdomen to break his movement. He obeys, feeling you part yourself for his cock, torturously slow in entering you.
You pull your hands to your sides, getting a hold of Taehyung's biceps. Opening your lids to watch his pupils dilate as he rams the rest of his length inside your beating entrance.
"Y/n," he groans, brow knotting together when you clench around him. He's going to fall apart, he thought. You wrap him tighter, letting go of yourself in ecstasy, careless whether you melt into the bed or break it, all is well as long as you're looking into his eyes.
He chants your name again and again in a symphony of continuous moaning, and all you could say is how good he sounds. A compilation of ah's and oh's whenever he reaches your spot, his head brushing against it and it felt like nothing but heaven. More, he wants more, if only he could fuck you endlessly he would. The bed hits the wall in coordination of his sharp thrusts, and he's losing himself in you he couldn't care less if he breaks the walls. In sync with the sounds he makes were your gasps and high-pitched whispers of his name that he can see himself in the near future thinking of them and fucking himself alone in his room as he recalls them.
"Tae— oh fuck, Taehyung," you cried out causing his cock to twitch inside you, you call out for more. His name and a couple of curses were the only words you could spew out. Trembling, you feel an explosion of euphoria inside you, letting go of the tight grip around Taehyung's arm.
With one last fluid thrust, he pulls himself out and spills himself on top of your stomach. Both of your breathing slows until they were no longer audible. He rolls to his back beside you waiting to cool down and you take care of yourself by wiping his cum away with the tissue from the nightstand.
"I'm sorry, I made a mess," he says, breaking silence.
You didn't reply, instead you lie on your side to face him and wrap his cock in your warm hand. His cock still hard and wet under your touch, he breathes out a long sigh. "I made a mess of you too."
He chuckles before placing one last kiss on your forehead, and you watch him fall into his dreams. You shut the door, thankful Sylvia didn't come home during the circumstances earlier. You make a note not to leave it open next time.
Next time? Were you actually hoping for a next time? It's not long until you're leaving. Forks is not your home. Your home is on the other side of the country, and everything you grew up with awaits there. Forks is not your home, you tell yourself. The night grows along with your need for sleep, falling onto Taehyung's chest and getting lost in a slumber. You wake to Sylvia opening the door, an indication of her coming home, and you fall asleep again.
The next time you wake up, the sun shining alight from the windows to your eyes, Taehyung was sitting at the end of the bed fully clothed. His head turns slightly, feeling the sense of your waking.
"Y/n, there's not just one who wants to kill you," he says but you couldn't make out a single word, "there's a whole coven of them."
a/n: happy new year! pls dont take the bella comment seriously. also team jacob ftw!!! also appreciate my banner work owo.this is my first descriptive smut like i actually write them having sex idk i hope yall like it tho :* i love y’all! 
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mandoinevarro · 5 years ago
Text
Deep into the Wilderness
Words: 4.7k (this was supposed to be short but, alas, i am an asshole) 
Rating: E
Warnings: Smut, sex pollen :0, dubious consent (see: sex pollen), a bit of size kink ö, multiple orgasms :O, light descriptions of blood, magic nature if you’re in the mood, incredible coincidences if you’re not
a/n: i genuinely thought this would be a lil drabble :/, also fuck snakes all my homies hate snakes
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There’s something wrong about the stars.
Nights in the Tatooine desert are usually dim and still, as stoic as the Mandalorian who’s been journeying across the endless dune sea with you in your little caravan of two. These past few days, you’ve noticed that the jagged difference between coarse sand and smooth beskar are no obstacle for his ability to blend perfectly into his surroundings. For days, you’ve seen the bounty hunter cruise the barren wilderness like he was born in it, climbing the mounds of sand leisurely and offering his hand when the treacherous ground gives in under your feet and you tumble forward. Ever the gentleman. Silent and observant, he tends to adapt to the elements around him and mimic their energy, until he becomes part of the landscape. Tonight is no different.
The normally scattered and shy desert stars have all gathered in a cluster right above your modest campsite, blinking down at you white and yellow and red against an electric blue sky, bright enough to spare the need of a fire. You feel watched. The stars’ ghoulish eyes above trail your every movement. Waiting to witness something.
Yes, a meek voice inside lies for you, it must be the stars, as you purposefully try to ignore the crushing weight of the Mandalorian’s trained gaze on you, much heavier than the strong beskared arm resting on your upright knee. The tube of bacta ointment moves awkwardly under your fingers and, Maker, you know it won’t be enough. The small holes on the wool covering his arm reveal two angry red pupils gushing blood where the snake’s fangs pierced him; pupils that stare amused at the medical salve that they know and you know and Mando knows will do little neutralize the unknown toxin. You sit so close to him you can hear the hitch of his breath when you pinch the tube and white balm oozes onto your finger.
“I—Mando, I-I think we should get help.” It doesn’t help your nerves that the man to your left hasn’t stopped staring at you since the ruby red viper appeared from under the sand like a conjuring, going straight for the Mandalorian’s arm and slithering back inside its hiding place beneath the dunes before either of you could react. It was unnatural; desert creatures tend to linger in the shadows and never attack unless provoked. Then again, everything about this particular evening—including the bounty hunter—seems to be slightly off, like when something in a familiar place is moved, but you can’t figure out exactly what.
“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” the voice under the modulator scratches at a  lower register than usual, gruffier in a way that would excite you and warm your belly if you weren’t so worried about the liquid currently poisoning his bloodstream. It must be the pain. “Two days by foot to the nearest town. Just use the bacta.”
You gulp and nod as firmly as you can manage, trying to quiet the whisper saying that bacta won’t cut it this time as you get your finger closer to his arm. It’s strange that he asked for your help—the bite is right on the pulse point of his inner elbow, where he could easily do it himself. Maker, just focus. He must have had a good reason to ask you. Plus, you’re not about to miss the promise of even the slightest physical contact with the Mandalorian, even if the situation is not exactly as you’ve fantasized all these months.
Your finger presses lightly into one of the gaps, and with a bit more force when you hear a raggedy exhale leave him. The opening the snake left behind is too small for your finger, and most of the bacta gathers around its edges, while barely any gets to the wound.
“I, um…I need to cut it—t-the fabric,” you stutter and, stars, you sound like an idiot, getting nervous over applying balm when you’ve seen him cauterize his own injuries with a steady hand, much to your horror. You can feel the way his eyes feed from your words as they study you carefully, somehow strengthening the gravity pining you to the ground. A strange static crinkles in the air between you, so real you almost hear it, and for a moment you feel the weight of his stare move past your face, lower down your body. By the time he finally nods and signals towards the open medical kit with a tilt of his helmet, you’re warm all over.
Stretching your torso just the right amount so that his arm doesn’t slip from your knee, you reach straight for the scissors in front of you. Your fingers pinch the fabric to lift it while your other hand works the clippers, cutting with tiny snip-snip-snips that do little to fill the tense silence between you. Why it’s even tense to begin with is beyond you. Sure, Mando got bitten by some unknown creature that could potentially be lethal, but the invisible rope getting stretched from both ends more and more between your bodies has little to do with the mishap. Stars, it feels like it’s pulling you closer and pushing you apart at the same time, and the arm on your knee suddenly feels like it’s burning through your pants. What would happen, you muse as you crank your wrist, if the rope gave in?  
The scissors close their circuit, and you lift a small circle of cloth, leaving the clippers aside. It’s a little bigger than it needed to be, but the Mandalorian doesn’t complain when you properly apply bacta on the lesion, sitting like a statue with the visor shining dark blue at your face. The stars reflect distorted on his helmet with judging eyes, like they can hear your thoughts. Like they just know how being so close to the man you think about to warm cold nights is making your heart pump more blood that you need. To places that definitely don’t need it.
You raise your other hand and rest it on his bicep. It’s only to pull the sleeve a little higher. To give you more room to work. And it’s only with that touch that he flinches.
You immediately lift both hands. “Sorry, I—I’m sorry, does…does it hurt—?”
“—No.” Mando moves his good arm and grabs your hand roughly, bringing it to rest on his bicep once again. He clears his throat, unable to wash away the grainy strain on his voice. “No, it—it’s fine.” His large palm stays over yours for a moment, before pulling away slowly. Reluctantly.
You nod and continue your ministrations, massaging a little more bacta than necessary on the bite. Maker, you never want to stop touching him. The patch of olive skin burns hotter than the planet’s twin suns under your touch, and you feel under your other hand how every shift of your finger makes his bicep jump in response.
His flesh absorbs the ointment fast, and you’ve now covered even the surrounding area around the bite, so you lift your finger, a bit disappointed that your little moment of intimacy is over. Until you feel him tug at his end of the rope.
“Cut more,” he breathes, and you freeze before you can lift the hand off his arm, staring right at the visor with eyes round as moons.
“Cut—cut more? More cloth? Wh—”
“The venom will travel up my veins.” Mando’s voice is a little steadier, but it still doesn’t mask a strange tint of something that doesn’t sound quite like pain. “You need to check how far up it goes. If…if it goes into my chest…”
He doesn’t need to finish. You shuffle to your knees—a little clumsily because of the sand beneath—and let his arm fall to his side as you squeeze his strong bicep a little tighter. For support.
“Tell me when to stop.” The blades cut away at the fabric, revealing a vertical line of lovely skin with each snip. They go higher and higher, higher and higher, and it’s you who decides to stop when they almost reach his armpit. You rest the scissors next to your legs. The slit uncovers the upper half of his arm’s underside, and you can’t help it when one hand moves to rest on the pauldron and the other slips under the crevice to caress his skin.
Mando’s chest puffs with more air and moves quicker, and—fuck—he looks so broad like this. Sitting and injured, he still towers over you with the beskar and the mass of muscle beaten into him through years of fighting.
He could crush me. The idea pools hot in your core.
“What, uh, what am I looking for?” Your own voice is thick. It’s wrong, but you’re honest enough to admit it’s arousal.
“T-the veins.” You hear him gulp and imagine the apple on his throat bobbing up and down. “Feel around. Che—check if they’re protruding.” You comply, dragging your fingers up and down his burning, strong arm, getting caught up in how he tenses under your touch. He’s pulsing, sure enough, beating like a drum under your hand—you even manage to raise goosebumps when you give a test squeeze—but you can’t feel any veins.
“No.” The hunter exhales with relief and nods once, but his arm doesn’t follow, as it remains taut as wood. You don’t remove your hand. He doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans into you.
An soft breeze raises a small cloud of sand and cools your face, whistling past you while it orders you to do it. “If it’s not pain,” you murmur, deciding it’s your turn to tense your end of the rope a little, “what do you feel?” You scratch your nails down his arm.
The gloved hand furthest away from you balls into a fist, clutching sand. “It—it, uh. It burns.” The words are dragged out and gritty, like they’re forcing their way out. He shivers and shuffles closer to you. “But—fuck—feels good. You—you feel good.” Encouraged, your nails sink into his flesh, testing the waters. Finally, it earns you a grunt, deep and rumbling its way between your thighs. In a split second, his arms fly to his shoulder, tugging at the cloak desperately, and you remove your hand from the opening to help him. It takes a few rough jerks, but the cloak eventually rips away from his pauldrons, and the Mandalorian throws it back. His hand travels to the side of his torso closest to you and signals. “Cut here.” He doesn’t offer an explanation this time.
Shit, you probably shouldn’t. But wetness is gathering around your folds and you’re not sure if you’ll actually get anywhere, but, Maker, you’re willing to try. Your hand is trembling when it finds the scissors next to you and you crouch slightly to cut away, eager and desperate to reveal more of the mysterious bounty hunter. This time, though, you don’t make a crevice, but instead cut a long rectangle from his waist to the side of his chest. You drop the scissors and the piece of fabric on top of the cloak and waste no time before your right palm crawls into the opening. Boiling skin welcomes your hand as it explores his naked torso, up a sturdy chest rising and falling rapidly, and back down again, savoring the sensation of soft skin over firm muscles flexing under your fingers. You stop at a trail of hair near his navel.
The Mandalorian growls. You scratch the hair lightly. The rope snaps.
Your hand slips outside when two hands grab your hips to lift you, setting you down to straddle Mando’s lap. You fall ungracefully, wobbling and grabbing at him to find your balance, until his steel arms wrap around your waist to press your chest to his. You grab his shoulders for support, and your warm breath clouds the beskar of his helmet. Your hips squirm unconsciously, making your core accidentally rub against something hard between the hunter’s legs. His grip on your back tightens and grinds you against him again, making him release a deep, primal moan against your ear. Fuck, you feel how hot liquid plops on your underwear as he ruts you against his erection, but somewhere in the back of your brain a puzzle solves itself in a snap and sends a pang of guilt to your chest.
“M-mando.” You sound whinier than you intended. “Mmando, I—I’ve heard about this, you’re poisoned, y-you don’t know what you’re d—”
“—Shut up,” he spits at you and pushes you roughly against him as a hand unwinds from your waist and wraps over your mouth. Your moans are muffled against his glove when a current shocks your body as your clit rubs just right over his bulge. You glance up at the stars, looking for guidance around the overwhelming pleasure threatening to break you, but they only stare back, burning brighter than before.
Suddenly, Mando pulls his hands away and pushes you off his lap. You fall back kneeling, worrying you’ve crossed a line somehow, but your anxieties disappear when you see him rip off his gloves and pull at your clothes hastily. You take the hint and help him undress you. The top garments he removes, but your underwear is ripped away and thrown to the side.
He whips around and finds his cloak, laying it on the sand and silently ordering with a finger to get on top. You shuffle on your knees until they reach the soft material, and—just when you’re about to turn around and beg him to touch you—the Mandalorian lifts the rectangle of cloth you cut away and wraps it around your eyes. Your vision gone but impossibly turned on, you feel his hands shove you back until you lay on the cloak.
Sand and hair tickle your face, and maybe it’s not the best idea to lay completely naked in the middle of a desert where you already know dangerous animals hide. The thought is quickly washed away by the heat of humid breath on your stomach. It throws you off for a moment, to feel a human gasp so clearly against your skin, but once you put two and two together the realization hits you so hard you slump limp on the ground.
The helmet…
You barely have time complete your thought. The Mandalorian climbs on top of you, a tuff of hair tickling your stomach. The trail of heat stops at your tits, where he takes a nipple into his mouth and bites down hard. You whimper to the sky.
“F-fuck, what—” He cuts you off when he laps at the injured nipple with fast, wide strokes of his tongue, before sucking hard on it. One palm holds down your chest, as the other comes up to squeeze your other breast, kneading and pulling the soft flesh like dough. You try to bite down your whimpers, but it’s too fucking much and they tumble outside urgent and needy.
Fuck, you should push him away. You both need to calm down before he forgets your body is attached to a living, breathing person and tears you apart. You—you—
The atmosphere seems to fall down on top of you when two thick fingers sink to the hilt inside your open hole effortlessly. You hum at the bliss while Mando’s wet tongue travels between your breasts, up your sternum, and leans into the curve of your throat, stopping only until it reaches your chin. You’re starting to cramp beneath him, trying to push down on his digits, but his body is too heavy over yours and fuck, fuck, you want him inside you.
His hand wraps around your cheeks and presses them together, making your mouth give in to the pressure and open up wide. His tongue—still salty with the taste of your own flesh—barges into the cave of your mouth and messily drags across its walls, your tongue, the roof, somehow everything at once with aimless movements that lack rhythm or pace.
And then his fingers start pumping. They start fast and hard and only get faster and harder, as they curl into a hook and hit something that makes you see the stars outside through the blindfold. Mando moans against your teeth, and you swallow every vibration.
“Yeah? T-there?” His mouth moves away from yours and trails the edge of your jaw, stopping at the edge and biting your neck. The two fingers working inside you push upwards to make room for a third one, and the calloused pad of his thumb rubs your clit up and down. Your scream echoes in the empty space of the sterile desert, now buzzing with life. “R-right there? Hm?” His voice hangs thick in the air, mixing with the loud static in your ears. Through the haze, you wonder momentarily what his face looks like right now. Probably red and sweaty, popping a vein or two.
“Fuck, I don’t k-know…I—I have to…” The Mandalorian removes all three fingers at once, making you yelp at the emptiness that they leave behind. Your pussy clenches a second too late and pulses around nothing, as you move in the darkness to find him again. You open your mouth to beg, but he grabs your shoulders before you can even gather some broken vocabulary together and he turns you around, pressing your chest and face against the cloak.
Resting your cheek on the cloak, you grunt at the abrupt change of position. Five fanned out fingers press down between your shoulder blades, restricting your movements and compressing all the air out of your lungs. You can’t breathe and you can’t wait, too stimulated to backpedal now, but not enough to be satiated.
An arm wraps around your midriff and roughly lifts your hips. You hear heavy breathing behind you and some incoherent mumbling, as a zipper lowers.  
Something round and smooth pokes at your entrance.
Is…is that…?
It definitely feels like the head of his cock as it runs up and down your folds gathering moisture. It even twitches a little against your clit and he’s grunting with every movement but…but even without your sight to help it feels so big. It can’t be his cock, in what universe would he be that fucking bi—
A grunt and a slight retrieval of his hips for impulse is all you get as a warning before he slams into you, lurching you forward. It knocks every single thought out your head, jamming what little air you’d managed to inhale on your trachea. The stretch bites, straining against your walls at an uncomfortable angle. And then he grinds further inside, deeply and hard as the bulbous head of his cock stimulates just about every nerve inside your pussy at once. You choke on your own cry, desperately trying to hold on to some sanity as you focus on processing the burst of pleasure that casts a dark shadow over the pain. The feeling secures every muscle on your body so tightly you think your spine is going to snap.
And he holds there, pulsing angrily and breathing down hot against your shoulders. You feel a slow trail of flames burn your insides with every strong sequence of thum-thum-thums of his thick cock against your walls.
Stars, did he cum?  Is that why he’s throbbing so violently, did he cum? It’s hard to tell when you’re so wet you’re sure you’re going to dehydrate tomorrow and fuck you only get wetter with the strumming and Maker you know the snake was poisonous but…but could he really want you this much?  
He sucks in a gulp of dusty air through his teeth, grunts and holds you tighter, his arm strong as beskar around your midriff and a burning palm pressing you against the cloak, sinking it deeper into the sand.
Finally, the Mandalorian pulls out with a grunt, your hips following his with a sucking sound because of the grip of your walls against his girth. He stops right before the tip slips out, its ridge catching on your opening. And maybe whatever venom running through his veins dissipated because he doesn’t move for a second that feels like an eternity. Fleeting disappointment surges inside you because maybe…maybe it was just the serpent. Maybe he doesn’t really want you. You are the only fuckable thing for miles, and you’ve heard enough about the toxin to imagine how desperate he’d be. Stars, you feel like such an idi—
Mando’s hips suddenly crash against yours, sinking himself to the hilt.
You feel him everywhere. Fucking everywhere, even where he isn’t. The fat cock hammering into you randomly with no pace or metric, seemingly determined to taste every inch inside your cunt takes most of your attention, but the hand on your back kneads and pulls the thin skin there as best as it can. You try to brace yourself against something solid—anything—but when your hands form fists they find only handfuls of sand, and the delicate particles do nothing to steady you from the animalistic thrusts of the Mandalorian.
So you moan, long and high to try and release all the pleasure stockpiling inside of you with no exit routes. Mando answers with grunts all the way down in his glottis. A deep and angled snap of his hips hits you somewhere electrifying, and you feel something hot and liquid knot your pelvic muscles tighter. His skin slaps against yours obscenely, paired with the squelching of your pussy trying to engulf him deeper and deeper in spite of his size.
“T-take it,” you hear him growl behind you. Barely. Your ears ring and you can’t even listen to your own whimpers anymore. His length keeps coming, restless and infinite and fuck, you need to focus on something else, something outside to keep your head from slipping away. “Just—just f-fucking take me whole, you—"
Fuck, focus. Focus, count to ten, do something—
You grit your teeth and you can’t even warn him. Something drops into your pelvic muscles and you swear you can see the blue desert sky in a flash behind your eyelids and feel the blinking stars prickling the nerve endings on your back, making you spasm desperately. Your head spins, and you only feel pleasure. Only him.
Still half-passed out from your release, you hear it before you feel it. The wet sound contrasting the dry dunes of how he keeps using your cunt to get himself off. He’s not letting you come down, fall to the natural next step of your cycle and relax. Breathe. No, he keeps filling every last inch of you, faster now with the help of the additional wetness and holds you in that state of euphoria that keeps hitting you like a tide. Shit, are you cumming again?
“F-fuck—fuck—d-did you—ngh—cum? W-was that—” Another wave hits you and you clamp down mercilessly around him before he can get an answer. His long moan gets you wetter somehow, and you can’t even savor it before the strong forearm holding your waist pulls you upright against him.
Up is down as you try to figure out in the darkness where your body ended up. Something slumps behind you and pulls you down with it hard against the cushioning of the sand. You find yourself impaled on the Mandalorian’s cock, his chest to your back. He bends and opens his legs to grab yours, pulling them back and hooking them around his cuisses. Propped up with most of your weight on Mando’s hips, your feet barely graze the cloak below them.
You reach up to touch him but he beats you to it, wrapping his arms around your torso and grabbing the surely bruising skin of your tits. Your eyes roll back and you try you best to keep your head above the water, which proves incredibly difficult when you feel his lips on your jaw, his drool trailing down your neck. You turn your head and he doesn’t miss a beat before his tongue slips between your lips, tasting and exploring and almost drinking from you like you’re water in he’s been stranded in this desert for years.
Mando thrust up at you, resuming his senseless fucking. And maybe you’re a little greedy. Maybe it’s wrong, especially because you don’t have an excuse to act like this, but you roll down into his cock, wanting him everywhere and for as long as you can get him. His thrusts are almost impossible to meet and his thickness catches at your opening, but you work diligently—determined to have him buried as deeply as he wants to go. The beskar of his chest trembles against your shoulders with a vibrating, noiseless moan.
“You—you pretty t-thing,” he breathes lowly against your mouth. You grab his knees for support and push down harder. “I’ve want—wanted this—w-wanted you f-for so—so long.” He bites your lower lip. His voice sounds delirious.
Maker, it’s ridiculous. You’re bouncing your pussy on his stiff cock like an animal in heat, but his words warm your chest more than your core. You know it’s probably the poison talking, but you indulge in it. You let your hand cradle his cheek and bring your lips sweetly against his, pretending you’re his lover and not just a vessel for his release. He gasps into the kiss.
It’s with your lips that he finally lets go. It happens midthrust, so his cum spurts out of you and dribbles down his cock. It smears on your folds and, surely, on the cloak beneath. Stars, you’re shaking. Your legs spasm with the promise of another orgasm that almost—almost happened. Still holding you, Mando pulls out, and the rest of his seed spills on wool and sand.
What now? If not the sweat and the fucking, then his release surely evacuated the venom by now. The Mandalorian pants behind you, just as spent and exhausted, and what the hell are you supposed to say to each other now? You squirm uncomfortably at the dilemma, and your slit accidentally drags against something upright beneath you. Mando winces at the contact.
Maker, is he still hard? How—?
Fingers dig into your arms and force you forward and away from him. You fall on top of the cloak, barely pillowing your fall with your forearms before you feel the Mandalorian turning you around to face him.
You lay open below him, ruined and confused in the darkness as to what he’s planning for you next. Your clit pulses with equal parts arousal and apprehension at the uncertainty, but it decides for the former when you feel him dip his fingers in your entrance and scoop his cum and yours. The sound of him pumping himself faster and faster is muffled by his moaning. It’s filthy gibberish: loose words of everything he’s dreamt about doing to you; of how he’s going to fuck you over and over again; of how you’re going to take every drop of him; of how good it’s going to be for you.
Four fingers land on your clit and work it wetly up and down. A whine escapes you and you’re so sensible it almost hurts and your head swims and he’s still talking but there’s something��something sincere about his words. Something that hides beneath the frantic movements against your bud that feels almost reverent. Like the snake’s toxin only lifted a veil, revealing the Mandalorian’s pent up lust and primal instincts below his layers of unyielding discipline.
“S-so, so fucking good for me, so—"
You cry out when your walls tighten around nothing with powerful contractions, deciding at some point of the frenzy that consumes you that you’ll take advantage of this queer land and the limbo its night has thrown both of you into. Deciding you’ll let the Mandalorian explore his more primitive urges and fuck you into tomorrow, whatever “tomorrow” may mean for your relationship with him.
The sound of him fucking his hand quickens and you hear it closer to your body. You can’t tell exactly where.
“I—I—gonna c-cum.” His voice tightens in his throat. “Where?”
“Everywhere,” you answer breathlessly, and you mean it.
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rokutouxei · 4 years ago
Text
family-friendly
genshin impact | T | 1967 childe/lumine | established relationship [ao3]
Childe and Lumine remember their first kiss very, very differently.
-
“We’ll go in the summer,” Childe had promised, and she had honestly believed that with all her heart. Remembered her adventures in the Golden Heart Archipelago with Klee and Jean and imagined all golden shores and blue skies and wide, open oceans. She was ready for that.
She was not ready for the bulky winter wear. She was not ready for the temperature that was like large hydro and cryo slimes all over her body, freezing her until there’s not much left to be frozen again.
(This is where she starts to doubt Childe’s rose-colored glasses.)
It is… quite the experience, to visit his home in Snezhnaya. There was no way she was declining the offer now that she was bound for the nation, and not with Childe giving her free pass into the country despite all the atrocities she’s done to Fatui agents across Teyvat. The least she could do was visit their little home, right? Say hello to his parents, his brothers and sisters, maybe stay for dinner, and then go to her hotel…right?
Wrong.
At this point, she is well aware of how Childe can be. Sweet and romantic when something in him softens, when that part of him that is always craving battle dissipates once his vulnerability sinks in. It’s a side of him anyone rarely sees, one she’s so proud of having the privilege to see on occasion. What slipped her mind is that the wall Childe sets up for the rest of the people in his life—other diplomats, other Fatui, other adventurers, the people he comes to just to have a fistfight with—is a wall he didn’t need to keep up with his family.
They arrive sometime past noon, after a long boat ride and a short trek up a mountain slope. The sky is an enthralling shade of blue. Quite like his eyes. It was snowing lightly—“it feels like it’s always snowing in Snezhnaya,” Childe had told her once—but it wasn’t the dreary kind of snow, rather the one that was a little exciting to watch. Childe knocked at the door and opened it with a yell, which she assumed was a greeting.
She mentally prepared herself for it, but she hadn’t expected Teucer, Anton, and Tonia to greet her with “sister!!” just as she walked through the premises.
Just how much had he told them in his letters?
(How much of her that they knew was the Lumine of Childe’s imagination, one that she would have to keep up with?)
She never peeked at the letters whenever he was busy writing them, never bothered because she felt like it would be an invasion of privacy, but now that she was here under the familiar sea-blue gaze of his entire family… she wondered if even just one look would have been alright.
Getting the approval of the younger siblings was an easy task; all she had to do was give them a few of the souvenirs she and Childe had brought over from their travels and promise to sit down and tell them of her adventures for them to give her the thumbs-up. The less impressionable ones, however, were Childe’s older sisters and brothers, who were polite and homely but a lot curter, as if trying to gauge if she were a good match with their younger brother. If the way his eldest sister had gifted Lumine her own set of Snezhnayan clothing even before dinner is any sign, perhaps she had at least passed their preliminary test.
But family time is very important in Snezhnayan culture, and dinner—well, dinner was an entirely different affair altogether.
-
“You’ve known each other for a long time, Ajax has been writing letters about you since.”
Liyue and Osial and Rex Lapis seem so far away now. “It took us a while to get along,” Lumine admits, side-eyeing Childe, “but once we found our footing with each other, it was enjoyable company.”
Childe’s eldest brother laughs. “Ajax. Enjoyable company.”
“You must be one hell of a woman to persist like that,” his other brother jokes.
“Well, that just means he made a good impression on her right away,” a sister muses.
“He got me out of a tough spot,” Lumine answers, remembering Yujing Terrace and the Rite of Descension. “I owed him one for that.”
“Isn’t that sweet!” his mother coos. “Ajax has changed, to be so sweet from the start.”
“Sweet? It was more of Sexual tension and”—Lumine yells, trying to cover him up: “Hey?! There are kids!”—"aggression from the start.”
“Oh, honey, don’t mind him,” Childe’s mother says, chuckling softly. “His siblings are used to him being straightforward like that.”
“I’m not…” Lumine murmurs, slinking back into her seat, causing the entire table to roll with laughter.
Dinner lasts for what seems like hours, and Lumine sits there shyly poking at her food as questions get pelted at her and Chllde about their relationship. The question of marriage is inescapable too, and she and Childe share a glance at each other for the briefest of moments before answering “it’ll come when it’ll come.”
But while it is easy to shrug off the adults’ more serious questions like that, it is the children’s concerns that are harder to ignore. So when Teucer asks—“How did your first kiss go?”
—Childe instantly pipes up and goes: “Oh, let me tell this one, babe. We were at Liyue Harbor together—"
It only takes Childe a few sentences before Lumine screeches, “No no no no please stop!!”, covering his mouth with her hands.
The whole family just laughs.
-
It is only until after dinner, when Lumine is sure that most of her face had already melted off of her skull, when she gets to pull Childe aside while in their (shared!) bedroom and ask: “No, seriously, Ajax. How do you remember our first kiss?”
“Was my storytelling over at dinner not enough, my принцесса? Would you rather I give you a reenactment?”
She blushes fiercely at being called a princess, but she tries her best to ignore it. “What? No, all I’m asking is—”
Childe does not pay attention and holds her in position, pushing her backward until she’s sat on the bed and he’s standing in front of her, towering (and admittedly a little… delicious, now that he’s dressed down and fresh from the shower.) “We’d come from a fight—the best thing to do with you. Or second best thing,” Childe muses, but then shakes his head back into focus. He holds Lumine’s chin with his index finger and thumb and forces her to look up. “I beat you that time.”
She narrows her eyes, staring back at him defiantly. “Only because I was handicapped.”
“Sure, my love. Luck on my part.” Childe grins. “I was trying to get you to stop sulking.”
“‘Warriors must learn to take part in losses,’” Lumine quotes him, and he nods.
He comes closer to her, carefully switching so that his palm is cupping her cheek instead, wiping an imaginary tear or bruise on her cheek. “You were so strong, but I’d tired you out more than usual. You were slumped in your seat, so I went to try and get you to rest, and you closed your eyes and leaned your head on my hand—” Childe smiles, a genuine one, small and sweet it gets Lumine’s heart racing. “I couldn’t help it, you know? I didn’t know what to tell you—how to tell you, so when you opened your eyes, I decided—fuck, I’m going to kiss her right here.”
Childe leans forward and presses a kiss on her lips.
“And I thought, ‘she’s going to hate me after this,’ but you didn’t, and instead you put your hands on your shoulders and then my hair, and you kissed me back,” he sighs. “You should really be cute more often, my sweet. You were so needy. Like this, let me show you—”
And just as Childe is about to press his lips on hers again, she places the palm of her hand against his mouth and pushes him roughly away.
“That is not what happened.”
Lumine is sure and inconvincible.
“What?”
There’s a moment of silence between the both of them that seems to extend for miles.
Childe blinks, his mind finally settling back into place. “That is what happened. What do you mean? Did you forget how our first kiss went?”
“Did you forget how our first kiss went? That was not how it went.”
Irritation clouds Childe’s visage for a brief moment. “Okay, how did it go then?”
Lumine clears her throat. Childe gets off his knees and back to his feet, settling into position. Lumine takes his hand in hers to put it into place—
And squeezes her cheeks with it twice. Childe goes lax. Lumine holds it in place, just open enough so she can talk.
“You were teasing me. We did come from a fight, and I did lose. And you thought I was being a sore loser about it, but the only true part was that I was sore. And tired.” She squeezes her cheeks with his hand another time. “‘Aww, defeat getting in your head?”’ she says, mimicking his intonation. ‘Warriors must learn to take part in losses, you know?’”
Childe tries to pull away. “I did not—”
“You did,” she insists, holding him in place. “You wouldn’t even let me catch my breath. Do you remember what I did?” He shakes his head. “I bit you,” she answered for him, gently digging her teeth into the flesh between his thumb and index finger. “You yelped and pulled your hand back. Do you remember now?”
He blinks, the memory of it slowly coming back. “Oh no.”
Lumine snickers. “Yes, oh no, Ajax.” She takes him by the wrist and pulls him closer to her, back to his knees. “‘Feisty little girlie,’” she says, in his voice, mockingly. “I growled at you. You chuckled, you bastard. And then you pulled me by the chin and kissed me.”
She presses a kiss over his lips, shaking a little from holding back laughter.
And, with her mouth still on his, she continues—“And I bit you—”
She digs her teeth on his lower lip before pulling away.
“And that excited you because of course it did, and then we—”
“Made out on the mountainside overlooking Liyue Harbor. Holy shit,” Childe finishes, face pale. When he collapses onto the bed next to her, Lumine doesn’t even try to stop the full-blown laugh coming out of her.
“I can’t believe you made it into some sweet romantic memory!” she teases him. “That’s your taste, huh?”
“I swear, that is how I remember that moment!”
“Well you remember it wrong,” Lumine notes, grinning. “Since when have we been gentle kisses, Ajax? You said it yourself—it’s all sexual tension and aggression.”
“I can be romantic sometimes.”
“Sometimes. Not that time.”
When Childe sinks further down the mattress, she presses a kiss on her forehead and looks down at him with soft eyes. “But if that’s how you want to remember it, we can always make that how it goes.”
And when he smirks, for the briefest of moments she thinks she sees his eyes light up in a way she’s always wanted to see. “Really?”
“Really, you dummy,” is all she gets to say before Childe takes her lips with his, a slow, decadent kiss of gratitude. All sweet things, but Lumine knows better to believe that’s going to last any more than a minute, his hot breath already against her neck.
And she thinks, chuckling: maybe it’s better like this. At least they’ll have a version of their first kiss that’s the tiniest bit more family-friendly.
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nari-nim · 4 years ago
Text
watermelon sugar high (M)
Tumblr media
Treasure Jihoon x Y/N
You pay Jihoon’s dorm a visit, bearing a few gifts to celebrate a break in his promotions. When your time gets interrupted by a phone call, dom!Jihoon takes advantage of the situation to tease sub!fem!reader until you cannot take it anymore.
warnings: smut, dom/sub themes, intense foreplay, exhibitionism, orgasm denial, corruption and strength kinks, mentions of bondage 
word count: 2.2k
“Thank you, y/n. You’re the best!” Junkyu crowed, eagerly stabbing the straw into his cup of watermelon juice. Jihoon chuckled as a few members chorused in agreement. 
“She is, isn’t she?” Jihoon cooed, moving his arm from around your shoulder to rub small circles on your waist.
“Please just drink yours before all the ice melts.” You gently swatted at his shoulder, earning his trademark eye smile in return. Jihoon made kissy faces at you while waving a tissue as his makeshift white flag. You laughed and made a gagging noise in return, earning a symphony of “oohs.” But before Jihoon could make a sassy retort, your phone rang.
“Sorry guys, give me a minute,” you said, glancing apologetically over at Jihoon, whose eyes were already on yours. A soft pout slowly took over his gentle, loving expression. This wasn’t the first time your friend had called you in the middle of your time together, but Jihoon always understood. 
By way your expression changed, Jihoon knew that he wasn’t the only one slightly put off by the interruption. But I can make this fun, Jihoon thought, biting his lips in anticipation. After blurting some quick excuse, he followed you into his room. You smiled at him in question when he shut the door behind him. Jihoon shrugged his shoulders cutely in response and mouthed “cuddles.”
Innocent enough. 
If it weren’t for the show of taking off his sweater in a swift motion, to briefly (and purposely) reveal his lower stomach and boxer hem. Or the way he then adjusted his shirt underneath to made sure you could see how it clung to his frame.
Your mouth felt a little dry, but you pushed aside those very unholy thoughts and crawled into his outstretched arms. While your friend started telling you about the interview she just crushed, you found yourself slowly tuning her out as you snuggled up against Jihoon. It wasn’t that her tales weren’t interesting, it was how you somehow always forgot how truly fit Jihoon is until your run your hand across his chest like you are now. Something about the way his abs felt through the soft T-Shirt started a numbing sensation near the bottom of your stomach. Suddenly, all you could think about was how scandalous it would be if you interrupted her riveting tale of the resume review with sounds of Jihoon slapping your ass while driving into you, drawing out your most sinful moans.
You close your eyes and buried your face into his chest, taking in the smell of fresh laundry and a small splash of your favorite cologne, to force yourself to calm down. Little did you know, Jihoon was suppressing a cheeky grin. He guided you to face away from him and towards the mirror across his room. He held you on his lap in a warm embrace, winking at your reflection before burrowing his face into the crook of your neck. His lips, still cold from the watermelon juice, sent chills down your spine as he pressed slow, open-mouthed kisses against the spot right below your ear.
“Yeah, that’s amazing,” you replied to your friend, clearing your throat to try to ignore the effect Jihoon has on you. You unconsciously shift a little, because god that tingling sensation between your legs was getting so hard to ignore. The movement slightly lifted your shirt, allowing Jihoon’s fingertips to accidentally graze on the lace fringe of your panties peaking out of your shorts. His fingertips felt hot on your stomach as you both freeze. You felt him stiffen underneath you, and your breath hitched.
Oh my god, you internally groan. This wasn’t how he was supposed to see what you were planning on revealing later that night (in another setting that’s NOT the damn dorm room with minors down the hall). Jihoon bought you this pair because it reminds him of that particular night when he tied you against your headboard with lacy ribbons, and then mercilessly ate you out again and again, until the ribbons left marks on your wrists. He’s sentimental like that. 
Shyly, you peaked at the mirror to see his face. Your eyes widened at the sight. Jihoon’s hooded eyes bore into yours as he slowly ran his tongue across his parted lips. Normally, he would have thrown you against some surface and taken you right then and there until you all you could do was scream his name incoherently. But you knew that cocky smirk only meant he had other ideas in mind. You bit your lip, curious where Jihoon was taking this.
“Y/n? You there?” Your friend asked, noticing the silence. Oh, if only she could hear your thoughts.  
You felt him move his head against yours, signaling you to look into mirror and at his dark expression. He nodded at you pointedly. You gulped, and took a shaky breath. “Yes— yes. What did the guy say-”
You quickly cut yourself off because Jihoon use the very moment you started speaking to moved his hands up from your panties and under your shirt to press his palms against your clothed breasts. You threw your head back at the feeling of his hands pleasuring your hardened nipples through the thin fabric. That sensation always leaves you reeling and he knows that. It took you everything to hold back a whine. So instead you pressed your lips together and mumbled some affirmative response to your friend. Jihoon’s hands push aside the bralette to fit your nipples in the valley between his index and middle fingers as he continued to massage your boobs. Instinctively, you moved the phone as far away as your arm would allow and let out a low whimper. 
Wrong move. Jihoon grabbed your outreached hand and yanked the phone back next to your ear. In the other, he hissed, “You wouldn’t want to stop the call now would you, babygirl?”  
You shook your head frantically, biting back whimpers at the pet name. 
“That’s what I thought.”
Jihoon used the pause to sit you on top of his right thigh so he could take off your top. You couldn’t help but start rocking gently against the toned muscles. He grabbed your waist and stilled you, growling “behave” into your ear. Obediently, you stopped as he tossed your shirt across the bed. 
“Good girl,” Jihoon praised. As a reward, Jihoon swiped his fingers across your parted lips, and slid his index in. Grateful for some form of purchase, you eagerly hallowed your cheeks and sucked on his finger, coating his digit with your tongue. He admired the glazed look in your eyes, the dark blush coloring your cheeks, and the desperate ‘o’ formed around his now two fingers. 
No one, Jihoon mused, would ever see you like this past your seemingly innocent facade. At that thought, he realized just how impatient he was getting. His hard on throbbed in agreement. So to help the both of you out, Jihoon reached over to enable speakerphone to tell your friend how you had to go. 
You almost cried out in relief, because this means you can end this torture and grab his shirt and— 
The speakerphone kicked in just in time for him to hear your friend say, “So what do you think I should do?”
On a second thought, Jihoon mused, Maybe not.
Fuck, you internally screamed.
Jihoon could tell you knew exactly what was going through his mind from the little gasp that escaped your lips. His subsequent realization that you were still going to listen to him despite the increasingly wet spot seeping through his grey sweats almost made him groan. As you collected your breath to start answering, he quickly pulled down your shorts to reveal the damp, pretty little thing you wore underneath. Now he groaned. You looked ravishing.
“You good, y/n? You sound kinda breathless.”
This was getting too much for you to handle. You wanted to follow Jihoon’s instructions, but you needed to hang up on her. Through your lightheadedness, you reasoned that she would understand. Understand the way you could feel Jihoon’s dick pressing against you, promising everything you can’t have at the moment. Understand the way his eyes were practically fucking you through your lingerie made your walls clench around nothing and how that frustrated you to no end. 
“You know what? No, I actually really need to go. I’m—”
Jihoon chose this movement to press his palm against your clothed core, rubbing a gentle circle before slipping past the lace and using his middle and ring fingers to rub into your clit. Hard.
You moaned. Loud.
That was it. Face aflame, you tore out of Jihoon’s lap and to the safety of his desk. You profusely apologized into the phone, hung up without letting her reply, and slammed your phone down.
“You can’t-“ you cried, whipping around. Jihoon didn’t let you finish. He slammed his right hand against the wall, trapping you between the desk and his now shirtless torso. His left hand pressed the back of your neck into a searing kiss. You moaned, the longing finally over. He tasted like the watermelon juice--sugary, sweet, and ever so nice. His lips molded into yours, swallowing the sigh of relief as you brought your hands up to run through his golden locks. Jihoon grunted as you tugged, the sound making your knees rubber. He responded by pressing his lips harder into yours. You grasped onto his shoulders for support to return the deepened kiss with gusto. You whimpered as his tongue swirled into your mouth, circling against your tongue and muffling your strings of moans.
You had to feel more of him. Jihoon must’ve felt you tense because he readily caught you as you jumped up to latch your body to his, wrapping your limbs around him. His biceps bulged as he moved an arm from the bottom of your thighs to feel up your ass as he pressed you against the wall. You grinded against his dick, now barely contained by his briefs, seeking release from the relentless teasing earlier. Jihoon compiled to your pleasant surprise, moving his hips in rhythm to yours. You gasped and panted as you started to reach your high.  
Just as you started to see stars, Jihoon broke off the heated kiss and lifted you away from him. It felt illegal—how strong his is, how he was able to man handle you like that, how needy you were.  
“Tell me,” he panted. “What can’t I do?”
You whined, wanting more of him. In the spur of the moment, you forgot how Jihoon never forgets talking back. You shook your head in frustration and tried to press back against him. Your mistake. Jihoon pulled back further and he slammed your back into the wall. His hand shot up to grab your chin, fingers pressing into your cheek. He leaned in, his lips ghosting against yours. “You need to use your words, you little slut. What. Can’t. I. Do.”
You let out a strangled cry, now more deprived than ever. “Nothing, Jihoon. I’m yours, yours, all yours.”
Tears prickled up in your eyes. You were so desperate for him. It’s been weeks since he last touched you like this, and he knew how to push your buttons almost too well. You were not a stranger to edging thanks to Jihoon, but the pain of denial was quickly onsetting and you just needed him so badly.
Jihoon eyes widened a little, not expecting the tears already. He grip on your loosened ever so slightly. “Color?”
You took a shaky breath. “Yellow.”
“Please,” you continued, breathing hard. “Please, Jihoon. Please just fuck me.”
He rested this forehead against yours for a second as if to gather himself. He leaned down and pressed a kiss on your shoulder before taking a step back.
“On the bed, now.”
read part 2
author’s note: AHH! This is my first fanfic I ever wrote so I would appreciate any reshares and support! Let me know what you think! I’m kinda nervous to be on here without any familiar networks, so please feel free to request, submit any hard/soft asks, and send a message! I wanna be friends/am looking for some people to show me the ropes around here :) 
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ktheist · 4 years ago
Text
“What are you going to do, kill me?” / “Yes.”
muses. spiderman!jeongguk x villainess!reader
x
“what are you going to do, kill me?” jeongguk taunts as he pulls on the chains around his wrists.
“what are these even?” he hisses to himself, casting his gaze down where he can see the chain flash silver and encircles his wrists tighter the stronger he pulls.
you hum for the briefest moment, taking another moment to get used to the uncharacteristically high pitched sound manipulated by the voice changer.
“yes to the first one and,” you laugh at the way the all mighty spider man’s sitting on the dirty floor, chained to the vibranium pole, “they’re actually high frequency regenerative nanotech.”
“woah,” the man in spandex gasps before his neck snaps to face you, “you figured out how to stabilize the supramoleculars so they don’t end up multiplying by the minute and consume the entire human population with its reproductive nature?”
you can’t help but tilt your head to the side, impressed. but also alarmed that he even knows what regenerative nanotech can do with one misformulation.
“huh, didn’t peg you for a nerd,” you breathe out, “did you join some academic decathlon team in high school by any chance?”
spiderman suddenly goes quiet. as if he was the villain caught redhanded. but the silence was short-lived. he holds his chin high and clears his throat, “yeah and what about it?”
“chill, i’m not academic-shaming,” you raise your hands in the air in a surrendering motion, ambling over to your monitors - all six held up together from the ceiling.
“oh.” he blurts out, not expecting your reply, “science is pretty cool.” he laughs underneath the mask and you wonder how he looks like when he’s smiling and not scowling at you like you’re some evil villain who’s out to take over the world.
not that you’ve ever seen him mask-less with said scowl on his face. nor is the assumption that you’re some evil villain who’s out to take over the world - wrong.
with a nonchalant shrug, you confess, “i’m in one too.”
“you’re in high school?” he suddenly says, confusion laced around his words.
“wha-” you panic. “am not. i meant was! i was in decathlon! you think a high school kid can do all of this? stabilize the tiniest man eating molecular organism and bend them to my wish?” something between a ludicrous snort and an offended grunt comes out of you.
“oh,” his shoulder sags, “you know, superhero-supervillain aside, it’s pretty cool if you did that as a high schooler. people tend to look down on what we can do and treat us like kids most of the time.” then he shrugs.
“oh my god, i know, right?” you burst out, “and those boomers who think we knowing nothing? psssh, i can snap my fingers and make them disappear! the fbi won’t nothing a thing. shield won’t notice a thing!”
jeongguk freezes in his spot, torn between rooting for a fellow high schooler and his loyalty to the new family tony stark introduced him to.
“i don’t- i mean- yeah but how about less about making people disappear and more about kicking ass and stopping bad guys?” he forces out a laugh, middle and third finger trying to reach for the button embedded in his suit in his other wrist - if only the kind-of-alive nanotechs wouldn’t be so sensitive to his movements.
“haven’t you heard? bad guys are you good guys who got hurt.” you wave a dismissive hand, plopping down on the chair in front of your monitor.
“if that was the case,” jeongguk starts, carefully placing the tip of his fingers on the nanotech and swallowing down the gasp that threatens to spill out of his lips when the prickly sensation of the nanotech piercing through his suit and then into his skin spreads all over his body.
it’s like a plethora of tiny needles pricking him all at once. the pain feels numbing yet electrifying.
“then there won’t be any good people on this earth,” he murmurs while you scoff.
“ha! what is even a ‘good’ person? someone who doesn’t do harm and take any shit? someone who helps people even though they’ll get shit thrown in their face?” you twirl around in your recliner, “that’s just dumb.”
“then,” jeongguk can feel the prickling sensation grow with every heartbeat - and no fucking kidding, his heart is racing like it’s about to suddenly stop cold turkey any second, “i’d rather be dumb than murderous.”
when he finally manages to push through the nanobeads, he hears the whirl of the suit before a compartment on each of his shoulder parts and reveals two miniature bombs ready to launch.
the last thing he sees in the surprised look on your face - or the woman’s face - he always sees you with a different face every time. this time it’s in the form of a teenager, last time it was a man in his 40′s.
as if having a mind of their own, the nanobeads shoots out to you just as a swarm of black cloud - the rest of the beads - forms between you and the bomb, forming a regenerative wall. when the smoke clears, jeongguk is already out leaping out of the window and swinging off his web.
“spiderman! i’ll get you for this!” your voice echoes into the sky.
“looking forward to it, melantharia!” he shouts back before disappearing behind a skyscraper and sliding into the vents and coming out as a kid in a hoodie and jeans.
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taggedmemes · 4 years ago
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SENTENCE MEME ⟶ PRYCE AND CARTER'S DEEP SPACE SURVIVAL PROCEDURE & PROTOCOL MANUAL / PAGE 1 - 56 tenses and wording have been altered slightly for ease of sending! always feel free to tweak the sentence to fit your muse.
'it is the most hateful thing for a person to have much knowledge and no power.'
'there will be nights when you will look at your surroundings and feel a twinge of fear deep within you.'
'there's a place for everything. everything belongs somewhere.'
'it's a dangerous business, survival.'
'we needed to signal those who out-lived others, so that they could have everyone else's possessions.'
'survival is how, when the universe pushes at us, we push right back.'
'you have survived, at least for the time being, the most dangerous thing in the universe: life.'
'remember: you're in good hands.'
'we need to make sure we are speaking the same language.'
'too many timid souls tend to think of survival as a passive thing.'
'the universe is a maelstrom of destructive forces.'
'our own bodies betray us.'
'fate always deals the same hand in the end... unless we can bluff it into folding early.'
'it isn't easy. it is both a science and an art.'
'like most arts, everyone thinks they can do it, but only a few do it well.'
'survival comes down to eight deceptively simple guidelines.'
'set aside your notions of 'honor'.'
'use everything and everyone to your advantage.'
'remember everything you have forgotten to know.'
'values are relative.'
'improve yourself.'
'veni, vidi, vici.'
'act like you are ready for anything.'
'live as though tomorrow is worth living.'
'a man travelled to a land not his own.'
'what use are these things?'
'can you teach me to use them?'
'true friends are rare. and true friends who can turn into boars and disembowel one's antagonists are rarer still.'
'dust never rolls in. common misconception.'
''dust barrels in, heavy as water, bouncing wildly, seeping in everywhere and ruining everything.'
'wheelchairs are wonderful things to have on a first date.'
'the ghost of an old gambler appeared to his friend in a carriage on the way into town. his former companion's heart seized in dread at the sight. once so sly and vivacious, ever a twinkle in his eye, now the gambler stared at him horror-struck, dull-eyed, every wound that had ever been done to him and every wrong he'd ever done to another visible in lacerations, welts, and boils across his ragged, spectral flesh.'
the trick to survival, in the end, is that we live beyond ourselves.'
'am i changing for the better?'
'am i ready for what's coming tomorrow?'
'note to self: definitely do this at some point.'
'only use them as a source of amusement if you are /really/ bored.'
'failing to remain calm could result in your grisly, gruesome death, so whatever you do, do not panic.'
'if you want to avoid dying, painfully, alone, in the cold darkness of space, gasping desperately as freezing oblivion silences your pathetic hopes and dreams... relax.'
'flossing is optional. you have bigger things to worry about.'
'sometimes safety measures prove counterproductive, ineffectual, dreary, distracting, and/or damaging to your reputation.'
'when knowledge and ability aren't enough, rely on persistence and stimulants.'
'patience is a virtue. manners maketh man. cleanliness is like godliness. death is not impressed by any of them.'
'if you can't be hopeful about something, try making a bet. it will at least get you invested.'
'if it's stupid but it works, it isn't stupid.'
'remember: if you have to ask, then the answer is no... you did not just see that, and no, it does not concern you.'
'are you thinking right? could you tell if you weren't? is this a trick question?'
'if at first you don't succeed, isolate all possible points of failure and eliminate them.'
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damnedparker · 4 years ago
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an understanding
pairing: obi-wan kenobi x reader (gender neutral; no y/n)
warnings: buncha angst, sad obi-wan, deals with grief and loss
summary: as the two of you grow together, there is one constant of support between you and obi-wan; understanding, and the comfort of each other’s hands
also posted on ao3
this is kind of short but that’s okay. someone give obi-wan a hug
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I.
“You took my spot.” You announced your presence, although you’re sure Obi-Wan already sensed it, as you had been standing at the entrance to the roof watching him for a few moments already. The both of you often came up to the roof of the Temple, finding your way up here when you were just beginning to be padawans, sneaking out at night together to get up to whatever shenanigans you pleased before someone inevitably caught you. From then on, you had learned to be more careful about it.
When Obi-Wan didn’t answer, his head still turned towards the night skyline, you came to sit next to him. You could feel the anxiety and grief radiating off of him. Another nightmare tonight. If he had even gotten any sleep at all. Not only could you sense his tired state, but he was also visibly shivering, but seemed to be ignoring it.
“Stars, you’re freezing, Obi,” you murmured, shrugging off the cloak you had fortunately thrown on before climbing up to the roof. You wrapped it around the both of you, squishing yourself against his side. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing,” He scoffed, uncharacteristically bitter. His eyes were glassy, clearly having cried already, and not far off from succumbing to his tears again. “I miss him. And I know I’m not supposed to be dwelling on it like this. I have to train Anakin and I’m not ready. I’m not ready to be a Knight. Everything is moving too fast.” You bit the inside of your cheek and wondered if he could hear your heart shatter for him. The Force had dealt Obi-Wan the worst cards in existence it seemed, one after the other, rushing him into the responsibilities of a Jedi Knight and the grief of the loss of a mentor all at once, and far too soon.
“I miss him, too,” you laid a comforting hand on his cheek, a tear slipping down and landing on the pad of your thumb. You gently rubbed it away, sighing. “Qui-Gon was so proud of you, Ben. He trusted you with his wishes because he believed you could fulfill them. He was confident in your competence and skill as both a Knight and a mentor.”
“How do you know that?” He whispered, screwing his eyes shut. Pieces turned to dust in your heart as you watched and felt your closest and dearest friend in so much pain. Pain that he knew he shouldn’t be letting consume him, which threw guilt into the whirlwind of emotions he was already feeling.
“I felt it,” you tilted your head at him in sincerity. “I heard it. Every time he spoke to you, about you. You were his son, as you think of him your father.” You slid your hand to his jaw. “No one would be ready for the position you’ve been put in. But, Obi-Wan,” you dropped your hand into your lap. “You can do this. If anyone can get through this, you can. You’re the best of us all.” Obi-Wan turned away, staring out at the stars again, his hand immediately reaching up to where his padawan braid had been just days before, now gone at his passage into Knighthood. Not knowing what to do, he rubbed his shaky palm against his pants repeatedly, trying to wipe off the clamminess that wasn’t there. Without thinking, you reached down to touch his hand. He immediately took it in both hands, beginning to play with your fingers, occasionally running his thumb over the back of your hand, which seemed to ease his nerves. “You’re not alone,” you took this moment to remind him. “I’m here for you, always.” Obi-Wan turned to you then, locking his eyes with yours in desperation. In hope. An understanding passed silently between the two of you as you pressed against his side, your hand still in his, and leaned your head on his shoulder. Care. And love.
II.
It was a cloudy night as you walked mindlessly around the halls of the Temple, which were empty and abrasively quiet. That did nothing but spur on your nervous headspace as you continued pacing, pulling your cloak, which was actually Obi-Wan’s, closer around you. You hadn’t given it back to him yet from your last mission together, where it had gotten chilly on the journey back to Coruscant, and he had given it to you as a blanket while you slept. Your thoughts trailed back to him, and a blush crossed your face at the thought.
Before you knew it, you had ended up at a certain familiar door in the hall of living quarters in the Temple. It was as if the brief passing thought of Obi-Wan had steered you in his direction out of pure instinct. You stared at his door for a long moment, and just as you raised your hand to knock, the door whooshed open to reveal the man that had crossed your mind only briefly, his shoulder-length hair tousled, clad in only some lounging trousers.
“Are you alright?” His eyebrows drew up in concern, clearly feeling your distress grow strong as you let your already withering walls fully drop around him. “Come here, dearest.” He pulled you into his quarters, leading you to sit on his bed with him, where a mug of tea sat on his nightstand, his holopad laying near his pillow. It was late at night, but it wasn’t a surprise that the man was still awake. It was a wonder how he functioned when he rarely slept. Before you could protest, he stood and began to pour you tea of your own out of the batch he had already made, pressing your own mug into your hands. You managed a small smile in thanks to him, a sip from the tea providing you comfort, but not nearly as much as his presence. “What’s got you pacing around the Temple this late?”
“I dunno, I—” you sighed, shaking your head. “This war, the council, the code, everything just feels like too much right now. I’m thinking things I shouldn’t,” you paused, running a hand over your face in frustration. “I don’t even know what I’m thinking anymore.” Obi-Wan laid a comforting hand on your back, urging you to go on. “I just can’t help but think all sides in this war are flawed, including the Jedi, and not just the council’s decisions. The code as well. Everything is just so—so completely twisted. And unfair. It’s tiring to see.” Tears burned at the back of your throat, thinking of all the injustice you had encountered, but not had the resources to fix over the first few months of the Clone Wars that had already transpired. Jedi were peacekeepers, meant to help, but how could there have ever been peace, even before the war, if so many societies were struggling to survive?
“I don’t disagree with you,” Obi-Wan mused, sliding his hand away from your back to rest on the bed behind you. He stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Nothing in this world is perfect, especially when concerning war. It’s good to have skepticism, it is what keeps things in balance.” He watched you fondly as you stared down at the warm mug in your hands, deep in thought as you mulled over his words. “We are doing what we can, and I know that sometimes it may not feel like enough, but sometimes that is all we can do. It is all that you can do, and you do more than most, darling. It is unfortunate, but even the Jedi cannot fix everything. You cannot fix everything.”
“It doesn’t feel like it, Obi,” you sighed, setting your tea aside next to his on the nightstand. “I just hate all of this.” You clenched your now empty hands in your lap, so tightly your fingernails pressed into your palms.
“It will be alright,” he told you softly, sincerely. “You are not alone.” Obi-Wan reached over and placed his hands over your fists, gently massaging them open. His warm palms touched yours, thumb running over the side of your hand to soothe you. You almost stopped breathing when he raised his head slightly, leaning forward to press his lips to your forehead. The affection warmed you all over, your stomach twisting in the most pleasant way. “Do you want to sleep here tonight?” A smile crossed your lips as you nodded, remembering when you were padawans, and he used to sneak into your quarters at night when he couldn’t sleep, begging to share your bed with you. It was a miracle you never got caught.
Obi-Wan left briefly to put away your mugs, and you took the opportunity to slip underneath the blankets and get comfortable. He returned only a little after you had settled in, flicking off his lamp and sliding in next to you. There were a few unsure moments of stillness before you felt him nudge his body close to yours, and his front pressing to your back, an arm slipping beneath your neck, his other settling on your waist.
“Is this alright?” He murmured against your neck, and you whispered back your affirmation, settling into the warmth of his embrace. Your breathing began to slow and even out, matching his, where you could feel little puffs against your neck from where he had pressed his nose there.
As you began to drift off, you felt his hand gently slide down to find yours resting against your stomach. He pushed his fingers between the spaces of yours, giving it a gentle squeeze, and rubbing his thumb up and down the back of your hand in a soothing repetition.
III.
A strange silence filled the air as you and Obi-Wan settled into the small tavern room you were staying in for the night before you could find an appropriately discreet and permanent residence on Tattooine. So much had happened, but it was difficult to put any of it into words, and felt almost pointless to speak of, when you felt helpless in the aftermath of it all. Anakin, Padmé, the twins, the fall of the republic, the extinction of the Jedi Order. It was too much. How were you supposed to move on?
You swallowed the coming tears yet again, changing into a fresh pair of civvie sleep clothes you had managed to buy at a market you had passed on the way into town. You turned to where Obi-Wan was sitting, still as a statue at the edge of the bed, already dressed down in just his trousers for sleep. The silence continued as you sat next to him, close as can be, your sides touching as a form of comfort. Out of what now had become a habit when the two of you were alone, Obi-Wan grabbed your hand to hold. A melancholy smile crossed your face at the familiarity. You may have lost everything, but you still had each other.
“I love you,” Obi-Wan’s strained voice, holding back tears, cracked the silence of the dim room. “I’ve loved you since we were padawans. I need you to know that. I can’t seem to tell people that until it’s too late.” His voice cracked on the last word, and a jolt of bitter regret surged through his signature, so strong you could have physically flinched. 
“I know, Obi,” you told him softly, reaching up to run your hand through his hair comfortingly. “So did Anakin. You were a brother to him, just the same as he was to you.” You murmured, squeezing his hand in reassurance. More silence passed between the two of you, accented by occasional creaks of other patrons moving around through the thin walls. Ever so gently, you channeled a push of affection in the Force towards him, enveloping him in its warmth. “I love you. We’re going to be alright.” He finally met your gaze as you spoke to him, the both of you with silent tears slipping down your face. He took your face in his hands, running his thumbs over your cheeks. He leaned close to press his forehead against yours, closing his eyes.
“We’re going to be alright,” he echoed, sighing and trying desperately to steady himself, as much as he could. “As long as I am with you, I know we’re going to be alright.” He seemed to be reassuring himself just as much as offering comfort to you. You closed the gap between the two of you in a kiss, one that was far past overdue. It seemed to last forever, the two of you basking in the closeness of each other, the relief of finally airing your feelings, as well as being able to let a positive emotion free, let that take over rather than the overbearing sadness that weighed heavy on your mind, and was sure to make rebuilding your lives tough. But you could get through it. For each other. With each other. That feeling of certainty surrounded the both of you as you pulled away, although tinged with grief and loss, it was still reassurance just the same. You were not alone.
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kougetsuin · 5 years ago
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tag dump.
❀ ‘゚ /  little by little soaked into my veins ; visage. 
❀ ‘゚ /  stars are fabled to lie yet these prayers surpass time ; ic. 
❀ ‘゚ /  ma’am this is a mcdonald’s drive thru ; ooc.
❀ ‘゚ /  feelings pushed aside in silence are freezing ; musings. 
❀ ‘゚ /  on a delicate branch is a future that forgot to bloom ; basara. 
❀ ‘゚ /  i stopped that day with the age old story ; historic. 
❀ ‘゚ /  beneath my feet filled with white flowers and shiny thorns ; wardrobe. 
❀ ‘゚ /  rose scents & sorrowful sighs ; aes. 
❀ ‘゚ /  when the eyes close it’s the slow voice again  ; asks. 
❀ ‘゚ /  x  ; x. 
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mammons-tax-returns · 4 years ago
Note
"for one muse to kiss the other's scar" w satan pls? 👉🏻👈🏻
masterlist / 600+ followers event
Thank you for your request, anon! No pronouns were specified so I hope you don’t mind masc mc :’)
I kept getting scared that this was getting too lengthy (i have a short ass attention span so ik i cant read long stuff LMAO) so I redid a bunch of parts, i hope it’s not too apparent!
✖️MALE MC✖️
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Anything with history is an eye-catcher to Satan.
Just like a good novel, things with meaning and origins deeper than surface level are so much more enjoyable and genuine than things that simply are there. Who says an Avatar of Wrath can’t be poetic?
But it’s often that things with such overwhelming sentiment that Satan feels become an eye sore much quicker than anything else. Some things of personal importance are meant to be remembered, but not belabored to the point of ruin.
He is forced to face this fact today when Lucifer pushes a boundary that may not have even existed before. At any rate, it does now. Skipping past the point of negotiation entirely, Satan now finds himself pacing his room, cursing his brothers name under his hissing breath.
MC patiently watches as Satan goes through his breathing exercises on his own, knowing that if Satan has learned to calm down on his own before, he can do it again. Just being in his room with him is enough.
On the other hand, Satan isn’t too keen on that idea.
Things have become enstranged between him and Lucifer— Even more so. At this point, it’s hard to tell that MC’s help had brought them any closer at all.
The recent fights and arguments continuously end in Satan peering at the long, winding scar wrapping around his wrist and forearm like a ravenous snake. Just its faded presence is enough to make him conflicted.
He received this scar long ago, at least thousands of years ago. From a day that Lucifer got a bit too close to Satan when he was angry.
Maybe that was the day that set the precedent. The precedent that stated that no matter how smart or calm he presents, there will always be some turmoil within him brewing like a storm.
The disappointment and weariness that shows in his own family’s faces when he gets worked up is so evident he wishes he could be anyone else than who he is. Even if just for a day. But isn’t it unfair to only expect chaos from him? Certainly he’s been doing better to keep his anger in check... Right?
Besides... It’s just his nature to be angry. So, maybe... No, he still is held accountable for his actions. He definitely should just—
“Satan? Are you... Are you okay?” MC quietly calls his name from his bed. Perhaps he should have called Satan’s name a little earlier? The demon stood staring at his clothed arm in absolute silence for a number of minutes until now.
Satan’s eyes open a little wider. “Huh..? Oh, I’m sorry. I must have spaced out... How uncharacteristic of me.” He can’t find it in himself to smile, and instead uses his left hand to hold onto his scarred forearm, pushing it aside in hopes to shake off his intrusive thoughts.
“Moreover... I feel like I have calmed down significantly. Thank you for being here MC, but perhaps you’ve been bored out of your mind here.” He gives a firm smile and quickly looks away. “You may leave if you’d like.”
MC doesn’t quite listen to his offer. Satan seemed more tensed than normal when he would have “calmed down”. If he were a danger to be around at that moment, he would have said so, anyways. And if there was any chance of being able to help him before he does something risky, MC would take it.
“Well... It wouldn’t hurt to stay just a bit more, would it?” MC gave him a small smile, in which Satan seemed to become a bit flustered upon seeing.
Satan wonders how to respond. MC was right. And it may just hurt more if Satan is alone with his thoughts. “Oh, MC.” He sighs with unsaid appreciation, then makes his way into bed beside the human, who is still sitting on the edge. “Sometimes I wonder who truly are the angels of the exchange program.”
MC giggles, rolling over so that the two males lay side by side. “I’m no angel, but humans aren’t so bad... Occasionally.”
Satan smiles to let him know that the response was well received. Lord knows how grim his expression was while he was subconsciously considering his past just moments ago.
“But, that aside...” MC turns his head to look at the blonde. “What’s wrong, Satan? I’m not forcing anything out, but I’m thinking I should start to worry.”
Satan could almost laugh at those words. Worry? For him? A demon who embodies fury and unrelenting rage? It’s... A little odd to picture.
“Hmph. Well... Now that I have to put it in words, it seems a bit silly when it really shouldn’t be...”
MC raised a brow. “Based off of how you were glaring at your hands earlier, I doubt that this is about it being silly, and more about you trying to downplay it. But I’d say that’s a rather common coping mechanism.”
Satan felt as if he were see through. A mere glass pane. How could someone see into his mind so well? He had barely gotten into his explanation at all. “Er. I guess you could say that...
“It would appear that the tension... Between Lucifer and I has caused some rather distasteful memories to surface.” Satan mumbles the words as if they would reflect his character poorly. As if they were something to be ashamed of.
MC picks up on this, and a frown deepens his features. “Satan...” He pauses to think about what to say next, “You see, this is the part where I have no idea what to add because you guys have thousands of years of age on me.”
Satan ruffles the male’s hair when he sees the small pout on his lips. “You’ll come to learn that most demons are petty, shallow creatures with personalities about as deep as a puddle,”
Coming to a stop, the Avater of Wrath subconsciously began to pull up his sleeve to reveal the very edge of his scar. However, he hesitates, and his throat tightens just barely.
What in the hell was he doing?
“...” MC can’t look away from Satan’s hands, and it seems that time has stopped for a moment. Even the air that previously entered and exited MC’s nose seized.
Satan suddenly relaxes. It’s just MC. A human that knows all too well that this household could be dangerous and frightening. So he continues to pull up the bit of cloth covering peach skin.
“And sometimes, we tend to give into vainglorious temptations that only end up hurting someone, or everyone.” Satan finishes, voice barely breaking the border between a whisper and mutter. “I suppose I could have gone about pushing Lucifer’s buttons in a smarter way... But I didn’t, unfortunately. So I’m left with this loving scar from my brother.”
MC supresses a gasp, and gently takes hold of Satan’s arm. “It looks like it was super deep... I’m sorry this happened to you Satan.”
Satan watches MC trail his fingers calmingly along the edge of his river-like line along his arm. He rotates his forearm so that he can follow its path all around his arm.
“I appreciate that, MC... But I’m ‘over it’, for lack of better words. You see here, the scars actually make the silhouette of a cat on the untouched skin. It’s rather cute.”
MC laughs at the revelation. It was cute. But as much as he could admire Satan’s turning of an unfortunate event into a moment of entertainment for the two of them, he couldn’t ignore the weary look on Satan’s face.
“Awh... That’s adorable.” MC lightly mocks a babyish tone, and rubs his finger on the head of this imaginary feline. “It’s like a mini Satan cat.” He feels Satan’s shoulder move as he chuckles breathily.
“I value your adoration for my unsightly skin, MC. But if you’re so affectionate to this mere imagery of ‘mini Satan’ , perhaps you could spare a moment or two paying more attention to me.” He’s not sure if Satan means to sound dismayed rather than playful, even through the smile on his lips.
So he decides to gently grab onto Satan’s arm and press his lips against the indented skin on his forearm.
“M-MC-..!” Satan jumps, free hand freezing mid-air. His body heat is rising, and he’s sure MC can feel it.
“You’d better not be talking about Mini Satan like that, Satan.” MC mumbles against his skin. “He’s not unsightly. He’s wonderful and handsome, just like you.”
Satan can’t find a way to respond. Was he supposed to feel his heart squeeze? This seemed too menial of a response from MC for his heart to be racing like this. He simply smiles and shakes his head helplessly.
“Thank you, MC...” He lets out the breath he had been holding in.
Perhaps he could afford to be transparent every once in a while.
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