#(i am part of the problem BUT i am getting slowly back on my feet and will start commenting again soon i hope!!!)
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I loveee your geom seongje fics so much!!! What about reader who hates smoking because either she doesn’t like it orr has breathing problems (you pickk) and seongje has an unspoken rule in the union that if someone smokes within 6ft of reader they’ll get…beaten up 🤗🤗
-🦕



+ SIX FEET OF SMOKE AND SILENCE
in which seong-je makes a rule in union to not smoke within six feet of his girlfriend, only for him to not follow it.
Geum Seong-je x reader
slight angst, fluff
Everyone in the Union knew one rule without needing it posted on a wall or barked across the courtyard:
No one smoked within six feet of Seong-je’s girlfriend.
There was no memo. No warning. But the message spread fast after one poor bastard lit up too close to her during lunch break behind the gym. He hadn’t even finished his first puff before he was on the floor, coughing blood and gasping through a broken nose. Seong-je didn’t say a word after. He just stepped over the guy, lit his own cigarette, and leaned back against the wall like nothing happened.
Since then, the six-foot rule was sacred.
She hated smoking. The smell. The burn. The heavy feeling it left in the air. It clung to her skin when she walked through the old wing where delinquents spent their time. And Seong-je—for all his stubborn chaos—smoked like it kept his pulse steady.
She didn’t ask him to quit. That wasn’t her way. But he knew how she felt. She never looked away from the truth, and when she wrinkled her nose or shifted just slightly away, he knew.
Today, the courtyard was empty, save for them.
She’d been looking for him, half-pissed, half-worried, when she found him under the awning behind the old practice rooms. A familiar white stick between his fingers, the faint hiss of fire at the tip.
He was already mid-drag when he looked up and froze.
Their eyes locked.
She didn’t speak. Just walked forward. Each step deliberate.
And Seong-je, for once, didn’t smirk.
The cigarette dangled loosely from his fingers, smoke curling lazily up like it wasn’t in trouble.
She stopped three feet from him.
He exhaled slowly. "I thought you were in the main hall."
She crossed her arms. "Didn’t realize that changed your personal radius."
He stared at her for a beat. Then, with a quiet breath, he flicked the cigarette to the ground and ground it beneath his boot. No dramatic sigh, no annoyed glare. Just a muted act of surrender.
She blinked. That…was new.
"You mad?" he asked, watching her expression closely.
She tilted her head. "You made a whole rule for me, Seong-je. But you can't follow it yourself?"
"That rule’s for everyone else," he replied, deadpan. "I make exceptions for myself."
She narrowed her eyes.
He hesitated.
Then his voice softened. "But I wasn’t thinking. That’s on me."
Silence stretched.
It wasn’t just about the cigarette. Not really. It was about the things that built up over time. How he always took care of her in his own violent, twisted way. How he respected her space, protected her name, and never let the world touch her with dirtied hands.
But still smoked like it didn’t matter.
"Why do you need it so badly?" she asked, arms still folded, but her voice quieter now.
His lips parted. He looked away, tongue running along his inner cheek.
"It shuts things up in my head," he said eventually. "Gives me something to do with my hands when I’m not picking fights."
A beat passed.
"You always seem calmer when I'm around."
He looked back at her.
"I am."
The silence grew thicker. Tension slipped in between them like static.
She stepped closer. Two feet now.
He didn’t move.
"Then maybe you don’t need it," she murmured.
His breath caught. Not from the words. From how close she was now. How she tilted her chin up, how the wind caught strands of her hair and lifted them between them like whispers.
"Maybe," he said, voice low. "But habits die hard."
Her eyes flicked down to his fingers—still twitching slightly, like they missed the cigarette already.
Then she did something that made him pause.
She reached into his pocket and pulled out the pack herself.
Seong-je blinked. "What are you doing?"
"Testing a theory."
She pulled one cigarette out, then held it up between her fingers like she’d seen him do a hundred times.
"You hate smoking," he said, stepping closer. Just inches now.
"I do."
"Then why?"
"Because maybe if you see me do it, you’ll stop."
He stared at her. Hard.
She was bluffing. He knew it. But then—
She raised the cigarette to her lips.
His hand shot out.
But instead of pulling it away, he held it for her. Between his fingers. Just like he always did.
"This is how you hold it," he murmured. His voice dropped, the space between them now non-existent.
His girlfriend didn’t move.
He brought the cigarette to her lips. She looked at him, stubborn but nervous. The kind of nervous she never let anyone see.
He lit it.
"Now inhale—slow. Then let it sit for a second. Then breathe it out."
She tried.
And immediately coughed, turning away, shoulders shaking.
He chuckled, low and smug. "Yeah, that tracks."
She glared at him with watery eyes. "Asshole."
"You tried to play cool. That’s on you."
She shoved him, but it was half-hearted. He caught her wrist.
"You hate it, don’t you?"
She didn’t answer.
His fingers curled around hers gently. "Don’t do that again."
"Then stop making me worry."
They stared at each other.
And something cracked open.
He raised her hand still holding the cigarette. Took it back between his fingers. Then brought it to his own lips.
Smoked.
Exhaled away from her.
Then tossed it aside.
He leaned in, close enough that she could smell the smoke clinging to him and feel the heat of his breath.
"I’ll quit."
She blinked.
"But only if you keep looking at me like that."
She shoved him again. He caught her around the waist this time.
Pulled her close.
"You really want me to stop?"
She nodded. Small. Honest.
He lowered his head, lips brushing her ear. "Then kiss me. And mean it."
Her breath hitched. She hesitated.
Then she kissed him.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t perfect. But it was raw, honest, and more addicting than any nicotine high he’d ever chased.
When they broke apart, her forehead pressed to his, he smiled. Not the usual arrogant smirk. Something quieter.
"Guess I found a better habit."
And for once, the air between them was clean.
---
AUTHOR'S NOTE + MASTERLIST
I hope you enjoyed <33 I love how everyone's making requests!! Also in case anyone's wondering how I am so quick at doing the request 😭 The exam gaps are the best motivation to do anything other than studying lmao.
#geum seong je#geum seong je x reader#geum seongje x reader#weak hero class two#weak hero x reader#weak hero webtoon#wolf keum#fanfic
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Birds in their nest Part 18
masterpost
Danny woke relaxed. From his brow to the tips of his toes he was relaxed. Which was the first sign something was off. Relaxed was then followed swiftly by confused and wary. He stayed carefully still and silent as he took the space around him in.
The room was darker than his, heavier somehow in that darkness. It was quieter too. There was no noise of the city seeping through the annoyingly thin windows that looked out over the streets of Gotham. He was in a bed, though, and a very comfortable one at that.
(He forcefully pushed back the part of his mind that was still a scared boy worried about being captured and vivisected or cloned again or something else horrible.)
Slowly, Danny opened his eyes. The bed was more than comfortable, it was impressively ornate dark wood that almost faded into the dark blue walls. Somehow even the walls felt expensive. Danny figure it must be the wood detailing that ran around the room.
As he sat up up just slightly, everything clicked into place: the ballet, Bruce insisting on giving Danny a ride, and not remember the end of the ride. He must be at Wayne Manor. He must have fallen asleep in the limo. It was beyond mortifying. They Waynes had just been doing him a favor out of some sense of charity or pity and he’d ended up being a burden.
Danny collapsed back into the bed and covered his face with a groan. This wasn’t even some one night stand where he could slip out quietly or something; he had to see them. He had to say thank you and sorry and please don’t fire me for being weird. Gods, why couldn’t he just be normal for one night?
Even without wings or turning into a giant, eldritch bird he was a mess, Danny thought, slightly hysterically. Well, he might as well get up and face the music so that he could call a ride leave.
If only getting up wasn’t such a problem. Now that he was moving, Danny felt the ache of the missed doses of medication in every thread of muscle. He didn’t even have anything to take, not having one of his usual bags with him. Slowly, Danny got his feet under him and got himself standing. He breathed through the shaking muscles.
The change of clothing was a welcome sight. The suit (that he was totally going to have to get dry cleaned now) felt more than a little stale after sleeping in it. The provided leisure were was much more comfortable and, somehow as he pulled on the over sized hoodie, familiar feeling.
As he stepped out into the quiet hallways, Danny have wondered if he could make a break for it, pain and all.
“Good to see you awake, sir.”
Danny jolted so hard at the sudden voice he might have pulled something.
The stately elderly man that approached looked less than sympathetic. “My apologies, sir. If you will hand me your suit, I will see it dry cleaned and send to your office.”
“Oh, no, that’s fine, I’ve been enough trouble already—”
“I insist.”
Meekly, Danny handed over the suit after he had fumbled out his phone and watch from the pile. The other man took it with far more grace.
“If you will follow me, sir, I will direct you too breakfast on the way.”
“Right. Thank you Mr…?”
“Pennyworth, sir,” Mr. Pennyworth said and started off.
Danny scrambled after him and tried not to hobble too much even though he could feel his left knee threatening to buckle with every step. It was just a twinge. He would get home (after breakfast apparently) and take his medication and he’d be fine.
He’d be slowly turning into something eldritch and unknowable, but he’d be fine.
When Danny got to the able, it was already rather full though not everyone seemed that awake.
“They’re not morning people,” Duke explained with a sunny smile when he spotted Danny.
“Hn.” Bruce agreed articulately.
Danny smiled despite his current embarrassment. “I can see that, but I don’t think that I can talk considering last night. I am so sorry that I fell asleep in the car like that. I swear I don’t normally just crash like that. You should have just woken me up so that I wouldn’t be—”
“Danny,” Bruce interrupted. His voice was a low, sleepy rumble. Danny felt himself blush. “It’s no burden on us. You obviously needed the rest since you didn’t even wake once. I just hope that we didn’t make you uncomfortable.”
“Best sleep I’ve had in a while,” Danny admitted. “But I really don’t want to be any trouble to—”
This time it was Cass cutting Danny, off as she swept into the room and pressed a quick kiss to Danny’s cheek, then Bruce’s, and a few of her siblings as she made her way to a seat.
“Sit. Eat,” Cass signed and motioned to a seat next to Bruce.
Danny felt it best to give in and do as he was told. This family was just very confusing.
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Possessive Love- Jennie Kim
not proofread, might contain spelling mistakes, and even bad grammar. Please forgive those but enjoy the story. Also posted this in light of her new comeback. Enjoy!
As the door to your luxury penthouse opens, you wait for the small figure to walk inside.
"I'm home…that party was a lot- I'm ready to relax!" A voice cries out cutely.
Except she didn't hear a reply back. Looking up, she sees you glaring a cold stare at her.
"What happened? Aren't you happy that I am here?" Jennie questions as she slowly walks toward you after taking off her heels
"What the fuck are you wearing? You wore that kind of outfit in public? At a party no less where everyone was ogling you?" You bark at her.
"Nobody was doing anything! I wore it because it was sexy. Why? do you not like it?" Jennie says, knowing very well you didn't but she still wanted to see how jealous you got
You glare your eyes at her even more.
"Too sexy. That is the problem."
Jennie rolls her eyes. "I can wear what I want. I'll do whatever I want!" She rebuts.
That pushes you over the edge, rationality completely leaving your mind!
You grab Jennie’s neck and pull her closer, tightening your grip around her neck.
"No you don't. You are mine! and you will only wear what I deem good enough for you! Just because you are the "CEO" of your company doesn't mean you can do what you want. You know I am the reason you hold that position right," You ask. Pulling her close enough to feel her breath on your lips
Your lips are on her in an instant and you roughly have your other hand touching her chest.
"I know your feet are sore from those heels. You did all this shit on purpose didn't you?" As you continue to kiss her, you drag her, walking backward to the sofa. Plopping down, you break the kiss and stare deep into her eyes.
"Baby girl…go sit on the other end of the sofa and get Daddy's cock nice and hard with those pretty feet of yours."
"Yes, I did this on purpose, given how busy you have been. I needed to pull something like this to finally get you to myself," Jennie says as she settles down on the other side of the sofa.
Jennie's feet slowly rub your clothed cock. Those pretty nails painted completely in matte black looked perfect rubbing your cock "Baby girl…you know you're one of my favorite sluts…I don't give keys to any of the mansions or penthouses to just anyone…it's a very short list.."
But Jennie slowly drags her toes across your pants, letting you feel her nails scratching just a bit. She pouts seductively.
"Suzy…Jisoo, Rosie…Naeun…Tzuyu…Seolhyun..Irene…" She begins to rattle off names.
You grasp her ankles and hold them down to keep the pressure on your cock. "Shut up. Don't waste your time thinking about them…Daddy is with you now princess so get to work."
"Show daddy what he has been missing? Show me why I should have you around me 24/7!" You say, hoping to get Jennie's competitive nature out.
It does, she immediately pulls your pants down and wraps her feet around your cock pumping it hard and fast
"Does daddy like my feet? do they feel good? None of the other sluts can ever use their feet as good as me can they now Daddy?" Jennie asks
You withhold a moan. She got aggressive right away…good…
"Mhmm..baby girl..you know Jisoo and Rosie…have some of my faves-"
But Jennie keeps pumping and then takes her left foot and scrunches her toes at your tip. Her right foot scrapes along your shaft but she then tries to put a part of your cock between her big and middle toe.
"What were you saying, Daddy? Am I getting you hard? Your cum will look so good all over my black polish. And Daddy…my feet are so sore from those heels…I'm sure you'll love the flavor later as you're fucking me…"
"Oh someone is jealous!" You tease Jennie, knowing very well that she would take this as provocation.
"I'm not jealous, I'm just speaking the truth," Jennie says as she continues to work your cock with her feet, occasionally playing with the tip. She knew how much you loved footjobs and she was taking full advantage of it.
"Fuck, princess your feet feel so good around my cock" You moan, you didn't want to boost her ego but she was in fact making you feel amazing right now
Jennie smirks and brings her feet together again on either side of your cock, rubbing her soles furiously up and down your hard mast.
"Tell me I'm better than them…no..I want Rosie and Jisoo to hear it…I'm the best right?" She says taking out her phone and hitting record.
"Quite the feisty little one aren't you? Do you really think you are better than them? And what if I tell them that? Don't you think they would barge in immediately and take away your personal time with me?" You question her. Hoping she would stop her call.
Jennie pauses for a moment but makes the call anyway, first to Rosie.
You narrow your eyes at the bratty girl but you know you'd turn this on her soon.
"That wasn't your brightest idea princess, You are going to regret calling Rose especially in the situation that we are currently in," You say to Jennie as she continues to play with your cock.
Rosie picks up the call.
"Hi! What's up?" She says, her Aussie accent like honey.
Jennie smirks. "I just wanted to call you because I'm with Daddy right now…" She says in a teasing manner.
"And you thought of calling me now? Tell me where you guys are. So we can have a nice conversation in person," Rose says catching on to what Jennie was trying to do
Jennie sticks her tongue out.
"No. I have him all to myself…I'm giving him a footjob, better than anything you've ever done."
Rosie rolled her eyes, now seeing what this call was really about.
"Yeah yeah, keep believing that. I know for sure that my footjobs are a 100 times better than yours," Rose says, infuriating Jennie
Rosie presses on.
"I'm his favorite for feet if not one of his..maybe Jisoo and Suzy too…he has lots…I know what he likes…why do you think I show mine off so much, especially with white polish? Yours are smaller and stubbier…there is no way you could beat me…"
"Fuck you bitch, your just jealous that his cock isn't in between your feet. I have him squirming under my feet right now all while you get nothing," Jennie fires back.
As Jennie continues to stroke your cock, you get an alert on your phone about the new photos and magazine release and you frown.
You were beyond shocked when you saw those pics. You grab Jennie by her hair and pull her toward you
"What the fuck do you think you have been doing? Why are you going around posing like a slut for these magazines?" You question your blood boiling because of how naughty these pics are.
"I'm done." You quickly get off the couch rummage through a drawer and pull out a collar.
"Collar, now. You need to be punished." You say coldly, leaving no room for argument.
The tone of your voice made it clear that you were angry, and this was beyond what Jennie had expected. She knew you would get angry but now she was in completely unknown territory to her, so she got on her knees in front of you
You stare coldly at her.
"You need to have my permission before shoots like this…to dress like a slut for all to see? What a dirty bitch you are. If what you want is for everyone to see you that way, fine. You're free to go…"
You step forward and stroke her cheek though, looking down at her.
"Or you can be a good girl and know your fucking place…put the collar on and tell Daddy how sorry you are."
Jennie takes the collar from your hand and puts it on. She knew what she did was way beyond what you tolerated and she also knew that if you wanted you could leave her here all hot and bothered and never be allowed to be in the same room as you ever again. Jennie couldn't live without you. Your dick was the only thing that could satisfy her greedy little pussy.
"I am really sorry daddy, I just wanted to get your attention. I didn't think that you would be this angry," Jennie apologizes.
But you knew you had to push her, watch her break.
"Rosie's still on the call…maybe I should just go to her and fuck her brains out…Jisoo too…or any of the other hundreds of girls I could have at my beck and call right now. Tell me how fucking sorry you are. Are you stupid? Are you an attention-seeking whore?"
"I am so fucking sorry Daddy. I have been a dumb bitch. I will never do it again!" Jennie begged, she cut the call and was now on her knees her head near your feet.
You could see her body literally shaking in fear. Fear of you throwing her away and never even thinking about her again. She couldn't fathom the thought of you not filling up her tight pussy all because she wanted to be a whore in a magazine shoot so that you would show her some attention
"Don't look down on the ground! Look at me. What am I to you, Jennie? You could have anyone you want..you could get any dick you want, especially now after these pics. So go then, you can keep the collar but get the fuck out of my apartment. I. Am. Done. With. You."
"NO no! please please forgive me, Daddy. Pleasee I won't ever do this again. Don't make me leave pleasee. I NEED YOU. I don't care about anyone else. I want Daddy only you Daddy all the others are nothing compared to you," Jennie begged, tears spilling out like a broken dam.
The gravity of the situation was beyond what she could handle, she realized the magnitude of what she had done and it was killing her.
"Then you better fucking empty my balls…whatever the fuck I want. You're just my slut to use…so suck my cock better than you ever have in your dirty life."
Hearing this Jennie gets to work, playing and worshipping your cock like never before. The pure fear of you throwing her away showed a side of her that you never thought you would see.
You roll your head back with pleasure.
"Fuck yes, baby girl…prove your worth to your Daddy…fucking choke on it…worship it…" You hold her head in place with one hand and begin thrusting harshly, slamming your tip against her throat's walls.
Jennie takes it well. She was willing to do anything and everything to make sure that you were happy with her again. her tears now flowing due to the big cock down her throat.
"You fucking love this don't you? Being used like the whore you are. That is all that you are to me…Your tears are a result of your insolence.."
You keep bashing your cock inside her mouth. "Just fucking on it all.." You try and push your cock down her throat..your balls hitting her chin and lips and you keep it there, testing how long she could hold her breath.
Jennie slowly began loving it. After her throat had adjusted to the size of your massive cock, she started to enjoy it, her pussy getting wetter than it already was. This was just another signal to you that you could keep going
You had to contain your surprise…she was adjusting? She would be hard to break…but maybe you just needed to break her spirit and heart instead..break her mind…make her unable to live, to think, to even breathe without your touch and cock.
Jennie looked up at you her eyes full of tears but there was a look almost like she was hoping you would compliment and forgive her because of how well she was doing but you knew that this was only the beginning.
"What is that? Are you seeking my approval? Do you think that was good enough? How stupid. Tell me, what good are you to me?"
You say touching her cheek again and brushing her hair, she really was beautiful like this, not that you would ever admit it.
She tries to take your dick out of her mouth to reply to you but you push it back in surprising her all the way down her throat not allowing her to breathe. you pull out by yourself after having your cock in her for a few seconds. Finally giving Jennie some much-needed air
"I didn't tell you to take it out now did I? You only do everything that I tell you to? A pretty little slut like you doesn't need to think. See we ended up in this horrible situation because of you thinking," You say.
"Strip Jennie…strip and lie down on the floor and spread…let me see that dirty pussy…let me see your slutty body on full display only for me.."
"yes, Daddy," is all Jennie says before following your command, She was now lying on the cold hard marbled floor. completely naked, her legs spread open and her pussy visibly drenched.
"you are awfully wet aren't you, for someone who is being punished. Maybe I am being too nice to you" You say.
"I wonder how long you would stay there if I command it..I wonder if you would resist any of my requests? If I wanted to sit on you and choke my cock down your throat? If I wanted to piss all over your body? If I wanted to shove a toy in your cunt and take you to the edge until your mind break…show me your loyalty, baby girl."
"anything daddy. I am willing to do anything for you to forgive my stupidity, please. I just don't want you to throw me away." Jennie begs.
You smirk and decide to test her words…you approach her and gently sit atop her chest. You line up your cock to her mouth and slam down forcefully, making her choke. Your balls hit her chin once again but this time gravity and your floor trapped her helpless body.
"I'm going to fuck your pretty mouth and who knows I might even piss in it." Jennie tries her best to adjust to your roughness and eventually, she does, her eyes gleaming in excitement at the thought of you pissing right down her throat. Seeing as you weren't going to throw her away immediately she was quite happy as this was exactly what she wanted and a little more.
You growl as you thrust harshly against her throat.
"Fucking take it, baby girl..you stupid whore! I want to hear you beg for my cum..for my piss down your throat..fucking beg like a stupid slut!"
The rougher you got the more Jennie responded. Her hands gripping your thighs, not to stop you but to keep you from sliding out of her mouth. Her pussy making a mess on the marble floor. She desperately needed any stimulus but she wasn't getting any
"I know what you want, baby girl…but did you think you wouldn't be punished? No…I'm going to call another slut of my choosing and I'm going to fuck their brains out in front of you. You'll understand how it feels when I see wear those outfits for others."
You can see the panic set in her eyes. She wanted you all to herself. Didn't care about what you were doing to her but she didn't want any other bitch putting her nasty hands on you especially when Jennie was in the same room.
You knew this was the thing she would hate the most…losing…losing you…losing you to someone else…maybe someone younger…someone who had potential…the creeping idea that you could replace her, not with just someone of her caliber like her bandmates, no…someone so much lesser…but who would you call?"
Many options came to your mind, and one of them was Julie. A new idol who was very well-loved and was also hailed as the next Jennie because of her sexy acts on stage. Maybe calling her would send Jennie off the edge completely breaking her. Or natty was also another option, your options were potentially unlimited.
You make a decision and grab your phone, deciding to call Julie.
"I want you here now. I'll send you the address. Get here quickly." You say coldly and then hang up.
Jennie shakes her head, trying to push your cock out of her mouth. To tell you something but you couldn't care about what she had to say
"Did tell you to move?" you ask.
Jennie nods her head.
" then why the fuck are you trying to move?" You ask again, showing her who is in control
You then go grab a couple of items, one was a tiny pill, and the other a vibrator to be inserted.
"I'm going to stuff this in you and turn it on..don't you dare fucking cum and take your pill." You say, forcefully shoving the pill down her throat.
It was something you had developed…those who consumed the pill would have all their senses heightened but it only responded to your scent and your touch. It was the ultimate activation of all their desire and senses, making most of them brain mush for you. Their horniness would be beyond control.
Tears were rolling down her eyes. But she did exactly as you instructed. Taking the pill and waiting for you to put the prepped vibe into her pussy
"Daddy please, I will be a good girl. I will do anything you want. Please just tell whoever you called to go back. Whoever it is, I can be better than them. You know me, right Daddy? Pleaseee," Jennie pleads hoping that you would change your mind before she came.
The pill was already taking its effect on Jennie's body. Her hand slowly tugged her nipple. Her body heated up much more, her pussy creating a puddle much bigger than before.
You smirk and again stroke her face with your hand, but even that simple touch makes her squirt and shriek.
"You must be on fire right now…you desire so me badly right now…your body craves it, is starved for it…good…it will hurt all the more. I think you'll hate who I chose to receive my seed today."
Jennie's body still recovering from something as simple as a touch. Her body felt like it was as hot as the fucking sun and the only thing that was keeping her even the least bit sane was your scent that lingered in the room
"D-daddy, pleaseee. Touch me, Use me, Destroy me. Please," Jennie managed to whisper as she tried her best not to rub her swollen clit.
"Did I even permit you to speak? You'll stay there until I tell you otherwise. Stay on the floor, I want to watch you squirm until she arrives."
Not being able to keep her legs open any more Jennie closes them rubbing her tighs together. Trying her best to quell her thirst for your touch. The fact that you were just sitting her was already driving her crazy. All she could think about was your cock and all the ways you could shove it into her.
You then chuckle and activate the vibrator inside her pussy too, you control its tempo and power, making sure to edge her without letting her cum.
The sudden pleasure provides a small sense of relief from the immense heat inside of her but it soon becomes worse. She was now being tortured both physically and mentally. Her body went into overdrive with all the pleasure and her mind slowly turned into mush.
"Beg..speak baby girl…how are you feeling hmm?"
"It's so hot daddy. my body… My body is burning. I need you Daddy pleasee, it is-"
Jennie wasn't able to finish her sentence as you turned up the vibrator. Her body jerked with the sudden increase in pleasure, she was now grabbing at her tits trying her best not to let her hand near her pussy because all it would take was a single touch and she would come undone.
"This is your punishment baby girl…what's wrong? Don't like the vibrator? Your body is burning thanks to the effects of my toys and yet…you just can't have me."
"hngggh daddy I need you, this vibrator doesn't do anything it is just-" Jennie isn't able to finish the sentence as you increase the intensity.
"You need me? Do you need me? Then why dress like a slut in public for all to see? You break my rules, baby girl…"
"I'm sorry Daddy I am ssooo sorry I won't do it again. So please, please just touch mee!!" Jennie whines.
you grunt as you rush over and yank the vibrator out before shoving my cock inside her pussy without warning and kissing her. Thanks to the special item and now my touch, her body was overwhelmed and her brain was going to be turned into mush.
The pleasure completely overtook her body. her brain could focus on nothing but your cock that was stretching her pussy. It was like finding water in a desert for Jennie. She didn't just want it her body needed this
"Is this what you wanted baby girl? What you needed?" I growl and kiss her and begin to drill into her pussy with abandon.
"Who the fuck owns you? Who owns this pussy? As I slap my balls against her folds and bury my cock inside her walls over and over over.
Jennie couldn't say anything, her brain completely turned to mush with the overbearing pleasure from your cock.
She wanted to answer you, but her brain wasn't able to produce a sensible answer. All that came out of her mouth were mumbles of nonsense in between moans.
"I asked you a question!" I shout as I then pull out my cock from her pussy and don't let it touch her.
"No! no, please put it back in daddy, my pussy, my body, and my everything belongs to Daddy, daddy owns every single inch of my body, it's his to use," Jennie manages to say as her body revolts from the lack of stimulus at her pussy.
You then hammer my cock back into her pussy and kiss her deeply before starting back again roughly. You choke her neck and begin battering her pussy again, making sure your head reached the depths, practically knocking at her walls.
The room is filled with the sound of moans and bodies slapping against each other. The pleasure was just perfect for Jennie, you could see her eyes roll back and her pussy wrapping around your cock tightly almost as if it was trying to hold you in there.
"Never forget who you belong to, baby girl. Never forget who owns this pussy, your holes, who decides what you wear and when. Never forget your place as my cock hungry cumslut!"
"yes yes yes daddy. I belong to you only you. I will do anything and everything you say so please pleasee just keep pounding my pussy Daddy," Jennie screams
I can only focus on the relentless drilling of her cunt, over and over against the sturdy floor…to ruin the mighty and world-class Jennie Kim.
"Take it all…cum for me baby girl."
"Hnghhh fuckkk!" Jennie screams and cums all over your cock. It's like a dam broke, water gushing all over your cock.
"That's my good girl…" Her extra juices only helped me slide into her tight cunt as I chased my own release and merely used her flesh for my desires.
"Fuck fuck fuckk daddy! Too much fuck I'm losing my mind daddy!" Jennie moans
"Too much baby girl? It's never enough baby girl. I decide when it's too much or else I'll just stop right now and I won't empty my seed in you. Do you want your pussy to remain starved? I can give my seed to a different whore. Just shut up and take my cock!"
"no no please I need it! yes Daddy give me your cum please," Jennie moans
"Good!" I grunt and keep slamming into her pussy, deeper, harder, rougher, drilling into her cunt as deep as possible.
"I'm close baby girl…beg for it."
"Yes, Daddy cum in me please! dump all that thick baby batter into my pussy pleasee! Fucking breed me Daddy I need that fucking cum pleasee!!" Jennie screamed as you continued to pound into her
"That's it, baby girl! Yes. I'll breed you. I'll unload into this fucking cunt..this cunt that belongs to me. You dirty whore…what is that song of yours called? Mantra? The only mantra I want to hear is your screams, breed me, Daddy..breed me. I'm your whore. Now say it back!"
"yes breed me please please pleaseee," Jennie's begging was going to send you over the edge soon
It gave me the extra boost I needed as I spear her pussy with more powerful thrusts before erupting..gushing a hot stream of thick white batter..blasting it like a cannon.
"Fuck yes! Take it all baby girl…" You're mine.." I say kissing her lips fiercely before biting at her neck
"FUCKKKK, it's so hot Daddy! It feels so fucking amazing in my belly. you are cumming so much that you might actually breed me," Jennie says
"You'd give it all up for me, wouldn't you princess? Your entire career to be bred by me?"
I ask giving a few more thrusts making sure every drop was deposited in her walls.
"Yes, Daddy I would give up everything for you, all you have to do is say the word and it's done."
"Not yet baby girl, but congrats on your song release…" Just don't go out wearing shit I don't approve of okay?"
"Yes Daddy I won't"
#kpop smut#jennie kim#blackpink#jennie blackpink#jennie#blackpink x reader#blackpink smut#blackpink jennie
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Haha... quick story - last week a close friend whom just had back surgery asked if i would fix whatever needed be to his heat/ac duct in his bedroom( had been working perfectly up to last week). Sooooo, the down friend I am said " Fkn no problem Bro" ...grabbed duct tape , hammer nails , and committed to the only shitty part of this deed " crawling on stomach 40 + feet, under his house. SOOOO, finally get there and flashlight is bout to die , , blinking warning, I grab ventilation duct ( came disconnected and was on ground) swung that fkr around where my face was at tube opening and BAM!! HOLY SHIT!!! AHHHHH FK! HISSSS! Face to Face with the biggest fkn OPOSSUM I've ever seen, let alone , 5 inches from my face, hissing psychotically loud and angry , on my back under house...LUCKY FOR US BOTH , he ....she? Slowly walked away leaving me to replace duct back to working form. ( ok OK why did i babble this dopey azz story to you? YOUR POST, with a quote resembling you and an Oppossum - yes , that possum pic gave me flash backs from my recent opppossum situation. 5 inches from my face...Gnarly huge mouth full of sharp crazy possum teeth! Thank You...lol . I think i just needed to vent. Prolly should sent tou some $$$ for your time?. sorry bout this long ass story, lol.
lmaoooooo i approve of this story!
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Tormented Spirit | 7
Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8
"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."
Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, smut (cunnilingus, piv, choking, degradation, slight sadism), DD:DNE, panic/anxiety attacks, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.
A/N: again the high valyrian is internet translated so lol. please consider leaving comments/reblogs because they really help me with the fic. might make another poll for next chapter stay tuned. | cross posted on ao3
@arabellasleopardcoat
Taking you to the hidden stream was simultaneously the best and worst decision Erryk's ever made in his life. The look of you was holy. His intense focus on your form was to ensure your safety, but, by the gods, it felt sinful to behold your dark hair and light fabric ebbing in the water.
He had hoped a swim would lift your spirits, just as flower picking did, but he did not know it would draw such a tempest out of you. It was as though you were reborn. You plunged into the water and shed all your inhibitions. Your voice became brighter, as did your eyes. You were flooded with more than a dozen memories of you and your twin swimming in the river near your home in Oldtown, and you recounted all of them so excitedly to Erryk.
"Oh!' you exclaim, flipping in the water to get to your feet. You point to something behind your ward, making him turn around. In that split second, you hold in your laughter and grab something from the mossy rocks. Innocently, you say, "that reminds me of something."
Erryk turns back to you, brows knit in confusion. When you you make your way towards him, he clenches his jaw and averts his gaze. The shift you were swimming in was stuck flush on your body, leaving little to his imagination. He was glad to have the foresight to bring you a change of clothes and a towel, and, my, was the pattern on the said towel so very interesting.
"What is a frogs favorite game?" you ask so suddenly.
Erryk turns to you, brows furrowing, "pardon?"
"Tell me the frogs' favorite game, ser," you repeat as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Frogs favored game?" he repeats slowly, realizing now that your expression was mockingly innocent. He hums, "I cannot say I-"
"HOPSCOTCH!"
A frog comes leaping into Erryk's face, nearly causing him to topple as he dodges it. He's so flabbergasted by the turn of events, he calls out your name in offence. He is doubly offended by your laughter. His eyes go wide as you hunch forward, leaning on your knees.
"Villain," your ward mutters, scoffing far too many times.
You can barely catch your breath. You fan your face, "frog-ive me."
Erryk's face only contorts further.
"I could not-" you gasp for air, "could not help it."
In truth, if it was any other who did such a childish thing, he'd have shoved them in the water. Alas, you appeared only more beauteous as you made him a fool.
"Forgive me," you repeat in more serious manner, "Gwayne used to scare me this way often. I wished only to know how it felt, and now..." you giggle, "I can't say I blame my brother for constantly pulling tricks on me."
He huffs and shakes his head, "well. I'm glad to have pleased you, my ever-so-kind princess."
You offer him a guilty smile, "apologies."
Erryk shakes his head, "no. Truly. I am glad to see you in such a state."
You fidget with your fingers as a shiver runs down your spine.
He is quick to unravel your towel. He places it on your shoulders, "perhaps we should go back. The sunset is nigh."
You nod, taking your change of clothes from him next.
He turns around offering you your privacy. It takes a while, but you manage to dress yourself. Once you had your shoes on, you dry your hair with your towel and take his arm, "would you please lace up my dress?"
He nods, avoiding your gaze as he feels his face burn. He quickly laces you up then you return to the Keep.
You both had been laughing, up until you made it past the castle gates, promptly being silenced by the loud shout, "PRINCESS!"
Arryk runs over, charging for his brother. Their steel plates collide as Arryk yanks his twin, "where in gods name did you take her?"
Erryk furrows his brows, "we visited a stream-"
"The Keep is in disarray!" Arryk grits his teeth, hissing under his breath, "everyone's looking for her. Everyone."
You watch the twins huddle close and bicker. As it escalates, you try try to come between them, "Arryk. I was the one who asked him to take me outside the keep."
Arryk does not hear you at first, dead set on arguing with his twin. When you repeat your words the second time however, he turns to you, face softening a fraction. He knits his brows turning back to this brother, whispering something that makes Erryk turn to you with wide eyes, "fuck."
"Why?" you look at them in concern, "what it is?"
Arryk opens his mouth, but Erryk grabs his arm and says, "wait."
"There's no other way to say it," Arryk snaps, ripping his arm out his grip.
"Say what?" you knit your brows.
Arryk turns back to you, then lowers his gaze, "the queen... the queen has passed."
Your jaw drops. Your eyes widen. Your hand immediately covers your mouth. The three of you do not speak for a prolonged moment.
You feel your stomach roll, "w-what happened?"
"She could not deliver the babe herself. The maesters... had to intervene."
Intervene? You could not possibly understand what that could mean, and you find that you do not want to. You shake your head, "and her babe? Is- is her babe well at least?"
Arryk clenches his jaw, "she sired a prince named Baelon... he apparently grows weaker by the hour."
You feel bile rise up your throat.
"Your father and your siblings have been looking for you since news broke."
You shake your head, and gather your skirts.
"As has the prince."
Your face twitches at the thought. You do not delay and make your way inside the Keep.
As you tread the halls, you think about what the queen told you just mere hours ago. There is a sharp twinge in your belly as simultaneously remember how Aemma told you to go cheer for Daemon at the tourney and realize you will never hear a word from her ever again. The thought washes over you like water on the beach, sobering but thankfully not overwhelming.
You hadn't realized you had your head bowed until you hear your name called. You still as you look up, the twins halt behind you.
Otto marches over, brows and jaw tight as ever, "where in gods name have you been?"
You straighten your back as he stops before you, "I-"
"Your wards are double," he turns to the kingsguards, "and doubly useless, it seems."
"Father," you step into his line of sight, "do not relieve your rage on them."
Your father turns back to you, expression softening a fraction at your referral. You had not called him father since your argument in the maester's office. He looks at you— takes a good look at you and your sad eyes, your knit brows, your frowning lips. Your hair was darker than it was normally, and as he reaches out for it, he found it was, in fact, damp, "where have you been?"
"I..." you gulp and take a deep breath, "went swimming."
He releases your hair, tilting his head, "with whom? Gwayne has gone."
You pull your head back, "G-Gwayne's gone?"
"The tourney is over. The road is long. He has no reason to stay," Otto says.
Your brows tighten as you shake your head, "he... he didn't... wait for me?"
Otto watches your lips quiver. He watches your nose twitch. When your chest begins to visibly rise and fall, he shakes his head, "what did I tell you?"
You stare blankly at him.
He takes your hands, "what is it I always tell you?"
You clench your jaw and huff through your nostrils, "do not waste your tears on things you cannot change."
Otto rubs your knuckles as he shakes his head again. He gives the Cargyll brothers a look before walking off with you. They make sure to keep their distance before following after.
You turn to your father as he links your arm into his. You are certain, with how he cannot look at you, that he means to tell you something grave. You look front and mimic his demeanor— distant, cold. You are his daughter, face and temperance.
"You enjoyed your swim at least?" he starts, "you are calm?"
You gulp, mentally preparing yourself for what will surely come next. Your voice still falters though, "ye-s."
Otto nods, still not turning to you, "many has occurred since your marriage to Daemon. You admitted you did not consummate your marriage on your wedding night and I was deeply concerned you would fail your duties in producing heirs, especially if your husband was not interested in you."
Your jaw clenches.
"But with the apparent... change of heart your husband has shown, you should know I've had the maesters closely monitor your state."
You knit your brows at that, "you mean my affliction?"
He speaks your name slowly before continuing, "as of yesterday, they have confirmed to me that you are with child."
You whip your head to him and pull away.
Otto does not look at you with the same sense of urgency.
"W-what?"
He sees the fear on your features. He offers a solemn expression and takes your cheeks when your eyes water, "this is good. You should delight, not tremble."
You try to speak but nothing coherent comes out.
"The Queen is dead. Go to your husband and comfort him with this news."
Your mouth goes dry and your father wipes the tears that fall from your eyes. He your name softly. Your sad face looks the exact same it did when his wife died. My baby is having a baby. He frowns and pulls away.
You try to take his hand, but he slips away.
"See her off," the Hand instructs your wards.
Erryk is quick to go to your side, whereas Arryk stares at the back of Otto's head, his lips curling as he did.
"Princess," Erryk says, cautiously reaching your arm.
You turn to him with wide eyes before scratching your tears away, "I-"
"Perhaps you should sit down first."
You pull away from him before he can touch you. The action makes Erryk pull back, an unsavory sensation spreading in his mouth and belly.
"I want to- I—" you take a breath, "I need to find-" you shake your head and begin speeding down the hall.
You were nearly about to break into a sprint, and your wards had to jog up to your side to keep up with you. You don't really know where you're going, but you're getting there, fast.
"Princess, please, slow down," one says.
You can feel your breath and your pulse in your ears.
"Princess."
You find yourself in the halls near one of the gate of the keep. The only reason why you stop is because you hear the voice of your twin. Your breath catches as you lurch towards the window. Gwayne was laughing with one of the guards, already on his horse. Your brows furrow, he couldn't possibly be well enough to be riding on horseback.
You realize quickly this is your last opportunity to go be with your brother, to pull him into an embrace, to worry on him, to tell him your worries, to kiss him goodbye. You know you have to act now and swiftly, but you cannot seem to move.
Your mind is heavy as you think about how your brother is set to leave regardless of your desire to keep close; he said it himself, his place can never be at your side. Though he is the only person who've ever relied on, you know now— you rub your belly, that can no longer be the case. There is only one person you can rely on now... yourself.
It is painful to pull away from the window, but you do, clenching your hands into fists before walking away.
You don't really walk away however, because then, you're frozen in place at the sight of your husband standing a few paces away from you, "Daemon."
He stares at you wordlessly.
You walk towards him, careful as you drag your feet.
He tilts his head and clenches his jaw, "he's leaving any moment now."
You nod, "I know."
"Go to him," he says softly.
"I-"
"Go to him!" he snaps.
You stiffen at his expression. You were adept with anger but he did not look angry. You stop in your tracks, trying to make sense of his restless figure.
Daemon watches you fidget with your fingers.
"If it is your command, I shall obey."
He chuckles dryly, pacing around his spot. He wipes his mouth then charges over, stopping just in front of you. He scoffs when you do not flinch, in disbelief of your constitution. His nostrils flare, "you know my feelings towards your twin."
You slowly shrug, "then you'll be glad to know I came looking for you."
Daemon does not move.
"You know how I feel about my brother..." you mutter, "but..." you lower your gaze, "I'm coming to terms with the fact I can no longer rely on him... it will be better this way."
It takes a moment, but Daemon chuckles. When you look up and his smirk fades. Your beady eyes make it hard to find satisfaction. "So, you will not go to him?" he asks.
You stare.
"You do not want to go to him?"
Your lips part.
He raises his brows.
"I... I do."
Anger rises up his belly, but as if on cue, the sound of horses and carriages moving is heard. You clench your jaw and lower you gaze to prevent yourself from looking back at the window. The prince cannot seem to win, for he should be pleased you did not see your brother off, and yet your sadness leaves sour jealousy in his mouth— he was your husband.
The Cargyll twins look upon you both, appalled by the cruelty of the prince to keep you here as Gwayne leaves for good. Erryk in particular feels restless, unable to stop shifting and fidgeting with his scabbard.
"Shall... shall we go?" you mutter, slowly looking up.
Daemon watches you place a hand on his bicep. He responds only by following you after giving your wards a dismissive look.
The brothers turn to each other, each as unwilling as the other to leave you, but they do anyway.
Daemon is acutely aware of the warmth of your cheek against his arm as you tread down the halls. When, you arrive at your marriage chambers, Daemon opens the door and you notice the bandage wrapped around his hand. He struggles because of this. Once you're inside, you take his arm, eyes trained on his injury, "what happened to your hand?"
Daemon's eyes are fixed on the line between your brows.
"Did you break it?" you turn to him with furrowed eyes.
He pulls away slowly. He wants to know what you'd do next.
"Did you wrap it yourself? It's badly done."
He faintly snorts, "it's on my right hand."
"I'll do it for you," you say, walking towards the vanity.
Daemon follows, watching you procure scissors and vials and other things. You turn to him, motioning to the chair. He sits down, gaze fixed upon you as you take his arm again.
Your eyes are focused on undoing his wrap, "tell me if it hurts,"
His are fixed on your focused expression, "you should sit down."
"I'm fine."
"I want you to sit down," he uses his other hand to grab your wrist.
You stop and turn to him. You turn to the chair across the room but Daemon prevents you from doing so and simply spreads legs, pulling you between his thighs. Quickly, you are sat on his lap and tense look at him. He offers you his injured hand again as his other goes around you, clinging to your hip. He pulls you in, leaning his head against yours to say, "it's a cut, by the way."
You furrow your brows at his admission. You allow yourself a moment to relax before continuing your task. You find it is, in fact, a cut, deep and ugly, "did your lance splinter very badly?"
"No."
You furrow your brows deeper as you turn to him,
"This is glass."
"Glass?" you brow raise, "how did you hurt your hand with glass?"
Daemon licks his lips as he looks at yours. He shrugs, "I broke a bottle."
You pull your head back, "on accident?"
"On purpose," he tilts his head.
You huff and start cleaning his wound, "was the violence in the tourney insufficient?"
He chuckles through his nostrils, "I did not fucking win."
You smear balm on his wound. You do not reply.
It makes him clench his jaw, "and you..."
"..."
"You were not there."
You do not tear your gaze from his injury.
He grumbles, "did you even hear me?"
You lift your gaze then raise brow at him, "you did not want me there. Do you not recall how you cursed at me?"
Your gall makes anger rise up his throat.
You continue wrapping up his hand.
"Well, you were being a bitch," he snaps.
"Why?"
His brows furrow.
"Why was I being a bitch?"
"..."
You spare him a quick glace.
He pulls his head back, "... what?"
"Did I not do my duty?" you turn to him, face blank, "I followed you, congratulated you, inquired of your injuries. I submitted to your desires. Where did I err?" You ask in earnest, "what do you want from me?"
His face contorts. Now that he was faced with such an opportunity, he finds himself unable to speak. What did he want from you?
You wait for him to reply. You prepare yourself for preposterous requirements but you are met only his silence. In that moment, you remember he was just a man. Many a man enjoyed making women suffer. You gulp, thinking about your father.
Perhaps your father was lying. Perhaps he wants you to believe you are with child to get even. After all, Daemon never... finished in you. How then could you be with child?
You secure the binding on his hand, "it is finished."
Daemon does not bother looking at his hand.
"How do you feel?"
He feels a strong urge to shake you... to pull you close.
"My deepest sympathies for the death of your cousin."
He freezes. Right. The queen was dead. He lowers his gaze.
You frown and reach for his cheek. You second guess however and bring your palm to his shoulder instead, "I am here for you, my prince."
His eyes meet yours.
"I am here to care and comfort you."
He leans back, taken by the thought.
You drink in his demeanor, the softness in his eyes, the tension that falls of his shoulders. You release a breath, "if that is what you desire, speak plainly, and do not repel me. Do not ask me to leave if, in fact, you want me to stay."
His throat tightens. He feels like he is ensnared in a bear trap. He rips at his collar, "I... I have other injuries." He pushes you off and paces around as he undoes his top. It is a struggle for him, but he cannot stop or stay still, "cuts and bruises."
You watch as he fidgets and slowly walk over.
"I don't-"
"Daemon."
He stills.
You come in front of him and undo his top yourself. You drop it mindlessly, and once he is bare, he feels conscious under your scrutiny for some reason. You brush your fingers on his ribs, making goosebumps form on his skin. He can't say that that has ever happened to him before. You notice and rub his arms, eyes locked on his torso.
He feels himself getting hard.
"Did you tend to these yourself as well?" you brush over a cut on his hip.
Oh. You were still examining him. He only hums in response.
You frown, "did no maester come to your tent?"
"I..." he starts.
You circle around him, inspecting for other injuries.
"...wanted you to come to my tent."
You come to his side. He finds the frown on your face. You take a moment before saying, "you tended to your wounds well at least."
"I want you."
You nod, "I will tend to you—"
Daemon takes your nape, lowering his head to kiss your lips. It takes a moment for you to relax, and his belly burns at the sound you make when you do. Your hands come to his sides and your nails graze faintly into his flesh.
He pushes you back until your laid on the bed beneath him. His kisses trail down your skin as he works to get you naked. He kisses your shoulder, then your sternum. He makes sure to lick your breast and leave a mark on your rib before peppering kisses down your belly.
Your breath grows heavy when he lingers by your womb, sucking kisses on your skin. Your throat tightens think of your father's words again. It makes you tense, and Daemon feels it. Of course, he doesn't know about your conversation with Otto, and thinks your tension comes from your self-consciousness.
You lift your head, pulling a pillow beneath it, and look down at your husband. You reach for him, tangling your fingers in his silver hair, "Daemon."
He hums, nipping your flesh in response.
You try to sit up, "D-Daemon, I-"
He shushes you, pushing down on your hip bone. He looks up at you, muttering something in High Valyrian.
"Please, Daemon, wait-"
"Be still," he says, violet eyes hooded, "do I not take care of you?"
Your breath hitches as he sinks down.
"Do you not enjoy my mouth?"
"I- that's not-"
"Do you or do you not?"
"I... I do—"
You are not able to speak after he buries his face between your thighs. You are reduced to breathy cries and a twisting spine. Daemon, though he continues to hold you down, relishes every second of it and feasts more ardently. He sighs, securing your thighs on his shoulders, nudging his face deeper into you, his nose brushing against your pearl.
He relishes how quickly your wetness builds, and soon, he feels your arousal dribbling down his chin. He moans, nails biting crescent moons into your skin. Your belly rises and falls in sync with the crescendo of your mewls. At this point, both your hands are tangled into his hair, and your pulling and scratching only further inspires his tongue.
You call out his name, screwing your eyes shut as you throw your head back and arch your body. Quickly, your belly tightens and you sequentially dig your heels into his shoulder blades. He squeezes your thighs enough to make them bruise, and yet the pain is what pushes you into orgasm, garnering a lewd and loud sound from your mouth.
Daemon hums, lifting his face just enough to see yours as he brings you to peak. He moans at your expression, grinding his hips into the cushion, desperate for friction.
Your body trembles, unable to settle as his burning mouth persists on your molten mound. You begin to squeak and he catches the moment you open your eyes to look at him all teary. It drives him mad. With a deep inhale, he pulls away, wiping his chin before he undoes his breeches.
You relax and catch your breath, hands dropping to your sides.
Daemon watches you, your trembling legs glistening with the pleasure he's drawn out. He can feel himself throbbing in his pants. You watch as he hastily frees himself. Though your head was hazy and your body was tried, your belly burned at sight of the sticky liquid dripping down your husband's neck.
"Fuck, Daemon," you reach for his belly. You trace his defined muscles with your finger tips. He snatches your hands when he finally pushes his pants down.
You squeak when he pushes you to your side, one hand on your shoulder, another hiking your leg up by the knee. You whine as he folds you into the sheets just before sliding his hardened cock in your wet cunt.
He hisses, leaning down to your neck. His words are hot against your skin, but you understand nothing.
Whatever tenderness he had before was gone, now he was just fucking you like a rabid animal. Daemon could not help himself, he loved how supple and pliable you were, and twists you into a form that keeps you prone. When the bed begins to creak because of his thrusts, he holds you down where your neck and collarbone meet. He puts enough pressure to restrict your breathing, but not enough to choke out your pretty noises.
At some point, he decides your leg is getting in the way and pushes you flat on your chest. He then gathers you by the hip, hiking you up enough to fuck you nicely from behind.
His thrusts are more intense now. You scream into the cushion as you find your elbows. Before you can prop yourself up though, he's pinning you down by the shoulder, saying something in High Valyrian again.
"D-Daemon," you whine, left cheek smushed against your pillow. You could feel your next climax building quickly.
He responds by rubbing your clit, drawing tears and another scream out of you because of your sensitivity.
You feel yourself helplessly clenching and unclenching around him, absolutely boneless under his vigorous intrusion. You could feel your knees slipping but Daemon's grip on you would not see you move from your position. Your toes curl. Saliva drips out your open mouth.
"Māzigon va, riña," he snorts, "sepār mirrī angotan tolī." Come on, girl. Just a little bit more."
You do not understand, so you only whine out, "Daemon."
Daemon growls and rubs one side of your ass, "you're doing so good for me."
He spanks you, but that's not what makes your eyes open.
"Milk my cock with your tight cunny, come slut."
You begin to grit your teeth.
"I want to see my seed dripping down your thighs," he groans, mind unable to focus on anything but the hot, wet slapping of your skin.
It's unsurprising that you come first, as Daemon always assures you do to underscore his control and dominance over you. He yelps out a sharp fuck, nearly coming in your cunt because of how your body seizes up around him. Your orgasm overwhelming, yet your eyes water for more than this reason. His words make you aware your husband sees you nothing more as a vessel for pleasure, and your pleasure is regretfully cut short because of how sharply he pulls out, his load spraying on your already dripping labia and pubic hair.
He strokes himself a few times, feeling his cock twitch in his hand as he watches your mixed come trickle down your legs. He sighs, "fuck," then scoops the cream in two fingers, plunging it in and out your still spasming cunt.
You squeal when he finger fucks you, body unable to remain upright. You are grateful he loses interest rather quickly and crumble into the bed as he stands.
You watch him walk over to the drawer, where he then pours himself some wine. You gulp, remembering your dream from last night. It sobers you out your high. You clench your jaw and roll over to clean yourself up. You head to your vanity and wipe yourself down, grabbing your robe was you do.
Daemon, whose thirst was now quenched, turns back to you with a towel. He is confused to see you standing. He watches you flip your hair behind you, pulling it out of your robe, which you then secure around yourself. He knits his brows as he walks over, "what are you doing?"
You turn to him, sitting on the vanity chair, "getting ready for bed."
Daemon stares, and you take his prolonged silence as an indication to proceed with your nightly routine.
The prince squeezes the damp towel in his hand as he watches you brush your hair. You catch his stillness from the mirror and turn back to him, "oh."
You drop your brush and take the towel from him, "I'll help you clean up."
Normally, he enjoyed this, but right now, he can't. He is offended when you begin to pick up his clothes, so much that he scoffs, "the fuck are you doing?"
You halt midway picking up his trousers. You stand and turn to the closet, "ah. Did you want new clothes?"
He pulls his head back, no longer offended, but hurt, "you want me to leave?"
You are caught off guard by his question. You stare at him for a moment, unsure if he was serious. You could not identify his expression, so you did not know if you should tell him the truth. You would not survive being berated after confessing you wanted to sleep with him. You dodge the answer altogether, "weren't you leaving anyway?"
Daemon's cheeks tense. He huffs, stepping forward, yanking his clothes out of your hands, "no."
You are bewildered by his actions, for to you, his actions are sudden. You are petrified in fear, which is why you instinctively begin to apologize, "f-forgive me, I-I-"
His nostrils flare and his jaw sets.
"I-" you motion with a hand, "- you always leave."
His clenches his jaw, "do you want me to leave?"
"I—" your throat tightens and soon you can no longer look at him. You want to beg him to stay, but you recall how you did that with your father, and your mother, and your brother— begging does not make people stay. You whisper, "I... I'm terrified."
When you lift your gaze, Daemon shirks and decides to dress. He gulps as he pulls his trousers up, turning back to you. He clenches his fist before reaching out for you.
Your heart races as he takes your hand.
"You've served me well. If you are terrified... I'll leave you."
You whimper when he pulls away, holding him tighter than he did before your hands part. Your lips quiver. He knits his brows. You shake your head, "I- I... I do not want you to go."
He is taken off guard by how you suddenly embrace him.
"Please," you beg, though you knew it would not serve you well, "stay."
He turned to stone. He cannot seem to move at all but your arms are determined to stay around him. You begin to weep against his skin and he can feel your breath grow ragged. Only then does he manage to return your affection.
He brushes your dark hair away from your face and cradles you against him.
"Daemon."
He leans into you, enough to be able to brush his cheek against yours, "kesan umbagon." I will stay.
You sniffle then sigh. After a while, you ask, "what does that mean?"
"I will stay."
You sigh again, pulling away to look at him. You offer him a sad smile, "thank you."
He frowns, wiping your tears.
When you go back to bed, you offer him space in case you've made him uncomfortable. He stares at you, awaiting your embrace. You are mere inches apart but it feels like yards and yards. Why do you not wish to hold him like you did last night?
"Good night, husband," you say before turning over.
He chuckles dryly, staring at your dark hair. He turns to the ceiling, "good night."
#daemon fanfic#daemon targaryen x reader#daemon targaryen#daemon x reader#daemon targaryen fanfic#daemon smut#daemon targaryen smut#daemon fluff#daemon targaryen fluff#house of the dragon fanfic#house of the dragon smut#hotd fanfic#hotd smut#daemon angst#daemon targaryen angst#daemon#daemon targeryan#house of the dragon
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butterflygirl738 (7)
No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, sickness, medical bills, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: You love butterflies and your mother, but life isn’t that simple. As life gets complicated, and expensive, you find yourself in need and an unexpected miracle presents itself.
Characters: Steve Rogers (CEO/Sugar Daddy)
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.
Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

“You were right about the mac and cheese,” you say as you wipe your mouth with a napkin.
S glances over with a smile. “You liked it?”
“Sure do,” you tap the side of the plate. “But it’s too much for me. I could save the rest.”
“Sure,” he gets up and crosses the room. He moves the cover back over your dish.
“Oh, thank,” you say as you set the used napkin on the tray. You quickly catch a yawn in your hands. “Oof, I’m sorry. Woke up early for the doctor.” You rub your eyes and blink at him. “I’m not very fun company, am I?”
“You’re... calming,” he says. “All the people I deal with... they’re always performing.” He tilts his head and gives a sardonic look. “It’s been nice to get away.”
“Must be. Even to somewhere like here,” you swallow another yawn, blinking big until your eyes water. You flick away the moisture.
“You made it worth it,” he lingers close. “If you’re tired, lay down. I don’t mind.”
“That’s not fair,” you try not to show how tempting the offer is. “Coming over just to knock out.”
“Go ahead. I’ve barely used the bed,” he points to the open French doors that lead to the bedroom. “I tend to sleep in intervals.” He clucks. “Buddy calls it strategic napping.”
“Can’t be very restful,” you say.
“Guess not but sometimes I don’t have eight hours to spare,” he taps his toe. “Please, go lay down. You look beat.”
You give a sheepish smile. Why does he care so much? Another thorn digs in.
“S?”
“You been caring for your mom. Let me care for you,” he puts his hand on your shoulder and squeezes. He slowly draws away.
You look down, “twist my arm.” You stand up slowly. “Don’t let me sleep too long. Just an hour or two.”
“Alright,” he agrees. “I’ll get some work done.”
You hesitantly move around him. It’s awkward. It’s just another thing you’re taking from him. His bed, his time... Won’t he get tired of that sooner than later?
You stop and turn back to him.
“S?”
“Yeah, sweetheart,” he glances at his phone, his eyes crinkling at what he reads.
“Can I... give you a hug?”
He puts his phone on the table and faces you. “You don’t gotta ask.”
He opens his arms. You slowly unfold yours and step closer. It felt like a good idea but now it’s a bit... tense. You wrap your arms around him and he closes you in his. You shiver at the warmth seeping from him into you.
“Thank you,” you press your cheek to his chest. “Really, I can’t say it enough.”
He keeps one arm firmly hooked around you as his other hand rubs your back. The soothing motion makes your skin prickle. He squeezes.
“No problem, sweetie.” He rocks you slightly.
You stay like that, too embarrassed and too afraid to break too soon.
“Alright, I think... I might fall asleep on my feet,” you ease from his hold and his hands brush along the robe as he pulls back.
“Yeah, go, sleep,” he pivots away. “I gotta answer this before he sends another damn email.”
He snatches up his phone and turns away. He mutters under his breath. You back up and watch how his shirt tautens across his shoulders. You spin and tiptoe into the bedroom.
You can worry when you wake up. Right now, you’re just too tired to keep track of all your doubts.
🦋
You wake with a start. You’re on your stomach, arm beneath the pillow you have your face buried in. Your head is cloudy as you lift it and your lashes stick together before you can pry them apart. You roll over and the sight of the dark window sends you into a panic.
You kick away the blankets and scramble out of bed. You hurry to the doors, the left one left open just a crack, and you pull it open. S sits at the table, a pair of glasses on as he has a laptop open. You have no time to process the seen as you scurry out.
“S, it’s late,” you cheep. “Why did you let me sleep so long?”
He calmly looks up and smooths the creases from his forehead. He pushes his shoulders wide and takes of his glasses. He puts them beside the keyboard of the table.
“I tried to wake you up,” he says. “You were so tired. I could get you to do more than roll over...”
His voice trails off as his eyes fall down. You follow his gaze. Shoot. The robe hangs open, exposing your naked legs. You quickly pull it around you, hot from your accusation and accidental flash.
“Um, I’m sorry to... I didn’t... I...” You sputter.
“You slept heavy. Probably a bit disorienting waking up here. You’re not used to it,” he shrugs. “I really did try but... seems like you needed the sleep.”
“Right, I... it was nice but...”
“You can call your mom. Let her know maybe you got backed up at your new job?” He suggests coolly. He’s a fast thinker. You’re a terrible liar. The type that adds too much detail when a simple explanation will do.
“Sure, I can let her know I’m gonna be home soon.” You agree and look around.
You find your phone on the arm of the sofa. You don’t remember leaving it there but you can’t really remember when you last had it. You take it and head for the bedroom.
“You can always stay. It’s pretty late.”
“What would I tell her? I’m working overnight?”
“You’re an adult, aren’t you?” He challenges.
You flinch.
“Sure, but... no, I should go home. She needs me.”
“Uh huh,” he picks his glasses back up and exhales. “Well, now she’s not the only one that does.”
You blink as your brow crinkles. You turn away before he can catch you chagrined expression. You go into the bedroom and lean on the bed as you dial out.
Your mom doesn’t pick up. You sniff as the tone for the voicemail beeps. “Hey mom, sorry I didn’t message sooner. I got tied up. Anyway, I’ll be home soon...love you.”
You hang up and drop your arm. You stare at the window. You don’t remember anything, not even your dreams. Not even him trying to get you up. You’re embarrassed to hink about that.
You go back out.
“Um, I’ll need my pants,” you say sheepishly.
“Hung them up in the bathroom,” he says without looking away from the computer. His posture is tense.
“Look, I’m sorry if... i wasn’t meaning to accuse you--”
“I’ve been really honest with you,” he says. “I’d say extremely. Not a lot of people would be so transparent. You know, a guy like me, he’s supposed to have an easy life. Well, it’s not.”
“I’m... I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to be sorry, I just wish you would trust me.”
You stand in static silence. The guilt ripples over you. Not only has he been honest, he’s been so generous. You think of today and how he so easily promised all of that money. Even after when you showed him the pamphlet, showed him how tedious it would all be. He said yes.
“I will. I do,” you say at last. “Um, one sec.”
You cross the room to the bathroom and dip inside. You open the robe and hang it and pull on your pants. You can still feel the residue of rain in them. Oh well.
You come back out. “I can call a cab. You seem busy.”
“I’ll drive,” he assures you as he closes the laptop. “Told you, I’m taking care of you. Of everything.”
“I know. Thank you so much.” You clasp your hands together. “Really, S, I can’t say it enough.”
He slides his glasses off again and stands up. He puts them in the case behind the computer and snaps it shut. He stretches his arms over him.
“Come back tomorrow,” he says. “I made us some reservations.”
“Reservations?” You repeat. “Well, S, I... I’ve been calling in and... if I keep doing that--”
“Quit.” He looks agitated. “You don’t need those jobs. That’s the deal. I’m gonna cover everything.”
You nod as your stomach stirs. “Oh.”
“Oh?” His mouth slants. “It’s what we’ve been talking about. You working all the time, well, I got a lot going on. We’d never get to see each other and I mean, I’ve already missed a lot too.”
You chew your lip. “I’m sorry. I misunderstood.”
“It’s new. For both of us. I get it,” he softens his tone and comes closer. “You’re so used to working and doing everything, it’s hard to let go. I’m the same way.”
“Yeah...” you murmur. “I’m really sorry if I upset you, S."
“You didn’t,” he assures you as he reaches to caress your arm. “You can’t. I just... I get in work mode and the boss face comes out.” He chuckles and slips his hand across your back and angles you toward the door, “let’s get you home. I promise, I’ll try to get more than just a few hours before tomorrow.”
🦋
You watch the streetlights pass, the glare tinging your eyes, tweaking the fatigue still nestled behind them. You yawn as the car whirs softly. It’s almost peaceful in the empty streets.
S drives smoothly through the town. He knows it better now. He keeps to the speed limit, taking his time. Or maybe he’s just tired.
He rolls up to your building and shifts into park. He sighs. “I’ll miss you.”
You look at him, “really? I feel like I kind of overstayed my welcome.”
“Trust me, you can’t,” he puts his hand on the back of your seat as he twists in his. “You not having fun?”
“No, of course, it’s just new and... I guess I’m not used to it yet. The... trying not to worry part. My mom is still...” you shake your head. “I’m going to stop that.” You look at him. “S, thank you. Really. I did have a good day even if I slept for most of it.”
“You needed that,” he says as his hand slips onto your shoulder. “You, more than anyone, has every right to be tired.” His thumb rubs you. “Sweetheart, we’re just adjusting to each other and that’s fine.”
“Sure,” you flutter your fingers in your lap. “Right, just... gotta be patient.”
“Yeah, patient,” his hand inches closer to your neck. “Sweetheart... can I ask you something?”
“Okay,” you try not to focus on his touch but your skin is all speckly from it.
“Can I have a kiss?”
Your lips part slightly. You close them quickly. You’re surprised but you shouldn’t be. Deep down, you know it’s inevitable. Despite what he says, you have that gnawing certainty in your head. You can’t just keep taking. And it’s going to be more than just a kiss, isn’t it?
Right now, you can do a kiss.
“Um,” your cheeks tauten and burn. “S-sure. I can--”
“Only if you really want to,” he pets your neck with his knuckles. “But I can tell you I really, really want to.”
You take a breath and undo your seat belt. You’re slow and deliberate in your movement as you angle around in the chair. His hand opens and cradles your jaw, fingers framing your ear. He leans in and you meet him across the space between your sets.
Your lips meat and his heat floods into you. His fingers curl against your head and he hums. His tongue pokes out gently and you resist. Your chest is somersaulting.
You part and sit back in the chair. You put your hand to your chest. “I’m sorry, it’s just—been a while.” You look down and cover your mouth. You drop your hand. “Was that... okay?”
“It was... great,” he rasps. “And uh, been a while for me too.”
“Really?” You glance at him, face alight with self-consciousness.
“Oh, sure. Like I said... haven’t been out on the dating scene much. When I’ve tried, well, It’s just not... genuine, you know?” He clucks and pokes his tongue into his cheek. He smiles and looks you in the eye. “That was perfect. I’ll be thinking about it all night.”
“You will?”
“Of course,” he winks. “What about you?”
Your cheeks pinch and you smile. It’s been a long time since you felt anything but anxiety and doom. That was something else. You can’t quite explain what. It just wasn’t as scary as you thought. You need one thing that isn’t utterly terrifying.
“Yeah, I think...” you look away. “It’s... it was nice.”
“Good,” he drags his hand down your arm. “Well, have a good night.”
“You too,” you grab your purse and pull on the door handle. “Oh, what time tomorrow?”
“Let me know, sweetie, I don’t need you til noon,” he answers.
“Cool, um, bye.”
You get out and walk towards the yellow light above the building entrance. You stop to look back. He’s still there. You’re glad. You hate being out this late.
You enter the apartment quietly. The front room light is on. You put your stuff down and sanitize your hands. You find your mother on the couch, sleeping as she hugs a pillow.
You hope she wasn’t waiting up for you. All that fuzziness fades. The dull weight settles back into your chest.
You tiptoe around, careful not to wake her. You know she doesn’t get as much sleep as she should. You retreat to your room and flick on the light.
You plug in your phone as the battery flashes. As you pull off your shirt, you hear something. A soft whisper. You go to the hamper and peer through the mesh. The butterflies. Two of them have hatches and they’re happily fluttering around inside.
You smile. A real smile. They’re so beautiful. Black, red, and white. And they’re alive. It was taking so long, you thought they wouldn’t break free.
You’ll have to find some fruit in the fridge to leave in there for them until you can release them. First, you’re going to take a photo. Everyone will be so excited to see.
You get a good shot through the top before they try to escape. You’ll have to go down to the cafe to post in the morning. You really can’t wait to show S.
You sit on your bed and watch the butterflies. It’s a sign, isn’t it? Not everything is dead. It’s not over. Maybe, things are just beginning.
#steve rogers#dark steve rogers#steve rogers x reader#dark!steve rogers#butterflygirl738#series#fic#dark fic#dark!fic#mcu#marvel#au#captain america#avengers
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hey Sir, I've been a fan of your art since the /Fit comics; your artstyle and comedy shaped who i was in high school and influenced my art to what it was today.
iirc, you had been into weed for some time and had cut back on it. I am a chronic weed smoker and have a hard time kicking the habit and I've near abandoned art all together. Any time I've brought it up to people they would just belittle the problem or ignore me so I figure you might have some advice on quitting?
"Into weed for some time" is sadly an understatement. I was using several times a day, every day, for the better part of the last 10-13 years or so. I have no "control" version of my life to compare it to, but I have a MASSIVE amount of regret tied up in the belief that my life trajectory could have been enormously better if I had redirected the time, money and energy I spent on weed into other things. I can never get my youth and those opportunities back.
(quick aside: I'm most certainly the sort of person who would have those kinds of thoughts even if I had remained a teetotaler, but that's another rant entirely)
That having been said, focusing on those negatives never helped me quit (at least not for very long). My current stretch of sobriety is only 2.5 months in, so I have no way of saying that it's going to stick, but given that my general desire/temptation to use is noticeably diminished compared to my last attempts, I suppose I can impart some advice that seems to be helping now:
KEEP MOVING.
Having too much free time (mainly being underemployed and sad) is a death sentence. Though I was still able to maintain the addiction and remain employed at my sedentary animation job, this last stretch has been complemented by a day-job that A.) Requires me to wake up at 3-4 AM at least twice a week and B.) Keeps me on my feet all day. I've also been getting back into doing SOME form of exercise every day, so that means that I have very little in the way of "fucking off" time between shifts, most of which is spent slowly chipping away at ancillary hobbies/pursuits.
Given that I have a chip on my shoulder about perceived lack of status and squandered time/potential, I elect to sublimate those feelings into a desire to keep moving, figuratively and in many ways literally. I also try not to lose sight of all of the things weed has taken from me, and all of the things that sobriety is giving me. It is a tremendous weight off your shoulders to realize that you've become the sort of person who doesn't have mental real estate being taken up by insecurities and anxieties about being a user (of whatever vice you know you're leaning on).
I am by no means perfect, and I still have many "undesirable" habits and thought patterns that I'd like to cull, so please take my advice with a grain of salt. If you find that you absolutely can't maintain sobriety yourself, don't be afraid to seek assistance. There are plenty of support groups and services that will take your problem as seriously as you do (and should, especially since you're trying to stop).
I really wish I had better/more salient advice, as my current stretch of sobriety is truly an outlier amongst my previous attempts (less temptation, less irritability), but I'm afraid it is ultimately something that you have to decide for yourself, over and over and over again.
Good luck and keep moving.
We're all gonna make it.
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KNOCKOUT (002)
⸺ ݂ ํ Synopsis : ꣒
Y/N is a depressed, closed off, anxious and insecure plus-sized girl. She does not believe she deserves love nor anything good in her life. However by destiny, she meets Jungkook. A fighter, a biker and a guy that changes the way she sees the world.
⸺ ݂ ํ Characters : ꣒ Jeon Jungkook x Y/N
⸺ ݂ ํ Chapters: 2/?
⸺ ݂ ํ Trigger warnings : ꣒ mature language, mental health problems, depression, su!c!d1l thoughts, fatph0bia, illegal substances, smoking, anxiety, body dysmorphia, maladaptive daydreaming, making out, traumas, emotional eating
⸺ ݂ ํ Other warnings : ꣒ grammatical errors.
⸺ ݂ ํ Author's Note: ꣒ GUYS PLEASE I HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO MAKE A TAG LIST, SOMEONE EDUCATE ME T____T Hence why I am unable to add yall there. :C Also, lemme know what you think of this chap. Wink Wink.
Time doesn’t feel real anymore.
I couldn’t tell you if it’s Monday or Thursday. If it rained yesterday or the day before that. I keep the blinds half-shut, the room dim enough that the daylight doesn’t mock me but bright enough that I don’t lose all sense of time.
I haven’t gone back to the park.
I haven’t gone anywhere, really.
Just rotting in my apartment, wrapped in the same blanket, wearing the same hoodie, scrolling through the same three apps on my phone like they’ll eventually give me a reason to feel alive.
They don’t.
Every day starts the same.
Wake up too late. Answer emails too slowly. Fake interest during work calls, mute myself and nod like I’m present. Lie when my mom texts asking if I’ve been “getting out more.”
"Yeah, totally. Been trying to take walks!"
She replies with a heart emoji. Like that’s enough to count as connection.
My dad called once. Drunk, probably. I didn’t answer. Let it ring out and told myself I’d call back later.
I won’t.
Even Vicky’s texts have started slowing down. She knows me well enough to give space when I go quiet like this, but part of me wishes she’d just barge in again. Force me out of my own head.
But I won’t ask.
I never ask.
I just sit here. Work. Eat. Scroll. Sleep.
Repeat.
The only real interactions I have are with food delivery drivers. Strangers I see for five seconds at a time but who, lately, feel like they’re starting to see me too much.
Like they know.
Like they can tell.
That I’ve ordered from the same chicken place four nights in a row. That I haven’t brushed my hair in two days. That my voice is hoarse from not being used. That I look like I haven’t been touched or held or smiled for real in longer than anyone should.
The last one gave me a weird look. Not mean—just… curious. Pitying.
Like he didn’t expect me to be the one behind the door. Like maybe he thought the name on the receipt belonged to someone different. Someone who didn’t open the door in a hoodie with food stains and bare feet and eyes that screamed don’t look at me.
I said “thanks” too quickly and slammed the door before he could say anything back.
And then I stood there.
Back against the door.
Heart pounding like I’d just run a mile.
Why does it feel like every moment lately is some slow-burning humiliation?
Why does existing like this feel so loud?
Even when no one says a word.
I eat half the food, then leave the rest on the counter like some kind of offering to the version of me who should be doing better by now.
I wish I could stop spiraling.
I wish the guilt wasn’t its own kind of meal—chewed on between bites, swallowed down with shame and soda.
But I can’t stop.
I can’t make myself care enough to break the cycle.
And deep down, I know what’s happening.
The same thing that always happens.
I’m fading again.
Not in a dramatic, cry-for-help way.
Just… fading.
Quietly. Slowly.
-
I didn’t sleep much.
Again.
The apartment smells like old fries and leftover stress. My laptop screen glows too bright in the dim room, and the clock on the bottom corner blinks 9:59 a.m.—one minute before the weekly team meeting.
I throw on a different hoodie. Kind of. Technically it’s the same as yesterday, just a slightly less-wrinkled sibling. Hair’s in a messy bun. Face untouched. My camera’s always off, and I plan to keep it that way.
I log into Zoom and brace myself.
The team meeting starts the same way it always does—bad small talk, muted laughter, awkward pauses while someone forgets they’re on mute.
And then Katherine’s voice cuts through like glitter and caffeine.
“So…” she says, practically bouncing in her chair. Her camera is on, obviously. Background blurred, face glowing. “Can we tell them now?”
Our manager, Greg, chuckles like he’s part of some secret joke. “Yeah, yeah, alright.”
My stomach knots.
Greg leans forward. “Okay, team. We’ve got something fun coming up—real fun, not fake-corporate-fun.”
Katherine’s smile stretches even wider.
“We’ve booked out a section of Riot Club downtown this Friday night. Fully paid. Open bar. Food, music, everything.”
Someone lets out a “woo!” like we’re in a movie.
Riot Club.
Of course it’s Riot Club. I’ve heard of it—one of those trendy places where the lighting’s low, the music’s loud, and the people are confident. Beautiful. The kind of place where I’d normally rather light myself on fire than be perceived.
Greg keeps talking. “It’s a team-building thing. You know, for morale. We’ll have a reserved section upstairs, so it’s private, but feel free to bring your dancing shoes.”
Katherine claps. “This is going to be so fun. I’ve already got a dress picked out.”
Everyone’s reacting. Laughing. Making jokes about shots and karaoke and someone inevitably dancing on a table. People are already forming plans in the chat.
I just sit there, stiff.
Invisible.
Until Greg squints at the list of muted names and lands on me.
“Y/N—you in?”
My body freezes.
What?
No. No no no no no. This wasn’t part of the script. I was supposed to just sit through the meeting, nod silently, and then disappear like always.
But everyone is watching now. Katherine leans toward her screen with a curious smile. A few others are glancing sideways like they didn’t even know I existed before this moment.
And my mouth opens.
Before my brain catches up.
“Yeah,” I blurt.
It’s small. Quiet. But clear enough.
“Awesome,” Greg says, giving a thumbs-up. “Glad you’re coming.”
The moment passes.
The conversation moves on.
And I sit there, stunned.
What the fuck did I just do?
I didn’t mean to say yes.
I didn’t want to go.
I didn’t even want to be asked.
My heart is pounding. My hands are shaking slightly under the desk. The rest of the meeting blurs into static. I stare at the little camera icon on my screen, grateful it’s still red and crossed out.
They didn’t see the panic on my face.
Didn’t see the way I just agreed to willingly walk into a nightmare.
A club.
Downtown.
With people.
With Katherine.
With me, in the middle of it.
I log off the second the meeting ends and slam my laptop shut like I can shut reality with it.
I press the heels of my palms into my eyes and exhale hard.
What the hell am I going to do?
An hour passes.
I haven’t moved from the couch.
My laptop’s still shut, my hands tucked under my thighs, fingers curling into the fabric of my sweatpants. I’ve just been sitting here, replaying that moment over and over again in my head like a horror film on loop.
“Y/N—you in?”
“Yeah.”
God, why did I say that?
My phone buzzes on the cushion beside me.
I flinch, already bracing for it.
Katherine (1:19 PM):
Omg I’m SO glad you said yes!!! 🖤 This is going to be so fun. Honestly didn’t think you were the club type but I love a wild card 👀
I swallow hard. The nausea in my stomach doubles.
I stare at the screen for a full minute before typing.
me:
I didn’t really mean to say yes. I panicked.
It sends before I can change my mind. I instantly regret it—but not enough to delete it. I just stare, waiting.
Three dots appear.
Then disappear.
Then return again.
My chest tightens.
Katherine (1:22 PM):
LOL honestly same thing happened to me when I went to my first team party But hey—if you panic-committed, then now you’ve got a reason to go And if it helps… I’ll come pick you up No pressure. No stress. Just a ride with a semi-decent playlist 😎
My throat clenches. That’s... really nice of her. Too nice. Too much.
Why is she being so nice?
me:
You really don’t have to do that
Katherine (1:25 PM):
I know But I want to You’re part of the team. You deserve to be part of the fun too Besides, it’ll be easier walking in with someone than alone, right?
That part hits harder than I expect.
Because she’s not wrong.
Walking in alone would’ve destroyed me. I would’ve hovered by the entrance pretending to check nonexistent texts for twenty minutes, trying to disappear through the floor.
But now the panic shifts.
Because if Katherine picks me up… if I go…
They’ll see me.
Not blurry camera me. Not muted Zoom square me. Not vague voice-on-a-call me.
Me.
My body. My face. My everything I try so hard to keep tucked behind oversized hoodies and safe little rectangles on a screen.
And I won’t have Vicky.
She’s too far away. Hours away. No teleport button. No last-minute rescue.
I glance at the corner of my room where the dress Vicky once made me buy is still hanging—tags on, dusty from months of pretending one day I’d wear it.
My fingers hover over the keyboard again.
me:
They’re all going to see me for real
I don’t even know if I meant to send that. But I do.
And she replies instantly.
Katherine (1:29 PM):
Yeah And that’s a good thing You’re more than just a voice on Slack. You’re cool. People will love you. And if they don’t? Screw them. I’ve got your back.
I stare at the message until the letters blur a little.
I don’t know what I expected. A brush-off? A vague “you’ll be fine”?
Not this.
Not kindness.
Not support.
And instead of feeling reassured, all I can think is: I’m going to let her down. She doesn’t know how weird I look. How awkward I am in real life. How I fold in on myself when people make eye contact.
My hands shake as I put my phone down.
I feel like a burden.
A walking, talking inconvenience.
But Katherine didn’t make it feel that way. She didn’t hesitate.
And now the clock is ticking.
Two days until the event.
Two days until I have to be seen.
Two days until there’s no hiding.
The next evening
The sky is already dark when my phone buzzes again.
Vicky’s calling.
I almost let it go to voicemail—I’m too wrapped in the knot of dread sitting in my stomach—but then I remember her last text:
"You better answer or I’ll assume you’ve turned into a blanket goblin."
Fair.
I accept the video call and flip the camera. My hoodie’s still on. Hair’s up. Bare face. Blanket wrapped around me like a depressed burrito.
Vicky’s face lights up the screen the second the call connects. She’s got a clay face mask on and a mug the size of a soup bowl in her hands.
“Yooo,” she says, squinting at me. “There’s my favorite gremlin. Look at you. So glowy. So... suspiciously bundled.”
I manage a weak laugh. “Hi.”
She narrows her eyes. “You look like someone who accidentally agreed to something horrifying. Tell me everything.”
I exhale slowly, sinking deeper into the couch. “I said yes to going to a company team-building party.”
Her brows shoot up. “What?”
“Yeah.”
“Like… willingly?”
“No. I panicked. They asked me in the Zoom meeting. Out loud. In front of everyone.”
Vicky winces. “Oof.”
“I said yes because my brain short-circuited and I didn’t know how to say no. And now Katherine’s all excited and she’s picking me up and everyone’s going to see me.”
I drop my face into my hands.
There’s a pause.
Then Vicky gently says, “Okay. Breathe. Just… pause the spiral for a second.”
I peek at her through my fingers. “I don’t want to go, Vick.”
“I know, babe. But maybe… hear me out… it’s not the worst thing ever?”
I roll my eyes.
She continues, sitting up straighter. “Look, I get it. Being around people is exhausting. Especially people who’ve only ever seen you from the neck up through a laptop screen with soft lighting and pixel blur. But maybe it’s also—kind of—a big deal that you said yes?”
“I didn’t mean to say yes.”
“But you did. And maybe that’s your soul doing some sneaky internal growth while your anxiety wasn’t looking.”
I snort, despite myself.
She grins. “I’m serious. You’ve been hiding for so long. What if this is your brain’s way of going: hey, what if we just tried for one night? Just one.”
“I don’t think I’d look good in anything…” I mumble. “Everyone’s going to look amazing and I’ll look like someone’s exhausted older cousin who wandered in by accident.”
“You are so dramatic,” Vicky says, sipping her tea. “You’re beautiful, Y/N. And if you want, we can raid your closet together. I can help you pick something. Virtual wardrobe montage, 2000s romcom style. Or maybe you still keep that pretty dress I gifted ya?”
I let out a quiet laugh. “Of course I do..” I took a glance at the dress hanging in my wardrobe whose doors were wide open and sighed quietly. Maybe I should just wear it?... “God, remember when we used to actually do that?”
“Yup. And you always looked better than me, so shut up.”
“You’re literally perfect.”
“And you’re literally going to be fine. Put that dress I gave ya and some sexy smoky make up and you’ll get yourself a man immediately once they see how pretty you are.” She joked. Or did she?
I exhaled slowly, chewing on the edge of my blanket.
Vicky’s voice softens. “I know it feels terrifying. But it’s just one night. You don’t have to perform. You don’t have to be the life of the party. Just show up. Have a drink. Exist.”
I pause. “That’s already a lot.”
“I know,” she says. “But I also know you. And I think… deep down… some part of you wants this. Wants to be seen. Wants to be out there, even just a little.”
My chest tightens at that. She’s not wrong. That part does exist.
I just don’t know if I can handle it.
She raises an eyebrow. “Also, let’s not forget… there’s always a chance Jungkook shows up.”
I groan. “Oh my God. Vick—”
“I’m just saying! Downtown club? Underground fighter with rich-kid rebellion vibes? Sounds like his kind of scene.”
I bury my face again. “He doesn’t even know my name. I was literally wearing a blanket and panic-wheezing the last time he saw me.”
“Which is iconic,” she says with a smirk. “A mystery girl with a nicotine aura and oversized hoodie chic? He’s probably haunted by you.”
I laugh, this time louder. It feels weird to laugh this much.
It feels good.
I sigh. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“You can,” she says simply. “And if it sucks? You leave. You can lie, say you feel sick. Blame a mysterious food allergy. I’ll back your story from four towns away.”
I smile at her through the screen, heart aching in that familiar way. “I wish you were going with me.”
“Me too,” she says. “But you’ve got this. And if nothing else, you’ll get free drinks and something to text me about at 2 a.m.”
My chest still feels tight, but a little less so.
Maybe, just maybe, I can survive this.
Maybe.
Friday. 7:45 p.m.
Any minute now.
Katherine said she'd be here at 7:50 sharp, and her texts have been consistently enthusiastic in that exact “I-will-drag-you-out-with-love-if-I-have-to” tone.
The clock on my phone reads 7:45.
I’m standing in front of the mirror.
And I can barely look at myself.
But I do.
Because I have to.
The dress Vicky gifted me hugs my body in places I usually try to erase. It’s soft black fabric—slightly structured but flowy enough to move in. Not tight. Not shapeless. Somewhere in between. It cinches a little under my chest and floats down from there, and yeah—it technically hides the parts I always try to shrink… but it doesn’t make them disappear.
Nothing could.
My arms. My thighs. My belly.
Still there. Still mine.
I shift my weight. My shoulders are hunched, posture defensive like I’ve spent a lifetime trying to take up less space. I force myself to stand straighter, but it feels foreign—like wearing someone else’s confidence.
My hair’s curled, but not polished. Messy on purpose. Loose and imperfect. I let a few strands fall over my face to soften everything, hide a little behind the veil of effort.
My makeup… I surprised myself.
A soft wing of eyeliner that actually looks even. Mascara that didn’t smudge. Clip-on earrings—little silver hoops—because I’ve always hated needles. And the lipstick.
God.
Red.
Bold. Loud. The exact kind of color that draws attention, and I don’t know what possessed me to wear it but here it is. On my mouth. Like a statement I’m too scared to say out loud.
I bite my bottom lip, testing it.
Still there.
Still vibrant.
And then the boots. Chunky, black, reliable. My little leather jacket. A crossbody bag just big enough for my phone, my ID, and my emergency excuses if I decide to flee.
The whole look… it’s not perfect.
But it’s mine.
And it’s been so long since I looked like this. Since I tried.
Since I showered, styled my hair, painted my face with intention instead of hiding behind foundation and prayer.
It’s strange.
I look almost like a version of myself I used to imagine. Not the girl on Zoom. Not the girl curled under blankets avoiding the world. Not the ghost who scrolls through Instagram and feels like she lives on the outside of her own life.
No—this version?
She exists.
And she's going out tonight.
I take one more look.
And then another.
I wish I could say I love what I see. That I feel powerful. Beautiful.
But really—I just feel… real.
And maybe that’s enough.
My phone buzzes.
Katherine (7:47 PM):
Outside! 🚗✨ You ready, queen?
My stomach flips.
This is it.
No turning back now.
I swipe on a final layer of confidence, inhale slow through my nose, and grab my bag.
One shaky step toward the door.
And I whisper to my reflection—so quiet I barely hear it myself:
“Let’s just try.”
The door clicks shut behind me.
The night air hits my skin like a soft warning—cool and sharp against the warmth trapped under my leather jacket. The street glows in soft orange hues from the overhead lamps, casting my shadow long across the pavement.
My boots clink softly with every step.
Each one feels louder than it should. Like they’re announcing me to the world.
I spot it almost immediately.
A red Chevrolet Camaro, sleek and shining like something out of a movie, parked right in front of my building.
Of course it’s Katherine’s.
It fits her—bold, polished, unapologetically attention-grabbing.
She’s already in the driver’s seat, one perfectly manicured hand on the wheel, the other holding her phone, probably cueing up a playlist. The interior lights glow faintly, outlining her profile like she stepped out of a commercial for glam and success.
I pause at the curb, take a breath, and circle around the car.
The closer I get, the more aware I am of everything—how my dress moves, how my hair feels, how exposed my legs are above the boots. I hope the lipstick hasn’t smudged. I hope I don’t look like I’m trying too hard.
I open the passenger door and slide in, the leather seat cold against my thighs.
“Hey!” Katherine beams, bright as ever. “Oh my God, look at you! You look gorgeous!”
I blink. “Me?”
She nods so fast her ponytail bounces. “Yes, you! I mean, I always suspected you were hiding a baddie under those hoodies, but damn.”
I laugh, quietly. “Thanks… you look amazing too.”
And she does.
Her platinum hair is curled and glossy, her skin glowing like a dewy Instagram filter. She’s in this glittery blush-toned mini dress that hugs her like it was tailored just for her. Her lips are glossy pink, heels sparkling like something ripped from a Barbie runway.
She looks like she belongs in a club.
I… look like someone playing dress-up in her big sister’s closet.
The confidence I built in my room wavers just a little. Just enough to notice.
But I breathe past it.
I try.
Katherine pulls away from the curb, music low, windows cracked just enough to let the air drift in.
We make small talk. Work stuff. Light jokes. I let myself laugh, even if it sounds a bit too high-pitched.
“You nervous?” she asks, glancing over at a red light.
I nod. “A little.”
“You’ll be fine,” she says, smiling like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You already did the hardest part—you showed up. Everything else is cake.”
I nod again, forcing a small smile. “Cake.”
We were supposed to arrive at 8:20.
But traffic hits just outside downtown. One of those long, inching slogs where brake lights stretch out in front of us like a never-ending warning.
Katherine doesn’t seem fazed. She just leans back, taps her fingers on the wheel to the beat of the song playing, and throws occasional commentary about the guy in the next car who keeps checking her out.
I, on the other hand, sit perfectly still—my fingers clenched tight in my lap, counting down the seconds, watching the time slip away like it’s water running through my hands.
8:30.
8:40.
8:50.
Finally—finally—we pull up in front of Riot Club.
The street is already buzzing. Neon lights pulse against the sidewalk. There’s music thumping through the walls like a second heartbeat, and the line to get in snakes down the block.
Even with our name on the list, even with a reserved section upstairs—just seeing the crowd makes my breath hitch.
People everywhere.
Laughing, talking, dressed like they’re made for the spotlight.
My smile falters.
Every instinct in my body screams go home. I could walk back to the car. I could make an excuse. Say I got sick. Say I forgot something. Say anything.
But Katherine’s already opening her door.
She climbs out in one graceful move, standing tall in her heels, dress glittering like it’s alive.
She walks around to my side and opens the door before I can stop her.
Her hand extends toward me like a challenge.
“You ready?” she grins.
I glance at the club entrance. The crowd. The bouncer. The stairs.
My throat tightens.
But I reach out and take her hand anyway.
Because it’s too late to turn back now.
And maybe, just maybe, I don’t want to.
The bass hits first.
Even before we step fully inside.
It pulses under my skin, loud and relentless, like someone’s holding a speaker up to my chest and daring my heartbeat to sync with it.
The bouncer checks our names—Katherine flashes him a smile that probably gets her through most doors in life—and just like that, we’re in.
Riot Club lives up to the name.
The air is thick with heat and sweat and perfume that doesn’t quite mask the alcohol. The lights are low—deep reds and pulsing blues, flickering like a heartbeat in strobe—and the music...
“Dime por qué lloras / De felicidad…”
“El Teléfono” is blasting through the speakers like it’s 2008 again and we’re dancing in someone’s garage after drinking vodka from a water bottle. The beat pounds so hard the floor itself vibrates. People crowd the dance floor, hips moving, arms lifted, heads thrown back in laughter.
Everyone looks like they belong here.
I feel like I just walked into someone else’s dream.
We push our way through the crowd, Katherine’s hand hooked around my wrist, guiding us like she’s done this a thousand times. And maybe she has.
I stumble once. Apologize to someone who doesn’t even hear me.
And all the while, my brain spirals.
I’m twenty-six years old.
I have a full-time job. I pay my rent on time. I buy my own groceries. I have a plant that hasn’t died yet. I’m technically a grown woman.
But walking through this crowd?
Hearing this music?
Heading up the stairs to the VIP section of a club like I’m someone who does this regularly?
It feels wrong.
Like I stole this night from someone else’s life and I’m going to get caught at any moment.
Because no matter how much time has passed—no matter how many birthdays have stacked up—I still feel sixteen sometimes.
Sixteen and anxious and deeply unsure of myself.
Sixteen and pretending to be cool when I never knew how to dance.
Sixteen and quietly guilt-ridden about staying out past ten, even when no one cared.
My parents never checked in. Never enforced curfews. I could’ve stayed out till dawn and no one would’ve blinked.
But I still tiptoed home.
Still felt like I was doing something wrong.
Still played the part of the good girl.
The quiet one. The one who didn’t drink too much. The one who didn’t get into trouble. The one who didn’t let anyone too close.
And now here I am.
In a club. Wearing red lipstick. Walking past strangers with glitter on their cheeks and drinks in their hands. Climbing the stairs to a private section like I belong here.
And I don’t.
I don’t.
I grip the railing tighter.
Katherine glances back at me once, beaming, shouting something I can’t hear over the music. I nod, smile faintly, keep walking.
Even if I wanted to leave, I wouldn’t know how to say it. Not without sounding ungrateful. Not without disappointing her. Not without confirming what I already believe:
That I can’t do this.
That I don’t fit.
The VIP section is a little quieter. Not by much. Just enough that the bass doesn’t feel like it’s rattling my teeth. There’s a sleek couch setup, a long glass table filled with small plates, fancy drinks, and coworkers already laughing, already loose.
They see Katherine.
They see her.
And then they see me.
Eyes flick over me in passing—some smiles, a few nods, one girl I recognize from Zoom gives me a friendly wave—but no one says anything just yet.
Still, I feel it.
Seen.
And not in the romantic, movie kind of way.
In the raw, terrifying, naked kind of way.
The kind where the hoodie doesn’t save you anymore.
I sit at the edge of the couch, trying to make myself small. The leather squeaks under me. I smooth my dress out, sip water from a sweating glass, and try to remember how to act like I belong in my own life.
Maybe if I fake it long enough, I’ll start to believe it.
The lights up here are softer.
Warmer.
Still dim, still flickering from the music below, but not as harsh. The kind of glow that makes people look a little better, a little more relaxed, a little less intimidating.
I sit with my drink—water, for now—gripping the glass too tight and trying to remember how to function.
A few coworkers drift over. People I recognize from work chat and project check-ins and endless Slack threads.
Samantha from accounting compliments my earrings.
Miguel from marketing asks if I like reggaeton.
Liam—who’s always joking in meetings—offers me a plate of mini empanadas and says, “You clean up nice.”
They’re all friendly. Genuinely.
There’s no cruel undertone. No judgment. No whispered looks.
Just warmth.
But I’m still quiet.
Smiling politely, saying thank you, answering questions with short but safe replies. My hands never quite stop fidgeting in my lap or tapping the rim of the glass. My eyes scan the room too often, like I’m waiting for someone to tell me I’m not supposed to be here.
Because I don’t feel like the girl they’re talking to.
I’m still wearing that invisible hoodie. Still hunched, still hiding behind practiced small talk and careful laughter.
But if Vicky were here?
I’d be different.
She’s seen me sobbing in the dark, surrounded by snacks and shame and silence. She’s seen my worst spirals, my messy breakdowns, the parts of me I try to keep hidden from the rest of the world.
And she stayed.
That’s the difference.
That’s why I can be silly with her. Loud. Soft. Raw.
With other people? I’m just this version. Polished edges and apology eyes.
Until—
“Alright, alright, look at this crew!”
Greg walks in like he owns the room—because technically, he does. Our manager. Balding but confident, shirt half-tucked, wearing some kind of printed button-up that says cool boss energy more than business formal.
People cheer, a few stand to greet him.
He raises a glass of something amber and laughs. “Glad you all made it out of your caves. I was starting to think half of you were AI.”
More laughter. Even I smile.
Then his eyes sweep the room.
They stop on me.
And something shifts in his expression. Not unkind—just… surprised.
“Y/N?” He squints, then chuckles. “Wow. I didn’t recognize you without the hoodie and messy bun.”
The comment makes me freeze for a split second—but he says it casually, without malice. Just surprise.
I laugh.
A real one, kind of. The kind that’s a little unsure, but still genuine.
“Yeah,” I say, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, “I almost didn’t recognize me either.”
People chuckle softly. Katherine beams.
Greg walks over and clinks his glass gently against mine. “Well, you look great. Glad you’re here.”
He takes the empty seat beside me and starts chatting with everyone—asking Miguel about his dog, teasing Samantha about her Spotify Wrapped, telling Katherine he still doesn’t understand TikTok.
And slowly—so slowly—I start to relax.
I take a deeper breath.
My shoulders loosen.
I set my empty water glass down on the table, flag down the server, and when she leans in, I hear my voice say:
“Can I get a cherry vodka and Red Bull?”
She nods.
My heart hammers.
Bold.
Stupid?
Maybe.
But I want to feel something. I want to taste something sweet and fizzy and wrong. I want to be a little more than this shell. Just for one night.
Just for a few hours.
The music shifts to something smoother, more danceable. People start standing up, moving closer to the balcony railing that overlooks the dance floor.
I lift the drink when it comes. It’s pink and fizzy and tastes like rebellion.
And for the first time tonight—
I let myself smile.
Not the polite one.
The real one.
The vodka’s hitting.
Not in a dizzying, blackout kind of way—but warm and weightless. Like I’ve floated half an inch above all the anxiety pressing on me for years. My limbs feel light. My smile keeps slipping out easier.
I’m laughing with coworkers. Actually laughing.
Samantha and I bond over our mutual hatred for Slack emojis. Miguel and Katherine are fake-arguing about who danced worse in high school. Liam keeps sliding plates of snacks toward me like I’m going to vanish if I don’t keep eating.
I let myself exist here.
Music hums through my bones. Bass in my ribs. My third vodka tastes like childhood candy and bad decisions. I sip it anyway.
I don’t know how long it’s been. Maybe an hour. Maybe five minutes. Time doesn’t work properly in clubs.
I lean back into the plush couch, my knees tucked close, boots dangling off the edge. I’m warm, surrounded, not invisible for once—and weirdly okay with it.
Until it happens.
Voices at the stairs.
Low, laughing.
Footsteps on metal.
I glance toward the staircase, not really focused, eyes soft from the buzz. Just another group coming up to the VIP—nothing unusual.
But the shift in energy is immediate.
A few people at our table—Katherine, Miguel, even Greg—perk up, smiling, waving.
“Yo! You made it!” someone calls out.
I blink.
Samantha lifts a hand, grinning. “That’s my cousin—he actually showed up!”
I follow their line of sight without thinking.
A small group of guys is climbing the stairs. Most of them dressed in that effortless, too-cool-to-try way: dark shirts, silver chains, tattoos peeking under sleeves. Confident. Comfortable.
And at the back—
No.
No way.
Everything stills.
The vodka buzz disappears like it was never there.
Because he’s there.
Jungkook.
Climbing the stairs, slow and deliberate, head slightly tilted as he surveys the space. Black button-up open just enough to show the tattoos crawling down his chest. Sleeves rolled. Hair messy, damp at the ends. Silver hoops in both ears, a glint of light catching the ring on his lip.
He looks like a storm barely leashed.
Like he’s too real to exist in the same night I’m pretending belongs to me.
My heart lurches, tight and hot.
I don’t move.
Katherine shifts beside me—and I can feel her stiffen.
She knows.
She remembers.
“Oh my God,” she mutters under her breath, wide-eyed. “That’s Jungkook.”
I already know.
Of course I know.
He reaches the top of the stairs just as a few people from our group go over to greet them. There are hugs, loud voices, handshakes.
And then—
He looks up.
And sees me.
Our eyes lock.
Just for a second.
But it stretches.
His expression doesn’t change—no dramatic reaction, no double take. But I see something flicker in his gaze.
Recognition.
Memory.
Stillness.
Like maybe he’s just as surprised as I am.
Maybe.
I can’t move.
I can’t breathe.
Because in all the daydreams, in all the hypothetical versions of this night where something wild and cinematic happens—I never once imagined he’d walk through the same door.
And I never imagined I’d be seen like this.
Not by him.
Not without the hoodie.
Not without the shield.
Just… me.
In red lipstick and messy curls and boots that suddenly feel too loud.
The moment breaks when someone claps Jungkook on the back and laughs too loud.
Just like that, the energy shifts again—back to motion, to noise, to people moving around her like the ground isn’t still tilting beneath her feet.
The guys from the stairs reach our group, folding in with the kind of ease that only people born into comfort can pull off. One of them—tall, handsome, full of charisma—grins and raises his drink like a toast.
“This the famous marketing team?”
Laughter.
Greg stands, already pulling chairs closer, greeting them like old friends.
“Glad you made it, man. We were just talking about how you never show.”
Someone’s cousin. Someone’s friend. A small flood of introductions happens as people shift to make room.
They’re laughing, shaking hands, slapping backs, sliding into the booth with practiced ease. And then one of them—black curly hair, a cheeky grin—gestures around the group.
“I know Katherine, and Sam, and this loud dude—” (he points at Miguel, who mock-scowls) “—but I don’t think we’ve met everyone. Introductions?”
Katherine, ever the social butterfly, takes the lead.
She starts going around the table with names and small “she’s the one who handles client crises at lightning speed” or “this guy eats peanut butter straight from the jar at work” types of comments. Everyone laughs along.
But they’re getting closer.
And then Katherine’s hand gestures toward me.
“And this,” she says with a soft smile, “is Y/N.”
My stomach drops.
All eyes shift to me.
I feel the weight of it instantly.
His eyes, especially.
I can feel them on me like heat through glass.
I stiffen. My cheeks flush—instant, impossible to stop. My fingers tighten around my glass, and for a second, I debate saying I forgot how to speak.
But I don’t get that choice.
Everyone’s watching. Expecting.
So I force it out.
“I—uh—hi. I’m Y/N.” My voice is small. Nervous. But it doesn’t shake.
One of the guys smiles, nodding. “Nice to meet you.”
Another throws out a “cool name.”
I nod, offering a tiny, polite smile.
But I can feel how red my face is. I can feel the way I’ve curled into myself again—shoulders hunching, legs crossed, one boot tapping lightly against the floor.
And when I glance—just a flicker, just for a second—
Jungkook is watching me.
Expression unreadable. Not intense. Not amused. Just… there.
Still.
Present.
I look away fast, heart rattling in my chest like it's trying to crawl up my throat.
Greg says something to the group that makes them all laugh, and the attention shifts again.
Relief and embarrassment swirl together in my stomach like oil and water.
No one said anything weird. No one laughed at me. No one even stared too long.
But still—I feel like I just stood under a spotlight with a sign around my neck that said this is what anxiety looks like.
I take a slow sip of my drink, the cherry vodka suddenly too sweet, too sharp.
And all I can think is:
He knows my name now.
The music thumps through the walls like a second heartbeat.
It’s late now. Maybe close to midnight—maybe later. Time has gone slippery.
Most of the group has thinned out. Some are on the dance floor, bodies weaving under flashing lights. Laughter spills from the stairs every few minutes. Katherine’s nowhere in sight—last I saw, she left giggling with one of the guys, disappearing into the haze of music and bodies.
The couch is quiet now.
Except for me.
And him.
I’m sitting at the far end, drink mostly watered down from melted ice, cradled between both hands like it’ll anchor me to the moment.
Jungkook sits at the other end, legs spread, elbows resting on his knees, thumbs moving lazily over his phone screen.
The silence between us is loud.
But not awkward.
Just heavy. Like static before a storm.
I glance at him once—just a peek—and catch the slope of his nose in profile, the soft curve of his bottom lip, the way his dark lashes shadow his cheekbones in the low lighting.
He’s real.
And somehow still unreal.
I look away.
Focus on the condensation dripping down the side of my glass.
And then, after what feels like an entire hour compressed into ten seconds, he puts his phone face-down on the table.
I feel it before I see it.
His eyes on me.
I look up.
And he’s looking directly at me.
Expression unreadable. Not intense. Not soft. Just... real.
And then he speaks.
“Why are you avoiding me?”
The question hits harder than I expect.
My breath catches.
“I’m not—” I start, then stop.
He raises a brow, like he’s giving me a second chance to be honest.
“You are,” he says calmly. “At the store. At the park. That night at the fight. You keep running.”
His voice is quiet. Low enough that it doesn’t rise above the music, but it slices straight through it anyway.
He leans back slightly, his gaze still locked on mine.
“I try to talk to you,” he says. “Be friendly. Say hey. But every time, you act like I’m about to bite you.”
I open my mouth. Then close it. Then open it again.
“I…” I swallow. My cheeks are burning. “I’m just… not good at—”
He waits.
I try again. “At talking. To people. I’m not used to... this. Attention. Or—whatever this is.”
His head tilts slightly, the edge of his lip quirking. “But you’re here now.”
I blink. “What?”
“You’re here,” he says, motioning around with a small gesture. “At a loud-ass club. In makeup. In a dress. Sitting across from me. Talking.”
I fidget with the straw in my glass, fingers slippery with nerves.
“I didn’t really mean to come,” I admit, voice barely above the music. “They asked in front of everyone, and I panicked and said yes. Then Katherine guilt-tripped me into following through.”
Jungkook chuckles. It’s soft. A little amused. “And the park?”
I bite my lip.
He continues, voice low, not teasing. Just… curious. “You sit there like you want to disappear. But you keep showing up.”
I don’t know what to say to that.
Because he’s right.
I do keep showing up.
Even when I don’t know why.
Even when I’m terrified.
“I just…” I try to find the words, voice catching halfway through. “I don’t want to waste your time.”
That gets him.
His brows draw together, like he’s actually confused by that.
“Waste my time?” he repeats, slowly. “Why would you think that?”
I shrug. “Because... I’m not like the people you’re usually around.”
“Meaning?”
“I’m not interesting,” I murmur. “Not fun. I’m awkward. Quiet. I don’t look like…” I gesture vaguely toward the dance floor, where people are laughing, effortless, magnetic.
His expression doesn’t change.
He just watches me.
And then he says, simply, like it’s obvious:
“I wouldn’t be sitting here if I didn’t want to be.”
That silence comes back—thick and humming between us.
I can’t look at him.
But I feel it.
The shift.
The undeniable fact that I’ve been seen.
And not just noticed.
Seen.
The moment between us teeters—suspended in some strange, weightless pause where I almost feel like maybe, maybe, I belong in it.
But then, the universe does what it always does.
It reminds me.
A voice cuts through the moment. “Yo, Jungkook, what’s up, man?”
I blink, and a coworker—Jake, I think, from another department—plops down on the other side of Jungkook, grinning, already pulling him into some conversation about mutual friends and “remember that night at Noir?”
Jungkook gives me one last glance, like he’s trying to hold the thread of whatever just passed between us.
But the moment breaks.
I stand quietly, smoothing my dress out of habit.
“I’ll be back,” I murmur, not sure if anyone hears me.
I slip away from the couch and head toward the exit—out of the music, out of the lights, out of that sudden, overwhelming visibility.
Outside, the air is cooler.
Crisp, biting.
I dig into my jacket pocket for my cigarettes and lighter. My fingers are clumsy, the adrenaline from earlier still lingering in my veins. My boots click lightly against the pavement as I make my way a little off to the side of the club entrance.
But I’m not alone.
A group of guys—maybe four or five—are huddled nearby, already smoking. Laughing in that careless, half-drunk way that makes everything sound louder, meaner.
I light up and keep my distance. Hug the wall. Eyes down.
I just need a minute.
A breath.
But then I hear it.
At first, it’s just fragments.
“Did you see that chick inside—” “—the one with the big boots and the red lipstick?” “Dude, she was huge.” “Right? I didn’t know they let heavyweights into VIP.”
My heart sinks.
My hands freeze.
They don’t say my name. But they don’t have to.
I know.
My throat closes.
My eyes burn.
I don’t move. I don’t say a word. I just keep smoking like maybe the nicotine will hold me together. Like maybe if I stay perfectly still, they’ll forget I exist.
But the words keep echoing.
Fat.
Huge.
Laughter.
It doesn’t even matter if they meant it to be cruel.
It still hurts.
And I hate how used to this I am.
I hate how practiced I’ve become at not reacting.
My eyes sting harder, and I blink fast, trying to will the tears back. My lips tremble, but I take another drag like that’s going to help.
Then I hear footsteps.
Heavy ones.
And before I can look up, I hear a low, familiar voice—tight with something dangerous.
“Is there a problem?”
I glance to my side.
Jungkook.
Standing there.
Still. Cold. A different kind of presence entirely.
The group falls silent immediately.
One of them—a guy in a bomber jacket, who was laughing the loudest—straightens up, eyes wide.
“Oh shit—Jungkook, bro—nah, man. No problem here.”
The others murmur quickly in agreement.
Jungkook doesn’t smile. Doesn’t move.
He just stares at them.
The air feels like it’s holding its breath.
The guy in the bomber jacket laughs nervously. “Didn’t know you were out here. We’re just chilling, man. All good.”
Jungkook’s voice is calm. Steady. But it cuts.
“You sure?” he asks, head tilted slightly. “Because I heard something different.”
More stammering. More backpedaling.
They recognize him.
Not just as a guy—they recognize who he is. What he’s capable of.
“There’s no problem,” one says again, voice lower now.
Jungkook looks at them a beat longer. Then turns, stepping between them and me, placing himself just enough that it feels like a shield without saying it out loud.
He doesn’t look at me yet.
Not until they’re gone.
And when they finally scatter, awkward and mumbling and fast-walking down the block, he finally turns back.
His voice is soft now. So different from before.
“You okay?”
I don’t trust my voice, so I just nod.
But my eyes give me away. They always do.
He looks at me, really looks at me, and says, “You don’t have to act like it didn’t hurt.”
And something inside me almost breaks open.
Because no one’s ever said that to me before.
Not like that. “Would you like me to drive you home? I am with my car and I haven’t drank any alcohol..”
I shake my head again, trying to keep my voice even though everything inside me is fraying. " I—I’m okay. I’ll just get home on my own."
He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t push.
Instead, Jungkook crouches a little so his eyes are level with mine. His expression is careful—not pitying, not forced. Just… present.
“Okay,” he says softly, like he actually means it. “Cab then?”
I hesitate, my fingers tightening around the strap of my bag.
“I know we barely know each other,” he continues, like he’s reading the swirl of panic in my chest. “So I won’t offer to drive you. But I can call a cab. One of the companies I trust. They’re discreet. Safer than calling some random app.”
My throat tightens.
This shouldn’t be this hard—saying yes to help. But my brain is spinning. My skin still feels too thin from earlier. From everything. And yet, the way he says it, like he’s handing me a choice instead of cornering me into one… it makes something in me ease. Just a little.
I nod. Barely.
He stands back up and pulls out his phone.
The silence stretches between us. Not uncomfortable. Not heavy. Just there.
He doesn’t fill it with words.
And I’m grateful for that.
I swipe at my cheeks again, trying to fix the damage, but I can feel the dried salt along my skin. I probably look like a wreck. Red-rimmed eyes, broken voice. Meanwhile, he’s standing here looking like a painting with bruises—too vivid, too unreal.
I shift awkwardly. “I’m sorry,” I mumble. “For… being like this.”
His brow furrows.
“Don’t do that.”
I blink, startled.
“Don’t apologize for feeling something.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
“Whatever it is you’re carrying,” he says, eyes never leaving mine, “you don’t owe anyone an explanation for it. Least of all me.”
And goddamn it—
That does it.
The tears threaten again, fast and hot, and I hate that he’s seeing it, hate that I’m breaking apart in front of someone I barely know, but also… some traitorous part of me is grateful he stayed. That he didn’t walk away the second things got messy.
His phone vibrates, and he glances down at it.
“Cab’s three minutes out,” he says. “Black Toyota. Plate ends in 52.”
I nod again, trying to gather the pieces of myself, trying not to fall apart in this alley outside a warehouse full of noise.
He doesn’t speak again.
But he doesn’t leave either.
We stand there in quiet, shoulder to shoulder but not touching. Close enough to feel his presence—warm, grounded, steady.
I don’t look at him.
But I feel his gaze on me, not heavy or invasive. Just aware. Like he’s keeping watch. Like I’m not alone for the first time in a long time.
And for some reason… that’s what almost breaks me.
Not the noise. Not the night.
But the kindness.
The softness in a place built for hard things.
I don’t know what this is. Or what it means.
But I know this much:
I won’t forget it.
Not tonight.
Not him.
Not the way he didn’t try to fix me.
Just stood close enough to make the silence feel safe.
The cab pulls up, headlights cutting through the haze of the alley. I turn to thank him one more time, my voice small, frayed at the edges.
“Thanks again. For… everything.”
Jungkook nods once, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, his bruised jaw catching the glow of a nearby streetlight. He doesn’t smile—not really—but there’s a softness in his eyes I hadn’t noticed before.
As I reach for the car door, he speaks—low and steady.
“Next time you see me…” His voice pauses like he’s picking his words carefully. “…don’t avoid me.”
It’s not a request. Not a demand either. Just… something in-between.
A truth offered.
I swallow hard and look at him, really look at him, the air thick between us.
I nod once.
And I get in the cab.
The ride home is quiet. My phone stays in my lap, untouched. The driver makes a couple polite comments, but I’m too far gone to answer. I keep replaying his words in my head.
Don’t avoid me.
He noticed. Somehow, he noticed I was trying to disappear.
By the time I reach my apartment, the exhaustion hits like a freight train. My body feels heavy. My mind is foggy.
I strip off the dress, drop it carefully onto the chair like it’s made of glass. Wipe off the makeup with shaking hands. My face feels raw without it, but also… clean.
I throw on a giant sweatshirt and fuzzy socks, the familiar cotton hugging all my softest parts. The mirror reflects someone who looks like she almost let the world see her—and didn’t die.
I fall into bed like gravity doubled, pulling me straight into the mattress. The last thought in my head is him.
And then nothing.
The next morning
It’s still early when I wake.
Too early.
But the light filtering through the blinds is soft and peach-colored, like the sky is still deciding what kind of day to be. I don’t usually do this—wake up before the world—but something feels different today.
Lighter.
Not good. Not fixed.
But less heavy.
I pad into the kitchen, make my usual coffee. Black, no sugar. The bitterness feels like a small punishment I’ve earned.
I open the balcony door and step outside into the cool morning air, hoodie sleeves pulled down over my hands. One cigarette, one lighter, one breath.
I sit down in the old rusted chair I thrifted years ago and take the first drag, then sip the coffee while the smoke curls up and disappears.
My phone buzzes.
Vicky 💜 Morning weirdo. You awake or still emotionally hungover?
I smirk, thumb tapping quickly.
me: Awake. Balcony. Smoking. Watching the world not fall apart. You?
Vicky: Laptop. Lecture in 30. Hair in a bun. No bra. We thrive.
She calls me seconds later.
I answer, camera off.
“Morning, professor.”
She groans. “Don’t. I already spilled soy milk on my notes and the Wi-Fi’s acting like it’s allergic to responsibility.”
I laugh, and she immediately softens.
“You sound better,” she says.
I stare out over the rooftops, watching the sun ease its way up over the buildings.
“I feel… less awful.”
“Want to talk about it?”
So I do.
All of it. From the moment I ducked into that bathroom and overheard those girls, to the way my brain spiraled out of control so fast it almost derailed the whole night.
“I know it was stupid,” I say quietly, flicking ash off the edge of the balcony. “Like… why did I let it get to me that bad?”
“Stop.” Her voice cuts in, firm but warm. “It wasn’t stupid.”
“I just—I felt like I was nothing again. Like I was thirteen, hiding in the locker room, praying no one noticed how much space I took up.”
Vicky sighs softly, the sound of her fingers clicking on keys in the background. “Y/N… you reacted like a person who’s lived through real pain. That’s not something you just… outgrow. It lingers. Triggers happen. Doesn’t make it less real just because it looks small from the outside.”
I blink hard, pressing my lips together.
“And,” she adds, voice sly now, “you didn’t let it ruin everything. You still showed up. You let someone help you.”
I hesitate.
“He called me a cab,” I admit, softer now. “After I told him I didn’t feel safe getting in a car with someone I barely knew. He just… listened. Said he’d order it for me if that’s what I wanted.”
There’s a pause.
Then a delighted gasp.
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“That’s so hot. Are you kidding me? Gentleman behavior and emotional intelligence? Marry him immediately.”
I snort. “He’s just… I don’t know. He’s kind of terrifying. But also not? Like, he looks like he could ruin your life but also fold your laundry.”
Vicky cackles. “Danger with a heart. A classic. We love to see it.”
I smile, blowing out a stream of smoke and watching it fade into the sky. My chest still feels bruised, but not broken.
“He told me not to avoid him next time.”
“And are you going to?”
I pause.
Let the silence stretch.
Then quietly: “I don’t want to.”
Vicky hums. “That’s my girl.”
She sighs. “Okay. Gotta go pretend I’m an expert in child development now. But I love you. And I’m proud of you. Seriously.”
I nod, even though she can’t see me.
“Love you too.”
She hangs up.
And I sit there for a while, cigarette gone, coffee cold, but heart just a little warmer than yesterday.
Maybe next time… I won’t run.
Maybe next time… I’ll let him see me.
Really see me.
Even the parts I’m still learning to look at myself.
I’m still on the balcony, staring at the last swirl of smoke disappearing into the sky when my phone buzzes again.
Katherine 🖤 Hey girl. You okay? You left kinda abruptly last night.
My heart skips a beat.
I pull my hoodie tighter around my arms and unlock my phone with a thumbprint I wish could delete anxiety.
me: Yeah. I just wasn’t feeling great. Needed some air.
She replies almost immediately, like she’s been waiting.
Katherine 🖤: That’s what Jungkook said. He told everyone you weren’t feeling well and called you a cab. Total protector mode 🥺
My stomach flips.
He told them?
I can’t decide if that makes me want to curl up and die or… smile.
me: Wait—he told you that?
Katherine 🖤: Girl. The second someone asked where you went, he just said “She wasn’t feeling well. I got her home safe.” Dead serious. And then he dipped.
me: He left?
Katherine 🖤: Yup. Like 10 minutes after you. Wouldn’t even take a drink. Just left. Honestly? Kind of hot.
My blush hits hard and fast, warming my cheeks like I just stepped into a furnace. I pull my knees up on the chair, hiding behind the ceramic coffee mug like it might cool me down.
Katherine 🖤: Also… I got laid 😇
I blink. Hard.
me: WHAT???
Katherine 🖤: Yeahhhh. One of Jungkook’s friends. Tall, dimpled, criminally good at neck kisses. Literally the best sex of my life. Like I think I astral projected at one point??
me: Oh my god, Katherine.
Katherine 🖤: Don’t “oh my god” me. You’re the one who got rescued by a bruised, tattooed underground prince and rode home in a cab he summoned like a damn knight.
me: I rode home. You rode a man.
Katherine 🖤: LMAOOOOOO okay point for you. But still. How are we in the same city and you get the brooding fighter who leaves parties early for you?
I bite my lip, trying to smother the growing smile, but it’s useless.
Jungkook.
The way he stood there in that alley.
The way he didn’t push, didn’t question, just… saw me. Called a cab. Stayed until I was safe. Told them I wasn’t feeling well so I wouldn’t have to explain myself later.
And then left.
For me?
Katherine 🖤: Just saying… if you don’t text him, I might.
I roll my eyes, thumbs already moving.
me: Back off. He’s terrifying and possibly capable of reading minds.
Katherine 🖤: Perfect. He can hear me thinking you better text her, you emotionally unavailable legend.
I laugh, clutching the mug to my chest as the city wakes up around me.
Something about today feels different.
Not fixed.
Not perfect.
But maybe… like the beginning of something.
Like maybe I'm allowed to be seen.
Bruised, messy, soft, and still worthy.
And maybe the boy who left early to make sure I got home safe... maybe he saw that too.
#jungkook#jungkook fanfic#jungkook x reader#jungkook angst#jeon jungkook#bts#bts jungkook#bts fic#jungkook fanfiction#jeon jungkook x reader#jungkook fic#jungkook recs#jeon jungguk#jungkook imagine#bts fanfic#bts fanfiction#bts scenario#bts oneshot#bts x reader#bts x you#bts angst
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ㅤ ㅤ— 🎀 apparently i can’t get enough of meanish lawyer!abby ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤhighly inspired by this post.
mean lawyer!abby who refuses to touch you or do anything that you pleaded for her to do simply because you’re acting out and being a brat while she’s trying to finish up some stuff for a case she was currently working on. Instead, she just sits there, looking at you unamused as you prance around your shared apartment in nothing but the thinnest pair of panties that you own— could find, and one of her white button-ups. huffing and sighing every time you walk back into the living room.
“babe, i love you, so much, but can you please stop huffing, i’m trying to work” abby muttered. eyebrows pinched together, and her glasses slid down the bridge of her nose. “just 10 more minutes, is all i ask for”
“you said 10 more minutes, 15 minutes ago” you grumbled under your breath. practically throwing your body onto the couch and kicking your feet up on the coffee table. “i can wait another 10 minutes i’m sure” you scoffed. picking at your nails with a shrug.
you were too busy staring off at the black screen of the TV to notice the way her jaw clenched and uncleaned. the way her eyebrow rose at your remark, and the way she shook her head at yout attitude. “i told you—”
“and i told you i would wait” you couldn’t help but cut her off with a scoff that had her holding her breath. “simple”
“and i wasn’t done talking”
you gulped down the bratty remarks that clawed at your throat and threatened to spill at the sound of her voice and when the sound of the floorboard creaking beneath her foot rang through your ears and it was then that you finally noticed she was standing on the opposite side of the coffee table, staring at you with a hard glare. a few of her buttons undone, loose strands of hair flying in different directions, and those cute glasses of hers no longer on her face. she looked annoyed but so tired at the same time the longer she watched you. “abby—” you whispered, sinking your teeth into your lower lip.
“i do not want to hear another word coming out that mouth, do you understand?” she growled lowly. blue eyes piercing through yours as her chest rises up and down with each breath she takes. “i have a little work to finish, so give me 10 minutes, and then i am all yours—”
you just had to run your mouth again. cutting her off with a sigh. “but you promised we would watch this new show—”
abby had somehow maneuvered herself from the other side of the table until she stood right in front of you. shivers ran down your spine when she crouched in front of you slowly, her pants creasing as she moved, and your eyes gazed upwards so damn slow until they met hers. still looking at you angrily. “try that again” she was still able to stay calm. “c’mon, you want to be a brat, so use your fuckin’ words” she scoffed, jaw clenching.
“i’m sorry—”
shaking her head slowly, like she couldn’t believe you dared to apologize now when you knew you were in trouble for your attitude problem. your eyes widening quickly while your lips part once she curls her finger around your chin, pulling your face closer to hers hard enough to have you gasping. “yeah baby? now you wanna be sorry?” she questioned. nodding her head with a click of her tongue. “i don’t think you are, you just love to run that fuckin’ mouth of yours whenever you can, huh?”
looking up at her with wide eyes, she has the audacity to chuckle when she spots the tears welling up. “you cryin’ baby?” she mumbled. squeezing your cheeks together with one hand while the other wipes the one that threatens to fall. “what happened to my good girl, hm?”
“just wanted to spend time with you” you mumbled truthfully. your thighs clench together tightly when her grip on your jaw tightens. the feeling has you holding back a whine when she just hums, nodding like she was listening but was more focused on the way a tear droplet falls down your cheek. “i am sorry”
abby leans her face closer to yours. so close that her breath is clashing with yours and she can see your pupils are so dilated because of her actions and the way she was touching you. chuckling softly, she tilts your head back, rising to her normal height, and the sight has you finally whining quietly in your spot. “keep up this attitude and we’ll see where it gets you” she mumbled. squishing your cheeks together a final time before licking her lips. “because as much as you love it, i would hate to bend you over my knee and make sure you can’t sit down for a week because you keep being a fuckin’ brat” she grinned wickedly.
safe to say, you waited the whole 10 extra minutes.
#lawyer!abby#abby anderson#abby anderson x reader#abby anderson x you#abby anderson drabble#abby anderson smut#abby anderson tlou2#abby the last of us
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Do it for them - Co-captain reader x Curly
Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4
Swansea: "Could you see anything?"
You took off your space suit helmet to respond to him, your face showing dark circles and a tired grimace.
"Nothing at all... But... mm... We are following a trajectory but I can't say which one it is, we are not returning to earth but we are also not heading to the delivery zone... I only know that the ship is taking us somewhere else... but maybe-"
You were about to collapse, but Swansea immediately caught you before you fell.
Swansea: "Okay! That's enough, how long has it been since you last slept?"
"I need to find a way to return... Then I'll be able to sleep..."
You held onto his shirt tightly, trying to stand up but your body wouldn't let you, you felt the full weight of the suit on you.
Swansea: "How could you go out like that? Do you know what would have happened if you had fainted out there?! We were going to lose you forever!"
The man immediately made you sit down and helped you take off the suit.
Swansea: "Look at yourself, have you been eating? You look pale."
"I have my reverses in my room..."
You murmured as he helped you to your feet and took you to your room, he could see the pile of accumulated food.
Swansea: "You haven't been eating!"
"Maybe I forgot about that..."
He began to worry upon seeing all the papers stuck to the walls, written and scribbled, recreating plans of the ship and attempts to return.
Swansea: "Listen to me carefully, we all appreciate the work you are doing, but we need you to be fine! Otherwise, we won't have a captain anymore!"
You rested your head on his chest and he felt how you wrapped your arms around him, he stood still as he heard you sob, sighed, and returned the embrace.
"I'm scared - I'm afraid I won't be able to fix this - that I won't be able to see him again - that something will happen to all of you - it's too much"
Swansea: "You don't have to handle everything on your own, we're a team. I know well that Curly was your partner, that you relied on each other, but you can count on us too."
You slowly pulled away and ran your hand over your cheeks to dry your tears.
"I didn't know you were good at comforting."
Swansea: "Ha! My wife is expecting a girl at home, I'm prepared for these things."
"She is going to be very lucky to have you as a father."
Swansea: "Of course," he sat down next to you and sighed, "I want you to take a break, okay?"
"...Okay," you nodded. "Can you take care of the others? Delivering their rations and all that?"
Swansea: "If you give me the code, I'll do it without any problems."
"Thank you very much, Swansea... These two months after the crash...have been... Exhausting"
Swansea: "You want to see it, don't you?"
You nodded without saying a word.
Swansea: "I can distract Anya and you can sneak off to see him."
"No- I can't do that... I will respect his wishes and wait until he feels ready to see me... Have you seen it?"
Swansea: "Nah, the only ones who have seen him are Anya and Jimmy, it seems like he's in a delicate situation."
You lifted your legs onto the bed to hug them tightly, resting your chin on your knees.
"I'll rest for a week, is that okay?"
Swansea: "Of course, boss"
He patted your back before leaving.
You looked at the rings on your hands and smiled.
"You have made me depend a lot on you... I have to learn to control myself..."
You sighed and threw yourself onto the bed to try to get some rest.
The first few days of your break, you felt extremely anxious for not doing anything about it, but you knew you needed to stay calm.
One night you heard some knocks on your door, you were doodling in your notebook to keep yourself distracted until you saw Jimmy walk in.
Jimmy: "I brought you a cup of coffee."
He mentioned leaving the cup on the nightstand next to your bed.
"Thank you"
Jimmy: "I noticed you left Swansea in charge."
"He has more experience than the others."
Jimmy: "Shouldn't it be my responsibility? I am Curly's co-pilot."
"What's the point of a co-pilot if there's no pilot's cabin? I'm sorry Jimmy, the answer is no. Anyway, in a few days I'll be back."
Jimmy: "Why do you always have to be a bitch with me?!"
You lifted your gaze from your notebook to see him, tilting your head.
"I never did anything to you, you were always the one who talked shit about me, but Curly always kept you in line. Now he's not here, so I'm going to keep you in your place, okay?"
Without saying another word, he left, slamming your door hard, but that didn't scare you or make you react in any way.
Seeing the cup of coffee he brought you, you took it to throw the content in the trash.
.
.
.
.
.
Jimmy: "You and your perfect wife, your perfect life... It seems they enjoy seeing me as if I were someone inferior."
The man was speaking while placing a pill in his hand.
Jimmy: "Let's see how much he's going to believe after tonight."
He brutally opened his friend's mouth, who let out a cry of pain and growls that seemed to come from a helpless animal.
The sounds from that room were horrible, all caused by the man taking it out on his friend for having everything he wanted.
#anya mouthwashing#daisuke mouthwashing#mouthwash#mouthwashing#mouthwashing game#mouthwashing x reader#swansea mouthwashing#jimmy mouthwashing#curly mouthwashing#captain curly#mouthwashing curly#captain curly x reader#do it for them mouthwashing
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𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐃 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐗

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader
Series summary: When Noah was left alone to take care of his daughter about two years ago, he never thought he would find someone else he would trust enough to include in his little family. But things can change.
Tw: little bit of angst (fluff is always there, I don't even write it in the tw anymore)
Series masterlist
3 years earlier
Your apartment felt suffocating. You stood by the kitchen counter, staring at the sink, trying to breathe through the frustration that had been building for probably months. Jason was pacing in the living room, the sound of his feet on the hardwood floor sharp against the silence.
"Why is this always so difficult with you?" His voice was rising, the anger behind it unmistakable. "I try to talk to you, to explain how I feel, but it’s like I’m speaking to a wall. You don’t listen."
You turned, your patience wearing thin. "I am listening, Jason. But you can’t just lash out every time things don’t go your way. It doesn’t work like that."
Jason’s face twisted in disbelief. "You think I’m the one causing problems? You think I’m just making this up?" He threw his hands up, exasperated. "You don’t even seem to care when something’s wrong. You shut down every time I try to talk to you about it!"
You let out a slow breath, trying to hold on to the last shreds of calm you had left. "That’s not true. I care. But you’re trying to control everything. You are trying to control me, and it’s exhausting. Every time we have a disagreement, you make it feel like it’s my fault, like I’m the one who’s doing everything wrong."
Jason scoffed, his voice thick with sarcasm. "Oh, so now I’m controlling? That’s rich. I try to make things work, I try to talk to you, but all you do is shut me out."
"Don’t act like this is just about us not communicating," you snapped, your voice shaking with frustration. "It’s not just one thing, Jason. It’s everything. The way you treat me like I’m supposed to be available on your terms, the way you talk down to me like I’m incapable of making my own decisions. You’re always making everything about you and your needs, but you never ask how I feel about anything."
Jason’s eyes darkened, but you saw something else there too—fear. Maybe he wasn’t ready to face what he was losing, but you had already made up your mind. "You’re overreacting," he muttered, taking a step toward you, but you didn’t back away.
"No, Jason. I’m done," you said, your voice more firm than you felt. "This isn’t working anymore. I can’t keep doing this. I don’t want to keep doing this."
Jason froze, his brow furrowed. "What are you talking about? You don’t mean that. I love you. I need you."
Your chest tightened at the words,. "We shouldn't feel the love so painfully. I shouldn’t. You don’t love me, Jason. This isn’t love," you said. "Love isn’t trying to control someone, love isn’t belittling them every chance you get, love isn’t making them feel small. You don’t get to hide behind 'I love you' and make it okay."
His face twisted in disbelief, like he was trying to comprehend what you were saying. "You’re throwing all of that away? After everything?"
You shook your head slowly, the tears you’d been holding back threatening to break free. But you didn’t let them. Not now. "I’m choosing myself, Jason. I can’t keep letting you walk all over me and thinking it’s okay. I’m done with this and I am truly sorry things didn't go in a different way, trust me."
For a moment, he just stood there, staring at you like he couldn’t believe what was happening. His eyes flicked to the door and back to you, his lips parted like he was about to say something, but the words didn’t come.
"Just go," you said, your voice barely a whisper but stronger than it had been in weeks. "Please. I need you to leave."
Jason hesitated, his fists clenched at his sides. "You’re making a huge mistake," he muttered, his voice low and strained. "You can’t just throw this all away. You’ll regret it."
You shook your head. "No. I won’t. I’m not doing this anymore."
He stood there for a long moment, and then, with a final glance at you, he turned toward the door. It clicked open, and then shut.
The sound echoed in the silence of your apartment, and for a moment, you just stood there, your back pressed against the door, your breath coming in shallow gasps. You told yourself you had made the right decision, that you had done what was best for you. And yet, as the seconds ticked by, something inside you twisted.
The tears came in slow waves at first, and then, like a dam breaking, they poured out. You didn’t try to stop them. You didn’t even know how to. You sank to the floor, knees pulled to your chest, burying your face in your arms as the sobs wracked your body.
You had told him to leave. You had closed the door on him. You had made the decision to walk away from a relationship that has never been healthy.
And still, your heart ached like it had been ripped out of your chest. No matter how much you tried to convince yourself that you were done, that you were stronger than this, your heart betrayed you. You had loved him. You loved him.
And as much as you tried to convince yourself that the way he treated you—his lack of respect, his jealousy, his need to control everything—had been enough to make you forget the love you once shared, your heart couldn’t let go.
You loved him. Even if you didn't want to.
One week after he stepped out of your house, you got the news that he left the city to open his shop somewhere else. And you haven't heard from him since.
Now
You were still staring out the window, frozen, as the realization hit you like a punch to the gut.
Jason’s Ink Studio.
The name was loud and clear in your mind, a flashback to everything you had worked so hard to leave behind. You hadn’t expected this, not today, not now. You never thought he could get back in town, and yet, here he was.
Your gaze fixed on him before your mind could even catch up with the shock in your chest. He was standing on the other side of the road, talking to someone, his face in profile as he lifted a package—large, wrapped in brown paper.
His hair, lighter now than it had been back then, was short but messy, like he’d run his fingers through the light brown locks and forgotten to smooth it down. The buzz cut he once wore was gone, replaced with something more grown-up, but still familiar.
He was wearing a simple black sweater with the sleeves rolled up, revealing the tattoos that snake around his forearms, ink you remember well. His skin is still a bit tanned, like it always was.
His eyes, those blue-grey eyes that had always caught the light in that almost magnetic way, were hidden from now, but you knew they were shining under the morning light.
You didn’t want to look, but you couldn’t help it. As he turned, walking toward the door, his eyes flicked up, right toward the window where you were standing. For a split second, you could have sworn his gaze landed on you.
Your heart skipped a beat, but you didn’t move.
You weren’t sure if he’d actually seen you, or if you were just imagining it. But in that moment, everything around you seemed to stop. You held your breath. You didn’t want to react. You didn’t want to acknowledge him, not in this place, not now. You were happy with Noah. You didn't want to see him everyday in front of your workplace.
For a moment you both stood there, and then, just like that, he disappeared through the door of his own shop.
You exhaled slowly, the air feeling thick in your lungs. Your palms were suddenly clammy, and you found yourself gripping the counter for stability. He was here. Of course he was. Back there like nothing had changed. But so much had changed. You had changed.
You stared at the door he had just walked through, a sense of unease twisting in your stomach, still trying to wrap your head around the sight of Jason standing outside. It had been years, but seeing him again—especially in front of your café—stirred up a mess of old memories. Why the hell was he back?
Noah’s voice suddenly cut through your thoughts. “Hey, you okay?”
You blinked, snapping back to reality. "Yeah. I'm fine," you muttered, brushing off the question. But before you could add anything else, Grace, leaning over the counter, caught sight of what was going on on the other side of the window.
"Oh well—look who’s back."
You stiffened. Noah looked over, clearly confused. “Who?”
You let out a sharp exhale. “You remember when I told you about my ex?”
Noah raised an eyebrow. "The tattoo artist who treated you like shit and left the town to chase a bigger paycheck?"
“Yeah.”
Grace, without missing a beat, pointed at the window. “Him. Right there.”
Noah turned, following her finger, and the look on his face shifted. His eyes narrowed, “Of course he’s back.” He muttered.
You felt your stomach tighten. “I don't know why he's here. But I don't fucking want him here. Not in front of my café."
Grace, clearly enjoying the situation a bit too much, leaned in with a smirk. “I wonder if he already knows about your ‘charming’ new... rockstar boyfriend with pink nailpolish here?”
Noah shifted on his feet, his expression tightening ever so slightly. "What does that have to do with anything?"
Grace shrugged, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, nothing. Just wondering if the guy’s gonna get jealous seeing you’ve moved on... to someone else.”
You felt the heat rise to your face, and before you could respond, Noah cleared his throat. His voice, though calm, had an edge to it. “Yeah, well, that’s none of his business.”
The casualness of his tone didn’t escape you, but there was something else—something in the way he said it that made you wonder if he was a little too quick to defend you. Or maybe he was just annoyed by the whole situation, too.
Grace watched the two of you, clearly entertained. "Oh, I get it now. High-school reunion vibes, huh? A bit embarassing and awkward?"
You shot her a glare. "Don’t even joke about that."
Noah’s posture had shifted. He was still looking at the window, but the way he stood now had more tension in it. “If he thinks he can just show up and start making trouble, I’ll deal with it,” he said, the words sounding like more of a promise than a suggestion.
You blinked at him, taken aback by the sudden protective tone in his voice. It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate it—but why was he getting so worked up?
“I don’t need you to deal with it,” you said quickly. “I can handle it myself, don't worry.”
Grace leaned in, eyes dancing with mischief. “Oh, I’m sure you can. But... still, if he tries anything, I’m pretty sure he’ll wish he hadn’t.” She finished the sentence looking at Noah.
You crossed your arms, trying to ignore the tension building between you and Noah. You could feel his eyes on you, but you weren’t sure if it was out of concern or something else entirely. Was he already jealous? Without even seeing Jason yet?
“He’s not gonna try anything,” you said, trying to reassure both you and Noah. “I’m done with him. For good. It's almost been four fucking years. I moved on. He probably did that too. Maybe he moved back with... I don't know, his wife? Who knows.”
Noah just nodded, staying silent. You knew his mind was full of thoughts but that wasn't the right moment to talk about them.
You stared at the window again, watching your ex as he spoke to someone outside, completely unaware of the tension building inside the café. The knot in your stomach only tightened.
You kept working after Noah left to work on something with the band.
The café was busy and you used that as a distraction from the knot of anxiety in your stomach. You couldn’t shake the image of Jason standing outside.
You busied yourself behind the counter as you made drinks and refilled pastries, trying not to look up at the window every few minutes. But every time the door opened, your heart jumped, and you couldn’t help but glance over.
A couple walked in, laughing together. The man’s grin reminded you too much of Jason’s—slightly crooked, genuine, and a little too familiar. For a split second, your heart skipped, and you felt the familiar ache in your chest. But as they made their way to the counter, you saw it wasn’t him. You exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.
"Can I help you?" you asked, your voice a little shaky as you forced a smile.
The man ordered a cappuccino, and you moved through the motions, trying to push the thought of Jason from your mind. But every time the door opened, you couldn’t stop your heart from skipping. You looked, always half-expecting him to walk through.
The bell above the door chimed again.
The man entering had brown short hair, his face half-obscured by the collar of his jacket, but for a moment, your mind screamed, It’s him.
You froze, watching as he approached the counter, but when he turned his face toward you, your stomach sank. It wasn’t Jason. Just another stranger.
You forced yourself to breathe, to smile. To get it together. You couldn’t keep reacting like this.
Minutes passed. Then another hour. The tension in your chest never quite eased, but you managed to focus on the customers, the tasks at hand, your routine.
Jason wasn’t coming in. He couldn’t be.
And as the day wore on, and the sun began to set, you didn’t see him again, not even outside the window.
You kept working, moving through the motions. But the truth was, the sense of unease wouldn’t leave. Every time you heard the door, part of you braced for the possibility that it was him. The man who had once been everything, but now felt like a stranger.
But he didn’t come. Not today.
Noah was sprawled on the couch in the band's living room, casually scrolling through his phone while Ruffilo sat across from him. The quiet hum of the house felt comfortable, but Noah’s mind was clearly elsewhere.
Finally, after a few minutes of silence, Noah set his phone down with a frustrated sigh.
“What's wrong, man?” Nick asked casually.
Noah ran a hand through his hair. “It’s just... Y/N’s ex is back in town,” he said, his tone less than enthusiastic. “And he opened up a tattoo shop right across from her café.”
Nick’s eyebrows shot up. "Wait, that guy? The tattoo artist?"
“Yeah,” Noah confirmed, leaning back against the couch. “Jason. He’s been gone for a while, but now he’s back. And of course, right across from where Y/n works.”
Nick nodded thoughtfully. "That’s... uh, that's gotta be awkward."
Noah rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, it’s not great. And I can’t help but feel like something’s going to happen. It just doesn’t feel good."
Nick leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I get it, man. But, you don’t have to worry about that. Y/N’s with you now, and she’s moved on. She’s not gonna let some guy from her past mess things up.”
Noah hesitated. "I know. But... I don’t know, man. I can’t shake this feeling. Ever since I got involved with Y/N I’ve been scared of losing her. I’ve always been scared of it, after... well, after everything that happened with Hannah." He took a deep breath and looked at Nick, his expression more vulnerable than usual. “But now... with Jason back in the picture, I feel it more than ever. I don’t know what’s gonna happen, and it scares the shit out of me.”
Nick studied him for a moment, then leaned back into his seat, shaking his head slightly. "You’re doing it again," he said, his voice calm but firm. "You’re thinking about things that haven’t even happened yet. I get that you're worried, but listen, you don’t have to keep carrying that fear around."
"I know I sound like a broken record,” Noah said, rubbing his face with his hands. "I just... I love her, man. I don’t want anything to mess that up."
Nick’s tone softened. “I get it. I do. But you don’t have to be scared of losing her. You’ve got a solid thing going. Y/N chose you. And she’s with you now. Jason’s part of her past, and that’s where he’s gonna stay. She’s moved on."
Noah let out a long breath. "I know. But it’s still hard not to worry, you know?"
Nick gave him a small smile. "Yeah, I get it. But trust me, man. You’re enough. You don’t have to live in fear of something that might never even happen. You’re already doing everything right."
Noah nodded slowly. “Thanks, man. I needed that.” He stood up, stretching. “I should go pick up Luna. She’s probably starving by now.”
Nick chuckled, standing up with him. "Good idea. But hey, remember, if you need to talk, you know where I am."
Noah smiled. "Appreciate it."
With a final wave, Noah walked out the door.
Things would work out, he hoped. But he still couldn’t shake the weight of his own worries.
He didn't want to get hurt again.
When Noah stepped into the daycare, his eyes quickly found Luna sitting at a small table in the corner, her little brow furrowed in concentration as she worked on something with a pile of crayons scattered in front of her. She caught sight of him immediately and waved enthusiastically.
"Daddy!" she squealed, bouncing out of her seat.
Noah grinned, walking over to scoop her up in his arms. "Hey, sweetheart," he said, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Ready to go home?"
Luna nodded excitedly, but before Noah could move, Ms. Harper, one of the teachers, approached with a warm smile.
"Noah, do you have a second?" she asked. "We had a little project today, and I wanted to show you something."
Noah glanced at Luna, who ran off to rejoin a friend in a nearby play area.
"Of course," he replied, following Ms. Harper to the small corner of the room as she handed Noah a folded piece of paper.
"We had the kids draw pictures of their families,” she explained as Noah opened the paper carefully. “Luna was really proud of hers, and we wanted to make sure you saw it."
The paper was an explosion of color, with vibrant swirls of pink, blue, yellow, and green. In the sky, there was not a sun (like it usually was in kids' drawings) but a moon.
The clouds were big and puffy and a small house stood in the middle of the page.
Noah’s heart warmed as he looked at the three main figures in the foreground. One was small, the other two larger. The shapes were simple—a circle for each head, a few lines for arms and legs, but they were immediately recognizable. A man, a woman, and a smaller figure.
"That’s us, isn’t it?" Noah asked, looking up from the drawing to meet Ms. Harper’s eyes. His voice was soft, filled with warmth.
The teacher smiled and nodded. "Yep, Luna said it was ‘Daddy and Y/N.’ She was so proud of it."
Noah’s heart swelled as he looked back down at the drawing. The way Luna included you made him smile. "I love it," he murmured.
As he admired the picture, his eyes wandered to the background. He noticed several small shapes scattered on the horizon, almost like trees but not quite. They looked out of place compared to the other elements in the drawing, and his curiosity piqued.
"What are those?" he asked, pointing at the figures.
Ms. Harper chuckled softly. “She said those are her uncles,” she explained.
Noah’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, a laugh escaping him. "Her uncles?"
"Yes," she replied, grinning. "She said they’re the uncles who love her."
Noah couldn’t help but laugh too, a warm, genuine smile spreading across his face. "Well, I'll tell them Luna included them in the family," he said, shaking his head with amusement. "This is perfect."
Luna, who had been playing with her friend, returned to him just as he was carefully folding the drawing.
"Dad" she asked eagerly, "did you see my picture? What do you think?"
Noah beamed down at her. "I love it, Luna. I think it’s the best drawing ever." He picked her up with one arm and kissed the top of her head. "You’ve made me so happy with this."
Luna’s face lit up, her grin stretching wide across her face. She hugged him tightly, her tiny arms wrapping around his neck. "I’m glad you like it!"
The teacher gave them one last smile before stepping away.
"Alright, Lu," Noah said, shifting Luna slightly in his arms, "let’s go home."
The soft glow from the TV illuminated the dim room as you and Noah lay on his bed, wrapped up in the warmth of his blankets as Luna was already sleeping in her bedroom.
The gentle hum of some anime playing in the background was more of a comfort than entertainment at this point. You were curled up beside him, your head resting on his chest, the familiar weight of his arm draped over you. His hand idly brushed through your hair as you watched the fight happening on the screen, though you noticed he wasn’t quite as engaged as usual.
You shifted slightly, glancing up at him. His gaze was fixed on the ceiling, unfocused, almost as if his mind had wandered far away from the bright colors on the TV. You could feel the subtle tension in his muscles, the quiet distance that had come over him.
"Hey," you murmured, your voice soft but steady. "Mrs. Linn asked to come see her sometime, yesterday. We talked a bit when I was about to get into my car to go back home. I forgot to tell you. She seemed such a sweet lady." You smiled, hoping to bring his attention back to the moment, but his gaze didn’t move from the ceiling.
Noah’s lips tugged up slightly, but it was more of a reflex than a genuine response. "Yeah, it’s been a while since I’ve seen her," he said absently. “Maybe we could all go sometime, say hi." His tone didn’t carry the usual warmth, though. His mind was still clearly elsewhere.
You frowned, now fully aware of the shift in his mood. You grabbed the remote and paused the anime, the room suddenly feeling quieter, even more intimate with the absence of noise.
"Is it about Jason?" you asked softly, almost afraid of what his reaction might be.
Noah didn’t look at you, but his head gave the smallest nod, confirming what you already suspected. His jaw tightened, and you could tell his thoughts were running in circles, probably replaying some old memories.
You let out a quiet sigh, lifting your hand to gently trace his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin. "You don’t have to worry, Noah," you said. "I love you. I love Luna. I love the life we’re building together. He’s a ghost from the past, and that’s all he’s ever going to be now." You pressed a soft kiss to his naked chest, hoping the words would reach him, would soothe all his worries.
For a long moment, Noah didn’t respond, but then he shifted, turning to face you. His eyes were soft but looked tired. "I know," he said quietly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "It’s just... when I realized he was back earlier, I don’t know... it just stirred up a lot of shit that is still there. You are important to me. I don't wanna lose you."
You smiled gently, sliding your hand to his face and cupping it tenderly, your fingers brushing his stubbled cheek. "You’re allowed to feel however you feel. And if you wanna talk about anything, I'm here." you whispered. "But don't think I'm gonna leave you. I’m right here. I'll be here until the day you'll tell me to go away." You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.
And as if in response, his lips curved into a smile, a soft, real smile. You moved away slightly, your gaze meeting his.
"There it is," you teased, pressing more kisses to his face, his cheeks, his nose. His eyes closed, and he chuckled, the sound warm and genuine.
"Finally," you grinned. "I didn’t hear you laugh since this morning. I was starting to worry."
Noah’s laughter filled the quiet space between you two, and you thought, in that moment, that everything would be okay.
Even if Jason was back in town, he was still part of your past and that's where he was supposed to stay.
🍪 a cookie for you if you caught the little bmth reference
Tags: @anything-more-than-human @ladyveronikawrites @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @fadingangelwisp @xmads-omensx @iwasntstable @thisbicc @pathion @mathfairchild1 @flowery-mess @into-the-grey @lma1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @stardustsirenmelody @thewrstinme
TBAF Tags: @aubrey-melinoe @klutzy-kay24 @mrscevans @concreteangel92 @iconic-taurus @niicoleleigh @cheyyyyr @supersquirrel1996 @respectfulrebel @alwaysfighforwhoyouare @clickmedead @missduffsblog
#noah sebastian x reader#noah sebastian x y/n#noah sebastian fanfiction#noah sebastian#bad omens#tbaf#to build a family#x reader
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waste a moment —- w.jh

❅ pairing: wen junhui x gn!reader ❅ theme: fluff, strangers to lovers ❅ w/c: 5k ❅ warnings: mentions of food, stressful work environment, mentions of death (not plot relevant) ❅ a/n: written as part of the Winter with You collab put on by @camandemstudios - make sure to check out the full collab masterlist here!! every writer involved is so extremely talented! send over some love! shout out to @tusswrites and @haologram for keeping me sane and beta reading! ❅ tags: @ylangelegy, @gyubakeries, @seungkw1, @myhimbomingi, @crab-ranjun, @heechwe
The only sound you can hear is your own steps on the pavement as you run to your bus stop, you are late, so late. You knew the ninth time hitting snooze this morning was too many, but of course, you did it anyway. The weather outside is slowly getting colder and gloomier as the world prepares for autumn to come, so what could a few more moments in your warm bed hurt?
As it turns out, your feet, the concrete was unforgiving and your flat-soled shoes provided little cushioning. Pushing the last few blocks to your stop your lungs were starting to burn, running was not typically something you took joy in. Rounding the corner, something felt out of place.
The early morning haze was interrupted by the glow of a neon “open” sign affixed to the window of the only permanent building near the bus stop shelter. This building never stood out to you, it was always quiet and dark when you got on and off the bus. Every morning and every evening, without fail whoever owned the building got there after you and left before you. The smell of spices wafted out of the door and almost made you stop before you realized this all meant that you were even later than you thought you were. The bus you usually take was long gone by now and you didn’t even know the schedule well enough to know when the next one would arrive.
Sighing, you accepted your fate and moved toward the shelter and squatted in front of where the stray cats always play. A small orange kitten was playing with the weeds growing out from the cracks in the sidewalk. You reached out to pet him, and as soon as his attention settled on you, he flopped to the side and tried to playfully bite your fingers as you wiggled them.
You heard the bus approach the kitten trotted away toward the restaurant. Once settled in your seat on the bus you check your watch, 7:45 am and still another 15 minute bus ride to work. You sigh and prepare yourself for the reprimand you will surely get once you arrive.
“You’re late.”
“I know, I’m so sorry, Ms. Lee,” you bowed your head apologetically, “I missed the first bus…I had to wait for the next one.” Ms. Lee, the head nurse of your unit, swiveled around in her chair.
“Well, you could have called,” she gestured to the phone at the nurse’s station, “Eunbi had to stay after her night shift to cover for you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Just don’t let it happen again,” she stood up from her chair, “Get changed,” she began to walk away and turned back to you briefly, “Oh, and Y/N?” You nodded, “I’m sure you won’t mind staying late tonight to even out the shifts for Eunbi, hm?”
“Of course not,” you muttered, a certain dread settled in your stomach as you walked to the nurse’s changing room. By staying late tonight you will run into the same problem you had this morning. You don’t know the next bus after your usual one. You shuffled into the room and caught sight of Eunbi slipping into her coat.
“Good morning, Y/N!” She smiled at you.
“Eunbi, I’m so sorry for making you stay late!” You slumped against your locker, “it was a total accident I missed my bus and-”
“Woah!” She laughed and reached out to smooth her hands over your arms. “It’s totally okay, it happens, you’ve covered for me before.”
“It’s just that…Ms. Lee,” you started.
“She’s a crotchety old bat,” she rolled her eyes. “We all think so, no one else here is mad at you.”
“Thank you,” you let go of a breath you didn’t know you were holding in, “but I’m still covering the first 45 minutes of your shift tonight, don’t try to tell me no.”
“Alright, alright, see you at shift change.” She smiled and squeezed your arms before leaving you alone in the quiet room. After changing as quickly as possible you made your way back to the nurse’s station to catch up on what you missed.
“Mr. Kang in 304 has been looking for you all morning,” Ms. Lee informed you as she pushed his file into your hand, “he will only take his medication from you if you could help him right away.”
Your knock on the door of room 304 echoed down the hallway. It was still early so the quiet of a hospital before a day begins was generally still intact. You pushed through the door to see Mr. Kang propped up on his pillows, smiling at you.
Mr. Kang has been in your care since you started at this hospital a few months ago. You work in the long term care unit, so it isn’t uncommon for patients to form attachments to nurses here. He was an old man, probably old enough to be your grandpa, who became a widower years ago. A week or so before you started here he had a terrible fall at home, breaking his hip.
“Good morning Mr. Kang!” You mustered a smile.
“Good morning, Y/N.” He smiled softly and attempted to sit up straighter. You moved to his side quickly to help him with the pillows.
“So,” you sat in the chair near his bed when he was settled, “I hear you aren’t taking your pills from Ms. Lee or Eunbi?”
“Is that what Ms. Lee said?” He chuckled, “it’s not that I won't, it's just that I’m used to it being you in the morning, and when it’s not, I have trouble.”
“Be that as it may, you still need your medication, Mr. Kang.” You informed him before moving to retrieve the medication.
“It’s a bit late now,” he started, you sighed thinking he was going to try and get out of taking the medication, “but could you take me to the big windows to watch the rest of the sunrise?”
“Tell you what,” you begin to divide the pills into small cups, “take your pills, no complaints, and I’ll take you.” Mr. Kang eagerly agreed. You helped him into his wheelchair and the two of you made the short trek to the back of the wing where the big windows were.
Mr. Kang told you about how he and his wife used to watch the sunset every Saturday morning while they ate breakfast together. These mornings were the highlight of his week, he was so happy to just have moments with his wife where time didn’t matter, just the two of them. Every time he tells you this story, or something similar about his wife, you are struck with the fact that you never have the time to do anything like this. Since graduating nursing school your life has been scheduled out to the minute. This morning at the bus stop was the first time in months that you felt the urge to go against that schedule.
“It’s going to snow soon,” Mr. Kang pulled you out of your thoughts. He pointed a crooked finger at the dark clouds overhead. “Be careful going home tonight, I remember how unreliable those buses can be.”
The cold winter air stung your cheeks and whipped your hair. Mr. Kang was right, it would snow today, the day you had to stay late and miss your bus. Because of the weather the buses weren’t running on schedule, you waited for almost an hour at the bus stop and no one ever came. You had to walk home.
The snow swirled around you and made it difficult to see, you knew that you were almost home, or at least, it felt that way. You were soaked and freezing to the bone, you’d be lucky if you woke up with just a cold tomorrow. Just as the shelter of your bus stop was starting to materialize through the snow you felt your foot catch the curb in front of you. You attempted to catch yourself but there was no use, you were falling. When you open your eyes to assess the situation you realize you fell into an alleyway and were lying on the ground staring up at a few trash cans.
Just as you decided that maybe you should just lay here and die, you hear the door of the building to your left open. A man is yelling in a language you don’t understand, is he yelling at you? Before you had any time to think about that you felt a hand on the back of your coat, pulling you up off the ground.
“Oh,” the man blinked down at you, “it’s you.” With that he pulled you inside. He placed you in a corner near the front door. “Stay there.” He instructed you and held his hands out as if he was taming a wild animal. He backed away from you slowly for several steps then turned on his heel and ran into a back room. You heard him rifling through things for several minutes.
Beyond that the only sounds in the small room were the dripping of melted snow off your coat and on to the floor. You took in your surroundings, slowly dethawing. The room was actually a small restaurant, with tables crammed into the small space. The room the man disappeared into was near the kitchen, judging by the location of the window behind the counter.
“You must be freezing,” he emerged from the room with a stack of clothes, “why didn’t you take the bus in this weather?” He was scolding you like you were best friends for years.
“I’m sorry? Do we know each other?”
“No, not really,” he blinked at you.
“Then…” you searched his face.
“You get on the bus when I get off,” he stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “and in the evenings, you get off the bus when I get on.” He held the clothes out to you again, as if to remind you why you’re in his restaurant. “You’re dripping on my floor.” He mumbled.
“Oh!” You gasped and began searching for a place to hang your coat. He placed the stack of clothes on a nearby table and helped you out of your coat.
“Take them,” he gestured to the clothes with his elbow, “the bathroom is back near the kitchen, change and warm up.” You nodded at the strange man’s kindness and headed to the bathroom to change.
You peeled your wet clothes away from your skin, grateful to be rid of them. In the kitchen you heard pots and pans clanging and soon there was a spicy aroma engulfing the entire building. Once you were ready you walked back into the main dining area. The clothes he lent you were far too big for you, the sweatpants were dragging on the floor and you felt like you were swimming in the oversized hoodie, but you were thankful to be warm.
“Have a seat anywhere!” He called through the window from the kitchen, “it’s almost ready!” You had no idea what he was making or why but you would be thankful for a warm meal after the day you had. The chair scraped across the floor of the otherwise quiet restaurant. Now that you could feel your toes you took another look around the space. The neon sign that you remembered from this morning was turned off, and the windows had their blinds closed. It was like the entire building was shut off from the outside world. Seeing it this way from inside was strange, as it usually was buttoned up like this when you saw it waiting for the bus. Which would make sense, you realized, if what he said was true, that you were on the opposite side of the bus schedule on a normal day.
“I made soup,” he emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray with two bowls. He sat the tray on the table in front of you and contemplated sitting down for a few seconds too long for someone who made two bowls, clearly for the both of you. Finally, he plopped into the chair across from you and passed you a spoon. He moved one of the bowls from the tray so it was in front of him. You watched as he took a large spoonful, blew on it lightly, and popped it into his mouth. His eyes closed and he was obviously proud of the dish.
Suddenly, his eyes snapped open and he stared at you. “Do you like spice?” he asked around the soup in his mouth, sounding muffled and panicked. You couldn’t help it, you burst out laughing. His eyes grew wider than you had seen them all night and he swallowed his mouthful.
“I’m so sorry,” you tried to control the giggling, “yes I’m fine with spice. Is this spicy?”
“Oh, yes,” he nodded enthusiastically, “it’s called Hulatang which literally means peppery and spicy soup. It’ll clear your sinuses.”
“You didn’t poison it, right?”
“What?” He looked at you bewildered.
“Well, you picked me up out of the trash,” you bring your spoon to your lips, “and I don’t even know your name.” You put the spoon in your mouth. The flavor blossoms on your tongue.
“Junhui”
“Okay, Junhui.” You nod, “can I have a glass of water?” He scrambled behind the counter to find a glass. He returned quickly.
“Is it too much?” He asked, sitting back down, “I handle spice well, so I can’t tell.”
“No, no,” you sipped your water, “it’s good, so good.” He smiled and went back to his meal. The two of you ate in silence until the bowls were empty and you felt warm from the spicy broth.
“I thought you were a raccoon earlier.” He blurted out of the blue as he was clearing the dishes from the table. “The raccoons always get in my trash, I was surprised they would be out in this weather though.” He continued, “I do worry about the cats though…”
“First snow of the year, and it’s brutal,” you agreed, “wait, you’re the one who feeds the cats!” You exclaim over the sound of the water turning on. You follow him back to the kitchen so you wouldn’t have to yell.
“Yeah?” He doesn’t look up from his task, “if I didn’t, who would?” He moved the pot he used to make the soup into the sink. You smiled to yourself, remembering the kitten you played with this morning.
“How long have you been feeding them?” You asked, helping him move glasses from the side into the sink. He smiled at you.
“Since I started renting this building,” he thought for a moment, “Almost three years ago.”
“That long?” You gasped, “I’ve only been living in my apartment near here for a few months. I just graduated nursing school and I got a job at the hospital.”
“Oh I live near there,” he nodded, knowing exactly where you were talking about, “we live near each other’s work places.” He pointed out.
“Suppose we do,” you smiled.
“What’s your name?” He asked, turning off the sink.
“Oh my God,” you blushed realizing you never told him, “Y/N.”
“Y/N.” He repeated softly as if tasting the new information on his tongue.
It has been four days since you met Junhui at his restaurant. You made sure to look for him while getting on and off the bus. He always smiled at you, no time to talk so smiles do just fine. You never did get the chance to ask him why he was still out that night.
You rolled over in bed and checked your phone. It was 10:40 am on your day off and you couldn’t stop thinking about the man who runs the restaurant down the street. It would be lunch time soon, maybe you could convince yourself to make the short trip over. To eat, certainly not to see him again.
Without a second thought you were out of bed and fixing your hair in the mirror. Once satisfied with how you looked, you threw on your coat and went out the door. The walk to your bus stop is short and relatively easy. The weather today was much nicer than the last time you found yourself inside Junhui’s restaurant.
The bell above the door twinkled at your entrance. You shifted awkwardly at the entrance of the building as the only other patron shot you curious glances.
“One moment!” You heard Junhui call from the kitchen. Soon, he appeared from the kitchen holding a tray similar to the one he brought your soup on a few days prior. He stumbled and almost dropped the tray when he saw you in the doorway. The other man in the room laughed and said something teasingly in a language you didn’t understand. Junhui glared at the man and then glanced back at you. “Y/N, do you speak Mandarin?” As soon as you confirmed that, no you do not, Junhui was uttering what you could only assume were curses at the other man. He set the plates of food on the table. “You can have a seat wherever you like, I’ll be right with you!” He smiled at you.
You selected a table near the kitchen, the other man was at a table near the only window in the building. The two of them continued to bicker in Mandarin for a few minutes. You smiled to yourself, Junhui seemed close with him. Eventually, he broke away, and made his way to your table.
“Hi,” you smiled at him.
“Hi,” his lips broke into a small smile, “I’m sorry about him, he’s my best friend, we’ve known each other for ages.”
“No worries,” you assured him.
“What can I get you?” He bounced awkwardly on the balls of his feet. He looked less tired today, his eyes were bright and his dark hair was tucked up into a beanie. You eyed the menu he still had tucked under his arm. “Oh!” He scrambled to grab it and all but threw it down on the table in front of you.
“Any recommendations?” You asked, scanning the menu full of dishes. He took a deep breath and sat down across from you. He started in on an explanation of the menu. You struggled to listen to everything he had to say because you were busy admiring him. He was so passionate about his recipes and the food he got to make.
“This one is my grandma’s recipe,” he pointed to an item on the menu and looked up at you with expectant eyes. “It’s ground pork and egg basically.”
“Oh yes, that sounds lovely,” you smile at him. “Tell me how to pronounce it so I can ask for it by name next time.”
“Xiándàn zhēng ròubǐng,” he collects the menu and practically skips back to the kitchen with the promise of you coming back again. You watched him go until he disappeared then you pulled out your phone to pass the time.
“I’m Minghao by the way,” you looked up to see Junhui’s friend standing in front of you. “I’ve heard a lot about you, I hope you keep coming around to keep him company.” He smiled at you before shouting Junhui’s name and telling him something in Mandarin. Junhui responded from the back and with that Minghao knocked twice on your table and turned to leave.
About ten minutes later, Junhui reemerged to clear Minghao’s table. He began clearing it of the dishes left behind.
“Did he bother you?” He asked as he passed your table with dishes stacked in his hands.
“Oh, no!” You assured him, “he just introduced himself.” You conveniently omitted the part about Minghao letting you know that Junhui had been talking about you.
“Oh, good,” he nodded, “your meal should be ready in about ten minutes, I’ll be back then.”
As promised he returned with the food you ordered and a glass of water. He set the food on the table and sat in the chair across from you. “Taste,” he told you, he could hardly contain the giddiness he felt. It was bubbling in his chest and he bounced his knee under the table to expel some of the extra energy he felt.
“Have you eaten?” You asked, picking up your spoon.
“Hm?” He blinked, “oh, no, not yet.”
“Get a spoon,” you pointed toward the counter, “we’ll share.” He smiled widely at you and quickly retrieved a spoon. The two of you split the meal, getting to know each other as you ate. You told him all about your job at the hospital and your trouble with Ms. Lee. Junhui made a disapproving noise when you told him about what happened on the day you showed up in his trash.
“She sounds horrible,” he mumbled around a mouthful of rice.
“She is!” You threw your hands up, “we all think so, even Eunbi, who is the nicest person there.”
In turn Junhui told you about how he ended up owning a restaurant at a bus stop thousands of miles from where he was raised. He was feeling stuck in the monotony of his job, which he found extremely boring, in China. So he set out to find something new and he ended up here. He tried finding a job but ultimately decided to open up this restaurant which is like a tiny slice of home for him.
The bell above the door rang out, ultimately stopping your conversation. Junhui looked up at the customer now standing in his restaurant. He shot you an apologetic look, to which you shook your head and shooed him away so he could take care of the woman.
He greeted her as you began to stack the dishes up for him. You gave a small wave as he was getting her seated. He glanced at you and held up a finger, as if to ask you to hold on for a moment. After the woman is settled in he jogs back to the room near the kitchen and comes back with his phone clutched in his hand.
“Not to be weird,” he smiled sheepishly, “but could I maybe get your number? I’d like to continue talking to you.”
Over the last week Junhui texted you a few times, mostly to send pictures of the cats. Every so often the two of you would update each other on how things are going. On one occasion Junhui requested you come retrieve leftovers from him on your day off so you had lunch for the following day.
You placed said leftovers in the microwave of the staff lounge, you felt your phone buzz in the pocket of your scrubs as you set the time. You were taking lunch later than usual today so you figured it was Junhui checking in on how the food reheated after he finished up the lunch rush. The screen lit up with text messages and notifications as you pulled it out.
Junhui: today sux
Junhui: this guy just came in DURING A RUSH and screamed at me that there wasn’t a table
Junhui: i hope the congee tasted okay reheated
Junhui: can’t talk more. people are the worst!! 😾
The microwave beeps, making you jump. You opened the door and sighed, you knew that there were bound to be days where things got to be too much for him. You were no stranger to bad days, even when you’re passionate about what you were doing. It was one of those days when you met Junhui, you knew how he felt.
As soon as your shift was over you were flying out the door. You wanted to make it to the convenience store on the corner before your bus came. Your left shoe felt like it was coming untied but you didn’t stop to check, no time. Filling your arms with jelly snacks, ramen, and a few drinks you made your way to the checkout.
You made it to the bus stop with your haul as the bus was arriving. Letting out a sigh of relief you paid your fare and found a spot to sit. Feeling a buzz in your pocket you pull out your phone once more.
Junhui: if i see another person today i might lose it
Junhui: [Attachment: 1 Image]
You smiled at the picture, it was taken from the window of Junhui’s restaurant. The neon sign is shut off and the blinds are drawn already. Perfect, this meant that he was more than likely waiting for the bus already. You could just grab him and drag him back inside.
Junhui was not at the bus stop. You walk to the front door and turn the knob, it was unlocked. His forehead was resting on the counter, he looked silly hunched over it like that. He let out an annoyed groan hearing the bell above the door.
“I’m closed,” he mumbled against the counter. When he didn’t hear you leave he snapped his head up, “I said I–oh, hi.” His tone softened immediately when he saw you standing there with a plastic sack held out in front of you.
“Hi,” you hazarded a few steps toward him, “is it safe? Or are you gonna bite my head off?”
“I’m sorry,” he chuckled airily, “it has been…a day.”
“I know,” you nodded, “I come bearing gifts.” You hold up the sack again, as a peace offering. He held out his hands, looking slightly childlike.
“Show me the haul.” The two of you go through the small store bought feast in the bag. Once he saw the cup ramen at the bottom he trotted to the kitchen to put some water on the stove to boil.
You set aside two sets of chopsticks as Junhui plopped the noodles into the pot. He told you all about the people he saw today and about while he was grateful for the business some people could just be so draining. You agreed, you loved your job but some patients were just too much to handle at times.
You watched as he tore open the flavoring packets with his teeth. He sprinkled it over the noodles in the pot, but you were still fixated on his full lips. You know that Junhui is handsome, it’s hard to miss. But should you have been staring so intently? Probably not, right?
That was what you thought until he turned and held your gaze for several moments. He seemed to be just as frozen as you were, his eyes flicked to your lips and for a second you swore he was going to kiss you.
“Ramen’s done,” he said, barely above a whisper.
The day had been uneventful. Your job was monotonous and boring, and to make matters worse you hadn’t heard from Junhui in several days. You still saw him smiling at you from the bus stop but he seemed like he had been avoiding having a real conversation with you since that day you thought he might kiss you.
You watched the city speed by out the window of the bus and wondered if you had done something wrong. Did you read him wrong? Maybe he didn’t like you at all, you’re just some weird person that showed up in his trash one day. That day wasn’t all that different from today, it was snowing again. You were surprised that there was this much time between the first and second snow this year.
Your fingers wrapped around the cord as you alerted the driver that your stop was up next. You gathered your things and prepared for the cold walk from your stop to your apartment. Junhui was standing in front of the bus stop shelter, you knew it was him by his height and the way he shrank into himself to look at his phone. The blue light caught his features in a way that made him look almost dreamlike. The brakes on the bus squealed to a stop, making him look up from his phone.
You expected him to brush you off with a smile, just as he had every day for the last week. However, he just stood there, waiting, until the moment your feet hit the ground in front of him.
“Happy second snow!” He beamed at you. You smiled up at him, just happy that he was talking to you. “I’m sorry about the other day.”
“For what?” The bus stop was clearing out quickly, no one was worried about whatever reconciliation was happening between the two of you.
“I didn’t kiss you when I should have.” He stated plainly as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He moved closer to you and cupped your cold cheeks in his warm hands. Soon his mouth was on yours and you felt so warm that it could easily have been summer. He somehow made all of the ice melt away and it was just the two of you in the world for this moment. You wrapped your arms around his waist in an effort to bring him closer.
He broke away from you and searched your face, “Date me?” He breathed.
“Date you?” You whispered, your breath turning into fog that he breathed in as he connected your lips to his once again. This kiss was more urgent, like he was trying to convince you to say yes.
“Yes, me.” He mumbled against your mouth, “please?”
“Like right now?” You reach up to kiss him again. He hummed into your kiss.
“Like right now, tomorrow, for the rest of your life if you’ll have me,” he swept his tongue across your bottom lip, which made you shiver. You accept his tongue into your mouth for only a second before he breaks away again. “Was that too forward? I just really like you.”
“No, it was cute.” You assure him. A blush crept across his cheeks, already pink from the cold.
“Cool,” he grinned, “So?”
“Oh sure,” you rolled your eyes, “but could we maybe date inside, I’m getting cold.” He grabbed your hand and tangled his fingers with yours. He began to drag you back toward the restaurant where this all started.
“Yeah, come on,” he looked back at you, “I made soup.”
#svthub#diamond life network#winter with you collab#wen junhui x reader#wen junhui fluff#wen junhui imagines#jun x reader#jun imagines#jun fluff#seventeen x reader#svt fluff#svt imagines#seventeen fics#seventeen imagines#moon junhui x reader#moon junhui imagines#seventeen scenarios#seventeen jun#bennie’s works
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I have always had a hard time gaining muscle since I have a genetic problem in that area and I look younger than I am because I am a pasty white ginger. My dream has always been to be one of those huge hairy lumberjacks. I wish you could get me a job as one and within a few days I grow into my new roll.
Gingers are amazing. It sounds like we just need to set you on the right track. Sleeping through the night you have dreams of muscle. Hair. And being a lumberjack. Little did you know that while you sleep your body begins to change. Getting on the right bath. You grow taller from 5’6” to a giant 6’2”. You feet hang off the bed ! And muscle begins to grow. Real hulking your frame up. Massive arms hang from your sides while massive pecs form over a strong core ! And hair grows. And lots of it. Soon you’re a wirey mess of hair and muscle. Sweat is pouring off your body and staining the end sheets. Even dripping off your thickened large feet.

Waking up you are shocked to see such a grand change over night. You’re flexing and can’t help it ! You can’t wait to show off your new lumberjack body. This is really a dream come true ! Your friends come over and are shocked at your transformation. They don’t even believe it’s you but they can still see it is. Your face even though covered with hair is still recognizable under the thick pelt that’s now on it. They demand to know how this happened. What did you do! And you just smirk and say “well wishes come try to people who ask the right person” and indeed you are right 😈

You enjoy the rest of the evening with your friend. Loving it up as they call you name like ginger bear and the walking barrel! You’re huge ! One downfall so far though is that you notice how much more you sweat. How much hungrier you are. You don’t think you stopped eating all day ! But a growing bean like yourself needs all the calories you can get don’t you? That night you pass out. Those 15 beers really did you in!
While you sleep just like the night before you begin to change again. Hair thickening. Becoming more prominent on your arms and hands even your feet. But one other thing happens. Age. You begin to quickly lose that youthful appearance as you take on a more rugged look. One that is fitting of a lumberjack. One that been doing it for a couple years or so. Lines forming on your face and your muscle growing less defined but non the less till there. You wake up the next morning sore. You sit up in bed and don’t notice anything right off hand other than you back slightly hurting. Calases on your hands and feet have formed. It that’s from being a true lumberjack right? You walk to the bathroom and you’re shocked to see a man I of at least 40 staring back at you !

You step back from the mirror. What is going on!? Your mind is in a panic but your face registered none of these emotions. A lumberjack doesn’t freak out. If anything your body as if on auto pilot gives rush same smirk again and you get dressed. You go out for the day. Getting a beer here and there. Eating! You try to reach out to your friends and they respond back asking who you are. You’re too old to have friends their age now anyway right ? So it’s all part of the magic. You’ll need to find new friends that str more inline with the same path you’re on.
You make it back to your home which you see is slowly changing. Becoming more of a log cabin it looks like. Busting through the door with some tightening shoes and some sweaty pits you stumble to the kitchen with your case of beer. Another 15 in and your already passed out on the couch. And now it’s time for the final change. You age another 10 years. 50! Now you’ve really got some serious life experience as a lumberjack. A thick great beard grows across your face as your timberland boots burrs open at the toes from your feet growing another 4 sizes. 17!! Your nipples point downward on hard slabs of muscle the sag only slightly. You’re snoring louder than ever as your stomach pushes outward. Holding the same rock hard appearance and feel that it has before. But now forcing a massive rock hard muscle gut onto your frame. When you wake up and see the changes this time youre shocked. Internally screaming again. But your body won’t respond to this emotion. Instead. Instinctively open another beer and chug it. And another. And another. You stand up from the couch and kick off your trashed shoes. Your socks have holes in them as you make your way to the bathroom. Stripping off the remnants of clothes that won’t fit anymore you stare at your massive finger bear body in the mirror. “Damn I look good!” You growl. Distended abdomen. Bulging bulking muscle. Massive feet. And so much hair you look like you’re wearing a damn sweater. You smile at your sweaty body. Now the only problem. You’re a lumberjack….but without clothes.

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GOT characters x Reader
"Please. Dance with me."
Sandor Clegane :
Sandor was standing near the exit—ready to call it a night. He was tired of seeing all those high borns dancing and getting drunk on expensive Dornish wine. But when he was about to leave, he felt an arm wrap around his and looked down to find you—clinging to his arm. He was about to ask what the hell you were doing when he noticed how terrified you seemed.
"Please…Don’t let him take me."
You were on the verge of tears. He looked in the direction you were staring at and found some lord with a sleazy smile on his face. He was walking your way and Sandor instinctively raised his hand to clasp it on your arm.
"The lady’s taken. Piss off."
He felt you tense up next to him, but his hand on top of your arm kept you in place as the man decided to finally leave. Once he was gone, you wanted to thank him…But, Sandor pulled away and walked away.
…He needed a drink.
Daenerys Targaryen:
When a man offered you a dance, you smiled and tried to politely decline the offer. But, the man wasn’t having no for an answer. Finally, he grabbed your arm as you were about to leave. Fortunately, Daenerys arrived just in time and stood between the both of you.
"I believe she has been quite clear. She doesn’t want to dance with you."
The man was about to protest, but quickly reconsidered. He left and you let out a sigh of relief. But, as you were about to thank her, Daenerys turned towards you with a soft smile before offering you her hand.
"Would you like to dance with me instead ?"
Her hand was opened invitingly and her eyes showed nothing but good will. So, you took her hand with a smile.
"I would be honoured, khaleesi."
Ser Jorah :
"Would you dance with me, Ser Jorah?"
Jorah looked up at your hand and was about to politely decline your offer when he noticed your uneasy smile and the other man standing a few feet away behind you. He immediately understood the situation and smiled before taking your hand.
"It would be an honour, my lady."
He kissed the back of your hand and you smiled before being led away. You swayed left and tight slowly together and even though Ser Jorah only wanted to dance to help you—he found himself enjoying it as well. You closed your eyes and didn’t even think about your 'problem'.
You just enjoyed the dance until the very last moment when you had to part.
"Thank you."
Whether it was you or him who said it first—neither of you could tell.
Brienne of Tarth :
Brienne had just won her final battle for the tournament organised by your father. She had put to the ground many of your father’s best knights and when her face was revealed…You were immediately impressed. A woman of such strength on your side would surely end in a successful alliance.
So, you waited.
You waited and when it was time to celebrate, your eyes landed on the fiercest woman who had succeeded in defeating most fighters of the court. Her eyes didn’t settle on you however.
You felt a little disappointed by it, but the night was far from over. You tried again and again to get her to see you, but she always seemed to escape your sight. Finally, you decided to give up and sit down. But, you then felt a hand land on your shoulder and when you looked up, you found one of your father’s choices staring down at you with a malicious smile.
You tried to tell him no. He ignored your request.
But, he finally listened when the woman you had been trying to talk to suddenly appeared behind you in all her armoured glory. She didn’t need to speak a word as the man immediately released you and walked away.
"Are you alright, my lady ?" She asked you and you replied with a smile of your own.
"I am now."
Jon Snow :
Many people had warned you about Jon Snow. Some called him the King of the North—others a demon. You weren’t really interested in rumours though, but by the truth.
Hence, you had accepted to go and meet with him.
A war was brewing and you knew that strong allies were necessary. However, when you found yourself in front of the man who claimed to be Jon Snow, you immediately knew it couldn’t be him. The man before you couldn’t possibly be the King of the North. He wasn’t a giant. He wasn’t heavily armed. Or looked like a living dead. He seemed…normal.
"I am Jon Snow."
"..."
You looked him up and down.
Before he could say another word, you threw a dagger at him and he didn’t even flinch as it landed in a tree behind him. You both stared at each other for a minute until you finally smiled.
That man was Jon Snow.
For you saw no fear of death in his eyes.
"A pleasure to meet you, my King." You introduced yourself and bowed before him. "…The man who danced with Death and survived."
Tyrion Lannister:
"No."
Tyrion was aware of your situation. He knew perfectly well of the unfortunate circumstances of your upcoming betrothal. But…He couldn’t bring you even more dishonour by agreeing to dancing with you.
"Do not look so disappointed, my lady. Even though I am sure you are quite lovely, I wish you to spare yourself the humiliation of dancing with an imp."
Such harsh words which ignited a general hilarity that made you red in the face with fury. But, not against Tyrion. You didn’t blame him for his refusal. You knew how it sounded and the pain behind such a request. But, you didn’t want to give up. So…You did something that no person had ever dared. You knelt before him—your eyes staring at the floor in respect.
"I see no imp. I see a valorous and just prince. And I still wish to dance with you. Please."
It made the crowd around you fall silent. Tyrion’s eyes widened and he seemed speechless for a while. But, he finally smiled before slowly reaching for your chin to lift it up so your eyes may meet.
"…Don’t you lower your gaze. You hold more bravery and wit than anyone else in this room. And if that is truly your wish ? Then I would be more than happy to dance with you."
Jaime Lannister:
You were sitting down when you felt a presence in front of you as you ate. Your eyes looked up to find your ‘fiancé'. He was looking at you with such disgust that all food got stuck in your throat. You knew it was but an arranged marriage, but everyone knew that your betrothed hated your family with passion. Your eyes glanced away and met with another man. He smiled at you. You smiled back.
Unfortunately, your betrothed caught the exchange and suddenly grabbed your arm—ready to strike. But before he could as much as lay a finger on you, the tip of a sword was pressed against his throat.
The room fell silence as none other than Jaime Lannister had come to your rescue.
"I believe this is no way to treat a woman—even less a lady."
He then sat down next to you and smiled before eating next to you—an arm wrapped around you. The message was clear. And the man left.
"…You will get in trouble for this." You warned him, but Jaime replied with a cocky smile.
"I am a Lannister. And lions are not scared of insects."
Oberyn Martell :
You were trying to leave the party. This was too much. A man was persistently trying to get a dance with you, but you didn’t want to dance with a man who surely did not care about you. You were almost there when you collided with another man who grabbed you before you could fall to the floor.
You looked up and your eyes widened as you saw who it was.
"Prince Oberyn of Dorne…" You gasped and the man gave you a small smile before looking behind you at the man following you.
"Is this man bothering you, my lady ?"
You gulped and suddenly took his hand. If you were to say anything, your father would blame you.
"Please. Would you dance with me, Prince of Dorne ?" You asked and the man following you seethed.
"You were promised a dance with m—!"
"I believe the lady asked ME for a dance." Oberyn cut him off with his usual charismatic smile. "Unless your title happens to also be Prince of Dorne."
The man huffed before walking away and you let out a sigh of relief. You were about to leave when Prince Oberyn grabbed your wrist.
"Now now…Where are you going, little sunflower ?"
You frowned in incomprehension until Oberyn smiled again and pulled you flush against him.
"…I believe you owe me a dance."
Peter Baelish (Littlefinger) :
Lord Baelish had had your eyes on you for a while and he knew that being part of your powerful family would be extremely valuable. Hence, he asked your father for your hand. But, there were too many contenders for him to even be considered as a good choice. So…He observed you.
You were young, but promising as you danced with grace and proper etiquette with all your possible choices. But, he could see right through you. You weren’t exactly happy to be here. And when one of your possible betrothed stepped on your foot.
He stepped in.
He took your hand and almost pulled you away from the man. You were about to thank him, but Baelish had other plans.
"What will you give me for my rescue ?" Baelish asked you. You sighed. Of course he’d want a reward for acting like the hero he wasn’t.
"What do you want ?"
Baelish seemed to think about it before offering you his hand with a smirk.
"A dance."
Your eyes stared at his hand suspiciously. But, at this point ? You would have accepted anyone’s help in order to escape. He pulled you flush against him and started dancing with you. Your eyes widened as he led you away to the center or the room.
He knew everyone could see the both of you, but he didn’t stop—not even when you tried to pull away.
"Lord Baelish…That’s enough."
Your father tried to stop him, but Lord Baelish only smirked before surprising everyone by kissing you. Your eyes widened and you were momentarily took off guard. When he pulled away, he smirked before glancing challengingly at your father.
"Now…About my wedding proposal ?"
Sansa Stark :
"My lady…Would you please give me the chance of a dance ?" You asked Sansa who hesitated for a moment before smiling and slipping her hand in yours. You smiled before kissing the back of it and led her to the dance floor. Sansa had always wished for someone to take her hand and make her feel like a princess.
She had first thought Joffrey to be the one, but that felt like eons ago. She had long learned her mistake. But, it didn’t mean she didn’t still wish for someone to make her remember what it felt like when her innocence and virtue were still recognised.
And you were more than happy to make her remember who she used to be.
"You are beautiful." You told her truthfully and she smiled.
She even graced you with a small chuckle as you made her twirl and made sure not to touch her that might trigger her in any way. After her awful treatment under Ramsay, you only wanted her to feel at ease. At peace.
And she knew it.
When she looked at you and a smile graced her lips—your heart seemed to skip a beat.
The pretty wolf was still a stealer of hearts, and you couldn’t wait for her to devour yours.
#sandor clegane x reader#fandoms#got#game of thrones#daenerys targaryen#daenerys x reader#ser jorah x reader#brienne of tarth#brienne x reader#jon snow x reader#jon snow#tyrion lannister#tyrion lannister x reader#jaime lannister x reader#jaime lannister#oberyn martell#prince oberyn#oberyn x reader#peter baelish x reader#littlefinger#sansa stark#sansa x reader
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Tormented Spirit | 4
Part 1 2 3 4 5
"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."
Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.
A/N: ayo i did it again (rambled). i have no idea where i went with this but it really wENT yknow, but hey you get fluff!!!!!. ALSO (im looking at you cristi) if it wasnt clear this is set, like, pre-show T_T just before ep 1 lmao (ily cristi im just going through it with my writing) | cross posted on ao3
tagging: @arabellasleopardcoat
You did not realize being made a spectacle would be as exhausting as it was. Truly, all you did as your prince brought you to the training quarters of the City Watch, was stand, force a smile and feel their gaze upon you as Daemon instructed them to roughhouse for your (but really his) entertainment. Yet, it felt like you had been running nonstop and only now found reprieve.
Perhaps it was because it was really your mind that was running with the thought of how you snubbed your twin. In truth, you knew Gwayne understood your actions, for he was really the only person who understood you, and yet that was precisely why it ate at you so much. How could you do such a thing to your brother?
At some point, Daemon is too distracted by his sparring soldiers to remember you were there. By the time they began to drink, you gave word to one of the guards and made your way back to the Keep yourself.
You head for your brother's chambers, set on setting things straight. You do not find him there however, and your mind begins to wander. Was he avoiding you? Was he cross?
Upon asking one of his servants, you find that he was tasked with duty from the Lord Hand. Part of you feels comforted by the answer, but then you wonder if the task had something to do with you. You try not to think about it as you head back to your own chambers.
You are ripped out of your train of thought when you hear your name called.
Queen Aemma stands across you, hand on her belly, smile on her lips, "have you come to worry on me, good sister?"
Your back straightens and you clasp your hands in front of you, "my queen. I-I-"
"I do hope not," she stretches, leaning back into her hands, "the last thing I want right now is to have yet another person try to tell me what is best for me and my babe."
You shake your head, turning to your feet, "the last thing I would do is impose my inexperience of child bearing upon you."
Aemma's face softens. She's seldom seen someone who looks as though they suffer more than her. "Excellent."
You lift your gaze.
"Come keep me company then and distract me with tales lacking child bearing."
You are taken aback by the invitation and watch the queen slowly waddle back into her quarters. You delay to realize you should be assisting her then promptly rush up to her side. You offer her your arm and she gratefully takes it. She is exhausted by the time you reach her bed.
"Thank you," she sighs, wiping the sweat on her temple.
"Of course," you help her put her feet up. You look over your shoulder momentarily, "have you no one to call to? Shall I call for someone?"
"No," she waves you off, "I merely walked out of the room and looked out of the window for a while. I am fine."
You nod and pull away, fidgeting with your fingers, "is there something I might do for you?"
"Yes," she reaches for your arm, "sit."
So you do.
"And tell me, why on earth did Daemon bring you to the City Watch?"
You freeze upon hearing that.
There is a playful curiosity upon Aemma's features, but you do not think she asks to embarrass you. Still, you open your mouth and begin to stutter, "h-how did you kno-w?"
She chuckles, leaning deeper into her pillow, "oh, my dear," she rubs her belly, "I am privy to all gossip in the Keep. Tis the only activity one such as I can do in my state. Incidentally, had the opposite been true, it is all the servants speak of—" she slowly reaches for you, pushing your hair back.
You are made acutely aware of the marks on your collar again.
"—how the fragile lamb tamed the ferocious dragon."
You chuckle dryly and stare at your lap. You pick at your nails, feeling your throat tighten, "I tame no one, my queen."
As Aemma looks at you, she thinks again she's not laid her eyes upon someone that looks more pained than herself. The sun was already setting, but the marks on your collarbones were still visible. She wonders if you at least enjoyed yourself when you received those marks. "Perhaps not yet."
You chuckle once more.
"He is stubborn and brash, but he is also loyal and passionate."
"Loyal to himself," you turn to her, "with a passion for deviance."
You are unnerved by the sudden call of your name. Your heart races at her misplaced familiarity.
This might be why you blurt out, "I am no fool."
She straightens up, "I did not say you were."
"I know I am feeble in form, but not in mind. I am a mere piece in someone else's game of chess, but every piece has its purpose, even pawns."
Aemma frowns. Her forehead curls, "and pawns can turn into the most powerful piece."
You stare at her belly.
"The Queen."
You do not tell her it is only true in board games.
"Does it frighten you?"
Your eyes quirk up to hers. Her violet orbs are much softer than Daemon's. She does not clarify, but the way in which she rubs her swollen stomach makes it clear to you what she meant. You rub your own as dread pricks through you, "I do not know how it is possible for anyone not to be frightened."
It is her turn to chuckle.
It perturbs you.
"I will not lie to you," she shifts in her spot, "there is no greater pain in the world than becoming a mother, I think..."
It is mortifying to hear, considering you know how many times Queen Aemma has conceived and given birth. How much more painful it must be, as she remains to have one child. You do not think all your years of pain could ever prepare you for such loss.
"... that can be the most gratifying."
You are taken aback when she reaches for your hand. Her palms are soft, just as her expression.
"I do not presume to know you, but I find that whatever pain I have is eclipsed by love I feel for my babe. Still, when the thought of childbirth gets too much, I retreat into something I loved before my babe."
Your brows furrow.
"Tapestries and tea time," she tilts her head, "and Viserys."
You do not know how to feel as she pulls away.
She rubs her forehead, "even speaking is exhausting when you are with child. Forgive me, but I think I would like to go to sleep now."
You shake your head and stand, "there is nothing to be forgiven. I will leave you to your own comforts," you curtsy.
You roam the candlelit halls as you digest the queen's words. You were on your way back to your chambers, then you remember your brother. You promptly head to his room, finding the door open. "Gwayne?"
Emerge two servants carrying a trunk, greeting you before walking off. Your brows furrow as you watch them. You turn back when you hear your name called.
Your twin walks over, still in his doublet and leather shoes. You begin to get nervous, "you're leaving?"
"Preparing to," he says, eyes falling on your collarbones, "there is still the matter of the tourney."
"Tourney?"
"The queen is set to give birth soon— you must not let that man dishonor you so," he quips through clenched teeth, pulling you into his room.
You are dragged inside and he releases you once you're in front of his bed. He grabs his blanket and drapes it on your shoulders. He gathers your hair and pulls it out from underneath, "play dumb if you must."
You knit your brows.
"Bat your lashes at him to have your way."
You tighten the blanket around yourself, "I already have."
"To protect me," he tilts his head, "protect yourself, sister. Put yourself first, always."
You clench your jaw.
"He will be kinder if he believes you to be a bimbo."
You scoff, "must I do such a thing?"
Gwayne narrows his eyes, "he is shaming you purposefully out of spite— for me and our father."
The idea makes you queasy because you knew it was true. Your brother was sensible because he got his sense from you, and yet... is it so farfetched for the prince to simply want to show you off proudly? Even in something like this, you were not even being thought of. "And acting a fool will save me from spite?"
He looks at you the way he did whenever you said something stupid. It offends you because it was not a stupid question. He speaks to you, as if you were four, "if he asks you to wear something compromising again, tell him all your dresses are being washed."
You chuckle dryly, "you honestly think he would believe such a blatant lie?"
"He need not have to," he scoffs, "it's not like he'll go through the trouble of inspecting your closet." He places a hand on your arm, "come. I will walk you to your room."
Something unpleasant bubbles up your throat as Gwayne leads you out. As you exit his chambers, you pull away and choke out, "do you think me a fool, devil?"
He sighs and rolls his eyes, "do not be-"
"Do you truly think that I am slowwitted and senseless?"
Your ears ring because of how says your name. You step back when he tries to take your arm again. Gwayne raises a finger and a brow, "I've had a long day. I do not wish to quarrel."
"And I have not?!" you quip, "answer the question!"
He says your name again, firmer, as though you were a petulant child.
"Just fucking tell me!" you snap.
"Gods!" he wipes his face, "you're acting fucking stupid, I'll tell you that!"
You scoff and shove him with all your might. It barely makes him recoil, but you get your point across, especially when you walk away.
Gwayne sighs and calls your name, following after you.
"I hate you!" you spit back, unwilling to turn back as you feel your eyes begin to water.
"I did not mean it," he calls, quickly coming up to your side, "why would you ask me something you clearly know is not-"
"Then why would you reduce me as such?" you stop in your tracks to glare at him.
Gwayne freezes and scowls back, "why do you think I tell you anything?"
"Stupidity will not save me, you fucking idiot," you blurt back, doing your best to hold back your tears.
"It will fucking save you from scheming rats," he grabs your arms and shakes you gently.
You shake your head as tears stream down your cheek.
"H-"
"Do not make me."
He purses his lips.
"You know I will do it if you tell me to," you mutter, "do not make me."
Guilt eats him whole as you weep. It never gets easier. You'd think that he'd be indifferent to it by now, but he knows the great effort you put in withholding your emotions. It hurts him even more, if anything. He sighs in defeat, dropping his head before wiping your cheeks. He attempts to hush you.
You only further fall apart, "I would be remembered as a stupid, dying girl."
He speaks your name, as if to correct you.
"Please don't leave," you mumble weakly.
"Listen to me-"
"No, promise me you won't le-"
"I am heir to Oldtown," he interrupts, "my place can never be at your side."
"So you forsake me now?"
"Listen," he speaks firmly, "you are my twin sister. There is nothing I have not shared with you, and you know this."
You look down for a moment then shake your head, "I wish you kept a few things to yourself..."
Gwayne releases a breath at your words. He leans down to look you in the eye, "says the woman who bares love bites on her neck for all to see."
You shove him away and tighten your arms around yourself, "ass. That's different."
He rolls his eyes, placing his hands on his hips, "how?"
"I did not chose this," you mutter.
His expression falls. He balls his hands into fists, "I would call our house to banner for you."
You scoff, looking away, "don't be ridiculous."
"An affront to my twin is worse than one to myself," he points a finger to the ground.
"I am his wife," you look back to him.
"And I am a man of honor," he proclaims, "if he kills me, then all will know I died protecting my sister from his malice."
"You idiot," you shake your head at him, "do you think the people would believe the words of a prince or a dead man?"
"A princess."
You stare at him.
"With a tender heart," he takes your arm, leading you off.
You take a moment before responding, "you mean a stupid, dying princess."
"You are not dying," he gives you a serious look.
"We are all dying."
He sighs, "a jolly thought."
"I am dying sooner than you howev-"
"No," he interrupts, "you will outlive me. I will die in battle."
You glare at him, "we cannot both be yearning for death, moron."
"I do not yearn no more than you do," he raises a brow.
You stare at him for a moment. He is in denial. You almost tell him that you still pray the same prayer he caught you praying all those nights ago. You do not.
"You will get better, sister," he says, "I simply won't allow you not to."
You look away, "ever imperious."
His expression slips for a moment as he imagines a world without his twin. It is so grotesque, he cannot bear it. He hides behind humor, "you mean charismatic, dashing, and valiant."
"And stupid."
"And incredibly well-spoken, witty, charming-"
"Shut it."
"-attractive, gallant, seemly—"
You bid each other good night with a smile. Neither of you knew how broken your spirits were after your conversation though, and you never will.
Your head lies heavy on your pillow. You are unsure if you are grateful or resentful that you sleep tonight by yourself.
Meanwhile, Daemon is startled out his sleepiness by the words of his subordinate. He sets his cup of ale down and chuckles in disbelief, narrowing his eyes at one of the three men he had been drinking with, "what?"
The man clarifies, shifting in his seat adjacent his commander, "you've changed since being wed, my prince. For the better."
The prince chuckles yet again, "pray, tell."
Someone else answers for him, "you have been more gracious during drill training."
Daemon's brows quirk.
"And you have been more forgiving as of late," another blurts.
The first who spoke finally says, "you do not drink with us as often as before. This is the first since you've gotten married."
He scoffs and shakes his head, "so. You think I've grown soft?"
The three immediately straighten up and even manage to muster in unison, "no, commander."
Daemon downs his ale and shakes his head, "I'll show you soft."
The next morn, the queen's words repeat in your mind as you awaken. Retreat in what you love. What was it that you loved? You think of Gwayne, but he is set to leave, Alicent, but you do not wish to burden her with your woes... your father...
Oh... your mother. You could retreat in her.
You sit up and rub your face when your servants enter to wake you.
You lose your resolve to light a candle at the temple at when you realized you'd be dying girl retreating to her dead mother. Pathetic.
By the time your servants are helping you fix your hair, you ask them, "if you could do whatever you wanted for a day, what would you do?"
The servants turn to each other then break into giggles. One says, "I would spend a day with my Gwilym."
You watch them in the mirror as they squeal under their breath.
You turn to your nails. You cannot retreat into Daemon.
After they're finished squealing, the other speaks, "mmm. I might go foraging for fruits and flowers."
You lift your head upon hearing that.
"And if I had my pay that day, I'd buy myself some lemon cake."
Your lips part at the idea, "you absolute wit." You turn to her as much as you could as she fixed your hair, "what a brilliant idea."
She chuckles and curtsies, "thank you, milady."
By the time your ward comes, you're already at the door, eager to greet him.
He examines your smile. His brows knit and belly feels uneasy as you take his arm.
You narrow your eyes at his face, doing your best to distinguish who exactly you were face to face with. You forget if it was Arryk with the longer beard or Erryk. You mumble as you make a face, "Erryk?"
"Yes," he nods, feeling stomach rolls, "how are you, my princess?"
You grin, squeezing his steel clad arm as much as you could, "oh, how good of me to get it right. I am glad to have guessed well."
Erryk chuckles under his breath, "you wound me. Am I not set apart in your eyes?"
You stiffen at his expression. You mistake the softness in his eyes for hurt, which is why you release his arm and begin to apologize, "oh, ser. I do not mean to offend, I-"
Erryk raises his hands, "no, my lady. Twas a jest."
Your eyes widen at the clarification. You laugh awkwardly, "ah... apologies."
"Nay," he shakes his head, "I apologize. I do not wish to cause you discomfort."
You huff and give a curt nod, "then," you take his arm again, "I ask that you humor me today, ser Erryk."
His brows furrow. He is intrigued.
"I..." you trail off, gathering your resolve, "wish to go out and pick flowers today." you profess with a soft smile. You raise a finger, "I am not a fussy passenger. I do not mind sitting in front or behind you on horseback, but I fear I do not know how to control a horse on my own very well," you look away in thought, "we do not have to go very far out of King's Landing, so if it is not possible to get a horse, I will not complain if we walk."
Erryk finds himself smiling as you continue to justify yourself.
"I would not take very long to pick flowers, but if I do," you turn back to him, "I would not refute you if you think we must away."
He nods at your words, "have you broken fast yet?"
You both walk off. You shake your head, "I have not. But I will be quick!"
He shakes his head, "my brother mentioned that you do not like eating alone. If it be agreeable with you, we can break fast together."
You stop in your tracks upon hearing this, "ser Arryk mentioned this?"
Erryk simply nods.
The thought pinches your heart, "it... it was a passing comment. I did not think it noteworthy."
His brows knit at your expression, "do not be so surprised. It is our duty to care for you."
Care for you. You turn to your feet, feeling overwhelmed with emotion. It takes a moment for you to comport yourself, but then you manage turn back at him and smile, "how the gods have blessed me."
His gut reacts to your smile. He releases a breath to calm himself, "we can pick flowers after breaking fast, my princess."
You gasp, "so you agree?!"
Erryk face falls in confusion.
"You would allow me to pick flowers?!" you pull away, nearly jumping up and down in excitement.
"I..." his mouth hangs low, "I do not allow you."
You tilt your head, chuckling in confusion.
"If you instructed me to bring you the moon, I would do my best to claim it for you."
You laugh. You laugh because you miss his sincerity, for it is unfamiliar. You laugh because you only know the kindness of your brother, who cherishes you dearly, yet ridicules you in the same breath. This is why you say, "do not mock me, ser. It is not a crime to enjoy picking flowers."
You expect him to reply the way your twin does: 'I did not say it was a crime,' but you are taken aback by the novelty of his response. Erryk says, "the crime lies with whom would mock such a gentle soul."
You are glad he does not wait for you to respond, because you did not know if you had anything to respond with.
Erryk is silent as you eat in the solar. At first, it was because he second guessed his offer to break fast with you, as it felt so obvious that he was overstepping. But then it was because he was enamored by you and the great many tales you share of eating with your family, picking flowers with your siblings, swimming in rivers with your brother. He did not expect such a temperate outpour from you. He tells himself that he must do all he can to preserve it.
He is selfish in wanting to forfeit a horse. He knows soon enough his brother will come to have his shift, and he wants to keep all your stories to himself; walking will make his time with you longer. At the same time, he fears your body might give in if you were to walk very far, so he settles that you ride on horseback and that he lead your horse on foot.
He is glad of his choice, for had he been on horseback with you, he would not have seen the way your face shone at the sight of the meadow upon reaching it. The moment is quickly fleeting however, and he soon jolts to catch you when you nearly leap off the horse.
Erryk helps you down and is soon forgotten as you run off to gather flowers.
He follows after you with no sense of urgency. He allows you to frolic to your hearts content while he slowly leads the horse towards your general direction.
"ERRYK!" you gasp in horror. It is so sudden, he releases his reins and runs towards you.
"My prin-"
"We do not have a basket!" you slap a hand on your forehead, "I am doomed."
He freezes at your words, debating if that is truly the cause of your distress.
"I am doomed to pick flowers only until my hands are full," you sigh and shake your head. You frown at him and point, "but just over there I see a hundred flowers I wish to bring back home with me."
Erryk's forehead curls but then he realizes you were serious. He finds himself chuckling before sighing in relief.
You scowl, "and you mock me again"
He chuckles louder, placing a hand on his breastplate, "I do not mock! I merely find amusement in such an issue so easily solved."
You scoff, "pray, tell how would you solve my issue, ser knows-a-lot?"
Erryk belly laughs. He shakes his head and offers his hand, "I will hold your flowers for you."
Any trace of offense instantly disappears. You perk and step forward, "oh! I have been blind!"
He tries to take the flowers from you but then he's frozen in place as you suddenly begin tucking in his beard.
"Indeed," you snicker, "blind as a bat."
You are both covered in flowers when you return to the Keep, him more than you, for Erryk's skill in securing flowers in people's hair was not nearly as good as yours. Most of what he had put in your brown hair had fallen when you reached the gates. The rest are threatened off by the wind as he helps you down the horse. His on the other hand—
You chuckle, catching a flower that slipped from your head, placing it by Erryk's ear, "they should call you the knight of flowers, ser."
He bows, "I would be honored to be known as such."
"Oh, gods."
You both turn upon hearing the voice.
Gwayne looks at Erryk as though he was stabbed on the side, then turns to you, "you've victimized the poor man."
You roll your eyes.
"-held him captive and tortured him with pretty things," your twin points a finger as he walks towards you, "no wonder you could not be found. You were doing evil things."
You shove your brother, but he dodges.
He makes a face, "laggardly fellow."
You turn to Erryk then point at your brother, "why do you delay? Seize him at once!"
Gwayne gasps, placing a hand on his chest, "behold: the cruel princess."
Your upper lip curls, "the ugly thing insults your lady," you shoot Erryk a look, "apprehend him!"
Erryk watches the two of you bicker, unsure if he should, in fact, apprehend Ser Gwayne.
When he does not, your brother says again, "behold!" the auburn haired man gestures vaguely, "your cruelty inspires no loyalty from you— aw!"
You snatch your his ear and pull him down. You drag your brother all the way to a crate and force him down, "I'll show you cruel."
"Do not think— AW!" Gwayne clutches his cheek when you slap him.
"Silence or your torture will be more severe," you hiss, promptly placing flowers you still had on hand on his head.
Though Gwayne grumbles the whole time, he makes no attempt to save himself from the proclaimed torture. Very truly, he loathed it so when you made a dolly out of him, but after you sobbed so bitterly when he fled you one instance when you were still children, he could never stomach the thought of attempting such a thing again.
And— he catches the way your lips tug upward, you only ever smiled the way you did now when you were torturing him. Still, he cannot help his scowl when you grin at him to behold your work.
You pinch his cheeks, "my lovely twin."
Gwayne groans and swats your hands away, glaring as he stands, "I abhor you, sister."
You giggle and take his arm, "and I do so love deeply, my brother."
"Unhand me," he says flatly.
"You cannot command a princess, you lowly lord," you snuggle into his arm.
Gwayne turns to Erryk, "retrieve your thing."
Erryk opens his mouth, but then catches the look on your face. He is powerless against your pup-like expression. He clears his throat, "my shift has ended, ser. I will notify my brother at once to see what can be done."
Gwayne's jaw drops.
You throw your head back in a laughter.
He scoffs, turning to you, "how uselessly loyal you've made him."
"What is the meaning of this?"
You three turn. You pull away from your brother upon seeing Daemon. He is covered in dirt, and blood, and anger.
He glares at you, "why is it I find you here twice, wife?" He scrutinizes the flowers on Erryk's beard and hair, then quips harshly as he turns to your brother, "should you not be waiting on me?"
"Why do you think I am here?" you mutter, not missing a beat. You walk over to him, and he tries to intimidate you with his expression.
Gwayne and Erryk are ready to act but then Daemon's face falters when you grab your skirt and try to wipe some of the dirt off his face.
The truth, of course, is that you were not waiting on your husband; him finding you here was simply a coincidence, but the genuine concern that clouds your features makes it the lie indistinguishable.
He is so wholly bewildered by your gentle touch, he is unable to react.
You release your skirt and wipe his cheek with your long sleeve, "I shall have a bath drawn for you." You take his hand, "come, I-"
He pulls out of your grasp.
You expect him to lash out on you. He does not.
"I have a council meeting to attend."
A line forms between your brows when catch the blood on his armor, "but you are hurt."
Daemon is stoic. He stares at the lone flower by your ear, "it is not mine."
You release a soft breath and nod. A gust of wind makes you aware of the bud by your temple. You pull the flower out of your hair and stare at it for a moment. You show it to Daemon, who spares but a moment's glance at it. He involuntarily pulls his head back when you place the flower in his hair.
You are unfazed by the look he gives you. You secure the flower then swipe the dirt off his chin, "I will make sure your bath is finished after your meeting."
It is your turn to be taken aback. You freeze when he catches your wrist before you pull away. "Wait for me," he mumbles.
You raise your brows.
He does not repeat himself.
You nod slowly, "I shall... after having the servants dra-"
"Your princess requires you to accomplish a task for her," Daemon looks past you, looking between Erryk and Gwayne. He grits his teeth, pulling you toward him, "do it."
You look over your shoulder, "please inst-"
"They know what to do, wife," Daemon blocks your vision, "tis I your attentions must be fixed upon."
#daemon fanfic#daemon targaryen x reader#daemon targaryen#daemon x reader#daemon targaryen fanfic#daemon smut#daemon targaryen smut#daemon fluff#daemon targaryen fluff#gwayne hightower fanfic#house of the dragon fanfic#erryk cargyll fanfic#house of the dragon smut#hotd fanfic#hotd smut#daemon angst#daemon targaryen angst#daemon#daemon targeryan#house of the dragon
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Know Your Place 2
Warnings: non/dubcon, power dynamic, age gap, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Characters: Walter Marshall, destroyer!Chris [for the purposes of this AU, I will give him the last name Jackson] (Professor AU)
Summary: after a life time of home schooling, you finally get to experience the real world in college. (petite reader)
Part of the Bad Professors AU
Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all.
You’re lost! It’s an inevitability, really, but your lost and that pulsing swell is making its way from your stomach to your chest. Soon, your throat will constrict and you won’t be able to breathe. Lost, lost, lost.
You turn back down the hallway and retrace your steps. No, you didn’t go this way! You peer over your shoulder. Empty. While everyone else was so quick to flee after the lecture, you lingered to take the call from your mom and wandered a bit too far off track.
You spin again and sway on your feet. You stumble as if you’re on a rocking ship. You go to the wall and put your bag down. You search for your phone and put in the building name to the directory. ‘No floor plan available.’ Oh jeez.
The panic builds as you pick up your bag and blink back tears. You’re an adult! You’re not going to cry. You'll get out of here. Calm down.
You look down at your phone as your thumb hovers over your mom’s contact. No. You won’t call her. She’s already worried enough. You accidentally mentioned having a dessert bar from the cafe and she almost lost her mind. Those things are packed with sugar and filler!
It was just one. You grip your phone tight and black the screen. You’ll follow the room numbers and go from there. How helpless are you to get so backwards in here. It’s not like some magical maze. You’re fine.
You shuffle back down the hall, past the same open door, and stop at the crossways of the next. You hesitate. Straight or right?
“Everything alright?” The deep voice rumbles through the hall and rolls up your spine.
You turn to the vaguely familiar timbre. Oh, you know him! It’s that man with the spirally hair and fuzzy beard. From the Student Centre...
“Walter,” you say.
“Mauve,” he returns as he steps fully out into the hall.
“What... what are the odds?” You bounce on your feet and hug your bag, pushing your fingers over the fluffy teddy bear face. Often times you do that just for a bit of comfort.
“I saw you going back and forth,” he puts his hand on his hip. Oh no, you disturbed him.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you,” you clutch your phone against your stomach.
“You’re not,” he insists. “My class let out twenty minutes ago.”
“Oh, sure, sorry, er, psychology?” You wiggle your phone in recollection.
He gives a short nod, “that’s it. You have a class around here?” He asks as his blue eyes bore into you, “you lost?”
You frown and look away guiltily. You’re embarrassed. You sniff and make yourself look at him, “yes. But I’m just trying to get out of her. My class already ended.”
“Right,” he says, “you got a minute? Just gotta grab my things and I’ll lead the way. That’s if I’m not bothering you?”
You flinch, “me? Oh no, it’s not—thank you so much.”
“No problem,” he turns and taps the door frame as he goes back into the room.
You slowly tiptoe forward and peer inside. He folds up his laptop and shoves it into a worn grey passenger bag. He slides a folder in with it and grabs his phone. He squints at the screen before he tucks it into his back pocket.
He hooks the bag over his shoulder and scoops up his jacket. You watch him approach, taking in the full effect of his size. He’s a big man. Burly, even through the thick wool of his sweater. You can’t help but think it looks cozy.
You back up and fold your hands, resisting the urge to compare yourself. Your thrifted maxi skirts and straight-cut button-ups and handmade cardigans are out-of-place on campus. The other girls wear cute shirts and short skirts, even on the cooler days.
It doesn’t matter. He’s only a professor after all. You pull closed the front of your picky wool coat as he emerges.
“Thanks, sir,” you say as he steps up next to you and points you ahead. “I... I kinda... was panicking.”
“Mm, well, it’s a big building,” he hooks a thumb into his jean pocket, “big campus.”
“Oh, yes. Very big.” You agree as you slide your phone into the big pocket of your coat. You trade it for the folded map you keep handy. You open it up as you keep pace with him. You feel him glance down. “I have to get to the...”
Your voice drifts off. You have to go to the student grocery. Your mother sent a list of ingredients and instructions. She said it all needs to be organic but you don’t think you’ll find much of that.
“Hm, you’re a lot more organized than most of my students,” he remarks.
You close the map and look up at him with a sheepish smile, “just nervous. Momma says you should always be ready for anything.” You shrug and shake your head as you set your head right, “mm, sorry, my mom... she says a lot of things.”
He hums and directs you around a corner with a short point. “You’re close?”
“Yep. Just me and her for twenty years,” you chime. “I... miss her.” You feel the drop in your chest as the words force their way out before you could even think them. “Sorry, I just... it’s still the first week.”
“No, it’s expected. Big adjustment coming to school,” he assures you. “But you like it?”
“Oh, sure. It’s exciting. They were having a record sale outside the Rec Centre but I left my player at home,” you say. “But I got a poster of some kittens--” You laugh nervously and shake your head. “You can tell me if I’m rambling, Walter.”
“No, I don’t think so,” he steps ahead of you as you approach the front doors. Yay, he found them. “I’m sure it’s a cute poster.”
“It is,” you agree as he opens the door and lets you out first. “Thank you.”
He follows you out and you begin down the stairs. He measures his stride with yours. As you come to the bottom, you stop and fidget with the map in your hands.
“Thank you so so much.” You flick the corner of the paper. “I’ll let you be now. I’m sure you have lots of work to do but it was nice seeing a familiar face.”
“Yeah, it was,” he agrees and peers around.
“Good luck, Walter,” you chime. “Maybe we’ll run into each other next week.”
“Yeah, maybe,” he mutters and twitches, bringing his hand up. “Wait, where are you off to? I could... I could help you find it.”
“Oh, no, I can’t ask that,” you crinkle the map loudly. “I just gotta get to the grocery and I think it’s near the Student Centre...” you trail off and open the paper to check.
“Well, can I give you a hint?” He asks.
You look up at him again, “what?”
“Everything’s marked up two dollars on campus. There’s a store just off,” he points to the far corner on the map, “right across from this entrance. They bake their bread fresh too.”
You stare down at his fingertip. Your mother wired you some money and it’s not much, and more than she should have. It might be a good idea to go the extra distance and save some dimes. You chew the inside of your lip.
“Oh, that’s-- thanks.”
“I gotta grab some coffee beans. I could come along. So you don’t get lost again,” he offers.
“Really?” You chirp. “That’s... too nice.”
“I don’t mind,” he insists. “I even know a shortcut.”
#walter marshall#dark walter marshall#dark!walter marshall#walter marshall x reader#series#drabble#know your place#chris x reader#destroyer!chris#night hunter#destroyer#dark chris#dark!chris#au#professor au
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