#DRENCH YOURSELF IN WORDS UNSPOKEN | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ye4gerz · 18 days ago

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escape room - lee haechan

‧˚⭒ pairing: ghost!haechan x afab!reader. mdni! adults only. ‧˚⭒ genre: thriller!au, strangers to lovers, soulmate!yandereau! angst, smut! ‧˚⭒ word count: 6.1k (sorry it’s long!) ‧˚⭒ warnings: voyeurism hc, fingering, oral(f receiving), dirty talk, slight nipple play, choking, multiple orgasms, swearing, obsessive hyuck, mentions of death, dom hc x sub reader. ‧˚⭒ starring: haechan, johnny, ten, mark, jaehyun reader. ‧˚⭒ summary: when you and your friends sign up for an extreme escape room, you expect clever puzzles and a few jump scares– not real danger. as you navigate eerie traps, the game takes a turn, and suddenly you find yourself separated from the group, alone. at least that’s what you thought, unaware of the familiar shadow lurking besides you.

a/n: hiii everyone, i hope those who read enjoy! this is my first story in years so i’m sorry if it’s not as detailed as could be but hopefully i improve the more i continue to upload. as said before this story is for adults only if i find any minors on my account i will block you. i’m open to feedback or any ideas for future stories. enjoy!

The eerie notes from the piano grow louder, filling the cramped room with an unsettling melody. From the corner, an old record player spins on its own, crackling as it fills the air with static. The noise gradually morphs into a faint whisper, words barely audible over the static.

"Time has just begun."

A chill creeps up your spine. You glance at the others, who stand on edge, their eyes darting around the room as the unsettling atmosphere takes hold. You’d exited the car only minutes earlier, arriving at what was supposed to be an ordinary escape room. As you step toward the entrance, the air thickens with uncomfortable tension, the dim light only emphasizing the building's eerie charm. The old structure seems to exist outside of time, its walls drenched in shadow, barely touched by the weak glow of the single streetlight overhead.

"So this is it? It looks... ancient. You sure you got the address right?" Johnny asks, his voice laced with doubt as he studies the rundown building in front of him.

"Address checks out," Ten replies, glancing down at the map on his phone, then back up at the dark, decrepit building. "This is it, apparently."

Mark shivers, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. "Can we just go inside? My fingers are freezing off," he mutters, eyeing the doorway.

"Mark's right," Johnny chimes in, rubbing his hands together. "Let's just make sure it's still open."

Without further discussion, you all follow Johnny into the building. Inside, a dim, red-hued glow bathes the narrow hallway, where an old wine-colored carpet leads to a black wooden desk at the far end. A single lamp beside the desk casts long shadows against the walls, and the red, tilted lampshade gives the whole scene an otherworldly air.

Behind the desk stands a tall, gaunt man in a navy velvet suit, his frame sharp and dignified. His hair is slicked back with a single blonde strand hanging loose over his forehead. Black leather gloves cover his hands, and his eyes are blank and empty, as if devoid of emotion. He moves with precision, carefully placing a pen down on the desk before turning his attention to your group.

"May I help you?" he asks, his voice smooth, his smile revealing a dimple on his cheek as he flips open a worn booklet filled with room reservations.

Ten steps forward, excitement bright in his eyes. "What's the scariest room you've got here? Something not a lot of people have beaten."

The man's eyes glint with something that looks like amusement—or perhaps a warning. "Room 13," he replies. "It's... challenging. Few have managed to escape. Are you sure you want to proceed?"

You exchange glances with the others, an unspoken agreement passing between you all before Ten grins confidently and says, "Absolutely. We'll take the challenge."

The man inclines his head, pulling a large, iron key from a drawer. "As you wish," he murmurs, stepping from behind the desk. "Follow me."

He leads you down a narrow hallway lined with doors, each one different in design and shape, some small and round, others tall and rectangular. Your footsteps echo ominously as you walk, the creaks in the floor whispering warnings you can’t quite decipher. Finally, you reach the end of the hallway, where a massive, medieval-style door looms in front of you, its iron handle weathered and cold to the touch. The keyhole is unlike any you've ever seen.

The man unlocks the door with deliberate slowness, pausing to glance at each of you, his gaze assessing. "Are you certain you want to enter?" he asks, his voice almost mocking.

Ignoring his subtle warning, you nod along with the others, eager to continue.

Once inside, you find yourself in a dim, unsettling room. The walls are covered with crooked paintings, each one depicting strange, shadowy figures and bleak landscapes. A dusty piano sits in one corner, and a cracked baby doll lies slumped in an old rocking chair, one eye half-shut, its mouth slightly open as if caught mid-scream. The thick, worn red rug beneath your feet has frayed edges, adding to the room’s eerie atmosphere.

"This is beyond creepy," you mutter, glancing warily at Ten. "Your ideas are always a bit much, but this..."

"Before we begin," the man interrupts, capturing your attention, "there are rules to follow. You have ninety minutes to find your way out. Clues are hidden within the room, and they will lead you to your escape. Today's story follows a young man who lost his life in this room. If you free his spirit, he will grant you your escape."

He pauses, eyeing you all seriously. "If time runs out... well, then you've lost."

Ten scoffs, brushing it off. "So, we either win or lose. No big deal, we got this."

The man nods slowly, though you catch a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "One more thing: you get three hints, should you require assistance. If an emergency arises, call my name... Jaehyun."

Your eyes linger on him one last time. "Well, thank you for the rundown, Jaehyun," you say, forcing a smile, your arms crossing as Jaehyun steps back toward the door, the iron key in his hand.

Without another word, Jaehyun closes the door, and a distinct click echoes through the room as the lock engages.

“Wait… did he just lock us in?” Mark asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Relax, it’s just part of the setup,” Johnny replies, his voice casual. “It’ll unlock when we finish.”

Ten, brimming with excitement, claps his hands. “Alright, time’s ticking, guys. Let’s get to it!”

You exchange uncertain glances with the others but eventually begin searching the room, inspecting every corner and crevice. Dust settles on your clothes as you rifle through old books on the shelf, examine each creepy painting, and prod at the cracked doll.

After a few minutes, Johnny spots a series of letters framed on the wall, positioned slightly out of order. Squinting, he reads the faded words aloud:

"Entry 204, I found this nearby a sacred tree. A doll was looking out to the lake, the same lake she was last seen. Her body is gone, but her spirit will find its way back to me. —H.C"

A heavy silence settles over the group.

“Creepy,” Mark mutters, his voice uneasy. “But it’s gotta mean something, right?”

Ten nods, his eyes darting around the room. “Let’s check the doll. There might be a clue with it.”

You and the others gather around the broken doll, studying it closely. Just as you reach out to inspect it, the lights flicker, and the piano plays a single, haunting note, echoing through the room.

Your breaths hitch, unease creeping in as you realize this game might be far darker than any of you had anticipated.

Your breath caught as the note hung in the air, vibrating with a resonance that made the hair on your arms stand up. You exchanged a tense glance with the others, noting the flickers of doubt and unease on their faces.

"Did… did the piano just play on its own?" Mark asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Johnny forced a laugh, though it sounded unsteady. "Probably just part of the scare tactics. They’re really going all out with the haunted vibe here."

You couldn’t shake the creeping dread seeping into your mind, and from the looks on their faces, your friends felt it too. What was supposed to be an ordinary escape room was starting to feel… wrong.

“Let’s just keep going,” Ten said, his voice more subdued now, as if he, too, was shaken. “We’re wasting time, and we’ve only got ninety minutes.”

Your attention returned to the cracked baby doll in the rocking chair, its glassy eyes staring blankly at nothing. Slowly, you leaned in closer, examining its face. One eye was half-open, almost lazily, while the other was wide and unblinking, giving it a disturbingly lifelike appearance. Gently, you lifted the doll, feeling something hard poke through a tear in its fabric.

“There’s something inside,” you murmured, glancing up at the others.

“What is it?” Mark asked, peering over your shoulder.

With a bit of effort, you pried open the small tear, pulling out a tiny brass key, its surface worn but unmistakably real. You held it up to show the group, the key catching a faint glint of the dim light.

“What’s this supposed to open?” Ten wondered, taking the key from your hand to inspect it.

“Maybe it’s for one of the drawers or the bookshelf?” Johnny suggested, already moving toward the old dresser across the room.

As the group tried the key on various locks, a low rumble echoed from somewhere behind the walls, making you shiver. The air felt colder, and the room seemed darker, as if the shadows themselves had thickened, pressing in around you.

After a few tense moments, Johnny tried the key on a drawer in the dresser, and it clicked open. Inside, he found a folded piece of paper, yellowed with age. Carefully, he unfolded it, squinting at the faded text before reading aloud:

"Look beneath the seat where nightmares rest, Where shadows linger and spirits test. The way is hidden, only for those, Who dare to face what fear bestows."

"Under the seat... where nightmares rest?" Ten repeated, glancing around the room. "What does that mean?"

"Maybe the rocking chair?" you suggested, nodding toward the doll’s seat. "It’s creepy enough to count as a ‘nightmare.’"

Mark crouched down beside the chair, reaching underneath it. His fingers brushed something solid—a loose panel. Slowly, he pried it open, revealing a hidden compartment. Inside was another key, this one larger and more worn, and a small, rolled-up map.

Johnny unrolled the map, and everyone crowded around, their faces growing tense as they took in the strange, labyrinthine layout sketched across the parchment. The map didn’t resemble anything you’d seen in the room so far. Instead, it showed a twisting series of rooms, corridors, and strange symbols that were foreign to all of you.

"Is this… part of the room?" Mark asked, glancing around, trying to align what you were seeing on the map with the space around you.

"There’s no way this room has more than one door," Ten said, frowning.

“Maybe there’s a hidden passage,” you suggested, though dread was gnawing at you. The idea of a secret path that led to who-knew-where made your skin crawl.

Ten, still undeterred, nodded. “Yeah, let’s look around. There might be more to this place than we thought.”

You and your friends spread out, examining every corner of the room, pushing against walls, lifting furniture, and inspecting every nook and cranny. Just as you ran your hands along the bookshelf, you felt a slight give beneath your fingers. You pressed harder, and with a slow, creaking sound, the entire bookshelf shifted, sliding aside to reveal a narrow, dark hallway beyond.

Everyone stared, a mixture of intrigue and unease settling over them.

“Okay,” Johnny breathed out, “this is beyond next-level escape room stuff.”

Mark hesitated, casting a wary look down the hallway. “Are we sure this is still part of the game?”

Ten, undeterred, gave him a reassuring pat on the back. “We’ve come this far. Let’s see where it leads.”

The group stepped into the passage, the narrow hallway closing in around you as the shadows seemed to deepen. The air was thick, almost stale, and the walls felt damp, as if they hadn’t been touched in years. Your footsteps echoed through the silence, each one seeming to amplify the tension thrumming beneath your skin.

After a few minutes, you stopped, shining your flashlight down an unexpected fork in the path. “Which way?”

Before anyone could answer, a loud slam echoed behind you, making everyone jump. Spinning around, you saw that the passage behind had closed, sealing you in.

"No way," Mark whispered, running back to the door and pressing against it. But it didn’t budge.

“It’s probably just part of the game,” Ten said, though even he sounded uncertain.

“Left or right?” Johnny asked, glancing down each path. “Standing here isn’t going to help us.”

Without much choice, you picked the left path, leading the group deeper into the twisting hallways. But as you turned a corner, something unexpected happened—a force tugged you sharply by the arm, pulling you off balance. Before you could react, you found yourself separated from the others, pulled down a narrow side passage that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

“Guys!” you called out, panic rising in your voice.

You heard the faint sound of your friends calling back, their voices echoing, but they grew distant, fainter, until they vanished entirely. You were alone.

Your heart pounded as you steadied yourself, gripping your flashlight tightly. You took a deep breath, trying to calm down. The narrow corridor was cloaked in shadow, and you slowly raised your flashlight, scanning the dark space ahead. That’s when you saw him—a young man, standing just a few steps away, watching you with an intense gaze that sent a shiver down your spine.

He was tall, with dark, messy hair and sharp, striking features. His clothes were worn, his eyes shadowed and tired. Beyond the exhaustion, there was something else in his gaze—a quiet desperation, as though he’d been waiting for someone to find him.

"Are you… lost too?" you asked cautiously, not daring to step closer.

The man’s lips lifted in a small, weary smile. “You could say that. I’ve been here… longer than I can remember. It’s been a few days, give or take. I didn’t think I’d ever see another person again.”

Your pulse quickened. “Days? You’ve been trapped in here that long?”

He nodded, shadows dancing in his eyes. “One minute, I was here with some friends. The next, they were gone. Just like that.”

You swallowed, fear twisting in your gut. “My friends and I… we thought this was just an escape room, but nothing about this place feels right.”

He took a slow step closer, his gaze softening. “Maybe we should stick together. I’d hate for you to end up alone like me.”

You nodded slowly, relief flooding through you. “I’m Y/N.”

“Haechan,” he replied, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Let’s find your friends and get out of here.”

With Haechan by your side, you ventured further into the maze of hallways, each step taking you deeper into the unknown. But as you walked, you couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that clung to you, a feeling that Haechan’s eyes held secrets he wasn’t willing to reveal.

All you can do is hope and pray you see your friends again.

The dim hallway stretches on in front of you, shadows clinging to the walls and making it difficult to see more than a few steps ahead. Every footstep feels heavy, the silence around you broken only by the occasional creak or groan from the aged structure. Haechan walks beside you, his presence oddly comforting amidst the overwhelming gloom, though something about him remains unsettling.

After a few minutes, you can’t help but ask, “So… how exactly did you get stuck here?”

Haechan lets out a small sigh, glancing over at you with a shadowed expression. “It’s a long story,” he replies. His voice is calm, almost too calm, and a shiver prickles at the back of your neck.

“We’ve got time,” you say softly, clutching your flashlight a little tighter. “If we’re going to find my friends and make it out, I should know what we’re dealing with and who I’m talking to.”

Haechan considers your words for a moment before nodding. “Alright. I was here with a group of friends, not unlike yours. We thought this was just an escape room—a haunted one, sure, but nothing dangerous. But once we entered, everything felt… wrong. Just like you’re probably feeling now.”

You nod, feeling a chill run down your spine. The thought that others had gone through the same confusion and fear unsettles you even more. “So what happened?”

He lets out a soft sigh, his voice dropping to a whisper. “At first, we tried to solve the puzzles, thinking it was all part of the game. But every clue we found led us deeper and deeper, to darker places that didn’t feel like they should exist. Eventually, we started getting separated. One by one, my friends disappeared… and I haven’t seen them since.”

His words hit you hard, your heart twisting with fear and sympathy. You imagine your own friends, separated from each other, wandering alone in these eerie, twisting hallways.

“Do you think… do you think your friends are okay?” you ask hesitantly, afraid of the answer.

Haechan is silent for a moment, and when he finally speaks, his tone is dark. “I don’t know, but this place… it’s haunted. It’s not a normal escape room. It’s something much worse.”

His words linger in the air, and a tight knot of fear forms in your chest. “Haunted? What do you mean?”

He glances at you, his eyes gleaming strangely in the dim light. “I’ve seen things here. Shadows that move on their own, voices that whisper in empty rooms… This isn’t a game. This place was created by people who wanted to watch others suffer, who find entertainment in fear and despair.”

A shiver runs through you as his words sink in. “So, they’re just… watching us? For their own sick entertainment?”

He nods, his gaze never leaving yours. “Exactly. They trap people here, turning their fear into a spectacle for whoever is watching. Once you’re here, it’s nearly impossible to leave, never able to see your loved ones ever again.”

You bite your lip, glancing around the dark hallway as anxiety gnaws at you. Your hands are shaking as you clasp them together, murmuring a silent prayer for your friends. The weight of your worry presses down on you, and you can feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as the hopelessness begins to creep in.

“Don’t worry too much, sweetheart,” Haechan says, his voice soft and soothing. “I’m here with you. I’ll help you find your friends.”

You nod, giving him a small, shaky smile. His calm presence does ease some of your fear, though a part of you wonders how he can be so composed. But as you focus on his steady gaze, something flickers in his eyes, something you can’t quite place—a look of satisfaction, as though he’s pleased by your fear. For a moment, the corners of his mouth lift into a small, almost imperceptible smirk.

But when you blink, the expression is gone, replaced with a look of earnest concern.

You brush off the uneasy feeling, telling yourself it’s just the atmosphere of the place playing tricks on you. “So, you’ve really been here… for days?”

He nods, keeping his gaze trained on you. “More or less. Time feels different here. You start to lose track of it after a while. Some days, it feels like hours are slipping by in minutes, and other days, it feels like I’ve been wandering for centuries.”

You can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy. “That must be terrible. Being alone for so long… I can’t imagine how you must feel.”

His eyes soften, and he looks at you with a gentle intensity that sends warmth spreading through you. “It was… until now.”

You feel your cheeks heat up under his gaze, his words lingering in your mind. There’s something both comforting and unsettling about him, a duality that leaves you unsure of how to feel. He’s kind, attentive, a stranger nonetheless, but there’s a unusual shadow in his eyes, an intensity that you can’t quite shake.

As you walk further down the corridor, a sudden chill sweeps through the air, making you shiver. Haechan notices and steps closer to you, his hand brushing against yours. “You’re safe with me,” he murmurs, his voice low and reassuring. “I promise.”

But despite his comforting words, something about the way he says it feels… off. The reassurance feels too practiced, like he’s said it a thousand times before, knowing exactly how it would affect you. You glance at him, meeting his gaze, and you swear you catch another glint of amusement, almost like he’s enjoying your unease.

Shaking off the thought, you try to refocus on finding your friends. “Do you think… they’re okay? My friends, I mean.”

Haechan pauses, as if considering his answer. “Maybe. If they’re smart, they’ll find a way to keep moving, just like we are.” He gives you a comforting smile, but that flicker of darkness in his gaze hasn’t fully disappeared.

You murmur another silent prayer, hoping your friends are safe, wherever they are.

As you continue through the twisted corridors, a realization starts to dawn on you—something about Haechan’s demeanor doesn’t quite add up. The calmness, the knowing glances… It’s as though he’s hiding something, and each time you catch a glimpse of his eyes, it’s as if he’s letting a bit of the mask slip, showing you a side of him he’s trying to keep hidden.

Finally, unable to shake the uneasy feeling, you glance at him and ask, “You said you’ve been here for a long time… How have you managed to survive all this time? Isn’t there any way out?”

Haechan smiles, a strange, almost secretive smile that sends a new chill down your spine. “Oh, I’ve managed,” he replies vaguely. “I’ve learned a lot about this place. Enough to know that it’s better not to trust anyone. Not even me.”

You freeze, your heart racing as his words sink in. “What… what do you mean?”

He gives you a long, intense look, his expression unreadable. “I mean, you don’t know who or what you’re dealing with here. That’s part of what makes it so interesting, don’t you think?”

The realization hits you like a cold wave– you aren’t sure if Haechan is telling the truth, or if he’s been playing with you all along. But the look in his eyes, that glint of amusement and satisfaction as he watches your fear grow, leaves you with a terrifying suspicion.

This man, this stranger you’ve been trusting, isn’t lost like you are. He isn’t just another victim of this twisted game. He’s something else entirely, something far more dangerous– he's apart of the game.

As he steps closer, that smirk creeping onto his face once more, you realize that he doesn’t want to help you escape.

“What are you–” you begin, but Haechan shushes you, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. He leans in, his presence overwhelming as you find your back against the wall, and arms pressed above your head.

His smirk widens as he leans close, his voice soft but chilling. “This is your first challenge, sweetheart. Try to escape me.”

Your heart races, and without a second thought, you shove him off and sprint down the dark hallway, feeling his gaze burning into your back. At this point, you can’t focus on directions or clues; all you want is to find your friends and get back to safety.

From behind, his mocking voice echoes through the hallway, closer than you expected. “It’s too late, sweetheart. Your friends won’t be looking for you any time soon. You’re stuck with me, after years of being apart.”

Before you know it, his hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you through a hidden door concealed by shadows. You stumble inside, disoriented by the sudden brightness. Unlike every room you’ve seen so far, this one is consumed by light, making you squint as your eyes adjust, your back resting on the padded floor.

Haechan’s smirk hasn’t faded. In the brightness, you take in his features more clearly—his sharp jawline, the glint in his dark eyes, the smirk playing at his lips. You hate to admit it, but his presence is overwhelming in an unsettling yet strangely magnetic way.

He hovers over you, his gaze locked onto you, his eyes roaming as though he’s savoring your unease. He leans in, brushing his lips close to your ear. “Don’t fight it,” he whispers. “This is where the real game begins.”

Before you know it, his lips are against yours, and you find yourself kissing him back. It feels insane, but something about him draws you in, almost as if you're under a spell, a force you can't resist.

He pulls away, his chest heaving, his eyes darker now, pupils wide with desire. "The moment I saw you, I knew," he murmurs, his voice thick with desperation as he cups your face in his hands. "I knew you were the one to set me free. I've been waiting lifetimes for you."

A shiver runs through you as his words sink in. Your brows knit together. "Who... who are you?" The question slips out more like a plea than anything else.

His lips curl into a smirk, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. "Everything you've been waiting for. There's a reason we're drawn to each other." He tuts softly, eyes gleaming.

"Who do you think led your spirit here?"

Your gaze flickers around the room, realizing he's still hovering over you, his body pressing you into the ground. When your eyes lock again, you feel it—a pulse of craving, dark and intense, matching the hunger in his gaze

Suddenly, nothing matters anymore. All that exists is the heat between you, the electric pull that holds you both in place, and the thrill of his body pressed so close to yours.

Your lips crash against his, this time initiated by you. He's momentarily stunned, taking a second to adjust, but before you can even let out a whine, he matches your movements.

His hands find their way to your waist– his thumb rubbing circles against your skin. “Is this what you want? To remind you of my touch?” His knee placing pressure against your core.

A faint moan escapes your lips, you know this was so wrong, but feels so right. Your hips buckling– trying to match his rhythm as you attempt to ride his knee. “Hae..chan….”

His name slipping through your thoughts causes his eyes to darken. He lifts your hips up, your leggings quickly being tugged off your skin.

It didn’t take him long enough to get you wet. His mouth practically drooling while admiring your core.

His face inching closer to you, very rapidly feeling his breath against your heat causing you to slightly lift your hips. “No teasing… please,” you whimper, unable to wait any longer for him.

Haechan lets out a slight laugh, sounding cynical. “I’m sorry baby, I just like to admire what’s mine.”

Before you can respond his fingers found their way to your clit, rubbing small slow circles over your underwear. His eyes nearly burning into your soul, the way he watches every single one of your reactions, feeding off of them.

Before you could plea for more, Haechan pulls your undergarment to aside, working his mouth against your core. His tongue lapping against your swollen clit, leading all the way down to where you were nearly dripping for him. He saw this as an opportunity to get rid of the last piece of clothing concealing your lower half, gripping your thighs, and yanking you closer to his mouth.

“Tastes so fucking good,” he moans against you, the vibrations of his voice to your body sending you in chills.

You had so many questions to ask him. You wanted to know who he really is, what he is really is. Yet, here you are having a stranger eat you out. What bothers you more is the immediate attraction and pull you feel toward him. You’ve had your fair share of one-night stands and exes, but none of them have ever affected you the way Haechan does.

The feeling was all too much for your body to handle, your eyes practically glued to the ceiling– seeing stars.

Haechan notices this, his mouth releasing from sucking at your clit. He slaps the side of your ass, causing you to jolt looking down to his eyes.

“Focus baby, I want you to watch how I fuck your pretty pussy– I mean look at this,” he slams two fingers into you, the sharp breath you intake being the only thing keeping you on alert.

He growls at the feeling of your insides squeezing desperately against his fingers, but before he gets ahead of himself he takes them out slowly. With his other hand, he grabs your face, looking directly into each other’s heavy eyes– he brings his fingers to his mouth, licking and sucking the mess you left on them.

A moan escapes your lips, “I need more…please…”

“What more do you need, princess? Is this not enough for you?” His fingers find their way back inside of you, thrusting hard but slow, his thumb matching the same rhythm on your clit.

“Are my fingers not enough for you? Are you worried your friends might find you like this?” Suddenly the door slams wide open as if it were by a gust of wind, assuming it was Haechan’s work.

By reflexes you attempt to shut your legs together, squirming beneath him. You know your friends are probably on the other side of the building right now looking for you– but the thought of them finding you being fucked by this ‘entity’ triggers a rush of excitement through your body.

He holds your legs apart with his free arm. Between Haechan’s teases, the pace against your core, and the pressure of his thumb– you were more than ready for your release.

“F-Fuck… I’m going to–”

“Do it, baby. Cum all over my fingers. Show the world how desperate you are to get your pussy fingered by me,” his pace fastens, his face desperate to watch you collapse on him.

“Haechan!” You scream his name as loud as possible, his fingers continuing to ride out your orgasm. It felt as if a life time of pleasure within the time of him slowing down his pace, to you finally catching your breath back as he slides right out of you.

The emptiness from inside you causes you to frown. You didn’t notice till this moment, Haechan had taken off his clothing while you were recovering, finally getting rid of the rest of yours.

“You did so good for me, princess,” his lips trailing from the side of your face to your neck, eventually to your breasts.

You take a deep breath, still not fully recovered from your previous high. “I’m still sensitive,” you murmur to him as his tongue flicks over your nipple, his spit already coating them.

He pushes himself off of you, repositioning you both so that this time, you’re on top of him. Your eyes face the still–open door ahead of you, while he faces the wall behind you. You look down as you two align yourselves together, practically teasing each other.

You couldn’t help but stare at his cock, cursing yourself as you didn’t notice how thick and big he is.

The thought of him being inside you sends a shiver down your spine and your lip quivering. “You’re so big... I need to feel you, I want to feel you inside of me please. No more games,” your face grows hot after realizing how pathetic you sound, but this only sends Haechan to laugh in response.

“You want it so bad? Well if that’s what you want–” before he finishes his sentence he grabs you by the waist slamming you down into him. “Then that’s what you fucking get,” he groans into your ear.

A few curses and moans left your lips as you watch his cock disappear into your insides. The sound of your wetness against his skin filling not only the room but echoing in the hallway as well. His thumb pressing over the indentation of his cock against your skin, whimpers escaping him due to the sight. This was everything and more than what he had been waiting for.

Your hands find their way to his dark hair, grabbing a good amount as you fuck yourself on him, grinding down to his own rhythm. His hands find their way to your throat, squeezing the right amount to have your eyes rolling back.

“That’s right baby, put on a show for everyone to see. Let’s show everyone how good I fuck you– how needy you get, begging to be filled up. I hope your pathetic friends walk by any second to watch as my cock fills you up… but I bet you would like that huh? Look at you, trying to escape my cock knowing how much you fucking want it,” He grunts, his hips lifting as he starts fucking himself deeper into you.

“Answer me when I speak to you,” he slaps your ass again, the stinging sensation bringing you back to the moment.

“Yes!” You scream.

“Yes what?”

“Yes! I want everyone to see how good you fuck me! I want them to see you fill me up!”

That famously known smirk appearing on his face for a last time before he flips you over on your back again, lifting one of your legs over his shoulder to bury himself deeper into you.

“I want you to say my name when you cum, baby. You think you’re capable of that, hm?” His pace fastens on you.

You body starting to shake from the pleasure as he starts hitting your sweet spot, his thrusts causing an additional burst of pleasure against your clit.

“Haechan! Haec..” you scream his name as if it were the only word you ever knew. Your insides throbbing tightly against him, he curses under his breath twitching inside you as you bring him to his release, letting his seed drip down your thigh.

You groan at the feeling of him leaving you, already missing the warmth he brought. The both of you finding yourselves back to reality and that’s when it all started hitting.

You just had sex with some sort of supernatural entity.

And you liked it.

You feel Haechan’s warm breath against your ear as his voice drops to a low whisper. “Your friends… they’re free to go. As for you, sweetheart…” His eyes lock with yours, and this time, they’re filled with something deeper, darker—a fierce longing mixed with possessiveness, a completion he’s longed for.

He brushes his thumb over your cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle. “You don’t remember me,” he murmurs, his gaze never leaving yours, “but we’ve been together before… lifetimes ago. We were meant to be, you and I.” He traces his thumb along your jaw, a soft smile pulling at his lips. “When you lost your life back then, I followed soon after. I’ve been stuck here ever since, a place where lost souls are tied to, searching. I’ve been waiting for your spirit to return back to me.”

A chill runs through you, your heart racing as his words sink in. Your mind scrambles to process what he’s saying, but you can’t deny the strange pull, the connection that seems to tether you to him. It feels… ancient, familiar in a way you can’t explain.

He leans in closer, his forehead pressing gently against yours. “You may not remember, but I know you feel it too. You’ve always been mine.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, both thrilling and unsettling, and for a moment, you feel yourself drawn into his world, his promise of an eternal bond. His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, his touch possessive yet filled with an almost aching tenderness. “Now that you’re here,” he whispers, “we can finally be together. Forever.”

Your stomach twists as his words linger in your mind. Slowly, the reality sets in—while your friends will walk free, you’re bound to stay. His smile is soft as he strokes your hair, but there’s something haunting in his eyes, something that makes it clear this is not a choice. He’s waited lifetimes for you, and he won’t let you go.

A chill of fear creeps in, breaking through the warmth of his embrace. You glance toward the exit, the realization hitting hard: you’re not meant to leave. You’re bound to this place, your spirit destined to remain here… forever with Haechan.

As he pulls you closer, his words echo in your mind, a promise and a sentence intertwined. And though his gaze is filled with love, a deep-rooted fear takes hold. You know that this, now, is your eternity—your soul forever tethered to his, within these walls.

#haechan #lee haechan #lee donghyuck #haechan x reader #donghyuck x reader #nct haechan #haechan smut #donghyuck smut #nct 127 x reader #nct dream x reader #haechan angst #haechan fanfic #nct smut

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awearywritersworld · 1 year ago

Text

tell me you don't want me

gojo satoru x reader summary: gojo adds falling in love with his dead best friend's little sister to the list of things that keep him up at night w/c: 1.8k tags/warnings: angst to fluff. gojo takes care of reader when they have a migraine. they watch shark week together, so shark haters beware. arguing, but nothing super harsh. protective!gojo. reader is referred to as a sister but there are no pronouns. gojo is around 27, reader 23. curse words. no out right smut, but a heavily suggestive ending so lets say 18+ a/n: i've been writing purely fluff for gojo, so it seems about time to return to my angst/fluff roots. today's epi made me had me feeling some type of way. may write a part two to this? idk lemme know what you think! masterlist check out my latest work for gojo here

after you arrived at jujutsu high as a first year, everyone wore the same expression when they looked at you, their eyes full of pity and apprehension. you really couldn't blame them though. after what happened with suguru, you were left a shell of yourself, paranoid that you were destined to the same fate as your older brother.

however, the boy that suguru called his best friend held something different in his gaze whenever his eyes fell on you. understanding, maybe? gojo knew that if there was anyone in the world who missed suguru as much as he did, it had to be you.

for most of the year, the two of you really only talked in passing, dancing around a discussion neither of you were brave enough to initiate. then your brother's birthday rolled around and you found yourself drenched in rain, sneaking into the boys' dormitory to knock on gojo satoru's door.

he wasn't surprised to find you standing there.

"that idiot always refused to let me celebrate his birthday," you blurted out, damp hair sticking to your forehead.

he laughed. it was just a breath, but it was still genuine. "right? he couldn't stand being fussed over for one day."

and as you both stood there, rain pattering against the window, you felt months of unspoken tension melt away. "well, come in. i bought cake."

after that day, gojo took on the roll of your older brother and he really leaned into it. flicking your forehead to annoy you, threatening anyone he thought had a crush on you, giving you advice whenever he deemed you needed it.

you weren't sure if he was aware, even after all these years, that he'd saved you— pulled you away from the brink. you became like the little sister he never had, while he tried his best to fill the hole suguru had left in your heart.

gojo spends more time in your apartment than his own, so it's no surprise when he barges in one afternoon, singing out your name (rather terribly, one might add).

"i have a migraine, 'toru," you groan from the couch, pulling the blanket up over your head as the bright light from behind his figure worsens your discomfort. all of your blinds are shut, the curtains pulled together. "can you please close the door?"

he hums, stepping inside and pulling the door shut quietly. "you seem to be getting them a lot lately."

"probably because i spend so much time with you," you whine facetiously.

he gasps, hand clutching at his heart. "i come all the way here to visit you, only to be ridiculed. my devastation is untellable."

after grabbing a washcloth from the linen closet, he pads over to the kitchen sink. you peer at him from under the blanket as he runs it under cold water, noting how the veins in his forearms become more prominent once he wrings it out.

you're laying across the entirety of the couch, but you scoot away from the edge and he situates himself in the space beside your hip, his body facing you. the corner of his mouth is turned down, evidence of the worry swirling in his chest. he presses the back of his fingers to your forehead before folding the cloth neatly and laying it there.

"you should mention the migraines to shoko," he suggests earnestly.

"they just flare up sometimes, you know that. it's really not a big deal."

"yeah, maybe.. but i still worry about you."

you can't help but notice how close he is and while it feels casual, it also feels... intimate? the cold cloth does bring some relief to your head, though you'd have preferred it if his hand had remained there instead.

"have you eaten?" he questions after a moment, pulling you from your thoughts.

"not yet."

"then i'll go pick up some food," he offers, rising to his feet. "do you need anything else-"

"no," you say a little too quickly, your fingers wrapping around his wrist. "i mean.. can you just stay?"

he suddenly looks very smug. "oh, what's this? are you sure spending more time with me won't make your head feel worse?"

you attempt to roll your eyes but the movement sends a sharp pain through your skull, causing you to grumble. "don't make me hurt you satoru. i was joking."

"i know," he smirks, decently self satisfied. "but you do have to eat, so-"

"there's leftover egg drop in the fridge, can you just warm that up for me please?"

"'course! anything for you, (y/n)-chan!"

his tone makes it sound as if he's teasing you, but he knows it's the truth. he's painfully aware that there isn't a thing you could ask of him that he'd deny. he tries not to think about that though, because he can't bring himself to admit what it all means.

once your soup is ready, he joins you on the couch. you move to sit up and while that makes plenty of room for him, he still lifts your legs, sitting so that they lay across his lap. one of his hands is resting on your shin, the other on your knee.

"shark week?" he suggests as you reach for the remote.

you nod eagerly. "yes."

the two of you have never fought before.

well, maybe that's not entirely true. it isn't uncommon for the both of you to argue over video games, the latest chapter of a manga, or other things of that nature. but you and gojo have never had a genuine disagreement.

that is, until you mention wanting to challenge a decision made by the higher ups. he's well aware of how they deal with people they deem troublesome, so he can't help the vexation that bubbles up in his chest at your words.

"absolutely not," he tells you. his voice is low, not one hint of amusement to be found.

the tone leaves you narrowing your eyes, and you sound a bit misbelieving when you ask, "what do you mean 'absolutely not'?"

after everything that happened with geto, the higher ups have been wary of you. honestly, they're probably just looking for an excuse to pull another stunt like the detention center and he can't risk that. he can't risk losing you.

rather than express any part of that sentiment, however, he just goes all stone faced and vague. it's weird, so naturally it's followed by a bit of back and forth that goes nowhere, the conversation growing unreasonably volatile with each passing second.

why can't you just listen to him? why can't you give him the benefit of the doubt? he's earned that by now, hasn't he?

"i don't understand!" you hiss, your chest heaving with indignation. "why are you acting like this?"

because i love you. because i need you. because you mean more to me than everything else in this world put together.

he can't possibly say that though.. can't lay his shame bare for you to see.. can't bring himself to admit the feelings he has for you.

he's in love with dead best friend's little sister and it's wrong. it keeps him up at night. claws away at his self respect.

"i'll take care of it," he promises, sounding a bit defeated. "just please stay out of it."

"quit treating me like i'm a child, satoru. you're not my father."

your assertion makes the air in the room shift, and the feeling that forms in the pit of gojo's stomach is not unlike a cord being pulled too taut before snapping.

"so what am i then, huh? what am i to you?" he interrogates, taking a step toward you.

his eyes burn with intensity and the conviction in his voice is dizzying, especially since it's meant only for you. he immediately notices the way you stiffen, suddenly unable to meet his eye.

he swallows thickly, any restraint he has left ebbing away once he hears your small, nervous voice. "'toru, w... what do you-"

you're cut off when he takes another step in your direction, your back meeting with the wall after you attempt to maintain the space between the both of you.

one of his palms presses to the wall beside your head, though the other remains at his side. he doesn't want to trap you there, not when he still doesn't have a clear idea of how you're feeling.

his breath fans across your face, your mind struggling to process what was happening. you whisper his name, unsure of how else to respond.

"i want you." he nearly chokes on the words, the pain of admitting them evident in his voice. "want you more than anything."

and he does. he wants you more than the sleep he never gets. more than he wants to honor suguru. more than he wants to be a good man.

his head dips down, your breath catching in your throat when his lips find the spot on your jaw just below your ear.

"please, tell me to stop," he begs, sending a shiver down your spine.

your hands move to his chest, the rise and fall of it uneven and sporadic. god, you make him so fucking weak it's almost pathetic.

his lips shift to your cheek, closer to your mouth, and his hand reaches up to cradle the other side of your face. he sounds irrevocably desperate now, "tell me you don't want me."

your heart's beating so loudly in your ear drums, you can hardly hear yourself speak. "satoru, please."

"please what?" he asks, and for a moment you're unsure of the answer.

you try to open your mouth once more, but the words are lodged in your throat. confusion and frustration rattle around in your head, making it difficult to string together your thoughts. finally you just give in, grabbing his face between your hands and pulling his lips against your own.

he let's out a strangled noise, some unknowable mix of pleasure and relief. his hands land on your hips at once, greedily pulling your body against his own.

his lips are chapped, but they're perfect in the way they move against yours. the kiss isn't clumsy, nor is it unsure. it's ardent and comfortable, as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

you pull away first, each of you holding the other's gaze. you're both hazy eyed, your mouths curved into giddy, lovesick grins.

gojo doesn't hesitate when you glance down at his lips, your words easing that bitter self loathing he'd been enduring for longer than he cares to admit. "if you want me... then make me yours."

taglist: @torusmochi @moonmalice

#m!writes #gojo #gojo x reader #gojo imagines #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru imagines #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #gojo fluff #gojo angst #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen angst

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novaursa · 3 months ago

Note

okk hear me out!

gwayne x daemon daughter // kink repro

We all remember the tournament in s1, just imagine viserys decide that his niece (who is younger than nyra maybe 16) should marry sir gwayne to make more strength between their houses.

time pass they fell in love in oldtown and they raided Daeron as their own. They all come back when Luke was name heir of drifmark (during the audience). Daemon is furious to see her with gwayne.

But their chamber is right next to daemon and nyra, and at night gwayne is way more than ready to make understand that she is his 😏🔥

In Defiance of the Dragon

- Summary: When your uncle, King Viserys, promised your hand to Gwayne, your father was least pleased about it.

- Paring: targ!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 4 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @holdingforgeneralhugs

The air in the tournament grounds is drenched with the scent of crushed flowers and churned earth, the banners of noble houses fluttering like the wings of restless dragons. The sun casts a golden shine over the scene, making the polished armor of the knights gleam like fire. You stand at the edge of the royal pavilion, a place of honor, though it feels more like a cage at this moment. Your heart pounds in your chest as the king—your uncle, Viserys—raises his hand to command silence.

The crowd hushes, anticipation hanging in the air. You can feel the weight of a thousand eyes upon you, but none as heavy as the gaze of Ser Gwayne Hightower. His presence is unmistakable even among the throng of knights, his armor adorned with the sigil of his house, the beacon of the Hightower shining bright against the steel. Your breath catches as you meet his gaze, a fleeting moment that seems to stretch into eternity. There is something in his eyes—an unspoken promise, a plea for understanding.

Viserys’ voice booms across the grounds, his words carrying the weight of royal decree. "Today, before the tilts commence, let it be known that my beloved niece, the daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen, shall be wed to Ser Gwayne Hightower. This union shall strengthen the bond between our noble houses, binding the blood of Old Valyria to the steadfast walls of Oldtown."

A murmur ripples through the crowd. Otto Hightower, standing beside the king, allows himself a thin, satisfied smile. The whisper of steel, the low hum of murmurs, and the occasional startled cry from the gathered lords and ladies mingle with the pounding in your ears. Beside you, Princess Rhaenyra and Lady Alicent Hightower exchange a glance, though their expressions reveal little. You know Rhaenyra's thoughts well enough; her small hand squeezes yours briefly, a silent assurance.

Your eyes dart to the stands where your father, Prince Daemon, lounges. His posture is deceptively relaxed, but you can see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers drum against the arm of his seat. His eyes—those unmistakable violet eyes—burn with an intensity that sets your nerves on edge. When he rises from his seat, you feel a tremor of fear run through you, though you fight to keep your face composed.

Daemon’s voice, sharp and cutting, pierces the air. "I would face Ser Gwayne in the first tilt. Let us see if this union has the favor of the gods."

The crowd roars in approval, eager for the bloodshed and spectacle that is sure to follow. Gwayne’s gaze shifts, now locked onto Daemon’s. You see the flicker of concern in his eyes, quickly masked by the steel of resolve. He inclines his head, accepting the challenge with a courtly grace that belies the danger he now faces.

You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. The fear gnaws at you, a beast with claws that rake against your insides. You force yourself to remain still, even as every instinct screams at you to intervene, to do something—anything—to protect Gwayne from your father’s wrath.

Alicent notices your distress, her voice a gentle whisper in your ear. "Do not fear, my lady. Ser Gwayne is a skilled knight. He will honor you in this contest."

Her words are meant to comfort, but they do little to soothe the storm raging within you. Your eyes dart between the two men who now occupy your every thought—the father who has always shielded you with his fierce love, and the knight who has stolen your heart with his quiet strength. What would your father say if he knew how often Gwayne had filled your thoughts, how often you had dreamed of a future together, away from the politics and dangers of the court?

As the knights prepare for the tilt, you can barely breathe. The cheers of the crowd fade into a dull roar in your ears, and all you can focus on is the two figures facing each other across the field. Daemon’s black armor, dark as night and adorned with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, stands in stark contrast to Gwayne’s silvered plate. The dragon against the tower—a battle that feels all too symbolic.

Rhaenyra leans in close, her voice urgent and low. "You know your father, sister. He won’t hold back. You must steel yourself."

"I know," you whisper, though your voice trembles with the effort of holding back the fear that threatens to overwhelm you. You cannot let anyone see how deeply this affects you—not Rhaenyra, not Alicent, and certainly not your father.

The trumpets blare, signaling the beginning of the tilt. The horses rear, their hooves pounding the earth as Daemon and Gwayne charge at each other. Time slows to a crawl, and you can only watch, helpless, as the gap between them closes.

The impact is thunderous, the sound of steel against steel ringing out across the field. The force of the blow unseats Gwayne, and he crashes to the ground in a heap of armor and dust. Your heart lurches in your chest, and you rise to your feet, barely aware of the gasps and cries around you.

"Gwayne!" you hear yourself cry out, the name escaping your lips before you can stop it.

The crowd is on its feet, roaring with excitement, but all you can see is Gwayne, motionless on the ground. The world blurs as tears well in your eyes, but you blink them away, refusing to show any weakness.

Daemon circles back, his expression inscrutable behind his helm, but you can feel his eyes on you. This was no accident; he wanted to make a point, to remind everyone that no one—Hightower or otherwise—would take what belonged to a dragon without consequence.

But then, Gwayne stirs. He rises slowly, his movements pained but determined. Relief floods through you, but it is quickly replaced by a renewed sense of dread. Daemon is not done—not yet.

Before you can react, Gwayne is back on his feet, his eyes locked onto Daemon's. The defiance in his stance is clear—he will not yield, not even to a prince of the blood. You feel a swell of pride for him, despite the fear gnawing at your insides.

Daemon, sensing the mood of the crowd shifting, raises his lance once more, ready for another pass. But this time, something in Gwayne’s demeanor gives you hope. His gaze flickers to you for the briefest of moments, and you see the silent vow in his eyes—a promise to fight for you, no matter the odds.

The horses charge again, and this time, Gwayne meets Daemon’s strike with a fierce determination. The impact is brutal, but Gwayne holds his ground, refusing to be unseated. The crowd roars its approval, the tension in the air is felt.

When the dust settles, both knights remain in their saddles, battered but unbroken. It is Daemon who finally raises his hand, signaling the end of the tilt. There is no victor, no vanquished—only two men who have tested each other’s mettle and found themselves equally matched.

The relief that washes over you is overwhelming, and you sink back into your seat, your hands trembling in your lap. You dare a glance at Gwayne, who inclines his head to you with a slight, weary smile. It is a small gesture, but it fills your heart with warmth.

As Daemon dismounts, he casts a long, lingering look in your direction. There is something unspoken in his gaze, a challenge, perhaps—or a warning. But for now, you do not care. You have seen Gwayne survive your father’s wrath, and that is enough for you.

For the first time since this day began, you allow yourself a small, secret smile. The road ahead may be fraught with danger and intrigue, but you will face it with the courage of a dragon—and with Gwayne by your side.

You stand at the window of the Hightower, looking out over the sprawling city of Oldtown, where the cobbled streets wind like serpents beneath the autumn sun. The air is cool, tinged with the salt of the Whispering Sound, carrying with it the scent of the sea that you’ve come to know so well. The bells from the Starry Sept toll the hour, their sound reverberating through the stone walls of your home.

Your home. It’s a thought that still brings a small smile to your lips, even after all these years. The Hightower is vast, imposing, and ancient, its walls steeped in the history of Oldtown and the Hightowers themselves. Yet within these walls, you have found something unexpected—peace, and more than that, love.

Gwayne is beside you, his hand resting on the small of your back, a comforting weight. His touch is gentle, yet there’s a strength in it that you’ve come to depend on. He’s watching you with that soft expression that always melts the last of your worries away, the lines of his face relaxed, his grey eyes bright with the warmth of the afternoon light.

“He’s arrived,” Gwayne says, his voice low and calm, a grounding presence. You turn your head slightly to meet his gaze, the unspoken question in your eyes.

“Prince Daeron,” he clarifies, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Alicent’s letter arrived this morning, and they’ll be here within the hour.”

You nod, the familiar flutter of anticipation and duty stirring in your chest. Prince Daeron, the youngest son of Queen Alicent, sent to Oldtown to be raised and educated under the care of your husband’s family. It’s a great honor, of course, but more than that, it feels like a trust, a bond that ties your houses closer together.

Gwayne’s hand moves from your back to your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. “He’s young, but from what we’ve heard, he’s bright and eager to learn. He’ll thrive here, I’m sure of it.”

You smile at his optimism, leaning into him slightly. “We’ll make sure of it,” you reply, your voice carrying the quiet determination that has grown within you over the years. Oldtown has become a sanctuary of sorts, a place where you and Gwayne have built a life together, despite the stormy beginnings of your union.

You can still remember the day of the tourney, the way your heart had pounded with fear as your father had chosen Gwayne as his opponent. The memory lingers like a shadow, but it’s one you’ve learned to live with, just as you’ve learned to live with the man who became your husband.

Gwayne, sensing the shift in your mood, squeezes your hand gently. “He’ll have the best tutors, the finest training. And he’ll have us.”

“Yes,” you agree, turning your gaze back to the city below. “He’ll have us.”

The grand hall of the Hightower is filled with the warmth of a roaring fire, the stone hearth dominating the room. The thick tapestries that line the walls soften the sound of footsteps on the stone floor, and the smell of spiced wine and roasted meat fills the air.

Daeron is smaller than you expected, a boy of perhaps seven years, with a mop of silver hair that falls into his eyes. Those eyes, so much like his mother’s, are wide with curiosity and just a hint of nervousness as he stands before you and Gwayne.

“Welcome to Oldtown, Prince Daeron,” Gwayne says, his voice kind but formal, as befits the occasion. He kneels slightly, bringing himself closer to the boy’s level, a gesture of respect and warmth that seems to put Daeron at ease.

The boy glances up at you, his lips parting in a small, shy smile. “Thank you, Ser Gwayne,” he replies, his voice small but clear. Then, turning to you, he adds, “My lady.”

You kneel beside Gwayne, reaching out to take Daeron’s hand in yours. His fingers are cold, and you can feel the slight tremor in them. “You’ll be safe here, Prince Daeron,” you assure him softly. “This is your home now.”

Daeron looks up at you, his young face a mix of emotions—fear, uncertainty, but also trust. It’s a look that tugs at your heart, and you find yourself wanting to protect this boy, to give him the guidance and care that only family can provide.

“We’ll take good care of you,” you promise, your voice gentle but firm. “Just as we would our own.”

The boy nods, and you can see the tension in his small shoulders begin to ease. He looks around the hall, taking in the grandeur of the Hightower, the vastness of the space that is now his home. There’s still fear in his eyes, but there’s also a glimmer of something else—hope.

Gwayne rises to his feet, offering his hand to you. “Come,” he says to Daeron, “let’s show you the rest of the Hightower. There’s much to see, and I believe the maester has prepared something special for your arrival.”

Daeron hesitates for just a moment before he takes Gwayne’s offered hand, his small fingers gripping tightly as though seeking reassurance. You stand beside them, a silent guardian of this new bond that is being forged.

As you walk through the halls, Gwayne points out various tapestries, statues, and paintings, telling stories of the history of the Hightowers and Oldtown. Daeron listens intently, his earlier nervousness slowly melting away under the gentle guidance of your husband.

When you reach the maester’s chambers, you’re greeted by the sight of a table laden with books, scrolls, and an array of strange instruments that immediately capture Daeron’s interest. The maester, a kindly old man with a beard as white as snow, greets Daeron with a deep bow.

“Prince Daeron,” the maester says warmly, “I’ve prepared a special lesson for you, one that I think you’ll find quite interesting.”

Daeron’s eyes light up with curiosity, and for the first time since his arrival, you see a genuine smile on his face. He looks up at you and Gwayne, his eyes shining with excitement. “Thank you,” he says, his voice more confident now.

Gwayne squeezes your hand, and you can’t help but return the smile. This, you realize, is what it means to be a family—not just by blood, but by the bonds you choose to create. In this moment, with the warmth of the fire and the promise of a new beginning, you feel something settle in your heart, a sense of fulfillment that you hadn’t known you were missing.

As Daeron sits down with the maester, already engrossed in the lesson that has been prepared for him, you and Gwayne share a look, a silent understanding passing between you.

And in this moment, as you both watch Daeron eagerly absorb the knowledge being offered to him, you know that you wouldn’t have your life being lived in any other way.

The halls of the Red Keep are as imposing as ever as you and Gwayne make your way through the corridors. It's been years since you last walked these halls, and yet they feel as familiar as ever—haunted by memories both bitter and sweet.

Gwayne’s hand rests on your elbow, guiding you through the maze of the castle with practiced ease. He’s dressed in the colors of his house, the green and silver of the Hightowers, his expression calm and composed as always. But you know him well enough to sense the tension beneath the surface, the way his gaze sharpens when he hears a distant sound, always vigilant, always protective.

You both turn a corner and nearly collide with a small entourage, led by none other than Rhaenyra herself. She’s flanked by her husband—your father, Daemon—and their children, their steps purposeful, their expressions tense. Rhaenyra’s silver hair gleams under the flickering torchlight, her violet eyes widening slightly in surprise as she sees you.

“Rhaenyra,” you greet her, your voice soft but steady, betraying none of the uncertainty you feel. So much has changed, yet seeing her here, a part of you yearns for the easy camaraderie you once shared as children.

“Cousin,” Rhaenyra replies, her voice warm despite the strain visible on her face. She glances at Gwayne and then back at you, her gaze searching, perhaps for some sign of how the years have treated you. “It’s been too long.”

“Far too long,” you agree, your eyes flicking to Daemon, who stands slightly behind Rhaenyra, his gaze locked on Gwayne. There’s a tension in his stance, a stiffness that wasn’t there before, and you know immediately that your father is displeased.

Daemon’s eyes are dark, and though he remains silent, the disapproval is clear. His gaze travels from Gwayne to you, then back again, lingering on the clasped hands between you and your husband. A muscle ticks in his jaw, and for a moment, the air seems to thicken with unspoken words and unresolved history.

“You’re back in the capital for the petitions, I presume?” Rhaenyra asks, breaking the silence, her tone carefully neutral. The mention of the petitions brings you back to the grim reality of why you’re all here—the matter of Driftmark, and the question of succession that has thrown the court into turmoil.

“Yes,” Gwayne answers before you can, his voice firm. “We came as soon as we heard.” He glances at Daemon, his expression respectful but guarded. “It seems the crown’s decision is in favor of your son.”

Rhaenyra’s face softens at the mention of Lucerys, but before she can respond, a voice from behind her interrupts. It’s Jacaerys, his young face set in determination. “The matter should have never been in question. Luke is the rightful heir to Driftmark.”

You see the fire in his eyes, the same fire that once burned in Rhaenyra at that age. It’s both heartening and concerning, especially now, in these treacherous waters.

“That he is,” you say gently, offering a smile to Jacaerys. “And it’s clear to anyone with eyes that he’ll make a fine lord.”

Before Jacaerys can respond, Daemon steps forward, his presence commanding attention. His eyes are locked onto yours now, and there’s a storm brewing behind them, a mix of emotions you can’t fully decipher. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, carrying the weight of a warning.

“You’ve found happiness in Oldtown, I see.” The words are directed at you, but his gaze shifts to Gwayne as he says it, his tone laced with something darker. “Though I wonder if the cost was worth it.”

You feel Gwayne’s hand tighten around yours, a subtle gesture of support. “Happiness is not something to be questioned, Father,” you reply calmly, meeting Daemon’s gaze without flinching. “Nor is the loyalty I hold to both my families.”

Daemon’s lips twitch, almost as if he’s about to say something more, but Rhaenyra places a gentle hand on his arm, silently urging him to hold his tongue. There’s a brief moment where it seems he might ignore her, but then he lets out a slow breath, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

“We’re here to support our family,” Gwayne adds, his voice measured, addressing Daemon directly now. “In whatever way is needed.”

Daemon studies Gwayne for a long moment, the silence between them stretching thin. Finally, he gives a curt nod, though the hardness in his gaze doesn’t entirely soften. “As you should,” he says, the words clipped, before turning back to Rhaenyra.

“Come, we have business with the king,” he says to her, his voice brooking no argument.

Rhaenyra hesitates, her gaze lingering on you for a moment longer. “We’ll speak later,” she promises, offering a small, genuine smile before following after Daemon, their children trailing behind her.

As they walk away, the tension slowly dissipates, leaving you standing beside Gwayne in the dimly lit corridor. You exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, leaning slightly into your husband’s side. Gwayne wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer, his warmth a comfort against the chill that lingers in the air.

“That went… better than I expected,” Gwayne murmurs, a touch of wry humor in his voice, though you can hear the relief beneath it.

“He’s never going to fully approve,” you say quietly, your eyes fixed on the spot where your father had stood. “But he’ll have to accept it.”

Gwayne turns to you, his expression softening as he looks down into your eyes. “I don’t need his approval,” he says, his voice firm. “I have you, and that’s all that matters.”

You smile at that, a genuine smile that reaches your eyes, banishing the last of the unease. “And I have you,” you reply, your voice filled with the love and certainty that have grown between you over the years.

The heavy oak door of your chambers shuts behind you, a soft thud echoing through the room. The warmth of the fire flickers across the stone walls that dance in tandem with your heightened pulse. Gwayne stands before you, his emerald eyes sharp and intense, still simmering with the tension of your earlier encounter in the halls. He says nothing as he approaches, but the way his hand reaches for your waist and pulls you flush against him speaks volumes.

You’ve grown accustomed to the feel of him—the strength in his embrace, the heat of his breath against your skin—but tonight there is something different, something more urgent. The lingering traces of your father’s displeasure hang between you, and you know, without words, that it fuels Gwayne’s every movement.

His lips descend upon yours, fierce and claiming, tasting of the wine shared at the evening’s feast. You respond in kind, your hands weaving through the thick strands of his hair, pulling him closer, as though you could erase the earlier tension through sheer proximity.

His hands roam across your body with practiced familiarity, fingers curling around the ties of your gown, loosening the laces with deliberate slowness. Gwayne leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice low and rough. “I will make you scream for me tonight,” he promises, and the unspoken words hang heavy in the air—Let him hear.

Your heart flutters in response, not with fear, but with anticipation. The thought of your father just beyond the walls, likely brooding over his anger, stirs something within you. How often had Daemon whispered venom into your ear about the Hightowers, about how they were a poison slowly strangling your family? And yet here you are, wrapped in the arms of one who bears that very name, bound to him not only by vows but by something far deeper, something that even your father’s fury cannot tarnish.

Gwayne’s touch turns rougher, more insistent, and your breath catches in your throat as he lifts you with ease, laying you down onto the bed. The covers crumple beneath your weight, the mattress giving way as he settles over you, his eyes burning with a hunger that matches your own. “I want him to know,” he murmurs against your neck, his lips trailing fire down your throat, “that you belong to me.”

Your back arches involuntarily, and you bite down on your lip, the need to hold back your cries warring with the knowledge of who might hear. Gwayne’s hands grasp your hips, his grip possessive as he moves against you with a rhythm that leaves you breathless. Each movement, each deliberate thrust, is a challenge—a challenge to the walls that separate your chambers from those of your father and his wife.

The pressure builds inside you, the familiar heat coiling in your belly, and you grasp at Gwayne’s shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you fight against the wave of pleasure threatening to drown you. His mouth hovers over yours, demanding, coaxing you to give in, to let go.

And then you remember—Daemon’s chambers are just beyond. The thought of his reaction, of his barely concealed rage at the idea of you finding joy with a Hightower, sends a thrill through you. You gasp aloud as Gwayne drives into you harder, his breath ragged in your ear, “Louder,” he commands, his voice a mix of authority and need.

You close your eyes, letting the sensation wash over you, letting the sound of his name tear from your lips, louder than before, louder than you ever have. You imagine the look on your father’s face, his fists clenched in helpless fury, and the thought sends you spiraling into a pleasure so intense it nearly blinds you.

Gwayne’s name tumbles from your lips again and again, each cry more fervent than the last, as he brings you to the edge and beyond. You feel his satisfaction in the way he groans your name in return, his hold on you unyielding, as though he could anchor himself to you through sheer force of will.

When it’s over, when the last echoes of your cries have faded into the night, you lay beside him, your body spent and trembling, but your mind still racing. Gwayne’s hand rests possessively on your hip, his chest rising and falling with the remnants of exertion. “He heard you,” he says, his voice tinged with satisfaction.

You can only nod, the thought of what tomorrow might bring swirling in your mind. But for now, there is only this—only you and Gwayne, and the knowledge that whatever storm your father’s ire might bring, you would weather it together.

In the silence that follows, you curl closer to Gwayne, your fingers tracing idle patterns across his chest. “Tomorrow…” you begin, but your voice trails off.

“Tomorrow,” Gwayne echoes, his tone firm, reassuring, “we will face whatever comes. But tonight, you are mine, and that is all that matters.”

You smile softly at his words, closing your eyes as sleep finally begins to claim you.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd gwayne #hotd x female reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #gwayne x you #gwayne x reader #gwayne x y/n #gwayne hightower #ser gwayne

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killerlookz · 5 months ago

Text

She Makes Dirty Words Sound Pretty: Pt. II | Joost Klein

Description: Joost Klein x f! reader (part two to this fic here) Joost returns home from tour, and he and reader finally get to rekindle their relationship with some much-needed make up sex.

Content: 18+ nsfw, mdni- rpf smut, oral (f! recieving), fingering, unprotected PiV, allusions to past angst/relationship issues but mostly just comfort/fluff

Word count: 4,379

Your eyes flutter as a soft touch against your cheek pulls awake you from your unconscious state. Heavy eyelids prying themselves open, fighting against the weight of sleep. Your bedroom is drenched in moonlight, providing just enough clarity to identify the figure that stands above you.

"Joost?" Your straining voice thick with sleep as your eyebrows furrow, confused, but you'd be lying if you said a smile wasn't tugging at the corners of your lips.

"Oh," He responds, lips just above your forehead, "Schatje, I didn't mean to wake you." His voice soft and apologetic.

"No," You mumble, heart pumping, far too ecstatic for your exhausted state, "You're home?" You outstretch a lazy arm, reaching for the lamp on your bedside table so you can actually see the man you're talking to. With a click, the room is enveloped in a soft orange glow. Your eyelids snap shut at the initial brightness, too harsh for your eyes, sensitive from sleep.

Last you heard, Joost wasn't supposed to be home from tour until tomorrow evening. Not that you could complain about his early appearance, it had been a hard few weeks without him.

You stare at the man above you, his glasses hanging down his nose, exposing his eyes, the pale skin surrounding them seeming darker than usual with hints of purple, his hair, messy. He looked exhausted, you figured it had been a while since he had gotten a good night's sleep.

"I was able to get an earlier flight." A small smile appears on his lips as he slowly stands up from the position where he hovers over you.

"Didn't tell me." You pout

"I didn't want you waiting up for me." His head falls to the side, apologetically.

"No? Just going to hover over me in the dark at-whatever time in the morning it is."

Joost shakes his head, chuckling,

"You make it sound so creepy."

"It is a little creepy," You giggle, "Waking up to some guy hanging above my face."

"Just giving you a kiss goodnight."

"Then why don't you come to bed?" You ask, patting the empty space next to you.

It was then that you had realized perhaps subconsciously you had been leaving room for Joost in bed every night. It had been over a month since you had last shared a bed, and yet still you had continued to sleep on "your" side of the bed, not allowing yourself to sprawl out.

"A few minutes, okay?"

You nod, your head falling to the side, still sleepy.

You manage to keep your eyes open, however, as you watch Joost walk away from you. You track his movements with your eyes, your gaze not leaving his body as he walks about the room.

There had been a lingering tension in the room, one that lightly dulled your excitement of having Joost home. Many words had been left unsaid between the two of you, having thought it better to push aside discussing those tumultuous first few weeks he had been away until Joost had gotten home. Neither of you wanted to deal with emotions getting lost or misunderstood over the phone anymore, both you and Joost wanted to fix your relationship, not continue the cycle of arguments you had unfortunately fallen into.

Still, things had been amicable between you, being able to hold conversations like normal- but, that gnawing feeling of obvious feelings having been unspoken did not cease.

Despite the tension, your heart still flutters as you watch Joost undress on the other side of the bedroom, stripping down to only his boxers. A smile grazes his lips as he looks up at you, catching you staring at him. You smile back, unashamed of how hard you had been looking.

"Be right there," The grin lingers on his face as he goes to toss his clothes into the closet. You take this moment to turn off the lamp beside you, the room once again now only lit by moonlight.

Moments later he's walking back toward the bed, the mattress dipping as he climbs in next to you.

Immediately, the two of you are meeting in the middle of the bed, wrapping a leg around his as you pull yourself near him, his arm snaking around your waist. You close your eyes as your lips meet his in a gentle kiss, so soft yet still filled with so many emotions. Joost grips you tighter, holding you firmly against his,

"I missed you," He mumbles, pulling away only slightly, his lips still ghosting yours as he speaks.

"I missed you too." It wasn't solely a physical missing him, but missing the Joost before tour, the Joost before the arguments and nights ridden with anger and spite. But as you lay in each other's arms, it feels as if you already have that Joost back, the Joost that wouldn't ever dare to hurt your feelings, not even in the slightest, "I'm glad you're home."

It felt ridiculous even saying having that Joost back, he had never left, and deep down you knew it, under no circumstances would either of you truly intentionally hurt each other.

You feel Joost's chest rising against yours before he lets out a large exhale.

"Mmm," He hums, nuzzling his face into your cheek, "Ik ben zo blij om thuis te zijn." (I'm so glad to be home), A small kiss is placed against your jaw before Joost speaks again, his words becoming slower, "Met mijn lieve meisje" (With my sweet girl)

"You're exhausted." You giggle, Joost had a habit of mixing up languages once he got to a certain point of tired, often speaking in some combination of English and Dutch, but it seemed now he had forgotten English entirely, "Prober wat te slapen." (try to get some sleep),

"Ahh," Joost's breath tickles your neck as he exhales, "You should speak Dutch more, zo mooi klinkt." (sounds so pretty)

You can't help but feel a little bad, your usage of Dutch in day-to-day life hadn't exactly been nearly as much as it should have been for someone with a Dutch boyfriend, living in the Netherlands. Despite the length the two of you had been together, and how long you had been living here you had yet to feel confident enough to use it so often.

You simply hum in response, unsure of what to say as you snuggle up closer to Joost, burying your head in his neck, and wrapping an arm around his torso. You had missed this closeness, realizing just how much you craved his touch as Joost's arm snakes up under the T-shirt you had been wearing, feeling his palm grip your now-exposed skin.

"Hold on," You mumble, sneaking out of Joost's grip, grabbing at the bottom of your shirt, pulling it over your head. You toss the fabric somewhere in the room, leaving both of you clad only in your underwear.

The two of you were long past the point in your relationship of there being any shame or shyness around nudity. There was nothing inherently sexual about your decision to further undress, rather the move was done solely due to your desire for skin-to-skin contact with Joost.

As you go to lay back down, Joost turns on his side, pressing his chest to your now bare back. His skin is soft, the warmth of his body heat exuding a familiar warmth as he presses his face into your neck. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close to him.

"Slaap lekker, ik hou van jou." (Sleep tight, I love you.) Joost mumbles into your ear, and you can tell sleep is quickly overtaking him.

"Ik hou ook van jou." (I love you too.)

You wake up with a low groan, immediately noticing the sharp pain in your neck as you attempt to change your position.

"Ugh," You moan at the sensation, eyes fluttering open.

"Hmm?" You hear a hum from next to you, remembering that Joost had come home last night.

Inhaling deeply you turn your whole body to the side, wincing at the way your neck aches with your movements.

Your boyfriend lies next to you, awake, but his eyelids are still heavy as he looks at you. You forget the pain you're in for just a moment as you admire his peaceful state, his face illuminated by the soft orange glow of sunlight.

"What's wrong?" He asks, voice thick with sleep.

"Slept weird." You furrow your eyebrows, "My neck really hurts."

"Mijn arme meisje," (My poor girl) He pouts, "C'mon," He stretches a hand to your waist, "Roll over, maybe a massage will help."

Wordlessly, you comply, rolling onto your stomach, trying to adjust yourself comfortably against the pillows, tilting your head to the side so as to not suffocate yourself.

The bed dips as Joost moves from his position, a hand grazing your thigh, motioning you to pull your legs apart so he can sit between them.

You can feel Joost hovering above you as he kneels between your legs, his presence is a comforting one.

"Good morning," He mumbles, leaning forward, pressing a kiss to your exposed shoulder blade.

"Morning." You respond, silently hoping for him to kiss you more. But soon enough his thumbs press against the back of your neck, the rest of your fingers just barely resting against your throat as he softly massages the spot where you're sore.

A small gasp leaves your mouth at the sensation, your eyes forcing themselves shut.

"That feel okay?" Joost asks, a tinge of concern in his voice.

"Perfect." You sigh, letting yourself enjoy his touch.

He continues for a little while longer, gentle moans leaving your mouth as he soothes your pain with the palms of his hand. After a few minutes of silence, Joost speaks again,

"Are things okay- between us? You've been short with me since I got back."

"Oh," You exhale, "-M'just tired." It's only partially the truth, you know you can't skirt around having to discuss the issues the pair of you had had at the beginning of tour for much longer, but you're hoping to divert the conversation for just a little bit more so you can revel in this moment, "We can talk about everything later. Let's just enjoy our morning"

"Okay," Joost's voice barely above a whisper, "Want me to go lower?" His hands trailing down to your shoulders.

"Mhm," You hum.

Joost kneads into the skin of your shoulders, eliciting more moans and sighs from you. His touch is just firm enough to be effective, yet still gentle, romantic.

He continues massaging down your back as you're enveloped in a comfortable silence. All tension seems to be erased from your body as Joost works his hands against you. There's no stress, no worries, only him and his reassuring touch.

Joost finds himself sliding his hands down your hips and to your thighs. He grips each thigh with one hand, his fingers pressing into the supple flesh. A familiar tightness creeps between your legs as you realize where he has positioned himself, and how close to your inner thighs his thumbs are.

You sigh as your back arches into his touch, forcing his hands a little further up your thighs. Joost continues his movements, his fingers inching closer, and closer to the inside of your legs.

"Like that?" He asks, his voice making it evident he already knows the answer.

"Yes." Is just about all you can manage out.

Joost swipes a thumb across the crotch of your panties, shivers running down your spine as he does so.

"How about if I touch you here?" He presses his thumb right above your clothed entrance, "Would you like that?"

"Please," You strain, your inner thighs pulsing with a growing arousal.

Joost's thumb ghosts over the fabric of your panties a couple times, swiping back and forth, teasingly, before pulling them to the side.

You gasp as the cold air from your bedroom meets your now exposed wetness before Joost slides a thumb through your folds, gathering your arousal before pressing on your clit. He draws circles against the sensitive nerves, coaxing gentle moans from you.

You need him terribly, as enjoyable as phone sex had been while he was away on tour, nothing could ever compare to the real thing. Sometimes it felt like Joost knew your body better than you did yourself, always able to make you feel a sort of pleasure you hadn't known was possible.

"Lay on your back," Joost commands, his voice still gentle. You do exactly as he says, whining a little at the loss of stimulation as his hand leaves your crotch.

You lay flat against the bed, staring up at the ceiling as Joost's fingers find themselves in the waistband of your panties, sliding them down the length of your legs and discarding them across the room.

Perched between your legs, Joost motions you to bend them, putting you on full display for him.

"So pretty," He muses as his eyes trail your naked figure. His small praise has your body hot as you position your gaze towards him.

His tongue swipes across his lips as he stares down at you, eyes aflame with desire. You had never seen a picture so perfect, the way that the warm glow of the sun seeped into your bedroom, illuminating him just right. You marveled at the man in front of you, even after years it had felt unbelievable that he was yours.

Joost leans forward, letting his hands rest on your thighs, pulling them apart. Soon his lips are pressed to your abdomen, soft kisses being littered against your skin before they eventually trail lower. One final kiss is placed just above your clit, forcing your back to arch as you all but beg for him.

A smirk graces Joost's mouth before his tongue leaves his lips, softly licking at you, forcing a sharp, "Oh," to leave you.

His tongue circles around your clit a few more times before being replaced with his lips, sucking at the bundle of nerves.

Each new movement of his mouth against you has you whining with pure delight, his tongue slowly trailing down to your entrance before dipping inside.

"Fuck.' You sputter, your hands finding their way into his hair. Joost's tongue flattens against your cunt, licking a long stripe from your entrance to your clit, before pressing a kiss to it. The sensation has you gripping at the messy blonde strands of his hair, causing Joost to groan. The vibration his low voice makes against your pussy causes your abdomen to tighten, and your body to twitch in pure delight.

He pulls back for just a second, making you whimper at the lack of stimulation,

"Taste so good, schatje," He mumbles, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, "God, I missed this- missed your pussy."

His sweet words only make your body grow hotter, tingling with fervent arousal.

He continues to work his tongue against your cunt, skillful licks followed by sporadic kisses. The pleasure you feel is so intense that it is almost painful, loud, high-pitched moans now replace your soft whines.

Joost's lips envelop your clit, sucking at the swollen bud, his mouth is warm, wet, and unrelenting against your sensitive nerves, and you feel your legs trembling, you know you're close.

Your fingers grip Joost's hair, tight, as the stimulation almost becomes too much to bear.

"So close," You whine, but Joost doesn't seem to acknowledge your words, only continuing to push you closer to completion with his mouth. You rock your lips against Joost's face, forcing his tongue further onto you.

Your eyes force themselves shut as you feel your orgasm crashing into you, no words can escape your mouth, only strained noises as your toes curl, muscles tense, and legs twitch. Your cunt spasms under the pressure of Joost's warm mouth, your arousal spilling out of you and onto his tongue.

Joost doesn't spare a single drop as your orgasm rolls over you, the intense wave slowly subsiding as your eyes flutter open. Still, Joost's tongue remains buried inside of you, collecting your release. His lingering licks force a strained whine out of you, sore with overstimulation.

Joost eventually pulls back from you, his wet lips trailing kisses on your thighs before raising his head completely.

You struggle to catch your breath as Joost's head emerges from between your thighs, sitting up, a grin pressed against his lips, glossy from you.

You swallow thickly as you look down his body, noticing the way his cock strains against the tightness of his underwear, the white fabric spearing no detail about how he was feeling.

If he were to touch you now you'd surely cry from overstimulation, yet- somehow it seemed to be all you wanted- him, buried deep inside you.

Joost rests a hand on your thigh before turning a sympathetic gaze to you,

"Too tired to continue?"

"No," You shake your head.

"Good," His lips curling into a smirk, "I know you can hold out a little longer for me."

You nod, affirming his words,

"Need you, please." You whine, staring right at him, your sore legs parting once more as you speak.

Joost lurches forward, holding himself above you with his arms positioned on either side of you. He lowers himself slightly to press a kiss to your lips. You moan at the lingering taste of your release on him.

His kisses trail to your neck, sucking softly against your beating pulse. Your desperate hands roam his body, aching just to feel him.

"You know I love you, right?" He mumbles against your neck.

"Mhm," You sigh, content, "I love you too."

He lifts his head from where it is buried against you, looking straight down at you once more, shaking his head,

"I don't ever want to lose you, liefje." He speaks in earnest, eyes widening. Your heart feels like it's skipping beats as his intense gaze lingers on you, drawing out those feelings you had been keeping unsaid.

"I know," You whisper, "We're going to be okay." You nod, you know it. Joost nods with you, his gaze softening as he lowers a kiss to your cheek.

"You don't know how bad I've wanted his," Joost's voice is suddenly low, seductive.

"I think I do," You smirk, "And I think I may want this even more."

"Yeah," He breathes, "Why don't you show me then, mooi meisje" (pretty girl)

Joost rolls over, landing on his back, causing the bed to bounce slightly. You straddle Joost's legs, fingers trembling with excitement as they tease the waistband of his boxers.

You lean forward, pressing kisses to his stomach, eventually leading down to the elastic of his underwear. You can feel his breathing deepen as your lips grace his waist

You let your hand fall from where it toyed with the elastic, your palm rolling over his crotch. You feel his cock twitch under your light touch. You flick your eyes up to him, where he lays, propped up on the pillows, mouth open slightly.

You smirk as you continue to palm him through his boxers, his hips beginning to buck into your hand.

"Come on, schatje." He just about begs, hips stuttering forward. A smirk graces your lips, "Fuck, come on, I need you."

There's something of a desperation in his voice, his blatant desire for you just about knocking the wind out of you. Yes, teasing him was fun... but fucking him was definitely way better.

You bite your lip, your head lowering in a slow nod as your fingers return back to the waistband of his boxers as you begin to tug them down. He doesn't hesitate to help you out, lifting his back just slightly so you're able to pull them down his thighs, his hard cock springing from the confines of the fabric.

You give him a sheepish smile as his back returns to the mattress, leaning forward once more and wrapping your hand around the base of his cock. Your firm grip causes him to grasp as you slowly begin to pump your hand up and down the shaft.

Joost's head tips back as you continue to work your hand up and down his cock. You feel your own arousal growing as you watch his face, his jaw clenching as struggled groans leave his mouth.

"Stop that," He breathes out, "Come here, want you on top of me." He beckons.

You remove your hand from him, slowly crawling up the length of his body before stopping, now straddling his upper thighs. Joost flicks his head up, motioning for you to continue. You sit up, positioning yourself above him.

"That's it," He purrs as you grab the base of his cock, lining him up with your entrance. The head grazes your wet folds, causing you to gasp, only craving him more. You look back up at Joost, waiting for permission to continue. He nods fervently, "Go on, I know you want it."

"Yeah," You sigh, maintaining eye contact with him as you begin to sink down on him. Your lips purse, forming a straight line, eyes squeezing shut as he begins to stretch you out, and you take your time to fully take him in.

"Fuck, liefje," Joost groans as he bottoms out into you.

"You want me to go faster?"

"No," Joost breathes out, "No this is perfect, take it slow, schatje, enjoy the moment."

You're fine with that, slowly raising your hips until only the tip of his cock is in you, before sinking down onto Joost once more.

Joost sits up, grabbing your hips to help guide you at a steady pace that feels good for both of you. But it's not long before his hands leave your hips, palms sliding up and down your body, the pads of his fingers grabbing at you, groping wherever he can get his hands on.

"Joost," You whine as he hits that perfect spot inside you, "Oh, fuck, Joost."

"Feels good?" He asks, knowingly, his breathing heavy, "It's like you were made for me- fuck, you were made for me." He remarked at how perfect you felt around him.

All you can respond with is a series of sloppy moans and whines, the feeling of him inside you making your brain go numb.

"That's it," He groans, "Use that pretty voice, show me how good you feel."

Joost settles his grip on your ass, his dull fingernails digging into your flesh, pinching just enough to elicit a delightful sting. Joost's handle on you once again helps you maintain a steady pace as your legs begin to tire, muscles starting to burn from your consistent movement. To further help you, he begins bucking his hips in time with your movement, thrusting into you as you sink down onto him.

The way he repeatedly hits inside you makes it hard for you to concentrate, your only focus is on the overwhelming amount of pleasure you feel, each thrust forward coaxing you closer to another orgasm.

You begin to fall forward, your head resting on Joost's shoulder, as your chest collides into his. Your bodies are hot, sticky with a thin sheen of sweat, and the heat he gives off is almost unbearable as you rest against him. But the rest of your body is far too overwhelmed to sit up straight

"I love you," You slur out against his neck, dizzy off adoration and pleasure.

"I love you too, liefje," His hands lose their grip on your ass, instead his arms coming around to hold you at the waist. Joost places small kisses on your shoulder as your movements quicken, losing any pace, "I love you so much." He reiterates.

You're close, heat building in your abdomen as every muscle in your body constricts. You know you can't hold on much longer, your orgasm about to hit you at any moment now.

"I'm gonna-" You sputter, unable to finish your sentence as its broken by a sharp moan, your cunt clenching as an intense wall of pleasure smacks right into you. Your eyes flutter, your whole body twitching as your pussy spasms around Joost's cock, causing him to groan, your movements becoming sloppier as your release spills out of you, lewd, wet sounds filling the room.

"Good," Joost exhales, "Cum all over my cock, liefje."

Your orgasm soon disappears as Joost continues to thrust upwards into you, pleasure soon turning into overstimulation as you slump completely into him.

"Not much longer," He reassures, "You're doing so good."

Tears begin to spill down your cheeks at the feeling, your already sensitive nerves being worked to the extreme.

Joost's hips start to staccato, his thrusts becoming sharp, causing you to yelp into the spot where your head is buried into his neck. He grips you tighter, feeling like he's about to suffocate you before with a last grunt he's spilling into you, warm ribbons of cum coating the walls of your cunt with a few final thrusts.

Your body is trembling as you attempt to lift yourself up from where you lay against Joost, your body still tingling with lingering pleasure. Your eyelids are low as you look at Joost, your face carrying an entirely blissed-out expression.

A smile falls on Joost's lips,

"Oh," He chuckles, a hand coming up to wipe the tears from your cheek, "These are the only tears I ever want to make you cry."

You return a smile to him before his expression changes,

"Het spijt me, schatje" (I'm sorry, baby), His words are full of regret, "I'm so sorry for how things have been."

"I know," Your voice barely a whisper, "I'm sorry too."

"Things will be better, now that I'm home," He presses a kiss to your shoulder, "I promise."

"I know- I know they will," You nod.

If there was anything you knew for certain, you knew that you and Joost loved each other too much to stop fighting for your relationship. A rough patch of a few weeks had been nothing in comparison to the countless happy memories the two of you shared.

"Ik hou van jou, liefje," Another kiss to your shoulder, "Don't ever forget that."

#joost klein #joost klein x reader #joost klein smut #rpf #joost klein fic #joost klein fanfic #joost klein x f! reader

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internetb3by · 7 months ago

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pairing: jason x reader

synopsis: you woke up before jason feeling needy

content warnings: smut, sleepy sex, pet names (princess), fingering, use of the word panties (just once i think unless i changed it)

word count: 975

you woke up before jason, his soft rhythmic breaths sounding from his side of the bed.

at first, you didn’t want to move in fear of waking him. you knew he was a light sleeper (if he managed to get any sleep at all), but you couldn’t help yourself. he just looked so pretty.

shifting forward ever so slightly, your body now close enough to admire his face. you gaze first landing on his eyelashes, which where unfairly long in your opinion, then they shifted to his nose with was slightly crooked, from being broken one too many times. your eyes moved to his hair, the soft strands, currently a mess on his head, they framed his face perfectly. the white streak contrasting the dark locs on the rest of his head. you’d kill to run your fingers through them or grip them while he was between your thighs it’s a miracle he doesn’t wake when you give into the urge to do just that.

ever so slightly your fingers brush through hair framing his face. you convinced yourself it was to move them out of his face and not because you wanted to “accidentally” wake him up to soothe the ache growing between your thighs. it doesn’t help when your eyes travel down further and find his bare chest.

your mind wandered to him coming home, he most likely slipped through your window. his heavy boots stomping onto your hardwood floors as he dragged his sleep ridden body to your bedroom, only stopping to triple check the locks were in place. he probably began to undress himself when he finally made it into your bedroom, fingers going to press the release button on his helmet with a click before setting aside. next he probably stripped off the heavy armored layers of his suit and then tossed them haphazardly somewhere in the room. doing the same with his dirty boots.

your point only seeming to be proven when you noticed the clothes splayed out in the corner of your room. you’re attention was only off of him for a second though because it was back on his sleeping figure within seconds of your realization. unfortunately for you imagining him stripping down to get into bed only had you squeezing your thighs together for some relief.

luckily for you though, he stirred awake while your mind was elsewhere. a soft sleep laced groan was heard followed by his voice

“princess.” his raspy voice snapping you out of your fantasy

Seemingly able to know what you were thinking without you vocalizing it, his hands find your hips. calloused hands sliding over the lace. chapped lips suckle at your neck. filling the room with your soft whimpers. his hand traveling further down your hips, tracing the lace before his forefinger finds the edge of your underwear, peeling it aside as his hand slips underneath them.

his hand lazily slides further into your underwear. finding you completely drenched.

“this all for me?” he mumbles the question into your skin, not really expecting an answer, not that you could anyways because almost as soon as he said that his finger finds your puffy little clit. his finger rubbing tight circles onto the bud.

in response your hand found his arm, nails digging into it, leaving crescent shaped marks on skin.

breathless moans escaping your lips, despite how you tried to muffle them by tucking your face into your pillow. his hand slipped further down threatening to slip into your desperate hole, but he stops before they do. collecting your slick and spreading it over your folds before pulling them out altogether.

his slick coated fingers find their way to your lips, an unspoken command for you to suck them, and you do. your parched lip’s part and you greedily swallow what he gives you. you run your tongue over the digits moaning around them. he pulls them out with a pop.

“please.” a whine escaped you when he pulled them out. without giving you a chance to elaborate his lips found yours. he moaned finally tasting you. his tongue glides over yours and his hands slip down your body; only stopping to take a few moments to tweak at your pebbled nipples before sliding down to where you wanted him the most. pulling your underwear down just enough to give him access.

and without missing a beat he reached down to pull the band of his underwear down to reveal himself. he gave himself a few teasing strokes before lining himself up with your heat. Your breath hitching when you caught sight of him. unconsciously you began to rock against him. His hands move to your hips to still them.

his eyes flicker from your body to your eyes, silently asking if this was okay. you nod vigorously, lips parting with a silent plea.

moments later you feel the pleasurable stretch of him burying himself into you. your hands scratching at his back as he fucks into you. desperate moans fill the room as your sweaty bodies collide.

you feel yourself reaching the edge. His hand slides down to sloppily rub at your clit to push you over the edge. Before you can stop yourself, not that you wanted to, white hot pleasure burns through your body as you cum. your tight cunt squeezing him and like a ripple effect it sends him into his own orgasm. He buries his face into your shoulder biting down ever so slightly. he collapses ontop of you as he comes down. sliding out of you he kisses your forehead affectionately. you wince slightly as he pulls out.

“good morning” he mumbles into your sweaty skin. and you kiss him, a lot gentler this time, reciprocating his greeting. post-orgasimic bliss surrounds you both as you yawn. and you both start to drift off again.

───────♡──────────────♡──────────────♡──────

a/n: this fic was supposed to be something completely different. it was supposed to be a quick fix about Jason's nose( a fluffy piece about admiring his scars and stuff). I started this at about 2 am and wrote until 4 in the morning. then i came back and added some more this afternoon. okay, that's all from me. hopefully, there will be more bc I want to write more consistently, and since summer is soon, we'll see. shout out to ungoldy hour bc i was playing that and chappell roan while writing, i love chappell roan sm.

#star rambles #i firmly believe he has a crooked nose #jason todd propaganda #jason todd x reader #jason todd #jason todd smut

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r3starttt · 3 months ago

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DON'T BUY TLOU | PALESTINE MP | PALESTINE LINKS | DAILY CLICK | TAGLIST

Dealer! Abby who's got her hands round your neck and stomach, her hips against your ass, rubbing herself like she's the one in need. The ligh in the bathroom almost too Intense for your current state to deal with, the music too loud, making everythinf buzz- and her words, too hurtful for you to even focus on how wet she's got you with it. But she knows- she's aware she's got you ridiculously wet. "Think you can do better than me?" Her lips pressing a kiss right on your earlobe, her breath hitting your skin. "No- Abs, please," all because you accepted some random girl's joint instead of looking for her- who you knew was about to fuck some other girl too. "Shut the fuck up." Thing is, she caught you first.

While your hands keep yourself in balance against the sink, her fingers pull towards your chest, underneath your shirt which she takes with her hand, exposing a bra she very much knew. "Gotta be fucking kidding me" She mocked you. "You're a fucking whore, mhm?" every move accompanied by a wet kiss on your neck- lips sucking and nibbling at your skin with no shame, her reddish eyes looking at you through the reflection. you just blabber in denial, feeling her other hand tightening around your neck, the callouses of her fingers harsh against your skin. "No? you're not a whore?" The vibrations of her laugh hit your skin, almost at the rhythm of the music outside. "Then why're you wearing this, just a coincidence?" she voices almost like a long grown. "Abs-" it wasn't in fact, any coincidence, but she was too mad and annoyed by your stupid voice right now and your drunk-high blabbering to care about any word coming out your mouth that wasn't whimpers. "Shut the fuck up." Her fingers graced over the cups of your bra, tracing its pattern, skimming the lacey material before pulling the cups under your breasts.The reflection in the mirror humiliating. some baby hairs cascading on the sides of your face, quivering brows and a stupid smile half biting- sucking at your bottom lip and your breasts now fully exposed, your nipples begging to be touched. It was giving you a headache.

Her nails wrapped your perky nipples, pulling and pinching until she saw your reflection- that stupid look on your face- as she played with you, the hand on your throat left, going down yoru ass to cup and grip at the flesh, her index finger pulling you from the belt loop. “Think she could’ve made you cum?” she kept the palm of her hand steady against your hip, slowly moving back to your lower stomach, down your zipper until her palm cupped your cunt over the pair of jeans you were wearing, the fabric suddenly too thin yet too thick. You shook your head relentlessly, blabbering quiet no’s over and over again until she’d had enough fun with you.

“Haven't even started fucking you right, you're already drenched" her fingers slid right above your clothed cunt, underneath your jeans. Her fingers rubbing the smallest and slowest circles over your clit. Her other hand left your nipples, all swollen and sensitive- she rather forcing you to look at your reflection, hugging your neck tight enough for you to follow her unspoken command. “You're fucking wet, all cause I'm being mean to you? yeah?" you nod your head, letting her run her thick fingers down the slit of your cunt, aching for her to just pull your panties aside, touch your twitching entrance properly. “Want me to fuck you? want me to use you?" Abby’s eyes were red-ish, half leaded and looking at you pitied, cruel. Your nails hit the cold of the sink, the notion sending and awkward shiver to your whole body. “Please,” she laughs at how pathetic you are, all from just her fingers which she didn’t took long to push into you, they slid with ease, like you were made for her. It was embarrassing for you, but her? the whole scene before her feeding her ego, no one could ever make you this stupid. “see? sucking my fingers right in like the whore you are" you grind back onto her fingers, your walls clenching around them. you could feel your cheeks burning at the sound of your slick folds, the neediness of your hole to be filled. “You're gonna be fucking loud, and say my name when you cum. Let that bitch know who’s fucking you , yeah?”

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becausebuckley · 1 month ago

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michelle's buddie fic recs: week 42!

another lovely reading week! i really need to sort through my marked for later list though, it just keeps growing... a task for next week, perhaps?

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! note that unlike in previous weeks, this list contains some fics that are set during season 8, so be careful if you don't want spoilers!

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

drench yourself in words unspoken | foxwatson/@eddiediazes | 26.2k | T

the one where everything in canon is the same, except eddie diaz is secretly a bestselling romance author, and nobody knows. Yet. romance writer eddie is brilliant, the vision!! and this is so well-written <3

lazy sunday (lay with me) | thelikesofus/@thelikesofus | 1.3k | G

Buck wakes up to sleepy morning couch cuddles with his second favorite Diaz boy AKA Eddie is clingy in the morning. clingy eddie is so special to me <3 this captures that soft moning atmosphere perfectly!

line | the_one_that_fell/@buckvalentina | 4.4k | E

Eddie and Buck cross a line in an El Paso motel. okay but this fic. THIS FIC. they absolutely would do the in person phone sex no touching thing. it's so them i'm obsessed

please, i've been on my knees | playinginthunderstorms/@playinginthunderstorms | 11.6k | E

Buck discovers he has a kink. this is the most recent addition to the list, i only read it this morning! and wow what a way to wake up... a good day to be me. it's sweet and funny and hot and i loved research!buck <3

pumpkin spice and everything nice | PretentiousSwanQueen/@hotcinnamonsunset | 4k | M

Buck tries to get Eddie to accept one pumpkin spiced flavored something in his life and eventually finds success (in love and edibles). no but this fic is so right buck would love pumpkin spice and eddie wouldn't!! such a fun read!

songs and poems and promises | lesbianrobin/@lesbianrobin | 4.9k | E

“Stubble’s kinda crazy,” Buck says, “And it actually kinda drives me crazy. I didn’t think I’d be into that, you know? But it’s cool. Like, he’s a man, you know?” [...] “It’s just like, you know, even though it doesn’t feel as good, there are still all these new things that I didn’t expect I’d like so much.” in just a few lines this captures the firefam dynamics so well!! and the buddie is also brilliant of course. i had a great time with this one <3

stop waking me up in the middle of the night | reincrimination/@reincrimination | 2.3k | G

“Do you not like sleeping with me, Diaz?” Buck hazards, taking a swig of his nearly-empty bottle. [...] “If you would stop waking me up in the middle of the night, I might like it more,” Eddie sighs, half-genuine in his annoyance. “Buck kicks like a racehorse.” pandemic era buddie bed sharing fics hit so hard <3 this is lovely!!

sweetheart (you look a little tired) | EiraLloyd | 14.6k | T

five times Buck tried to cheer up Eddie with baked goods, and one time Eddie tried to cheer up Buck with baked goods. i love baking and i love buddie so basically this is perfect for me <3 had a lovely time reading through this earlier this week!!

the kiss that lingers | greenbergsays/@greenbergsays | 10.7k | E

5 times Eddie kisses Buck's birthmark & 1 time he doesn't. birthmark kisses my absolute beloved <3 soft and sweet and so them!!

too often the power of touch is underestimated | xjustlikeyou/@xjustlikeyou | 15.3k | T

Five times a touch knocked Eddie off his feet, and the one time he got to return the favor. buddie and eddiekaren bestieism what else could i possibly want <3 so good!!

the sincerest form of flattery | canadadry | 1.7k | NR

in which Brad Torrence only almost passes out, and observes the aftermath. brad torrence is the gift that keeps on giving <3 i loved his inner dialogue here!!

touching me, touching you | rainbow_nerds/@rainbow-nerdss | 7.1k | E

Buck and Eddie wake up one morning able to feel each other's touch. They make the most of it. i love the premise of this fic so so much, it's so cool?? and executed so well <3

what's your love language? | songbvrd/@songbvrd | 18.3k | E

After finding out that Eddie doesn't know what his love language is, Buck sets about finding out for him. He begins a five week experiment, one for each love language, to figure out which will make Eddie feel the most loved. this fic makes me go !!!! inside. i love the way buck goes all out to make eddie feel loved while also thinking it's the most normal thing in the world. and that ending!

you bring me comfort | thewolvesof1998/@thewolvesof1998 | 4.2k | T

Eddie is touched starved and just needs a hug instead, instead he has his sweater. i've read this so many times by now, it's an absolute favourite!! i'm a big fan of giving eddie comfort in whatever way he wants or needs <3

#buddie #buddie fic #buddie fic rec #911 abc #911 fic #911 fic rec #michelle’s recs #fic rec list #yes there is a trend in most of these fics #no we will not be talking about it lmao #listen i get my reading material half from subscription material/recs on discord #and half from whichever hyperspecific searches i'm entering on ao3 #this is how it goes #also let me know if you prefer the list like this or a separate one for spoilery fics!#i'm open to any and all feedback

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moonselune · 7 days ago

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oh nooo, tavs tent got flooded by rain ans now theyre forced to share a bed with someone! can i rq a one bed troupe with male tav with karlach, wyll, astarion, halsin?

oh noooo how could this happen??

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

The storm rolled in unexpectedly, drenching the camp in a relentless downpour. You were still trying to salvage what you could when a deafening crack of thunder shook the ground, sending the rivers of rainwater cascading directly into your tent. By the time you managed to crawl out, sputtering and soaked, your belongings were hopelessly waterlogged.

Karlach, of course, was there to witness your predicament. She jogged over, her broad grin illuminated by the occasional flash of lightning.

“Rough night, huh, soldier?” she teased, shaking her head at the state of your tent.

You groaned, wringing out your shirt. “You could say that. Looks like I’m going to be sleeping under the stars tonight—well, under the rain, more like.”

“Nonsense!” Karlach’s voice was as warm as the heat radiating from her. She slapped a hand on your shoulder, the gesture surprisingly gentle. “You can bunk with me. My tent’s dry, and, uh, let’s just say I come with central heating.”

The thought made your stomach twist with equal parts relief and trepidation. Sharing a tent—no, a bed—with Karlach? The woman you’d been nursing an embarrassingly obvious crush on for weeks? Your throat went dry despite the rain drenching you.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to—”

She cut you off with a wave of her hand. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll freeze to death out here otherwise. Let’s go.”

Her tent was modest but well-kept, and most importantly, dry. You hesitated at the entrance, dripping onto the canvas floor. Karlach turned, hands on her hips, and raised a brow.

“Get in here before you catch something, will ya?” She rummaged through her belongings, tossing a dry blanket your way. “Strip out of that wet stuff and wrap yourself up. I’ll, uh, look the other way if you’re shy.”

You managed a weak laugh, your heart thudding in your chest as you turned your back to her. Peeling off your soaked clothes felt awkward under her presence, even though she kept her word and busied herself adjusting the bedroll. Once you were as dry as you could get, you turned around, clutching the blanket like a shield.

Karlach motioned to the bedroll, sitting down and patting the spot beside her. “Come on. I don’t bite... unless you ask nicely.”

Her teasing tone was lighthearted, but it didn’t stop your face from burning as you awkwardly settled beside her. The proximity was unavoidable; the bedroll wasn’t made for two people. Your shoulder brushed against hers, and despite the chill of the rain, her warmth seeped through the thin blanket you shared.

“You’re shivering,” she said, her voice softening. “Hang on.”

Before you could protest, Karlach shifted closer, wrapping her arm around you. The heat from her infernal heart radiated through her skin, chasing away the chill almost instantly. It was overwhelming—comforting, yes, but also intensely intimate.

“You’re like a living furnace,” you muttered, trying to sound casual despite the way your pulse hammered in your ears.

She laughed, a sound that was equal parts amusement and kindness. “Perks of the infernal engine, huh? You should take advantage of it. No sense in freezing when you’ve got me around.”

The words were innocent enough, but the tension in the air was anything but. Every small movement felt magnified—the way her arm lingered around your shoulders, the way her breath tickled your neck when she laughed. You could swear she noticed your nervousness because her fingers gave your arm a small squeeze, grounding you.

For a while, you sat in companionable silence, the sound of the rain pattering against the tent mingling with the steady hum of Karlach’s warmth. But the tension remained, unspoken and heavy.

“You’re awfully quiet,” she said eventually, tilting her head to look at you. Her voice was low, almost hesitant.

“Just... thinking,” you managed, cursing yourself for how obvious your voice sounded.

Her brow furrowed, her expression softening. “You’re not still worried about being a bother, are you? Because if you are—”

“No!” you blurted, turning to face her. You realized too late how close you were, your noses almost brushing. Your voice caught in your throat, and for a moment, neither of you moved.

Her gaze flicked between your eyes and your lips, something unspoken passing through her expression. But then she smiled—gentle, teasing, and yet somehow protective. “You’re really something, you know that?”

The moment stretched, and your heart thundered in your chest. You weren’t sure what would’ve happened if she hadn’t leaned back, breaking the tension.

“Get some sleep,” she said, her voice quieter now. “I’ll keep you warm.”

As you lay down beside her, her arm still draped around you, you couldn’t help but think about how much you wanted to stay like this forever. It was comforting, yes, but it was also maddening—being so close to her, feeling her heat, and yet knowing the line between you remained unspoken.

But for now, you let yourself savor the moment, even if it left you yearning for something more.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

The storm came out of nowhere, drenching the camp in sheets of rain so thick you could barely see beyond your own hands. You’d thought your tent was secure, but the deluge proved you wrong. By the time you realized the rain was seeping in, it was too late—your bedroll was soaked, your belongings waterlogged. Swearing under your breath, you tried to salvage what you could, shivering in the cold.

“Oh, darling,” Astarion’s lilting voice rang out from the shadows, cutting through the sound of the rain. “What have you gotten yourself into this time?”

You turned to see him leaning against a nearby tree, his arms crossed, an infuriating smirk playing on his lips. Despite the weather, he looked immaculate, as always, his pale skin almost glowing against the dark backdrop of the storm.

“My tent flooded,” you muttered, trying not to sound as miserable as you felt.

Astarion’s smirk widened as he sauntered closer, looking you up and down with a mockingly critical eye. “My, my, such a pitiful sight. You’re dripping like a wet dog. And here I thought you’d have more... dignity.”

You shot him a glare, though your teeth chattering probably undermined the effect. “Unless you’re here to help, Astarion, maybe keep walking.”

“Help?” He placed a hand dramatically on his chest, feigning offense. “Darling, I’m not in the business of charity. But... I suppose I could take pity on you, just this once. After all, I’m nothing if not magnanimous.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning,” he drawled, leaning in closer, his crimson eyes glinting with mischief, “you’re welcome to my tent. Though, I must warn you, it comes with a price.”

“What price?”

He tapped a finger against his lips, pretending to think. “Hmm... let’s see. Enduring my company, for one. My delightful teasing, for another. And, of course, you’ll have to control yourself. Sharing close quarters with someone as devastatingly attractive as me? Quite the challenge, no?”

You flushed, heat creeping up your neck despite the cold. “I’ll manage.”

Astarion’s tent was—unsurprisingly—pristine. The interior was lit with a soft glow from a single lantern, casting flickering shadows on the canvas walls. His bedroll was luxurious compared to yours, layered with thick blankets and pillows that looked far too indulgent for a camp in the wilderness.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said, gesturing grandly. “And by that, I mean don’t ruin anything.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious as you stepped inside. Your wet clothes clung to you, and you were acutely aware of every move you made. Astarion, of course, noticed.

“Oh, do take those off,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “You’ll freeze otherwise, and I’m not about to have you shivering all over me all night.”

“I’m fine—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he interrupted, already digging through his belongings. He tossed you a dry shirt and a blanket. “Here. Change. I’ll avert my eyes, though it’s hardly necessary.”

Your face burned as you turned your back to him, peeling off your soaked clothes and quickly pulling on the shirt he’d given you. It was soft, and it smelled faintly of him—a mix of something earthy and rich, with a hint of sweetness.

When you turned back around, Astarion was already lounging on the bedroll, propped up on one elbow, watching you with a smug expression.

“You clean up nicely,” he remarked, patting the spot beside him. “Now, come along. Let’s get this over with before you catch your death.”

Reluctantly, you sat down, pulling the blanket over yourself. The space was tight, and you couldn’t avoid brushing against him as you lay down. His body was cool, his proximity sending a shiver down your spine—not from the cold, but from the unspoken tension that hung between you like a storm cloud.

“Comfortable?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

“Not really,” you muttered, though that was a lie.

He chuckled, his breath brushing against your ear. “I can feel your pulse racing, you know. Are you nervous, darling? Or is it just... me?”

You turned your head to glare at him, only to realize how close he was—his face mere inches from yours, his crimson eyes glinting with something unreadable. Your breath caught, and for a moment, the world outside the tent seemed to disappear.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost gentle. “I’m only teasing. Mostly.”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing. “This is going to be a long night, isn’t it?”

Astarion grinned, his fangs catching the light. “Oh, you have no idea.”

Despite his teasing, he shifted slightly, giving you a bit more space. The tension between you remained, unspoken but palpable, as the rain continued to patter against the tent. It was both maddening and exhilarating, being so close to him, knowing he could probably hear every erratic beat of your heart.

Eventually, the exhaustion of the day began to catch up with you. As you started to drift off, you felt him shift beside you, his voice a quiet murmur in the dark.

“Sleep well, darling,” he said, his tone surprisingly sincere.

And despite everything—despite the teasing, the tension, and the racing thoughts that refused to quiet—you did.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

The rain had started as a drizzle, an annoyance more than anything, but by midnight it had turned into a full-blown storm. You’d woken to the sound of water pooling under your bedroll, the fabric of your tent flapping wildly in the wind. It didn’t take long to realize your tent wasn’t holding up—water seeped in through every seam, soaking everything in its path.

Soaked and miserable, you stumbled into the camp’s common area, clutching your blanket and trying not to curse the heavens too loudly. That’s when Wyll, ever the gentleman, emerged from his own tent, lantern in hand.

“You look like a drowned rat,” he teased gently, his voice warm despite the storm.

“My tent flooded,” you muttered, feeling like a fool as you wrung out your blanket.

Wyll’s brow furrowed in concern, and he quickly stepped forward, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “You can’t stay out here in this. Come, share my tent. It’s dry, and there’s enough room for both of us.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to—”

“I insist,” Wyll interrupted, giving you a reassuring smile. “I’d never leave a friend out in this storm.”

Wyll’s tent was cozy, far better maintained than yours. The interior was neat and organized, his bedroll lined with extra blankets that gave it an almost luxurious appearance. A small lantern cast a warm glow, the storm muffled by the sturdy canvas walls.

“Here,” he said, gesturing to the bedroll. “You take the left side.”

You hesitated, feeling a little self-conscious as you stepped inside. Your clothes clung to you, damp and uncomfortable, and you were acutely aware of the unspoken tension between the two of you. Wyll had always been kind, always so composed, but there was something about the way his eyes lingered on you for just a second too long that made your heart race.

“You’re shivering,” he observed, pulling a dry blanket from his pack. “Get out of those wet clothes before you catch your death.”

You flushed, your mind immediately racing to places it shouldn’t. “I’m fine,” you said quickly, though your teeth were chattering.

Wyll raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of amusement and concern. “Fine, is it? If you fall ill, it’s on my conscience. Here.” He turned his back, giving you privacy as he busied himself with the lantern. “I promise I won’t peek.”

Reluctantly, you stripped out of your wet clothes, replacing them with the spare shirt and pants Wyll handed you. The fabric was soft and warm, and it smelled of him—a subtle mix of cedarwood and something earthy, like freshly turned soil.

When you finally settled onto the bedroll, Wyll joined you, keeping a respectful distance. But the space was tight, and no matter how you tried to position yourself, you couldn’t avoid brushing against him.

“Comfortable?” he asked, his voice low and soothing.

“Yeah,” you murmured, though your heart was pounding in your chest.

The storm raged on outside, but inside the tent, the air was thick with an entirely different kind of tension. You were hyper-aware of every little movement, every rustle of the blankets, every time his arm brushed against yours.

“You’re still shivering,” Wyll said after a moment.

“I’m fine—”

“You’re not,” he insisted, his tone gentle but firm. “Here.” Before you could protest, he shifted closer, draping the blanket over both of you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Body heat. It’s the fastest way to warm up.”

Your breath hitched as you felt the warmth of his body against yours. He was so close, his scent enveloping you, his touch sending shivers down your spine for an entirely different reason now. You were just glad you were facing away from him for less than gentlemanly reasons.

“Better?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, unable to trust your voice.

The minutes stretched on, the storm outside fading into the background as the tension between you grew. Every time his hand shifted against your shoulder, every time his breath brushed against your temple, it sent your thoughts spiraling.

At one point, you turned your head slightly, only to find his face inches from yours. His dark eyes met yours, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you felt charged, every unspoken feeling hovering just out of reach. Wyll was the first to break the silence, clearing his throat and pulling back slightly.

“You should get some rest,” he said, his voice a little too even, as though he were trying to mask his own thoughts.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice barely audible. “Good idea.”

But sleep didn’t come easily. Not with the way his arm stayed draped over your shoulders, his warmth seeping into you, his presence so close it was almost overwhelming.

As the storm began to wane, the tension in the tent softened, replaced by a quiet comfort. And though neither of you said anything more, you couldn’t help but wonder if Wyll felt the same way you did—that unspoken pull, the lingering desire that neither of you dared to yet acknowledge.

For now, though, it was enough to simply be near him, the storm outside forgotten as you drifted off to the sound of his steady breathing, wrapped in his warm, strong arms.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

The storm that swept through camp hit with an intensity no one had anticipated. Rain lashed against the tents, and your own—already a little worse for wear—didn’t stand a chance. You woke to water pooling around you, your belongings soaked, and your blankets utterly useless. Grumbling, you gathered what you could and sloshed through the camp to find somewhere dry.

Halsin’s tent stood out, sturdy and secure against the storm, its entrance softly illuminated by a warm glow. You hesitated for a moment before calling out.

“Halsin? You awake?”

The flap of the tent opened, revealing the towering figure of the druid, his expression immediately softening when he saw your drenched form. “Your tent couldn’t withstand the storm?”

“No,” you admitted, shivering slightly. “Do you mind if I...?”

“Of course,” he said with a reassuring smile, stepping aside to let you in.

Halsin’s tent was everything yours wasn’t: dry, spacious, and undeniably cozy. The thick pelts lining the floor and the earthy, woodsy scent made it feel like a sanctuary. The warmth inside hit you immediately, and you realized it wasn’t just from the well-insulated tent—it was Halsin himself. He radiated heat like a furnace, the air around him almost stiflingly warm.

“You can set your things over there,” he said, gesturing to a corner before kneeling to adjust the blankets on his bedroll. “And don’t worry, there’s plenty of room for the both of us.”

You tried not to overthink that last part as you settled in, draping a dry blanket over your shoulders. But as the rain continued to hammer against the tent, the unspoken tension between you became almost palpable. You’d always felt a certain pull toward Halsin—his kindness, his strength, the way he carried himself with such quiet confidence. Sharing a space with him now, so close, was enough to make your heart race.

“Warm enough?” he asked, his voice low and soothing as he settled onto the bedroll beside you.

“More than enough,” you said, trying to sound casual, though the heat radiating from him felt almost overwhelming.

The silence stretched between you, comfortable at first but quickly giving way to that same tension. You couldn’t help but notice the way Halsin shifted slightly, as though trying to find a position that didn’t discomfort him. His brow furrowed, and for a moment, he looked almost... uneasy.

“Is everything okay?” you asked softly, turning to face him. “If this is too much, I can—”

“No, no,” he interrupted, chuckling quietly. “It’s not that. You’re welcome to stay as long as you need. I just...” He hesitated, his cheeks darkening slightly, which was rare for someone so self-assured.

“What is it?” you pressed, your curiosity piqued. Halsin exhaled a laugh, running a hand through his hair.

“I’m not used to sleeping with clothes on,” he admitted, his voice laced with amusement but also honesty. “It’s a little... restrictive.”

You blinked, his words sinking in as your mind instantly spiraled into dangerous territory.

“Oh,” you managed, your voice embarrassingly high-pitched with a voice crack that could rival teenage you.

“If it makes you uncomfortable, I won’t...” he started, but you quickly shook your head.

“No, it’s fine! I mean, you should be comfortable,” you said, your words tumbling over each other in your attempt to sound unaffected.

Halsin gave you a knowing smile, his eyes glinting with that same warmth that seemed to envelop the entire tent. “You’re kind to say so, but I think I’ll manage for one night.”

You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from saying something you’d regret. The unspoken tension thickened as the storm continued to rage outside, the sound of the rain mingling with the steady rhythm of Halsin’s breathing.

The heat he radiated wasn’t just physical—it was in the way his presence seemed to fill the space, in the way his voice lingered in the air, deep and comforting. You found yourself hyper-aware of every movement, every shift of the blankets, every time his arm brushed against yours.

“Try to rest,” Halsin murmured, his voice low and velvety. “The storm will pass by morning.”

You nodded again, lying back and trying to focus on anything but the warmth of his body so close to yours, or the way your heart seemed to pound louder with each passing second.

And though sleep didn’t come easily, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of gratitude for the storm that had brought you here, to this moment, even if it left you feeling like you were on the edge of something both thrilling and terrifying.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

This was so fun to write, it came out more gn, but i did my best to do allusions that it was a male tav. Hope you guys enjoyed this! - Seluney xox

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