#ENJOY THESE SCATTERED CHARACTER INTERACTIONS | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tiredmamaissy · 6 months ago

Text

Ralak te Sepawn ieyk’itan: Special Episode VI

Labor of Love - Part II

Masterlist ; Rut/Heat/Knotting Info

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Hyperlinks are attached to specific paragraphs that when clicked on will lead you to its illustration by Ralak's insanely talented creator @zestys-stuff. Thank you so much for allowing me to play around with your characters!

Characters: Metkayina!Ralak (25) x Sully!Omaticaya!Reader (20) featuring Metkayina!Zu’té (29)

Warnings: zero smut, angst angst angst, mention of past trauma, expletives, pregnancy, contractions, heavily described labour, blood, mild physical violence, reader is really going through it, ralak is too but he'll be alright i promise, brother!neteyam makes a star appearance, cute family fluff, let me know if i forgot anything

Word Count: 6.5k

Requested: Yes || No

Author’s Note: Hope you're enjoying your tour in angst town...we're almost finished. You could say we're nearing the final attraction, so continue to keep your seatbelts buckled. lol why am i like this? anyways... please don't hate me for this chapter, and i will try my best to get the next one out quicker so you guys can get some closure lool :)

Synopsis: You didn't plan for things to turn out this way. But no amount of denial can make reality go away...

<- Previous -> Next

And when Ralak sees it, he almost caves in on himself. His mask of indifference—of intimidation, cracks. Hell, it shatters. Into thousands of pieces, scattered at his feet. Tonowari’s previous right hand. The banished. His karyu.

Time chips by at a torturous pace. You spend the first hour sitting on the beach, eating some fruit whilst watching what your brothers get up to. Neteyam, of course, is bearing most of the responsibility whilst Lo’ak and Tuk are taking a more easy approach to the day. Mom and dad made sure to leave them with a list of things to get done whilst they’re away—number one being to keep an eye on their sisters.

Number one, check.

All that floods your mind is your mate and if he’s okay. You try to process everything he’s said but it’s all too much to wrap your head around. All too new. Your brothers aren’t much help either, as they claim to be ‘out the loop’ as much as you are. You know it's bullshit, and probably just another thing that they’ve been ordered to keep from you so as not to ‘stress you out’.

Regardless, it’s all you can think about.

Until you feel your son do a flip in your womb, big enough to make you gasp. Your hands immediately fly to your belly, feeling around to gauge his position. A pressure begins to grow against your bladder. One so intense it presses into your tailbone too. The pads of your fingers sink into the skin, tapping around as you make out a leg, then a knee. A hand to the left.

Is he…head down? You think to yourself.

“Everything alright?” Neteyam asks, concern wrinkling his forehead.

“Hm?” You look up, seeing the outline of his silhouette in front of the sun.

“You okay? You’re…you look a little—”

“Oh, yeah. Everything’s fine. He’s moving a lot today.” You smile, catching Tuk excitedly running over in the corner of your eye.

“Really? Can I feel? Please?” She squeals excitedly, falling to her knees in the sand next to you.

“Of course, Tuk.” You smile, and place her hand on top of your stomach, right where his foot is. Only a few seconds pass by until your son gives Tuk a strong kick, making her mouth open with glee.

“Wow! Tey, you gotta feel this!” Tuk exclaims, tugging your brother by the hand so he’s next to you too. Neteyam looks at you, unsure if you’re okay with it. You nod with a gentle smile, tugging his hand over to the other side of your stomach. His hand hovers as he hesitates for a moment, this is his first time feeling his nephew move. He gives you a final look, and gently rests his hand on your belly

A few moments pass and nothing.

“Aww, he stopped moving.” Tuk sighs with a pout.

“Patience, Tuk.” You whisper, feeling him kick on cue. Her face lights up with a beaming smile and Neteyam seems to be in awe with wide eyes and slightly parted lips.

“Woah, y/n. Your tummy’s getting hard.” Tuk says innocently, looking at her brother to see if he feels it too.

“Hm?” You hum, feeling a bit spaced out and achy.

“It is.” Neteyam lets go and keeps his hands to himself, feeling like he’s invading your personal space. A heat floods your back, and you feel your thighs spasm. You begin to groan, holding your breath until the strange feeling subsides. “Hey. You okay?”

You nod, finally release your breath, and hear Tuk’s excited voice. “It’s all soft now!”

“All good.” You smile, but Neteyam doesn’t seem convinced at all. “Ronal says they are normal. They aren’t the real thing. Mom had them with Tuk, remember?”

Neteyams' features soften as he nods, prying his little sister's hands off of you. “Ease up now, Tuk.”

“Sorry, sis.” She says quietly, ears laying flat to her head.

“Nothing to be sorry about.” You say as you roll to your side to get up, shamelessly using Neteyam to gain some momentum. “Think it’s time for me to take a walk, though.”

“Yes, sure. Where are we going?” Neteyam asks, ready to accompany you anywhere.

“I’m going down to the rocks.” You emphasise on the first word, making it clear you need some alone time after being babysat all day. “I think Lo’ak needs some help with the net.”

Neteyam and Tuk look over to see their brother struggling with a tangled fishing net, and turn back to see that you’re already waddling down the beach.

——

Suddenly, Ralak’s back inside of his family marui pod on his iknimaya night. Trapped. Small. Powerless. Cornered by a person he once looked up to. A person he trusted. Manipulated by her heat— her pheromones. A crime punishable by banishment. Forced to give, forced to receive. A betrayal he’ll never forget. A face he swore to himself that he would never see again.

No wonder they ‘demanded’ his presence.

Tonowari and Ronal lose their colour when their eyes land on her. It’s been so many years. They quickly look over to Ralak, who is seemingly falling to pieces where he stands. The expression on his face is no short of pure shock and… terror. Truthfully, the last time they’d seen such an expression on his face was the deaths of his parents and spirit brother. Jake and Neytiri aren’t aware of what’s going on, but they know it must be serious for Ralak to be so…expressive.

They can even see his shoulders heave from how hard he’s breathing, and how his face of terror quickly morphs into something of fury. Tonowari notices the way he tightens his grip on his weapon, and his eyes as they gloss over red with rage. It takes a lot to make this man blind with anger. Tonowari knows if he doesn't step in now that this could turn sour in the blink of an eye.

——

Two.

Releasing a shaky exhale, you begin your walk back to your siblings. That was the second ‘practice’ contraction you’ve had since starting your walk, and your third since coming here with your brothers. Your waddle is becoming more sluggish with each step and the fire in your back is beginning to burn hotter rather than fade out.

“Not now, little one.” You whisper as you caress your bump. “…please.”

Weariness sets in as you make it halfway back, making you perch on your knees to take a break. The fire spreads from your back to your thighs, and up your stomach. You brace yourself for the tight feeling, holding your breath in the base of your chest. You grumble a little, swaying side to side until it passes, which thankfully doesn’t take more than a few seconds.

Three.

Finally making it back to the beach, you see Neteyam and Lo’ak hauling a few sacks on their backs, with Tuk skipping behind them. You overhear Lo’ak trying to convince Neteyam to let him be with the other warriors, and Neteyam reminding him of your parents orders. They stop mid sentence when they hear your heavy, muffled footsteps, taking one look at you and knowing that something isn’t right. Lo’ak in particular, to your surprise.

“Damn. You look exhausted.” Lo’ak says, earning a jab in the rib by Neteyams elbow. “What? She looks like she’s about to pass out.”

“You can’t say that to a pregnant woman, skxawng [idiot].” Neteyam hisses.

“It’s fine. He’s not wrong.” You say, tail dragging low and heavy behind you. Ralak still clouds your mind, and you’re eager to know if he’s back yet. “I want to go home now. I really need to lie down.”

Neteyam just nods, understanding that something deeper is going on. “I will take you.”

“I got it, bro.” Lo’ak interjects, plunking the sack off his back and onto the ground.

“Stay with Tuk.” Neteyam orders, clicking for his skimwing.

“Why don’t you stay with Tuk?” Lo’ak snaps back.

“Guys. Please?” You sigh, waddling towards the winged beast, throwing a leg over its tough back. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Come ‘teyam.” Neteyam smirks, making the bond with the beast and mounting it in one swift move.

As you arrive at your marui, you see Zu’té at the outside fire pit, concentrating on not burning yet another type of meat-on-a-stick. Hearing your arrival, Zu’té turns and acknowledges your presence. He puts down the sizzling meat on a leaf, allowing the fire to continue to burn as he begins to make his way over to collect you. Neteyam and him exchange glances and silent greetings, and suddenly the air is thick.

“Right…I’m going up. Thank you, tey. See you.” You say out of breath, giving him a quick hug.

“Let me—” Neteyam begins.

“No, I’m okay.” You cut off your brother, hualing yourself off the tsurak.

“Right. Kìyevame [see you again soon]. If you need me, send your watchdog.” He speaks clearly, holding you by the wrist to steady you as you get off.

“I will, tey.” You chuckle lightly and make your way to the marui. Neteyam waits patiently, making sure you get in safely.

Zu’té is only half way there when you reach the bottom step, already offering his arm for the stairs. You sigh and shake your head, hurriedly climbing the stairs as fast as your swollen ankles will allow it. For some reason, his gesture really annoys you. Your mood is off and you feel queasy and achy—like your entire body is throbbing.

All you want is for everyone around you to stop babying you, and let you be alone for the rest of the day.

“I got it.” Your voice strains as you wobble ahead, leaving Zu’té and your brother behind. Neteyam remains silent for some time, locking eyes with Zu’té.

‘Keep a close eye.’ Neteyam signs with disquiet wrinkling his forehead. Zu’té gives him a puzzled look at first, but slowly nods when he successfully deciphers the message. Neteyam nods as well and dives underwater.

By the time Zu’té gets to the bottom step, you’re already at the top, clutching onto the railing as you lean forward in pain. You couldn’t even make it into the pod without another hitting you so soon. You take a few deep breaths rather than holding it in, waiting until the tight feeling subsides.

Four.

Zu’té darts up the stairs to your side, offering a hand in support only to be swatted away. “What is it?”

“It is nothing.” You catch your breath and insist that it was nothing—because it was nothing, right?

His brows furrow in disbelief, a look of concern washing over his face. Zu’té allows his eyes to fall to your bulging, veiny belly for the first time, taking in the sight. “You were in pain.”

“I’m fine.” You’re short with him, stony eyes staring into his.

“Someone once told me no good comes from pretending that things don’t hurt.”

“Well nothing’s happening until my husband is back. Okay?” You try to remain nonchalant, to believe your own words.

He simply stares down at you for a bit, analysing your facial expression. Despite your stone cold facade, he can easily see the fear etched into your features. Fear that this baby may come before Ralaks return and that if you allow yourself to accept reality, then it may really come true. He glances down at your hand still stuck to the side of your stomach and swallows, looking back up to you.

“Understood.”

“Right. Now...” You huff, contemplating if you should say what you want to say. You feel like telling him to back off—to give you some space. But he’s obviously just making sure you’re okay. “...I need to lie down. Just, keep an eye out for—”

“My brother? Sure. Rest well.”

——

“Ay’ana.”

The Olo’eyktan lets out a lengthy growl, earning a look from the traitor herself.

“Waari.” She sings with a grin, shifting her leer to his mate behind him. “Ronal.” Her eyes fall to her swollen belly, “You are expecting…again.”

It wasn’t a, ‘congratulations’ either, no. But rather a ‘I see that you are the most vulnerable.’

Ronal scowls, hissing through her teeth. Tonowari steps in front of his mate, blocking her from Ay’ana’s view.

It was one thing to commit kawngkem [a crime; evil deed] and be banished for it, but it’s another to seek uturu with the enemy. She is no longer considered to be among the ‘banished’, but is now the ‘enemy’.

Ay’ana looks behind Tonowari, not at Ronal, but at the two deeper skinned, slender na’vis. She scoffs, the corner of her mouth pulling into an evil smirk, revealing her sharpened teeth. Tonowaris eyes widen when he sees that she’s completely adapted to this vile peoples’ ways by putting a file to her teeth. Her eyes flick past them to the last person, the most important.

“Ralak.” She slowly moans his name as she peers up at him with sultry eyes, allowing her tongue to glaze over her canines. “Such a pleasure.” Ralak winces, chest heaving violently as it fills with repulsion and loathing. “Ah. I remember you being quiet, but not this quiet. Nothing to say to your karyu?”

——

A couple hours have passed and the pain is enough to disrupt your rest. The sunlight dulls with each passing minute, casting a familiar orange hue into the marui. It comes in waves, rippling through you like a bolt of lightning striking the tallest tree in the forest. Making it hard to tell yourself that things are okay—making it hard to keep things quiet.

“Agh!” You groan suddenly, feeling another jolt of electricity shoot up your spine. It stops you in your tracks, the tracks you’ve been burning into the floor with your constant, nervous pacing. You quiet down into a whisper, “...please wait for your sempu [daddy], my child.”

“You—uhm.” You hear Zu’té clear his throat at the door, projecting his voice so that you can hear him through the curtain, “You alright in there?”

“Mmn—yes! Fine.” You grate out, making your way back to the bed to lie down. Your feet are so sore.

“Hungry?” He asks, food in hand in the case you were.

“‘m not.” You try to speak up, but you’re still in the height of the contraction.

He grits his teeth, leaning into the frame of the marui door. “I didn’t burn it this time.”

You wish you could laugh, but you can’t even muster up the strength to raise your voice.

Zu’té lingers at the door quietly, knowing plain as day that you weren’t okay. “...what about water?”

“No...I’ve got.” You say at a normal volume, finally released from the constraints of your pain.

You begin closing your eyes in hopes that sleep may find you, even if it's just for a few minutes. Zu’té remains at the door for a moment longer, feeling so helpless and useless. He sinks back to the floor, putting down the meat and picking up a new, special piece to weave.

Weaving passed the time, distracting him from the tiny sounds that managed to escape your mouth.

Until night fell, and those tiny sounds morphed into deep, lengthy groans and high pitched wails.

——

“Let us begin.” Tonowari speaks over Ay’ana, averting all attention back to their leader, another female that goes by the name of ‘Varang’.

She’s almost grey in colour, embellished with a red headpiece that resembles something of an ikrans wings. Her eyes narrow as she looks straight at Tonowari, standing close to his height.

“Let us.” She hisses with a smile, leading Tonowari to a smaller, private room sectioned by a leather curtain. She motions to Ay’ana to accompany her, leaving the rest of her men to stay with the others. Tonowari lets out a soft grunt, and grits his teeth. He knows he must choose, but his mate is heavy with child and Jake has no interest in leaving his mate in such a place alone. Therefore, he must choose his right hand—Ralak. He motions with a quick tilt of his head, prompting Ralak to clutch his weapon close to his chest and follow closely behind.

——

“Y/n.” Zu’té’s at the curtain again, half considering to pull it back and come in on his own terms. But he would never invade your privacy like that. And by the sounds of it, things are picking up. “Do you need the healer?”

“No!” You shout out of breath, wobbling to the door with a hand clutching your stomach. You lean all your weight against the wall, knowing he’s on the other side waiting. “No healer.”

You’re drenched in sweat, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. He hears your back slide against the surface, and he mirrors your movements, sitting on the floor too. Only a wall sits between your backs, separating you two.

“You’re in labour.” Zu’té speaks, his poor attempt at urging you to face reality.

You know that. Of course you know that. But you don’t want it to be true—you didn’t expect it to happen this way—you didnt want it to happen this way. You take a few deep breaths, concentrating on breathing through the remainder of this horrible feeling. And when it’s finally over, you rest your head against the wall and close your eyes—leaving silence to fill the air.

Where are you, Ralak?

——

The room is much smaller than the one they were in, equipped with some sort of table or workbench with a few spears and bows mounted on the wall. Ralak stands quietly behind Tonowari, as does Ay’ana to Varang.

As they negotiate the terms of the treaty, Ay’ana keeps her eyes locked onto Ralak with a smug look on her face. Her hungry eyes wander, shamelessly taking in every inch of the man before her, surprised by how much he has changed. He’s much bigger, more filled out in his warrior attire. His muscles—more defined, thicker. His skin—calloused and scarred. Inked, unlike before.

And as her eyes trail down the line between his abs they lay upon the six stripes that peak out over the band of his loincloth. Her eyes widen and glisten with greed before darting back up to his face, meeting his eyes that bore into her fearlessly.

What’s worse is that she can see that his mind is elsewhere.

That his mind runs on you. You’re all he’s been thinking about since he stepped off the reef. He feels deep in his heart that something isn’t right back home. That you need him. That perhaps, you’re calling for him right now, swollen and heavy with his child.

And it bothers her.

“It is decided, then.” Tonowari speaks in a confident tone.

“Yes, it is.” Varang’s smile is uncanny as she unsheaths a small, double edged knife from her hip.

She grabs Tonowari by the hand, placing the blade in the middle of his palm, and closes his fingers around it. She rips it from his hand, drawing blood, and then hands Tonowari the knife and gives him her hand. He returns the unsettling act, slitting her palm. She keeps a smile on her face, locking hands with him until their blood combines and drips to their feet.

Supposedly, it is a method of establishing some level of trust between the two. Where each has the ability to do much greater harm, but makes the deliberate choice not to. Then, when blood has been drawn, it is mixed by bringing the hands together, sealing the treaty.

“Bound by blood.” Varang whispers, letting go of his hand to bring hers to her mouth for a taste.

She sighs and smiles, popping a thumb in her mouth before gesturing to him that they leave. Tonowari fights the flinch on his face, disturbed by her behaviour. Ay’ana stays back, watching the two leaders exit the room. But as Ralak is about to leave behind Tonowari, Ay’ana calls for him.

——

Another couple agonising hours pass, and you’re constantly changing positions in hopes of finding some relief. Desperation sets in, making you beg the great mother herself to guide you through this. To bring your mate back home. But there’s still no sign of his return. The night dew settles on all the surfaces around you. Pacing no longer helps, leaving you to take refuge in your bed, panting and shivering.

No matter how much you twist and turn, your stomach only tightens more. Deep groans rip past your lips to cope with the feeling—the pain shooting through your core. Beads of sweat roll off your body at an alarming rate, soaking the sheets on your bed. You feel him move further down, his head now sitting plush in your pelvis, creating an immense pressure that’s almost unbearable. His feet press into your ribs, and with each strained breath you begin to yearn for your mate more and more. For his comforting touch. For the bond.

“Ralak…”

——

“Ralak.” She sings, making him stop dead in his tracks. “A word.”

His ears tuck back and he looks at Tonowari, who gives him a begrudged nod. Ralak sighs and turns around, fixing his mask of indifference tightly to his face. He remains silent, his hand practically bonded to his spear.

“Still tight lipped, hm? Come now, tak. That is no way to treat your karyu.” She speaks in a condescending tone, approaching him warily.

Ralak nearly takes the bait, a heat growing in his chest so hot it makes his jaw tense. How dare she call herself that? To taint such a word? He swallows, taking a single, deep breath to recenter himself as he looks away from her.

“I have to admit.” She steps towards him, the crown of her head meeting the bow of his shoulder. “You have grown into a fine man. You are taller than me now.”

Ralak just looks down at her, still as stone, his mind consumed with the fact that he could be on his way home to you but this…vile creature is keeping him away. But he will do what he needs to keep you safe, even if it means to tolerate this for the time being.

With no reaction, Ay’ana grows frustrated and begins circling him, a single finger tracing around his body.

“You know…My body still yearns for you.” She speaks with a sultry voice, stopping at his side and bringing herself to the tips of her toes to whisper in his ear, “...especially when I’m in heat.”

For a second, Ralak succumbs to her tactics, the ones she used to use on him years ago. A memory, forcibly resurfaced, reminding him of the way she whispered in his ear on that night. It makes him feel so small. Impotent. But only for a second. Ralak recoils, stepping back to create distance between them. He towers over her, dwarfing this small, lanky woman, regaining his confidence and power.

“Is that all?” He growls, looking her dead in the eye—facing his past with no fear.

Facing the reason why he lived in a bottle before he met you. You. You. He can feel you. He can feel you yearn for him and he’s ready to come home to you. For this to be over.

He’s too focused on you to even notice Ay’ana’s face of shock. Shock to know that she’s been releasing her pheromones this entire time and he’s been completely oblivious to them. Which only means one thing.

“You’re mated.” She gasps.

And he’s back.

Staring at a mirror now that he is, too, in a state of shock. Ralak’s heart leaps out his chest, beating so hard that Ay’ana can hear it. How could she know that? He watches as a grin spreads across her face, ear to ear. She knows she’s got him now, despite the jealousy bubbling inside her. She could use this to her advantage—it didn’t matter to her that he’s called for, after all.

“Using tsaheylu for such useless things.” She bellows a wicked laugh, which fades out when she sees an even more serious look on his face. A look that tells her he’s trying to mask something more, something deeper. “Oh? Is there more to it?” The twitch of his brows and quick flare to his nostrils reveals the truth. “I have to know. What is it, hm?” She nears him once more, two fingers walking up his chest. “Come now, you were never this hard to read.”

Ralak remains silent, focusing on slowing his heart rate.

“Is she ill?” She asks as she searches his eyes, fingers grazing across his quivering jawbone. “No, no. It’s not that.” She sighs, stepping closer and closer until his back hits the wall. He moves his head away from her touch, still looking her in the eye—refusing to be the first to break eye contact. Her eyes light up and her ears stand tall.

“She carries your child, doesn’t she?” Her eyes gloss over green with envy. “Pregnant.”

Ralak swallows his spit, the lump in the column of his throat quickly undulating.

“There it is. I knew you would make strong babies.” Her hand slips down his chest, slithering over his abs and down to the twine of his loincloth, causing him to jolt. “Ralak.” She moans his name slowly, “Oh, Ralak. The last I see of you, you were barely covered in this vile ink with no one at your side…and now you are mated and a father to be.” Her fingers tickle the raised skin on his most intimate tattoo. “I have always longed to be bred by you.” Her fingers attempt to burrow themselves under the band of his loincloth.

“Enough.” He lets out a deep growl, shoving her away, dropping his weapon in doing so. She loses and quickly regains her balance in a few seconds, throwing herself on him. He grabs her by the wrists, restraining her with ease so that she can’t come any closer to him.

“Perhaps we need to renegotiate the terms so that you are a part of them, yes?” Her voice is full of desperation, trembling as she strains against him. “How does that sound numeyu? You know we have a population problem, right? We could all use you.”

“I have no interest in being your stud.” Ralak spits, forcefully shoving her away, causing her to stumble back and for her head to hit the table.

He moves quickly, picking up his spear off the ground and heading for the door. She lunges at him, dagger unsheathed from her hip and armed in her hand, whilst her other arm snakes around his throat to pull him onto the ground.

During the struggle, Ralak drags her off his back, resulting in a nasty gash from his collarbone and down his shoulder blade. He hisses from the burn, instantly assuming an offensive stance to plunge his spear through. Ay’ana returns the hiss, crouching with her bloodied dagger ready to strike.

“I will kill you.” Ralak threatens, nearing the pointed tip closer and closer to her chest. “And I will take great joy in doing so.”

“Is that right?” Ay’ana hisses, tail wagging in excitement with unsettling smile spread across her face. She looks as if she’s toying with him. As if she’s playing a game and she’s winning. “Let me have a taste of you.”

“Nìtam! [Enough!]” Tonowari roars as he yanks back the curtain, instantly averting Ay’ana’s attention to him. Perhaps it was her roots calling her to respond to her true leader. Varang appears beside him with a scowl stained on her face, displeased with her subordinate. One more move and the treaty would’ve already been broken.

“Easy, Tak.” Tonowari murmurs, and Ralak relaxes into position next to him, blood trickling down his chest and back.

“Come with me.” Varang snarls at Ay’ana, seizing her by the queue.

“Night has fallen. We will take our leave.” Tonowari speaks roughly, trying his hardest to contain his anger as he rests a careful hand resting on Ralak—leading him out the room.

“In another ten years, Olo’eyktan.”

Tonowari grunts as he and the rest push past the swarming ash people. As soon as they’re far enough, he stops Ralak and has Ronal safely look at his wound. It’s weeping and open, prone to a nasty infection if not dressed immediately. She unclasps her medicine pouch from her hip, and retrieves a small bottle of iridescent liquid, a viscous concoction of herbs, and a needle and thread.

“Come, son.” Tonowari speaks softly, ripping the cork from the small bottle with his back teeth and spitting it on the ground. “That vonvä’.”

Ralak sits on the nearest rock, elbows propped on his knees and head hung low to hide his face. Jake and Neytiri observe in silence, cringing as Tonowari douses the gash with the liquid as Ronal prepares the needle and thread.

Ralak groans, biting down tooth on tooth.

Tonowari leaves a little left in the bottle, offering it to Ralak who is visibly trying to keep it together. He plucks the bottle from Tonowari’s hand and knocks it back, puffing out a sigh.

“Keep still.” Ronal orders, driving the wooden needle through his skin.

Ralak grumbles, letting his head hang between his knees and his hair fall forward. At this point Neytiri looks away, but Jake can’t. His eyes are plastered to the scene unfolding before him as he recognizes his son-in-law’s strength and perseverance.

“That should hold until we are back.” She declares, gathering her supplies and stuffing them back into her pouch.

“Irayo [thank you], Ronal.”

“You’re strong, boy.” Jake mumbles, patting Ralaks back as he gets up. “Anyone care to explain what the hell happened back there?”

Ralak just shakes his head, leaving Tonowari to speak for him. “I will explain on the way back. You all have someone waiting for you.”

Ralak’s ears spring up at the thought of you, giving him a burst of energy to spring to his feet, gather his gear and lead the trek himself. The women walk behind him, concerned about his wound. Tonowari and Jake are left at the back, sharing a look before they begin their journey.

——

“Fuck. Fuck.” You pant, looking down at your trembling hands that sink into the bed through double vision. You sway from side to side, trying to take steady, deep breaths, but the pressure between your legs is starting to make you panic. The possibility that you may have to do this alone is quickly becoming a reality.

Zu’té is the one doing the pacing now, unable to sit still in his spot for much longer. He has long abandoned his woven pieces, burning lines into the patio floor as he walks back and forth outside—conflicted on his next move.

He doesn’t want to go against your wishes and call a healer without you requesting it. But he must keep his word to Ralak—to keep you safe—which means calling for a healer. He chews on the toughened skin on his thumb, listening to your continuous whimpers and whines. By the sounds of it, you’re in active labour now, ready to give birth at any moment.

——

A few hours have passed since they started the trek back home. Everyone has fallen into new positions that work for them. Ralak, eager to be at his pregnant mate’s side, leads the pack, clearing the path for the others. Jake and Neytiri stay not too far behind him, keeping a vigilant eye on their surroundings. Tonowari and Ronal are far at the back, linked together as she trudges on despite her extreme weariness.

“Let us take another break.” Tonowari speaks quietly to his mate, hand on her stomach. They share a look, speaking to one another with their eyes. She doesn’t want to hold up the group much more than she already has.

“No. We are almost there—ugh!” Ronal lets out a sudden groan, clutching her stomach as she doubles over.

Everyone stops dead in their tracks, turning around with wide eyes. Tonowari supports her, and carefully walks her over to a nearby fallen log, lowering her down onto it. She takes a few deep breaths as Neytiri and Jake rush over to her.

“Is it time?” Neytiri asks, crouching down next to her. Ronal nods once, completely in tune with her body and aware of exactly what’s happening.

Which is why she insisted they continue, or else she won’t make it back in time. Ralak watches at a distance, his face contorting with sheer worry. No, borderline distress. He looks almost mortified, but not for the reasons that one may think. They all know why, it's obvious. If Ronal is in labour,

…that means you probably are too.

“Go ahead.” Ronal pants, beads beginning to form at her temple.

But Ralak doesn’t move. He can’t move. He’s at conflict with himself. An internal battle of knowing that he should stay and help, even though he really wants to go—needs to go.

“We got it, son. Go to her.” Jake huffs as he helps Tonowari lift Ronal to carry her. “Go on!” He shouts, prompting Ralak to look to his father figure for approval, to which he meets him with a quick nod before averting his attention back to his labouring mate. And with Neytiri’s soft smile of reassurance, Ralak takes a few steps back before turning his heel and booking it home.

——

“Haah…holy fuck—holy fuck.” You moan, feeling another contraction start up and the pressure between your legs intensify.

This one has you on your hands and knees, clutching the bed head so hard your nails dig into the wood. It’s undeniable now. This baby is coming whether you like it or not. And as the contraction reaches its peak, you scream.

“Zu’té!” It pains you to cry out for his name and not your mates. Hearing your call—your permission to enter—he finally bursts through the door and rushes to your side.

“I’m here, I’m here.” He’s out of breath and on edge.

“I think—oh god—I think the baby’s coming!” You cry out, swooping your hand between your legs to try and feel what’s happening.

“Shit. Like now? Like right now?” Zu’té panics as he watches you, hands hovering around you, unsure of what to do.

“I d-don’t know! I—I don’t—I want Ralak! Fuck, fuck. I want lak!” You cry out in sheer agony. “I want my mate. I-I need him!”

“Y/n. Eywa.” Desperation is potent in his voice now.

The fact that you’re calling out for his brother means the time has come and he feels like a fool to have let this get this far without stepping in. He swallows and takes a breath to calm down, just as your contraction ends and leaves you sobbing on your knees.

“I’m getting the healer.” He says firmly, turning his heel to leave but you grab his wrist before he can walk away.

“No! Don’t leave…Please don’t leave me alone.” You beg, fear glossing over your eyes until it spills onto your cheeks once more. He looks at you with furrowed brows, lamenting for you. Now he’s really conflicted, because this means…it’s him or no one.

“Ah, shit. Shit. Uhm.” He rakes his fingers through his scalp, thinking about his next move. He’s seriously considering going regardless, able to see the situation for what it is.

“Please, Zu’té.” You plead weakly, slowly lowering yourself onto your behind and off your knees, leaning back into the bedhead.

“Okay, okay.” He nods and you let go of his wrist, immediately using your hand to support your stomach. You let your eyes close, they’re swollen and heavy. “Uh–right, right.”

For some reason he can’t stop repeating himself twice. Perhaps it’s his way of keeping grounded. He heads straight for the bucket of water and rag to bring it over to you. He dips the rag into the water, and wrings it out. You barely open your eyes at the sound of the bucket making contact with the floor, and see that he’s nearing you with a damp cloth and raised brows. He’s waiting for your go ahead.

“Yes.” Your voice is hoarse and trembling.

Zu’té begins to wipe away the sweat that’s dripping in your eyes, your forehead, neck and chest. Dipping the rag back into the water, he wrings it out once more and wipes down your shoulders and arms. You can’t help but sit there and close your eyes, allowing him to do it all, exhausted.

Feeling something press against your lips, you open your eyes in a daze. Zu’té holds a cup of water to your mouth, and you drink ardently, gasping for air and closing your eyes when it’s emptied. Sleep calls to you, taking you as you barely manage to mutter out a weak, “...thank you.”

Zu’té calculates another five minutes before your next contraction, giving him enough time to fetch a fresh pail of water—something absolutely necessary for the birth. He leaves you sat up against the bedhead, rag on your forehead as you sleep. But not even three minutes go by before he hears your languid moan.

Abandoning the bucket, he rushes back into the marui, finding you standing and holding onto the marui stilt with one hand as the other tugs at the strap of your top. Seeing you try to undress has him stopping in his tracks and turning his head to look away.

“Y/n—”

“Ughhaa—” You grunt, untethering the knot of your top. Your body is trying to get comfortable for the birth of your son now, and these pieces of cloth feel suffocating. “Get out!”

With that, Zu’té turns and retreats back to the patio, hands on his head as he begins to make his plan. If he flew on his skimwing, he could make it to the village and back with a healer in about ten minutes. But would that be enough time? What if you didn’t have ten minutes? Your pained groan turns into a howl and it makes his ears twitch.

By the sound of that, you might not even have five minutes.

“Come on, baby brother. Don’t make me do this. Please. Don’t make me go back in there. Oh shit—I’m going to have to go back in there, aren’t I? Eywa. Eywa. Okay—It’s okay. I can do this. Childbirth. It’s just childbirth. Right? Right.”

Zu’té tries to convince himself that he’s capable of this despite this not being what he signed up for.

“Okay, Toto. Just do it. Go in there.” Zu’té sounds breathless as he speaks to himself, turning around to face the door. He hears your whimper and his jaw tightens. “Shit. Okay. Right.”

Just as he raises his hand to pull back the curtain, he hears a winded voice.

“Brother.”

641 notes · View notes

inkykeiji · 1 year ago

Text

you can always take more than nothing

character: bonten!mikey x fem!reader

genre: smut

notes: here’s my halloween piece, only half a month late! still, i hope you can enjoy it! as always, please heed the warnings and stay safe! | title cred: alice in wonderland

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, public sex/exhibitionism, dom/sub dynamics, daddy kink, size difference, biting/marking, blood, minimal prep, rough sex, teasing, begging, dacryphilia, humiliation, a lil bit of degradation, drugs, toxic relationship

words: 8.6k

synopsis:

Those few remaining scraps of decency you’d both been clinging to have been devoured by Mikey’s growing selfishness, no longer caring about what others might see or think or say—it’s not like anyone’s dumb enough to do anything about it anyway; it’s not like anyone has enough of a death-wish to try. He’s the motherfucking Boss. And the Boss gets what he wants, where he wants, when he wants, always.

The music is loud, so loud the walls seem to be breathing with it, bleeding with it, flashes of neon pouring over the frosted mosaics of glass and marble.

A party, thinly veiled as a corporate event.

There are people everywhere, scattered across every surface, crystal glasses filled with expensive liqour and cocktail concoctions glittering in their palms. You barely know any of them.

They’re all supposed business partners, allies and associates, ‘friends’ of your Daddy. Not that it matters all that much to you; they aren’t allowed to say a word to you anyway.

Your eyes scan the expanse of the club, on the hunt for a familiar face. Takeomi is in the corner, obnoxiously blowing smoke into some of the higher end girls’ faces. He’s really taking his role of The Caterpillar earnestly.

Good. You told him it suited him.

At your request (AKA at Mikey’s demand), the top members of Bonten have dressed up as Alice in Wonderland characters, donning an impressive group costume. You’ve been taking the whole thing pretty seriously—beginning your extensive planning in August, drafting up designs and taking everyone’s precise measurements to have each outfit custom made to their exact frames—which means the rest of Bonten has been taking the whole thing pretty seriously, too.

Not that any of them mind.

What Mikey’s little angel wants, Mikey’s little angel gets. It’s standard protocol, really; you’re merely an extension of the Boss and thus must be treated as an extension of the Boss, and Mikey’s best men have no issues complying.

Sighing, you rest your chin in your palms, sombreness souring your features. An ache, dull and dense, settles in the pit of your chest. It’s a desolate sort of longing, a gentle but constant gnawing that cannot be sated by anyone or anything other than it’s creator, something that weights your lungs and heavies your heart and stalls your breath, a vital part missing.

You miss Mikey.

You miss Mikey, but you know this ‘event’ really does have some sort of business significance; that, while it’s mostly an excuse to get drunk and high on Halloween night, it also serves as the grounds for some sort of meeting or negotiation or proposition—you can never be sure which, with Bonten.

You aren’t allowed to know. You’re lucky to be here at all.

But you miss Mikey.

You shouldn’t be selfish. You know you shouldn’t be selfish; he’s already stretched so thin between so many obligations and obituaries, and you shouldn’t add to that strain. You won’t add to that strain. You’ll sit here, pretty and perfect like his precious little princess should be, and you’ll wait, patiently, until Daddy has a moment to spare you.

He always finds a moment to spare, no matter how many duties and commitments he has. He always finds a space for you in his day, even if he has to carve it out with his bare hands.

So you mustn’t be greedy. You will be good. For him, you’ll do anything, no matter how difficult.

“No frowning, miss Alice,” Sanzu chastises through a stretched grin, wide and carved into his cheeks—a smile so sharp, so sinister it puts the true Cheshire Cat to disgrace.

He swims into your vision, teeth glinting with teals and fuchsias, an intricately wrapped box in his palms. Tugging on the ribbon a little, he unboxes it to reveal a wealth of small confections, individually wrapped in colourful foils.

“Look, your favourite kitty brought you some chocolate.”

That brightens your mood a little—a sugar fiend, just like your Daddy is—and your mouth drops open expectantly, cute tongue unfurling in invitation.

Sanzu rolls his eyes but places a truffle on your tongue anyway, pressing it down on the slick muscle and forcing your lips to close around his first knuckle to suck the treat free from him, laughing at the way your face twists.

Pervert.

His nails taste like blood—not that you’ve come to expect any less—but the rusty copper is quickly eradicated by sugar, a content little hum vibrating around the melting chocolate.

“Good, huh?” Sanzu asks around his own chocolate, shuffling a gold box of expensive Italian truffles in his palm as he picks through them, confections jumping perilously with the motion, shimmering wrappers catching in the flashing neon strobes. “They’re imported.”

“Where’d you get those?” you ask through strings of caramel and cocoa, welding to your molars.

“A little Halloween treat courtesy of Mikey,” he says dutifully, jostling the box in emphasis. “And an apology, for taking longer than expected.”

Warmth blooms in your chest, swelling with your heart and stretching your ribs. The last few remnants of displeasure fade from your face, giving way to a small smile.

How very Mikey of him, to send his second in command armed with artisan chocolates and a short, sweet explanation; something he knew would make you smile, something he knew would alleviate some of your impatience, a reassurance that he misses you too, that he’ll be back soon, that he’s thinking of you.

“There’s our pretty girl,” Sanzu teases, but his own grin has softened a little, the glint in his eyes dulled to a twinkle. “No more pouting, ‘kay? Your trusty Cheshire Cat will be by your side until your Hatter returns.”

Ah. A polite way of saying that you’re stuck with him until Mikey’s finished his work, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

That takes longer than either of you expect, though, Sanzu’s plan of entertaining you by leading you, hand-in-hand, around the club to assess each Bonten member’s costume not nearly as lengthy as he had anticipated.

Because it only takes a mere twenty minutes or so to examine all of them, with you near instantaneously deciding that the Haitanis have won the make-believe costume contest you and Sanzu had been holding between yourselves.

Sanzu had agreed—everyone looks impeccable in their custom-made costumes, tailored specifically to them at your behest, but no one had any hope of eclipsing the Haitanis in their form-fitted pinstriped suits, each stitch and thread molded flawlessly to their frames, perfectly pressed collars embroidered with Dee and Dum in shimmery purple thread, powder blue bowties immaculately symmetrical around their tattooed necks.

Now you’re back at the bar, Sanzu’s shaky fingers sifting through the box of truffles as he searches for something, anything, to distract him from the way the blood in his veins is beginning to dry up, the way his capillaries are withering, brittle and thirsty, the way his skin is beginning to itch.

Because he can’t do a goddamn thing about it. Not yet, anyway.

No narcotics when he’s chaperoning you; that’s a hard rule. That’s a rule that’s been sewn into the tissues of his brain so tightly it’s interwoven with his synapses. That’s an execution rule; a one time only rule—breaking that rule will get him fucking killed.

But you’re both starting to become a little bit restless.

“Come on,” you’re begging, word dragged across your tongue in a petulant whine. “Just one more chocolate?”

“I said no,” Sanzu snaps, eyes hard. “Mikey said three. Mikey’s the Boss. Whatever Mikey says goes; Mikey’s girl, Mikey’s rules!”

“You’re no fun,” you huff, forehead scrunching with a pout.

“Yeah, and that’s why he sticks me with you,” Sanzu says, though he sounds almost proud, as if it’s an honour to babysit you, a title of high esteem. “Because I can resist your tricks.”

“My charms,” you correct.

“Whatever,” he waves a hand. “It’s all semantics. Point is, I know how to say no to you, unlike a few certain someones.”

Unimpressed ice blue eyes sweep across the venue, hovering pointedly on the faces of his colleagues—Kakucho, the Dormouse; Kokonoi, the White Rabbit; Rindou, Tweedle-Dum.

Your eyes follow his, and you smirk to yourself. Kakucho is the easiest out of those three; Kokonoi sometimes deceives you, allowing you to do as you please only to tattle to Mikey later, and Rindou always demands some sort of payment, claiming it’s only fair that you give him something he wants in return.

Turning back, you’re about to respond, something bratty and bitter simmering on your tongue, when a pair of hands and a smooth voice cuts you off.

You’d know that touch, that tone, anywhere.

“Pray, tell me, Miss Alice,” Mikey murmurs in your ear as he slinks up behind you, palms curling around your hips and pulling you back toward his chest. “Why is a raven like a writing desk?”

“Because it can produce a few notes,” you answer dutifully, head tipping back against his shoulder to glance at him through the corner of your eye. “Though they are very flat.”

“Correct,” he responds. “My, what a smart little girl you are.”

It’s soaked in condescension, compliment drawled out through a supercilious smirk, breath wafting across your face sweltering and saccharine.

“Do I get a reward, Mister Hatter?” you ask, sweeter than sugarcane, batting eyelashes framing hopeful, dewy eyes.

A hum vibrates on his tongue, onyx gaze apathetic and appraising as it glides across your features slowly, thoroughly, pulling each of your thoughts apart and putting them back together again.

Your head rolls to the side, over his protruding collarbone, to stare at him more resolutely. And God, it’s the way you’re looking up at him, eyes glazed with dedication, with devoutness, like you want to fucking devour him.

Like you want him to devour you.

Hips pushing back, you rub your ass into his cock in inconspicuous little motions, lashes fluttering a little, back arched in a perfect curve and tits on full display.

From this angle, there’s no way he can’t see right down your dress; there’s no way he can’t see the red lace of your bra straining against supple skin as your chest rises and falls with gentle breaths, no way he doesn’t notice the very tips of your nipples, cheekily peeking out from beneath the delicate material with each swell of your breasts.

Bony fingers flex on your waist, and he huffs out a smirk.

His ebony pupils are enormous, blown wide and gaping, gnawing away at the whites of his eyes.

He’s high.

It’s evident in the milky film of artificial ecstasy lacquering his gaze, doped up and hazy, but it does nothing to dilute the potent love he has for you, melting his stare to something soft and sticky, pouring past his lashes.

He’s feeling good tonight.

“I think I know what my little girl wants,” one hand flattens against your stomach, holding you flush to his body as the other slides up your ribs to cup your breast, filling his palm with it and kneading, slow and deliberate, simply enjoying the feeling of you. “And it is very naughty of her.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mm,” he hums, head drooping to nose along the curve of your neck. “Really.”

His lips brush along your skin as he speaks, his voice barely more than a gentle vibration along the column of your throat, and you whimper a little, fingers curling around his wrist and pressing him closer.

“A-And what’s that?”

“Aw, can’t you guess?” he tuts his tongue. “And I thought you were smart. Must’ve been mistaken. Where’s my smart little girl gone now?”

Grip firm on your waist, his hips rut forward, hard cock prodding at you through the layers of tulle. A discontented little sound vibrates in your throat as you squirm a little—and oh, he knows what you’re whining about, greedy girl, knows that you can barely feel his cock through the thick petticoat, knows you want more—and he presses his hips further forward, grinding harder into your ass.

“Daddy—Da-Daddy, it’s—”

“What?” he shoves again, stronger this time, teeth nipping at the skin below your ear. “Hm?”

“Your cock is hard,” you nearly whine, pushing back against him in a pitiful little wiggle, desperate for more friction.

“And who’s fault is that, huh?”

The hand massaging your breast gives a final squeeze before his fingers find your nipple, pinching it through the material of your dress and bra, then rubbing the heel of his thumb over it in hard, rhythmic motions.

“Is your pussy wet?” he huffs the question into your ear, his hot breath procuring shivers. “I bet it is, naughty girl. Daddy wants to feel it.”

“Please, please,” your hips buck a little, punctuating your pleads, chest pressing into his touch.

“Please? Please what?”

“Touch me, Daddy, touch me, touch me.”

Slender hands slip beneath the puffy layers of lace, calloused fingertips rough as they skim up your smooth thighs, outlining the silk ruffles of the bloomers he bought you specifically for this costume.

Your hips twitch slightly, legs spreading instinctively as his fingers trail along the scrunched hem to the apex of your thighs, pressing two into the rapidly dampening material. Pensively, they caress your slit through the material, prodding your hole just a little before rubbing two slow, hard circles into your clit.

“Christ,” he breathes out, curse splintering at the end. “You’re so fucking wet baby, and I’ve barely done anything yet.”

His palm flattens against you, all four fingers dipping into your core nearly to the first knuckle and then curling, the heel of his hand grinding against your clit, and your pelvis cants reflexively, almost as if you’re attempting to draw his fingertips further in.

“How are you this wet already, huh?” he keens, voice straining beneath his own desire. “Been thinking naughty thoughts?”

“Jus’want your cock,” you slur out honestly, hips gyrating in pathetic little circles, an embarrassing attempt to follow his touch.

“Oh, yeah? That’s all it takes, eh?” he rolls your clit between his thumb and his forefinger, nonchalantly toying with it as he mulls. “Just my cock?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod blearily. “Uh-huh, uh-huh.”

“Cute,” Mikey spits, the compliment sheathed in venom, “how utterly stupid just the thought of my cock makes you.”

His fingers clamp down on the swollen nub and tug, your whole body jolting with the pain, a yelp hitching in your chest.

The arm wrapped around your waist tightens in response, holding you close, holding you still as he humps away at you, sloppy and uneven.

“Oh, baby,” he murmurs, fingers tweaking your clit in rhythmic motions, sparks of pleasure chased by shocks of pain. “You’re so fucking easy for your Daddy, aren’t you? So quick to get soaked for him, so quick to get ready for him, such a good little slut for him, yeah?”

His voice is gravelly, letters wispy around the edges despite fact that he’s nearly shouting over music. Another rush of heat surges between your thighs, and he laughs, dark and dangerous.

Your clit throbs in his touch, the silk of your panties drenched all the way through, aiding his fingers in their slippery motions—several small, fast S gestures, followed by a few firm strokes of your slit, fingertips gliding over your folds with ease. You’re so soaked, whole cunt now outlined by the shimmery material, molding to your folds and enabling him to feel every dip, every bump, every crevice, another chuckle dripping from his lips as your little hole clenches around nothing.

“Daddy,” you whimper, thighs squeezing together tightly as you attempt to fuck his fingers. “Daddy, I—I can’t—I need—”

“Shh,” he hushes you, lips caressing the curve of your ear. “I know, baby. Daddy knows what you need.”

A palm wraps around your wrist as Mikey mutters something about going somewhere a little more private, pulling you along behind him and leading you toward those purple velvet VIP couches, empty and roped off in a darkened corner.

“What are we—” you begin as Mikey collapses heavily on the couch, knees spread wide open, hips shifting up slightly as he forces his feet even further apart, getting comfortable.

C’mere, his lips mime, voice drowning in heavy bass, his chin jutting in the general direction of his straining cock, yearning against pin-striped pants.

Strong hands curl around your hips and yank you backward, the abrupt motion punching a sound of surprise from your chest as you tumble into his lap, spine pressed tight to his sternum.

The hinges of his jaw hook over your shoulder, a crude way of keeping you from squirming as he manhandles you into straddling his thighs, hard cock pressing into your core.

“Holy fuck,” he pants out, the curse damp against your skin. “You’re so wet I can feel you leaking through my pants.”

“Daddy,” you say, and although it’s meant to be a warning, it comes out as a whine, stringy and petulant.

Because it already feels so good, and he’s already so hard, and you just can’t help but rock your hips back, slow and firm, whimpering a bit as the head of his cock glides over your clit, teasing as the slick, swollen little nub jumps beneath the dull pressure.

He laughs a little, nothing more than a deep, dark rumbling within his ribs, reverberating against your back.

“You’re so fucking nasty, baby,” he chides lowly, though you can hear the self-satisfied smirk sewn into his voice, tinged with sadism, as he rolls his hips up twice, grinding his cock into your drenched core. “You’re so fucking needy, baby, trying to get yourself off in the middle of this crowded club.”

You are, you are, another little sound escaping your lips as you rut back against him, already beginning to speed up, rubbing the head of his cock over your clit in quick little strokes.

“It’s really precious, y’know, how pathetically eager you are for me,” he murmurs, notes of fondness negating the sting the insult should bring, words gone melty and sweet. “But you gotta stop humping Daddy for a moment, so he can get his cock out and give you what you really want.”

A disgruntled little whine sounds in your throat, motions stuttering a little as you attempt to stop moving. But it all feels so incredible, greedily unable to quell your hips completely as they rotate in messy little circles, tummy starting to ripple with each graze of his blunt head against your clit.

“Hey,” he warns, sharp and stern, a palm colliding with your bare thigh and leaving a burning handprint seared in its wake, the impact of the slap loud enough to draw a few pairs of eyes. “Don’t get bratty with me, or you won’t get anything at all, you understand?”

Your head’s nodding before the words are even finished leaving his lips—yes, Daddy, of course, Daddy, brats don’t deserve to be filled by Daddy’s cock—desperate to be good for him, to be the best for him.

Because you know he isn’t fucking around; Mikey’s threats are never empty threats, each and every word plucked from his brain with superlative care, heavy and infused with meaning.

It’s terrifying and tantilizing, how easily and instantly he can switch from one mode to the other: from playful to imposing, from Daddy to Leader, a pleasant shiver skittering up your spine, your hole clenching and pulsing as your stomach plummets, gut weighted with a tingling pressure.

It��s a bit of a task, freeing his cock and manoeuvring yourself as you try to inconspicuously sink down on it, but you both manage, your fluffy petticoat of crinoline and tulle providing a decent amount of privacy.

A hiss slips through the gaps of your gritted teeth as it begins to tear you in two, cute little hole stinging as it strains around his cock, struggling to accommodate his girth, delicate skin splitting itself open for him.

“That’s it, that’s it,” he breathes lowly, voice vibrating against your ear. “There you go, good girl.”

An airy little moan spills from your lips as he bottoms out, cockhead pressed snug to your cervix, and you melt back into him, skull knocking against his shoulder, eyes slipped shut.

“Feel better, princess?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you mumble out dreamily. “S’good, S’right.”

“It feels right, huh?” he chuckles a little, thumbs rubbing fond circles into your hips, his hands all the way up your skirt, slipped beneath the frills and fluff, forearms buried in your dress. “You like it when Daddy fills you up?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod. “Stretches me out real good, makes me feel all stuffed ‘n full.”

Whole, complete, one. Like everything feels as it’s supposed to again.

And it hurts, because it always hurts, because he’s too thick and you’re never prepped enough, never patient enough, core split open on his cock and little hole aching as it attempts to adjust to him, but it’s so fucking perfect, too. Your cunt spasms around him, hips twitching a little in desperation—like you’re trying to suck him in further, like you’re trying to bury him deeper—and he groans, fingers flexing as he holds you still, nails gorging on your flesh.

“Eager, are we?”

“S’not my fault,” you mewl, back arching a little as you attempt to push your hips back, squirming a bit in his strong grip. “Need you, Daddy.”

“Is that so?”

Grasp tightening, his hips thrust up, grinding the head of his cock into your cervix in slow, hard motions—back and forth, back and forth, inspiring a dull pang throbbing in your gut.

Gasping sharply, your hips jerk back in response, automatic and instinctual, pulling a hoarse groan from his chest.

His clutch turns to near bone crushing, a fractured little cry sticking in your throat, and he forces you to hold still for a moment, muscles in his thighs gone rigid and stiff as his hips press up further and tug you down, frozen, revelling in the way your cunt pulses around him, as if it’s whining for him.

“M-Mikey,” you echo its sentiments, his name a sulky plead on your tongue, brows knit together and lips jutted in a pout.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

“You know,” you huff out, wriggling a little in his palms, feebly trying to fuck yourself on him.

“Tell me anyway,” he demands.

Scalding embarrassment pricks your cheeks and you whimper, fidgeting in his grasp again, head shaking in defiance.

“Come on,” he chides, but there are notes of amusement infusing his tone. “Daddy can’t give you what you want if you don’t ask for it.”

Sharp teeth sink into your shoulder suddenly, your half-formed response strangled by a gasp, Mikey’s jaw tensing as he burrows his teeth further into your flesh, piercing through tissues and snapping capillaries until copper explodes in his mouth.

He holds it for a moment, all thirty-two of his teeth latched in your skin, ensuring he leaves a full, detailed outline of his mouth etched into you—a signature of sorts—before his tongue flattens against the wound, dragging over it in a single wide lick and sealing it with blood-tinged saliva. A gentle exhale wafts over the bite, cool against the searing pain, and you shudder, chills erupting across your flesh.

“You’re a big girl,” he coaxes over your whimpering, the encouragement steeped in condescension. “I know you can do it. Use your big girl words and tell Daddy what you want.”

Your eyes squeeze shut against the burn of humiliation, lids crinkling at the corners, the softest hiccup catching in your throat, and you feel his cock twitch inside of you.

“I—I wanna ride your cock, Daddy,” you push the stubborn words from your tongue, trembling and breathy.

“Yeah?” he asks, bloodied tongue tracing along the shell of your ear. “How bad?”

“So bad,” you bleat out, striving to bounce on his cock under the firm restraint of his hands, dewdrops of annoyance clinging to your lashes, glittering in the beams of magenta and teal as you blink rapidly.

“Hm,” he muses to himself, nonchalant as he readjusts his grip, hands constringing, completely halting your pathetic little movements. “It doesn’t seem like you want it all that badly.”

“Daddy,” the word leaves your lips in a whine, scrunched and petulant through your pout, body thrashing beneath his strong grip. “Come on—”

“Are you sure you wanna be such a naughty little whore in front of all of these people?”

Your body stops its writhing, his words like a slap to the face.

It’s a bit of a shock, to hear it spoken aloud so bluntly, cut and dry and honest, and it sends a torrent of sparks fizzing through your chest to collect dense and tight in your tummy.

Shame and revulsion sets your skin aflame, the cinders in your gut flaring in response, an intoxicating combination.

“Yes—”

“Huh? What was that?” he shouts theatrically in your ear. “I couldn’t really hear you over the music.”

“Y-Yes,” you repeat, trying to steady your hiccuping voice, to be stern and resolute, even as tears begin to stream down your cheeks.

“Really?” he breathes, and he sounds astonished, he sounds appalled. “You’re so fucking sleazy, baby. I wonder what all these people would think, if they knew how truly filthy my little girl is...”

“Manjirou,” you weep out his birth name, whole face saturated in frustration.

“Oh-ho-ho,” he chuckles out the word, and it’s vicious. “Graduated to using my full name, now, have you?” he licks at the steadily oozing bite, mopping up more blood with his tongue. “Christ, you do really want it.”

“I do!” you cry out, struggling against his grasp again, hips bucking in wild, erratic motions. “I do, I do, please, let me ride your cock, please.”

“What if I made you sit, still and straight like the good little girl I know you want to be, on my hard cock for the rest of the night? Do you think you’d be able to handle it?”

You know he won’t, know he’d never be able to, because he’s just as addicted to you as you are to him, just as desperate, just as eager, just as needy; because even as he holds you motionless, he can’t quite halt the delicate jerk of his hips, rolling up into your core; because you know he wants this just as badly as you do, gets off on the depravity just as much as you do.

Even so, the mere thought of being teased like this, of being forced to hold such a degrading position, is still enough to inspire a rush of agitated tears to flood your eyes, vision gone bleary with despairing desire and rendering the club a bleary haze of glowing neons.

“No, Daddy, no, I—I just want to ride you, please, Daddy, I c-can’t—”

You’re nearly wailing now, head thrown back dramatically as your neck twists into an uncomfortable knot, anguished as you try to bury your face in his throat, looking for solace. Your chest stutters as you stammer out half-finished pleads, gone garbled with spit, and Mikey smiles.

You’re starting to cause a scene.

It’s exactly what he wanted.

“Okay, baby, okay, okay,” he’s pacifying as he feels hot tears soak into his neck, a choked sob catching painfully in your chest. “Daddy’s here, Daddy’s gonna make it all better.”

And finally, finally his grasp loosens, stiff fingers gone lax, massaging lopsided circles into the rapidly developing bruises left in the shape of their prints.

“Go ahead, angel,” he urges, nuzzling into the junction of your shoulder, pressing a chaste kiss to the congealing bite. “Ride Daddy’s cock.”

Then he’s slumping back, settling into the couch cushions and spreading his thighs a little wider, pressing the soles of his boots into the waxed floor for stability and leverage.

His hands stay on your waist, a gentle guidance, but he allows you to set the pace—a rare occurrence—patient as your hips work up a steady rhythm of quick, shallow gyrations, each swivel dragging his cock against your favourite spot.

And God, you’re so cute when you use his cock to make yourself feel good. It’s a shame that he can’t see your face in this position, can’t see the way your lashes flutter and frame the rolling whites of your eyes or the way your features scrunch so delicately; a shame he can’t hear your gorgeous noises, all your sweet little gasps and pitiful little whines consumed by the blaring music.

But he can see how your back is bowing, spine forced into a near perfect arc by your building pleasure, bending just a hint more with each brush of his cock; he can feel your palms clutching his knees, nails digging little crescents into his shins and using them for support as your movements accelerate, as you fuck yourself harder, faster, better.

And he lets you have your fun for a little, lays back all languid and lazy and watches through lidded eyes as you play with yourself and use his cock like it’s your favourite toy—because, well, it is—but eventually it just isn’t enough and you need Daddy’s help.

Just like he knew it wouldn’t be. Just like you always do.

Not that he minds one bit.

Yes, it isn’t enough, because it never is, because you can never manage anything more than teasing yourself when left entirely to your own devices, spritzing kerosene on the dull smouldering in the pit of your stomach as the head of his cock brushes up against that engorged spot inside of you, not nearly hard enough or fast enough to have you anywhere close to creaming on him, merely enough to have your clit throbbing, swollen and neglected.

He knows you’re beginning to get restless when your hips turn sloppy, tempo starting to falter as your motions stutter, and then you’re looking over your shoulder at him with a beseeching pout, glazed eyes begging him to do something!

So he does.

He’s straightening up in a split second, hands around your waist tightening as he yanks you back toward his chest, chin hooking over your clavicle again and grinding the sharp bone into your skin.

“Poor thing,” he murmurs against your jaw, mocking and mean. “Can’t even get herself off without her Daddy’s help.”

“I can’t, I can’t,” you wail over the roar of EDM, head shaking in accentuation. “Need you, need you to do it for me.”

“Of course you do, angel,” he says, as if it’s obvious, as if it’s common knowledge. “But that’s okay—Daddy will make it feel good.”

That’s the only warning you’re given before his hips are ramming up, rapid and rough and downright ruthless, the abrupt motion slamming a high-pitched yelp from your throat, so pure and genuine and full of lust that it rises above the music, breaks through the heavy bass beat, gathering a handful of glances from a few nearby party-goers.

So much for being inconspicuous.

You should’ve known that that just isn’t Mikey’s style.

They lose interest just as quickly as they gained it, though, going back to their drinks and their drugs, unconcerned. What the Boss does at his own club is none of their business, even if it is on display for the whole venue to see.

Still, it’s enough for Mikey.

“Everyone can see you, you know,” voracious black eyes scan the balcony space. “Everyone can see you being such a good little whore for your Daddy.”

The thought of being watched, of being caught, inspires a whole flock of butterflies to flit around in your tummy, another surge of heat gushing between your thighs, and Mikey laughs. Oh, he felt that.

Because he’s right; if anyone dared to look a little closer, a little longer, cared to paid a smidge of more attention to the two of you, hidden on one of the velvet couches wedged in the corner of the VIP section with your hips rocking and Mikey’s hands buried in the lace and tulle of your skirt, they’d know exactly what the two of you are doing.

But it doesn’t matter; you don’t care. Neither does he. Why should either of you?

“Do you—Do you think they like it?” you question, and Christ, it’s so precious, that pathetic hope ringing high and clear in your voice. “Do you think they like watching me bounce on their Boss’s cock?”

“Fuck,” the curse fragments in his throat, sharp and pitchy, and he coughs on the shards. “I know they do, sweetheart.”

“Do you think they’re g-gonna go home and touch themselves to the thought of me—of us?”

“Aw,” Mikey coos out in a chuckle, breathless and condescending. “It’s cute that you think they aren’t already jerking off to you on a regular basis.”

Of course they are, you silly little stupid thing; how could they not be? With all the sweet, short little dresses he buys you to prance and twirl around in—the ones with the sweetheart necklines that dip just a hint too low, teasing the swell of your breasts with each of your gentle inhales; the ones with the rippling hems that end just a touch too high, swishing and swaying and flashing with each of your movements, riding up and fanning out to gift them with teasing little glimpses of the lace and satin underneath.

“You think I don’t know what my—ah, Christ—what my men think of you? How my men think of you?” He tongues a little at the bite, using his front teeth to scrape off a few half-formed scabs, blood rushing to pool in their place. “You think I don’t see the way they look at you?”

A whine stammers in your throat, your back arching a little more as your cunt quivers around his cock, that drove of butterflies sending your stomach swooping, the organ tensing, tying itself into thick knots pulled tight and taut with each plunge of his cock.

Mikey laughs again, the sound nothing more than a deep, dense vibration rumbling within his ribs, seeping into your back and sending tingles up your spine.

“Would you like to see the way they look at you?”

“H-Huh?”

Oh, how adorably fucked out you already are, mind gone dumb and numb to everything but him, but his voice and his touch and his steadily driving cock; oh, how adorably easy it is to make you this fucking idiotic.

“Look over there,” he presses his cheek into yours, forcing your head to turn and follow his gaze.

Across the club, Rindou sits with an elbow resting on the edge of the bar, a glass dangling from his fingertips. His eyes are cavernous, carnivorous, a smirk smearing across his face as your stare meets his, heavy lids framing a leering look.

Using a shoulder, he nudges his brother’s stomach, jutting his chin toward you and his Boss in indication when Ran looks down in question, redirecting his attention.

Now they’re both watching you, with doped up violet eyes and identical sleazy smiles, toothless and worming.

It makes you want to scrub and scratch at your skin, their gazes painting you in a thick coat of grime, body soiled by their lust and left feeling dirty, feeling gross, a strong shiver crawling across your flesh.

Your head jerks reflexively, desperate to hide from their lechery, skull knocking against Mikey’s hard enough to send thorns of pain searing through your temple.

A yelp cracks in your throat, and Mikey snorts, seemingly unfazed.

“Aw,” Mikey tuts in false admonishment. “Don’t get shy now. Look at them. Look at them while you ride my cock.”

“M-Mikey—” your eyes shut tightly, a pitiful attempt to escape their invasive eyes, head shaking in little judders.

“C’mon,” he goads, forcing you to face their stare. “You want them all to see, right? How good my little girl is? How pretty my little girl is?”

Peeking through your lashes, you squint at the Haitanis, features teetering on the verge of a wince, as if you’re expecting them to physically strike you.

They’re still looking at you, wide and unblinking, speaking out of the side of their mouths in laughs and murmurs to one another.

Dressed in matching pin-striped suits and thick suspenders, Rindou has discarded his jacket, shirtsleeves rolled haphazardly up his forearms to his elbows, first few buttons of his shirt popped undone, revealing a defined collarbone.

Predictably, Ran is still the perfect picture of poise and elegance, not a single hair out of place, suit jacket square on his shoulders and flawlessly tailored to his body, each stitch outlining his edges.

Tweedledum and Tweedledee respectively, and just as treacherous.

Whatever it is they’re saying to each other, they’re clearly enjoying themselves, amusement playing in glassy irises as Ran rests a hand around Rindou’s neck, slim fingers pressing into plush muscle. His younger brother instantly relaxes into his touch, mollifying back against his stomach and hooking an arm around his thigh, hugging it to his ribs.

And it’s the way they’re looking at you, as if they’re peeling the clothes from your body and the skin from your bones and peering into the depths of your soul to dance with your demons and devour your secrets; as if they’re singeing your expression into their minds, the sight of your features saturated in perturbation and pleasure branded into the tissues of their brains, carved into the walls of their skulls, ensuring they’ll never forget.

Everything feels overexposed as they pry you apart bit by bit, heady mix of hedonism and humiliation hazing over your brain.

Mikey’s hips slow to a drag, thighs tensing and soles of his boots skidding across marble as he expertly angles his hips and presses up, rubbing the head of his cock over your g-spot in slow, controlled motions—back and forth, back and forth, over and over and over again.

And the moan that claws at your throat is almost obnoxious, is definitely embarrassing, which means Mikey needs to fuck at least three more from your chest, grunting a little with the effort as his cockhead jabs against that plush spot, hard and precise.

A whine that sounds suspiciously like his title, tangled in spit and weighted with shame, spills from your lips, and you nestle your face against his own even as your hips jolt, desperate for comfort, desperate for cover.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it,” he nuzzles your damp cheek. “I know you do. I can feel it.”

It’s true, he can—you’re sure he can, with the way your straining little hole keeps pulsing around his length, another stream of heat cascading down his shaft, viscous and wet and so, so much, to pool in the folds of his balls, to stain the waistband of his pants and the velvet of the couch.

But you know he likes it just as much as you do.

Because you’re both so fucking naughty, so fucking nasty, but the depravity just works to heighten it all, makes it that much better, amplifying every touch and brush and tease and fondle and making it all feel so fucking good, even as Mikey’s pace eases into something unhurried, his thrusts turned languid but powerful.

So you join in, you rise to his challenge, a sick little game the two of you play, a sick little game you force others to participate in—because you’re fucking untouchable.

“Do you think their cocks are hard, Daddy?” you ask, the question dripping with syrup as you roll your hips backwards, slow and purposeful, returning the Haitanis’ smouldering stare through fanned lashes, unblinking and tenacious.

“Ah, f-fuck,” Mikey’s cock jolts, rhythm stammering for a moment before he regains his composure. “Yeah, baby, I bet they’re wishing they were me right now.”

You bet they are, too, mouths stopped moving and gazes gleaming with want, lips parted with uneven exhales pushed from their heaving chests, entirely enchanted by your movements.

It’s the most affected and authentic you’ve ever seen them before, and it sends a thrill of power shooting through your body, blood left fizzing in its wake.

One of them reaches into their pocket, groping around blindly for their phone, not daring to spare a second of their attention away from you, and Mikey snarls, nose scrunched in disgust and lip curled in a sneer, baring gritted teeth.

Because that’s too much, that’s crossing a line, and Mikey swiftly redirects your face, effectively hiding your expression from the Haitanis’ hungry eyes.

Mikey’s always liked to show off. Mikey’s never liked to share.

He swaps shoulders quickly, the defined hinges of his jaw clasped firmly over your collarbone, and smushes his face flush to yours again, skin clammy with sweat.

“And look over there,” he steers your gaze toward the other side of the club, where Kokonoi sits with a smattering of men surrounding a tall cocktail table, littered with crystal glasses and white lines.

The men around the table are laughing about something, sloshing liquor and cutting powder into thick, fat stripes, but Kokonoi isn’t paying attention to any of it.

No. Kokonoi is looking at you.

His eyes snap away when they meet your own, head whipping forward with such speed and such force it’s a marvel he doesn’t instantly give himself whiplash. A deep laugh rumbles in Mikey’s throat in response, something dark, something decadent.

“He’s gonna go home and touch himself to you, too,” he says. “He might not even make it before he goes home; might end up jerking his cock in a bathroom stall or the front seat of his car.”

“How can you tell?”

“Well, look at him,” Mikey snorts. “He’s so hard he’s about to burst outta his pants.”

Following the line of Kokonoi’s body, your gaze travels downward, to the straining lump in his white pants. His hips shift a little uncomfortably as his thighs tense, hands curled into fists on his knees as he steadily trains his stare forward at the wall opposite of him, throat bobbing with a thick swallow.

Mikey’s right—Koko’s about to burst.

The thought of Koko rushing to his car to collapse in the driver’s seat, head tipped back against the headrest and hand shoved down his pants as his palm rubs frantically at his hard cock, or hastening to the washroom to lock himself in a stall, forehead pressed tightly to the rickety door and panting out stuttered, half-stifled whimpers hotly against his upper lip as he hurriedly relieves the problem you’ve created, is almost too much to bear, stomach clenching in time with the throbbing of your cunt, a torrid pressure building and burning in your gut.

The sudden acceleration of Mikey’s thrusts snaps you out of that tangle of thoughts, effectively drawing every ounce of your attention back to him.

A mewl pries past your lips, sharp and high and cracking at the end, whole spine arching as Mikey resumes his assault on your favourite spot, cockhead driving hard and fast against plush flesh.

“They can look all they want, but you’re mine.” His fingers tighten, his grasp rigid and unbreakable, the words nothing more than a snarl spit in your ear, wet and harsh. “I won’t fuckin’ share.”

“Never, never, never,” you babble in time with the bouncing on his lap, head nodding in sloppy motions with each repetition of the word.

“Never,” he growls, teeth sinking into the flesh of your shoulder sloppily, excess spit dribbling from the corners of his mouth as he breaks the skin for the second time tonight and sucks hard, drawing blood from the string of tiny wounds.

It has another cry escaping your throat, whole face crinkling in a sordid mixture of pleasure and pain, head instinctually thrown back against your Daddy, automatically giving him more room to work. Drops of watered down blood drool down your back and Mikey takes a moment to admire them, mesmerised by the way they shimmer in the strobing lights of the club, before he licks at them with the tip of his tongue, leaving crude strokes of fresh spit in their wake.

He’s the motherfucking Boss.

And the Boss gets what he wants, where he wants, when he wants, always.

He’s really fucking you now, vicious and vigorous, your entire body juddering in his lap as his hips piston up, cockhead pounding against that sensitive mound of tissue buried deep within you.

Each thrust shoves another shattered sound from your tongue, splintered moans of his name and his title pouring past your lips in a jagged stream.

The knot your stomach has twisted itself into strains under the building pressure, growing heavier and heavier with each jackhammer into you, stretched taut and stiff and ready to snap.

It’s all so much, the ogling eyes and the ramming of his cock and the tightening in your belly, every muscle in your body coiled and aching for the ecstasy that comes with release. Your breath mangles with the mewls shoved from your lips with every slam up, sticking to your throat and you cough, wheezing past the splinters. It’s all too much, and—!

“M’gonna, m’gonna cum, Daddy!” you gasp, tears dotting the corners of your eyes, sparkling in spidery lashes.

“Yeah, baby?” he breathes, voice dropping to a ragged rasp. “You gonna cream all over Daddy’s cock? Huh? Make a mess on my cock surrounded by all of Daddy’s closest and most esteemed colleagues?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you nearly sob out, palms curling over his wrists, nails clawing at the delicate skin, desperate for an anchor.

“My dirty fucking girl,” he hisses out, sharp breath stinging your cheek. “Such a good—Ah—good little slut for me, aren’t you?”

You can no longer respond, rendered stupid from the ardor, potent pleasure corroding your brain and gnawing through your synapses. It’s downright intoxicating, it’s fucking insatiable, it’s simultaneously immense and insufficient, way too much yet not nearly enough, because you need more, you need more, unintelligible pleads shattering on your tongue.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, baby, gush all over Daddy, make a pretty mess on his lap for him. Show everyone in this Goddamn club how gorgeous you look cumming for me.”

And so you do, ever your Daddy’s best girl, body eager to obey its owner as your cunt convulses around him, copious amounts of slick cascading down his shaft to drench his thighs, sticky and sharp and so fucking sick as he continues to bounce you in his lap.

The spasming of your cute little hole draws the sweetest whine from the back of his throat, panted out against the curve of your ear, and another bout of warmth rushes to the apex of your thighs, earning you a shuddered little curse, the exhale sweltering against your sweaty skin.

You sound so pretty right before you cum, Daddy.

Three more pumps of his hips and he’s following, thrusts stuttering as he fucks up messily into you, cock throbbing almost violently and stuffing you to the brim with thick, hot cum. Strong hands hold you firmly in place, cockhead pressed flush to your cervix as he spills himself into you, as he forces you to take every fucking ounce of what he’s giving you.

And you love it, you love it, you love it, you’re telling him, sentiments pouring from your mouth in a jumbled stream, singular and continuous until your lungs run out of air, voice cutting off with a squeak.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Mikey’s murmuring into your skin in response, lips leaving smears of sugary saliva just below your earlobe.

He allows you to sit on him for a moment, chest heaving against your back with ragged breaths, sweaty forehead pressed tightly to your shoulder. Tilting your head, your rest your cheek on the back of his skull, eyes slipping shut as your own heart begins to calm, cunt still pulsating irregularly around his shaft, almost as if it’s attempting to squeeze a few more drops out of him, his cock acting as a crude plug, keeping most of his cum buried inside of you.

Finally, his head lifts, pressing a tender kiss to the blood-encrusted bite glittering on your shoulder.

“Go get cleaned up in the washroom,” he mutters gently, pressing another string of kisses along your jaw. “Don’t wipe away any of Daddy’s cum; let it soak into your panties real nice and good, let them get really wet, and then snap a few pictures and send them to me. Can you do that for me, angel?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you slur out, nodding in loose, liquid movements.

“Good,” he pats your thigh twice. “Now, go.”

A small noise of affirmation sounds in your throat, head still nodding as Mikey helps you stand between his spread thighs, hands on your waist keeping you upright while you wobble on unsteady legs.

And the noise that you make as his cum and your slick surges out of you—something caught somewhere between a mewl and a whine, turned on and disappointed simultaneously—is the cutest thing he’s ever heard, a muted coo slipping from his own lips as your hands wrap around his, using them to further stable yourself.

He holds you for a moment or two longer, making sure you’re sturdy and your knees won’t suddenly give out, before giving you one final squeeze and releasing you, smirking a little as he watches you teeter away on rickety feet.

Initially, his plan was to have you capture a few naughty photos for him—pretty little things to stash away in his phone for later use, during the nights he’s forced to spend away from you, sitting in expensive cars or laying in lush hotel beds—and force you to wear the gluey, cum-drenched undies for the remainder of the party.

But then his phone is buzzing, and he’s unlocking it to find your cunt perfectly outlined by thin silk as it sticks to your folds, little clit and hole contoured and accentuated by the slick, shining fabric, soiled by a large, irregular patch of wetness, and oh, there’s no way he’ll be able to wait until you arrive home to fuck you again.

No, he needs to fuck you now, a sudden burst of adrenaline buzzing through his veins, little sparks and minuscule explosions that have him up and moving in under a second, cock already beginning to fill with life again.

Sheer, potent power permeates the atmosphere around him, trembling off his body in sharp bolts; dense, heavy, cracking with electricity.

The way the crowd instantly parts for him is awe-inspiring, their gleaming eyes full of terror and worship, hastily tripping over their own toes and ankles to move from his path as he strides toward the washroom, desperate to not be stung by his brilliance, desperate to get as close to the currents as possible without being scathed.

You’re just exiting the restroom by the time he reaches you, breath punched from your lungs as he backs you into a tiled corner, trapped between the cold wall and his scorching form, his hands splayed wide on either side of your shoulders.

“We gotta go,” he’s nearly panting out as he shoves his forehead against yours, eyes closed and noses nudging, straining cock grinding unceremoniously into your hip. “We gotta go, now.”

And, well, Daddy always gets what Daddy wants.

#mikey sano x reader #mikey sano smut #mikey x reader #mikey smut #bonten mikey smut #bonten mikey x reader #bonten x reader #bonten mikey x you #sano manjiro x reader #sano manjiro smut #mikey x you #bonten smut #tokyo revengers smut #SORRY ITS SO LATE HAHA PLS ENJOYYY #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x you

2K notes · View notes

simpxxstan · 5 months ago

Note

CONGRATULATIONS FOR 550 FOLLOWERS!!! YOU DESERVE IT AND A LOTTTTT MOREEE!!!! 💖❤️💕

For the celebration can I please request wonwoo + one of the girls (by weekend)

- love ya 💝💞

thank you so much! your request is perfect because i've associated this song with wonwoo so many times UGH hope you like this!!

this is part of my 550 followers celebration event! find the rest of the content of this event here!

genre: actors au, smut, toxic relationship, angst

word count: 4.4k

warnings: 18+ NSFW MINORS DO NOT INTERACT very toxic and manipulative wonwoo, actor!wonwoo, self confidence issues, self-image issues, mentions of dieting to alter appearances, implied big age gap, fwb dynamics, usage of pet names (doll, love, babe, darling), dom-sub dynamics, dom!wonwoo, sub!reader, public sex, implied spanking and edging, unprotected sex (do not do this irl pls), mirror sex, mild bondage, oral (m. receiving, f. receiving), verbal fighting, very ambiguous ending.

wonwoo doesn't even know your name. but his eyes have been on yours through the entire evening of the post-premiere party. you're happy being a wallflower- you don't even expect anything else. Because why would anyone notice a simple side character when there are so many stars to steal the show?

and yet, his eyes have strayed to you through the crowds of the party. even when he's in the spotlight, even when all the cameras are flashing on him, even when his co-star, who's the highest-paid actress in the country right now, keeps rubbing her body against his arm; even when every other woman in the party is busy flaunting their figures and their charms to him; even when everyone has their eyes on him.

you think you're mistaken. you quietly sip on your cocktail, staying on the sidelines. you're not really looking for attention tonight. your character might be a small one, just a minor role, but you're still extremely proud of yourself. you've just made your film debut, and you're just twenty-three. young enough for just a little success to fuel infinite adrenaline, but also old enough to know how to control your fire. tonight is for the small victories for you, and you've made up your mind to retire early, and go home to your friends and actually begin the party.

"y/n?" you spin around so fast that your hair whips into your face.

"mr. jeon?"

wonwoo's right there, his hair slicked back with gel, wearing the hottest design of the season effortlessly. there's a pair of glasses sitting casually on his nose, one eyebrow slightly raised. "there's no need to be formal, you know. we are colleagues, please call me wonwoo."

your nervousness must be visible through your face, because wonwoo's eyes sparkle with amusement. frankly, you don't even know how wonwoo even knows your name. you haven't interacted with him directly through the film- except for the fifteen minutes of the climax scene where you were on the screen at the same time as him.

"i- i'm sorry. wonwoo."

"happy to see you here. hope you're enjoying the party?"

your breath stutters. "i- i am. yes, very much." it's a fucking lie. you haven't moved from this spot for the last half an hour, you've been sipping on the same cocktail for the last ten minutes, and you've only conversed with two more actors in the film who had equally small roles as you.

wonwoo smiles at you, and your heart skips a beat. it's the same effect he has on every goddamn person. it's why he's become who he is now- charming, handsome and everyone's walking wet dream. "i'll see you around, then." and then he's gone, your eyes left wide and your thoughts all scattered.

you see wonwoo again when he invites you to a party at his country house. you think he's mistakenly invited you, up until the moment that the gates open for you when the guards see your face. you're sure glad you specially bought a new dress for this occasion, because the party seems to be filled with the cream of the celebrities of the current scene. and yet, his eyes find yours again. "you're here." you've prepared yourself better now, so that he doesn't render you a stuttering, stumbling mess again. "i couldn't turn down your invitation, of course." you're wearing your favourite wine-shaded lipstick, and you've chosen a dress that tastefully shows enough skin to make you look more a woman and less a girl.

it works on wonwoo.

he steps closer to you, his eyes raking over your figure. you can see enough haze in his obsidian eyes to know his look is one of appreciation. it has a wild effect on you- the combined attack of the scent of his cologne and the way his hair's pushed off his forehead to expose his strong eyebrows has your blood rushing. "you look beautiful." your eyes raise to meet his, and he hands a glass of wine into your hands, his fingers lingering on to the ghost of your touch for a second too long. "thank you?" you cringe at the tone of your own words. "i- sorry. i don't know just how to react about the fact i'm here at your party." you purse your lips and avert your gaze, only stealing glances at wonwoo when he chuckles. "you're finding this funny." "i'm not laughing at you, i swear." the wine's pretty strong. you don't like the taste of it except you can't say so to wonwoo who must've spent the racks on this. "you are. but you must be used to this. fans, after all." "well, it is an honour that you're a fan." "honour? i'm sure it's not. i'm a nobody."

wonwoo leans in, closer to you, his voice low enough to ensure no one else hears him except you.

"a beautiful lady is never a nobody."

you stay next to wonwoo through the evening. on the sofa, in front of the guests, at the dining table, in the balcony when wonwoo takes a cigarette break. he doesn't leave your side all evening, and who are you to turn him away?

wonwoo takes you on his yacht the next weekend.

"i have to ask you something." you've worn your favourite jumpsuit for the occasion, and wonwoo's standing on the neck, a polo t-shirt snug on his body.

"yes?"

"what is it exactly that you're doing? you and i are not friends, jeon wonwoo."

"you're right. we're not friends." wonwoo lifts his sunglass off his eyes and stands close to you. the night air makes your hair fly off into the hair, and he extends a hand to touch the skin on your neck that's left exposed. "i don't want to be friends with you, y/n. i just want you."

you gulp. you hesitate. that's your biggest mistake. because it takes your heart that one idle second to fold into wonwoo's charms, and you part your lips at the way his fingers rub circles into the same sensitive spot on your neck.

"what do you think? will you let me touch you?" god, how can he say it so easily?

you tilt your head to give him better access.

wonwoo makes love to you on the deck that night. you're fully sober, you're barely 100 metres away from the coast where everyone can see you. but you still let wonwoo strip off your dress and lay you out on the deck to suck at your breasts and fuck his fingers into your wet, sloppy cunt. when your cum is smothered all over his hands, he takes you to his bedroom. your hands are tied back, your body arching to give him more access. there's so much he's giving you- so many sensations at once. he brings a cube of ice and rubs it over your nipples to soothe them after the way he's sucked them red for so long. when your body shivers because of the ice, he pulls you into his arms, whispering soothing praise in your ears- even going as far as letting you grind down on his thigh. your hands are freed as he drives his cock into your cunt, all at once. you scream out his name- you've never taken such a big cock, but you want to please him. so bad. so you let him thrust himself into you lazily until you're begging him to go faster.

somewhere in the middle of the night, you lose your mind and beg him to use you. wonwoo's smirk is a memory you'll never forget even if you don't see him ever again. it's a smirk that will remind you of the way he flipped you on top of him, laying you out on his lap, as he leans on the headboard of his bed and calmly fingers your cunt again, pushing his cum back into you, until your eyes roll back and you lose all sense of time and place.

the last thing you remember from that night is when wonwoo kisses you, and fucks you into the mattress, and you grasp onto his shoulders as he relentlessly pumps into you. "so lovely, my doll. you're my doll, isn't that right?" you don't even know what you're saying at this point- it's too late into the night and all your thoughts are clouded by just wonwoo. "yes. yours, yours, yours."

wonwoo comes to your apartment the next day, with a bouquet of calla lilies and takeout food. the food doesn't get eaten for dinner, you do. the food gets eaten the next morning, your entire body too weak to even stand up straight. he feeds you as he sits next to you on the bed, kissing your forehead every two seconds. he runs a bath for you, and lifts you straight from the bed to the tub, and kisses you until your entire body relaxes in the warm water.

you don't talk much about anything other than the lust running thick through your veins for the entire day. you turn on the tv to watch something, but you end up sucking wonwoo's cock when he sits back on your couch and holds the end of your head to ensure you're taking him to the back of your throat, murmuring praises to you without a moment's lapse. when your mouth is full of his cum, he asks you to tell you whose doll you are. you shake your head, knowing you're going to make a mess if you try to talk. "go on. don't make me ask you again." wonwoo's voice is low, rumbling like thunder as he stares down into your eyes.

"y- yours!" you say as carefully as you can, and yet so much of the cum spills down your chin onto your breasts, where wonwoo licks it clean off you. "so pretty, but so messy. do you want a break now, doll?"

"no. please- no." wonwoo coos at you, as his hand strays down to your pussy and he feels the way your panties have turned transculent with how turned on you are. "come onto my lap, doll."

that night, you skip dinner. the next day, you take breaks in between sex to eat on a single pizza you ordered for lunch. you've fucked on every damn surface in your apartment- from the kitchen counter to your bathroom floor, from the balcony to the guest bedroom, from the loveseat underneath the window to the dining table. and yet, you can't keep yourself away from this man, and wonwoo, surprisingly, doesn't want to leave either.

until he does.

"darling, i'm going to have to leave in the morning" you're spent, lying on the bed, heaving in breaths to calm your racing heart after an excrutiatingly long session of spanking and edging. "you do?" you turn around on your elbows to look at him, and he pulls you over his chest, resting your head on this pecs. "i do. i have shooting tomorrow. would you mind if i came back in the evening? or you could come to m-" "wonwoo. can we slow down?" he stops talking for a second. you stare at him, trying to read his face.

you see wonwoo think for a long moment. finally, you raise your eyebrows and ask him again, "well?" "we could but... i can't do slow with you, doll. you're driving me crazy."

there. he's taken your breath away again.

he flips you over, his tongue already licking the valley between your breasts. you shiver all over, his hands roam your skin to calm you down. "i want you so bad, you have no idea." oh, you think you do. jeon wonwoo's been in your apartment for four days straight- when he has a perfectly beautiful mansion waiting for him. he's gone without decent food. gone without working out, gone without any of his makeup or skincare, gone without picking any work calls. you know he must want you bad enough to completely forget about his work life to come spend these days with you, rutting in your bed for hours and hours.

but a candle that burns fast dies out quickly.

you cradle wonwoo's face in your hands, pulling him away from your breasts. "let's get some sleep, hmm? you have work tomorrow."

wonwoo is gone before you even wake up. your mouth is filled with a bitter taste as you recall how mindlessly you've spent the last week- on the yacht and now at your house. you check your emails. no callbacks or offers from the auditions you've given in the past month. it's disheartening, but nothing new. every aspiring artists suffers the same struggles. but to be honest, you'd rather choose this over taking up a different, safer profession, as your parents would call it. you can't imagine not doing acting- it's the one thing which has reciprocated your love for it through your life. well, you hope that once the film reaches more people, you can secure some role through future auditions. till then, you text the local theatre troupe you're a part of, and inform them that you'll be free for their next performance.

wonwoo calls you when it's already dark outside. "my car's outside. think you can come over for the night?" you want to say no. you want to restrict the attraction- because you know you're falling for someone for whom everyone falls, and he'll never take this seriously, whatever this is. but you're a moth drawn to a flame, ready to burn till the last moment.

"yes, i'll come down in ten minutes."

wonwoo's not in the car. his chauffeur takes you to his mansion, and you find him sitting in the lawn, smoking a cigarette. as soon as he sees you, he calls out to you. "y/n! you're finally here." he runs over to meet you halfway and picks you up in his arms. "what's this behaviour, wonwoo?" you're flustered as hell, a giggling mess in his arms. "i missed you too much. how was your day today?" wonwoo sits down on the exquisite-looking chaise in the middle of the lawn. you notice that there's no one else around, except nature and the moonlight. wonwoo pulls you into his lap, and you smile at the way his hands roam through your body. "just like any other day. didn't get any emails, did yoga and ate fruits because i need to diet." "you don't. whoever told you that?" you laugh. "your stylist, actually. she says i need a better figure to get more roles." wonwoo nose scrunches, and his fingers slip under your t-shirt to touch your skin. "i'm going to change my stylist." and then he kisses your neck when you laugh out loud, pushing your neck further to give him better access and you arch out your body to feel as much of him as you can.

the next morning, you wake up much after the sun's already overhead. wonwoo's still asleep next to you, his hair splayed out across the pillow, his face down on his pillow. he has a leg over your body, but you carefully escape and get out of bed.

there's a new mail in your inbox.

"fuck!" you shout out when you see the contents of the mail, not realising that wonwoo's still sleeping. he wakes up instantly and peers at you. "don't scream if i'm not making you scream, love. what's up?" his voice is broken but inviting, and you jump into the bed next to him. "i just got an offer to model for a brand!" wonwoo gasps, sitting up and wearing his glasses. "that's amazing, y/n!" "i know right! i've never modelled before- oh i really need to get on that diet now-" "babe. babe, no. you look perfect. you have no need to diet forcefully. they'll take you as you are, otherwise they don't deserve you." wonwoo pulls you into a hug, his bare skin so warm and soft, and you melt into his touch. after he holds you for many long minutes, you whisper to him so softly, he may not even hear it. "thank you, wonwoo." his gaze is soft when he looks at you, "let me show you how perfect you are."

and wonwoo takes you to his walk-in closet, where an entire wall is covered with mirrors. when the two of you are facing the mirror, he begins kissing your neck from behind you, peeling off your layers. "keep your eyes on yourself, doll. see how perfect you are." and he shows you. he gets on the floor, hooking one leg on his shoulder, as he eats you out. then he pushes you on the closed closet behind you, and fucks you while you hold on to it for dear life. the position makes your legs ache, but the mirror's visual of wonwoo's broad back and his thrusting into you, the way his dark mop of hair shakes when he grabs your breasts and sucks them, and the way his hands leave red marks on your hips with how hard he's holding you, leaves you feeling too aroused and dirty to ask him to take this somewhere else.

you almost move in to wonwoo's house over the next month, with how much time you spend with him. he brings over your clothes and other belongings to his house, he drives you around everywhere, and he makes love to you like a touch-starved man every night. and you love it. you love the feeling of having wonwoo all to yourself. even when there are hundreds of other people waiting for him, craving for his touch, you have the power to make wonwoo fall to his knees for you, and it makes you high. you're on top of the world, and you fail to see who's put you there.

your career also radically takes off- must be the after effect of the film. you get several modelling offers, advertisements and even a magazine cover featuring actors who've originated from roots in theatre. but the real kill is when your application to the audition for a role at one of the most anticipated tv shows of the next year gets accepted. wonwoo smothers you with sweet kisses when you tell him the news, and although you haven't labelled anything, it starts to feel too domestic for you to think he's no longer serious about you. for he often texts you as wife, takes you out to secret dates where you're kissing in alleys, and eats dinner with you every night. he makes you feel so good, you can't be bothered to worry about anything.

you know wonwoo's at his shooting spot when you arrive at the hall where the film audition's taking place. so you're incredibly surprised to see that he's sitting right next to the director of the film on the audition panel. "what are you doing here?" you text him as you wait for your turn to audition. "nothing- just a favour for an old friend. don't worry, babe. i won't be judging. i won't even be saying a word." he texts you back. you look up at him from your spot in the wings, and you smirk when your eyes meet his. he winks at you, and in spite of all the distance, your heart flutters.

you pass the audition. you're also offered a role promotion- from the side chick of the villain, you're now the male lead's second love interest. "no surprise, babe. you did so well," wonwoo tells you later when he's kissing you in the back of the car. "how can you say that! the others were so good. i was literally so nervous!" he pulls away from the spot he's been biting hickeys into on your neck, and laughs. "you've gotta work on your confidence, babe. but not on your talent. no one there was better than you, and you should know it."

wonwoo finishes filming for his project by the end of the next month. he insists you accompany him to the pre-release party- which is frankly a little shocking.

"are you sure you want to be seen with me?" you ask him from the corner of the bed, and wonwoo kneels before you, tying the strings of your heels. "are you serious right now? god, what happened to all those discussions about confidence?" you sigh, pouting as he looks up at you. "i don't know. what if your fans don't like me? you know how fans can be." wonwoo laughs. "no, i don't." you roll your eyes, "that's because you've never-" been seen publicly with someone you're dating, you want to say. but your words trail off when you realise wonwoo's never really said he's dating you. you might be friends with benefits in his mind, even though he calls you love and babe.

he finishes tying up your heels and looks at you. "hmm?" "what i mean is that- i'm a nobody, wonwoo. i don't want your image to be affected because me." he laughs, "you're not nobody. you're y/n. and you don't have to worry about me. nothing you do can affect my public image.

wonwoo's words act like a shot of confidence injected into your bloodstream, and you hold your head up high when you get out of the car, expecting wonwoo to join you from the other side of the car.

he doesn't.

he immediately moves on to where his co-stars are standing, flashing dazzling smiles to the press waiting for him. it's an understandable move, but it makes you feel very disoriented for a second as you get a grip on yourself. you're not nobody. not a single camera flashes to capture you. you're not nobody. not a single head turns to look at you. you're not nobody. you're a wallflower again, back where wonwoo found you six months ago. nothing's changed. you are nobody.

after a few drinks and some small talk with people you see, you escape to take a break in the bathroom. you're just about to get out after taking a few minutes to recover, when you find wonwoo standing right outside. "wonwoo?" "let me in, babe." you're confused but he smiles and slowly comes in. "what's wr-" he doesn't respond, he pushes you against the tiled wall and kisses you. "i miss you, that's all." and with a few touches, he makes you forget all doubts in your mind. almost. "you look so good tonight, left me with a boner all evening." "no one asked you to be away from me." you whisper in between moans as his hands spread the slit of your dress and find your clothed pussy. "shhh. don't be a brat now, doll. think you'll let me fuck your mouth quickly? darling, don't refuse me now. i'll make it up to you when we get home. i can't possibly walk around with this boner all night." he makes sure not to leave hickeys on your neck, but the way he's touching you makes you weak. "yes, fuck. please, wonwoo."

so you get on your knees in the bathroom of this five-star hotel's hall, your knees cold against the tile, and take out wonwoo's thick red cock from his pants. it is painfully hard, and you take it in one go, your mouth used to the stretch by now. it takes you less than five minutes to get him to cum, thankfully he finishes in the washbasin and not in your mouth. when the redness of his eyes have subsided from the orgasm, he kisses your cheek, whispering good girl to you, and leaves you. your throat is raw, your underwear uncomfortable and your skin cold. but you're sure no one will notice even if your lipstick's ruined.

you hand wonwoo your phone, showing him a few screenshots open. there's conversations happening on social media about your upcoming film, but it's not good publicity. there's apparently a chat that's been leaked, claiming that you got the role only because you're sleeping with wonwoo.

"is it true?"

wonwoo takes a glance at your phone, before returning to the game he's playing on his laptop. "of course not, babe."

"what about the chat?"

"you know how rumours start."

"wonwoo, look at me and reply."

"one second. i need to finish this round."

"wonwoo!" he finally looks at you. "what?" "tell me the truth. look into my eyes and tell me the truth." "i told you already. it's all false." "wonwoo, i would rather not get roles than get it through you."

he laughs. "really? someone's grown up with a lot of morals, i see."

"i'm serious."

the expression on his face morphs from one of mirth to a serious look you've never seen in real life, only in his film when he's seconds away from nabbing the villain. "are you? would you honestly rather be poor than successful with a little bit of help?"

your blood boils, and you stand up, moving away from him. "so you're admitting it?" your voice grows high pitched, but you're feeling unstable. "to what?" "fixing the audition?" wonwoo laughs again. "what about it? you dese-" "do not bullshit me, wonwoo. did you or did you not?" "y/n-" "why were you there that day? did you or did you not, wonwoo, i need to know!"

"i did." there's a look of amusement in his eyes, but it's not attractive at all. "i did because i could. because i don't want to date someone who's dirt poor and on the edges of the industry."

your breath stops in your throat. for a second you think you're going to choke and die, but then wonwoo reaches out and touches your cheeks. "i was just looking out for you, love." you stand frozen, numb against his touch. you can't look into his eyes, you fear the venom in their darkness.

"fuck you, jeon wonwoo."

his hand stops around your jaw. "what?"

"you can go get high on your power and fame. don't use me to boost your own ego." you finally look up at him. "fuck you."

wonwoo smirks.

"it'll sting for a bit. just like sex. it'll get really pleasant soon when the fruits start coming in. you're my smart doll, aren't you?"

#simpxxstan #simpxxstan's 550 followers celebration event #request answered!#seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #svt #svt x reader #seventeen x you #svt smut #wonwoo #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo smut #wonwoo seventeen #wonwoo imagines #wonwoo svt

280 notes · View notes

slayfics · 1 year ago

Note

Hey!! I love your writing style and how Canon the characters are! So I was wondering if you could make something similar to "muchiro uses your attraction to him against you in training" but with inosuke?<33

Inosuke uses your attraction for him against you in training.

Warnings: NSFW themes | Inosuke aged up

A breeze gently passed by causing the birds to chirp, and butterflies you were eyeing to spread their wings. It was nice to sit down and enjoy the slowness of the moment for a bit. However, the tranquil scene was quickly disrupted by a booming voice that caused the birds to scatter and the butterflies to flutter away.

"HEY, YOU! FIGHT ME!" The voice yelled. You didn't need to turn around to know who was challenging you.

"Hello, to you too Inosuke," You said playfully.

"COME ON YOU ARE JUST SITTING THERE! LET'S TRAIN!" He proposed. As much as you wanted to continue relaxing, a tug in your chest encouraged you to seize the opportunity to spend more time with the hot-headed demon slayer. Even if it was just training. After all, that seemed to be the only thing Inosuke ever wanted to do other than eat.

Two more demon slayers joined behind Inosuke. "Inosuke can't you see they are trying to relax," Tanjiro interjected.

"Yeah we just got done training too aren't you tired?" Zenitsu asked.

"NO! I'm not weak like you!" Inosuke said, placing his hands on his sides and puffing out his chest.

You laughed at the demon slayer's cockiness "It's fine we can fight, but if I win you have to sit here with me and watch the birds." You proposed.

"SURE WHATEVER. As if I'd lose to you anyway." He said with what you imagined was a wide grin under his mask.

You stood up to face the demon slayer and he wasted no time coming at you with full force. You quickly dodged to the side moving out of the way of Inosuke's attack causing only his shoulder to brush against you. The brief brush up against the demon slayer caused your heart to flutter.

It was just a moment but Inosuke's quick instincts caught on to the change that happened when he made contact with you. Your breathing changed, cheeks reddened, and movements slowed just the slightest. He understood he could use this to his advantage.

You spun around ready to block his next attack but an attack didn't come. Instead of an attack, Insouke dropped his swords, ran toward you, and reached out to grab both of your breasts.

Your eyes shot wide open and your heart stopped. A squeak escaped your lips as a bright blush ignited on your face. Did Inosuke really just cop a feel??

"INOSUKE!" Tanjiro yelled at the demon slayer furiously.

Insouke took advantage of your paralysis and quickly pinned you to the floor and straddled you.

"HAHAHA! I TOLD YOU I WOULDN'T LOSE!" He said, bouncing on top of you.

"INOSUKE STOP!" Tanjiro yelled and began to run over with Zenitsu.

Inosuke continued to laugh basking in his victory. Meanwhile, you were seeing stars as the situation was too much for you to handle. Embarrassed, you struggled to get your hands free from under Inosuke desperate to cover your flustered face.

Tanjiro and Zenitsu pulled at the feral demon slayer to try and release him but he took it as a challenge and fought back even harder.

Mphf~

Finally, your hands broke free and you swiftly covered your face as the struggle between the three boys was now causing Inosuke to further bounce and push against you.

"It's fine Tanjiro~" You mumbled desperately to stop the interaction before you lost all self-control.

"YOU REALLY ARE AN IDIOT YOU KNOW THAT!" Zenitsu yelled while grabbing Inosuke's mask from his head and running away. Another squeak escaped your lips at the sight of the demon slayer's face. It was no secret to anyone how attractive Inosuke was under his mask.

Finally, Inosuke got up off of you, only to chase down Zenitsu for his mask.

"I apologize for Inosuke, are you alright?" Tanjiro said, looking down at you. It was then he noticed how flustered you were from the whole event "Oh.. hum..." He said whistling and looking away to give you privacy.

"I am more than alright~" You replied in a daze, still lying down needing a moment to catch your breath.

Thank you for the request! I haven’t written for Inosuke in a long time but I immediately saw this scene unfold when I read your request and knew I had to make it a reality. I’m sorry if this isn’t as steamy as you would have liked, but I hope you enjoy it none the less.

1K notes · View notes

felassan · 1 month ago

Text

I received a few asks around a similar topic, so I'm popping them together here. ( ´ ▽ ` ) DA:TV spoilers under cut.

[the Felassan Files]

hello! ◕‿◕ thank you for the lovely and fun ask messages!!

lavendervoids asked: "i’ve been dying to know what ur reaction was to seeing felassan in the game was???? the moment i saw him i was yelling and hollering and my first thought was “omg what does tumblr user felassan think of this” LMAO and thank you for all the documenting you’ve been doing up until and past the release of the game, i ended up blocking every dragon age tag a couple months back to avoid any sort of spoilers but i still came to your blog everyday cause i knew you wouldn’t spoil me haha"

hhhh ( ´ ▽ ` ) tysm for thinking of me at that time!! and for the nice comment about this blog and visiting it. I'm really glad to know that my approach to spoiler tagging etc has been okay for you.

littlerune asked: "i don't even know you but you and dragon age felassan are so intrinsically linked in my brain that when he appeared in veilguard all i thought was "ohhhh i wonder how tumblr user felassan feels about this"

hhhh :D 🥺 thankyou so much for thinking of me!! ♡ some say that his ghost operates this tumblr blog, or that he lives still

songofamazon asked: "I'm still on my first play of the game, but whenever I got to the memories in the Crossroads, I thought to myself, "I hope Tumblr Felassan is having a great time. Did you?"

I had a great time playing the game and when playing the Crossroads memories sections, I loved them a lot, they were very cool and a highlight of the game. thankyou sm and for thinking of me, and I hope that you did too!!

phantabula-interactive asked: "im so glad you're enjoying the game!! I had to ask; how did you feel about seeing Felassan in game?? I was so excited to see the notes from him, I wasn't expecting a boss fight MUCH LESS. FULL CAMEO!!! They made him a lot prettier than I was expecting too (/pos)"

thankyou!! I hope that you've been enjoying it too!

so: I was sooo excited and shook to see Felassan in the game!!! I was like

(I yelped/hooted out loud like a clown) and then

and then it was suddenly like too much (pos) and my soul left my body and i astral projected into space/paradise/the Astral Plane/the Void or something etc

and then it took me some time to process or gather my thoughts about it.

obviously I was super hoping that we would see him in the game. I was sure that there would at least be some references to him in codexes/notes etc or allusions made in passing dialogue like Cole and Solas' lines about him in Trespasser. then when the marketing mentioned that we would see flashbacks from Solas' past in the Crossroads, I was like aaa omg, wouldn't that be the perfect time to actually show Felassan??, as a Fade memory or flashback or spirit echo or something. so then I was hoping like 🕯️🕯️🕯️ and yea. but even so, still when I saw him in game for the first time it was still a huge shocked Pikachu moment for me.

I was already feeling psyched from the first Felassan codex/note that I found, then I couldn't believe (pos) just how many codexes/notes scattered around written by him that there was?? I was already feeling spoiled (not spoiled by spoilers but like spoiled from eating good) from that (a bunch of codexes/notes might not seem like a lot but when your fav is a side character that has only appeared in one [1] tie-in novel..) and then he goes and actually APPEARS, AAAA. I feel like I ate so good. with the Betrayal fight and the rune at the end as well, it felt like he was threaded throughout the game and was really haunting the narrative. some assorted thoughts:

first of all everything about his DA:TV appearances/DA:TV references continues to underscore that he is the greatest of all time

it also continues to underscore the pain of his death/story and of his friendship with Solas

may I please go and start a new life living in Solas' memories of Felassan on repeat. i simply do not care that my body would waste away in the waking world from lack of sustenance

in the endgame I was trying to concentrate and punch Elgar'nan in the face and save the world but I like couldn't see straight through the tears after having been given Felassan's Magical Boyfriend Super Rune (morrigan pls.. what a way to twist the KNIFE at an extremely critical moment for thedas hhhh..)

expansion pack where we relive Solas' memories of him and Felassan dating (he didn't deserve Felassan tho fr. but then, does anyone..?)

I know that Felassan would treat Lavellan sooooo right. so well. so respectfully. felassan would pull their chair out for them at restaurants and open car doors and whatever

Betrayal of Felassan refers to Solas' betrayal of Felassan, not Felassan's betrayal of Solas

also i love how they made him DEVASTATINGLY handsome?? in the game (they didnt need to go that hard), but also how, at the same time - even before the TME Deluxe edition illustrations, we all just inherently knew deep in our bones that he was, you could simply just tell from his energy and vibes and dialogue even in only the written word. cool rolls off this guy in waves, and always has done

did his model have smoky winged eye makeup? love that. love that for him

I liked his sense of style. the hair his model has happened to be one of the ones I was debating using for my Rook. it's one of my fav ones from the CC

I appreciated the attention they paid to detail when making his model. Mythal vallaslin, violet/purple eyes, an undercut - as he was previously described or shown in TME, dev social media comments and the TME deluxe illustrations

I liked the actor they chose for him, his voice was cool

I felt like his codexes and notes that he wrote captured his voice and his character. you can see the depth of his loyalty and devotion to his friend, his concerns, and he retains his 'voice' in terms of some snark, wit etc

it's fun thinking about whether Felassan originally manifested from the Fade (and if so, what was he a spirit of) or whether he was born the usual way of other elves. (it could be either one)

Betrayal of Felassan as a manifested embodied regret and its lines like "his back, turned".. very raw. that fight was hard enough mechanically for me as it was, then the lines were like being hamstrung LOL. how could they??? (pos/lh)

I always thought that, a long time ago, Solas was essentially the player character in a different game, the main character of another story. the leader of his own group of companions and friends on their own quest (to stop the Evanuris), and that Felassan was one of those companions. Alistair to his Hero of Ferelden if you will. in DA:TV we learn that not only was he one of his companions, he was basically the second-in-command of his rebellion, a General, his closest friend aside from Mythal and his right-hand man.

he was so cool back in his heyday

pain. paaaaain. but like in a good way (I unironically love to be hurt by stories pls continue 💀...)

there are a few further posts containing more bits of my reaction and thoughts scattered through my Felassan tag. ^^

There were also a few other asks about this in my inbox, but Tumblr appears to have eaten them?? :< so if you've asked me about Felassan and my reaction since launch but the message isn't in this post, thankyou sm and I'm very sorry. 😔 pls feel free to re-send it. :)

I do remember that one of the vanished messages asked me what the Slaughter of the Pillars boss regret refers to - the Pillars of the Earth are the Titans. ("Hail Mythal, adjudicator and savior! She has struck down the pillars of the earth and rendered their demesne unto the People! Praise her name forever!") That undead boss embodies another of Solas' greatest regrets, namely what he and Mythal did to the Titans during the war with them - sundering every Titan from their spirit, severing them from their dreams, which resulted in the Blight as the dreams were driven mad. it also in a sense broke the dwarves in two and caused the fall of the fate of the dwarven people. Beyond the mural-memory that pertains to this in DA:TV, there are depictions of this time in the ancient past in the DA:TV artbook: [one, two]. Annotations there describe Solas rendering the Titans tranquil and capturing their souls; dwarves as a consequence then losing their connection to magic and fleeing into the now-Tranquil earth; and the Evanuris then building Elvhenan using the power of the captured Titan souls.

84 notes · View notes

mortallydeepestobservation · 23 days ago

Text

The holiday pretense -2-

Summary: Namjoon has never been a fan of the holidays. In fact, he could list more things that sucked about ‘The most wonderful time of the year’, than things that brought him joy. Yet, beneath his cynicism, a flicker of hope appeared this year, as the faint scent of homesickness hung in the air. Unfortunately, there’s one tiny little thing that keeps him from calling home- his lack of a girlfriend. But fear not; this holiday season, Namjoon’s smart mouth gets him in a situation where he has no choice but to approach you- his longtime friend and roommate- with an unexpected request. Pairing: Namjoon x f.reader Genre: fake-dating, idiots in love, friends to lovers/roommates to lovers au; crack, smut, fluff. Rating: explicit. Minors do not interact. Warnings: every single trope in the book; but with a twist. Dialogue heavy. OC is really bad at lying, they are absolute idiots. like, there is no way about it. pure idiots. anddd… I didn’t write in literal years so yeah, this is gonna be fun. Yes. It is a warning. Smut warnings: to be added~ Word count: Chapter 2-9k Credits: this was literally one of those ‘if no one is going to write this, I will’ because there are not enough friends-to-lovers Namjoon fics out there. And none (that I know of) where the main character feels bad for lying to his family when pretending to date him. This work would not have been possible without the very kind and patient @callmenoona25, who not only helped me beta-read but also served as a guiding light during those moments when I wanted to rage-delete everything. Thank you for all your help! (and please keep helping me coz idk what I’d do without your constant encouragement) Author's note: We’re already in December. Damn… Enjoy. Merry Christmas. part 1: here

Namjoon peered down at your sleeping form, his tired eyes tracing the soft, quirky murmurs that drifted from your lips as you burrowed deeper into his chest. What started as a faint whimper blossomed into a quiet, endearing snore, drawing a gentle smile from him.

He hadn’t planned to wake this early, but sleep had eluded him for the fast few hours. These quiet pre-dawn moments usually brought him peace—a hushed pause before the day took over. Today, however, his mind was restless, skimming over scattered thoughts until it inevitably circled back to you.

You looked like a dream. The soft morning light seeped through the curtains, bathing you in a warm, golden glow even as you nestled deeper into his body. He couldn’t tear his gaze away, mesmerized by the delicate lines of your face. His eyes lingered on the gentle curve of your lips—the same lips he’d kissed just hours before…

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t realize how intently he was staring, until your eyes suddenly fluttered open. Instinct kicked in, startled, you both reacted at the same time, and you jumped up just as he tried to lean back. The both of you groaning in unison as you cradle your forehead, which had slammed painfully against his chin.

“What the hell are you doing?” you cry, urgency quickly replacing the sleepiness in your voice.

“You were snoring. I’m sorry,” Namjoon defended, rubbing the spot where you collided.

“I don’t snore!” you glare up at him, eyes finally focusing enough to see the blood gushing from his nose. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” You leaned over him to grab a napkin from the bedside table. But still half asleep, the hand you’d placed between his legs couldn’t support your weight, and you crashed right onto his belly, eliciting a loud “oof” as he fell back on his pillow.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, your face smushed against him as you struggle to grab a napkin. In your frantic attempt, you knocked the tissue box off the table, sending tissues whirling to the ground.

“Just- ow!” He winced when you pressed the napkin to his nose, confusion evident on his face. He clearly hadn’t expected blood or to be in such a vulnerable position so early in the morning.

“I’m sorry,” you say for the third time, slightly loosening your grip on his face.

“Stop apologizing,” he mumbled “It’s my fault too.” Namjoon took the tissue from your hands and pressed it harder against his nose trying to suppress the stinging sensation.

You lingered there for a moment, captivated by the tissue grazing his lips, until the warmth of his skin under your cheek snapped you out of it. His shirt had ridden up in the altercation, baring a sliver of his toned stomach, now conveniently pressed against your face.

As if sensing your awareness, Namjoon furrowed his brows and gave you a quizzical look, prompting you to sit upright, the blanket trailing behind you like a cape.

“Yes, it is! What’s wrong with you?” You scolded. “Do you always stare at people when you sleep next to them?”

“I wasn’t staring!” Namjoon’s head shot up; his voice defensive but laced with amusement. “You were snoring.”

“I don’t snore!” you shot back, despite having no evidence to support your claim. You struggled to untangle yourself from the blanket, nearly tripping in your haste to escape. The bathroom door closed with an accidental slam behind you, leaving you momentarily alone with your spiralling thoughts.

Leaning over the sink, you splashed cold water on your face, the chill biting at your skin and grounding you—if only for a moment. Yet your heart refused to cooperate, its erratic rhythm spiking again when you heard the faint shuffling from the bedroom, followed by a soft, frustrated “Damn it.”

You glanced at your reflection in the mirror, meeting your own wide-eyed, dishevelled stare. Tangled hair perfectly framing your flushed cheeks, the hoodie you’d borrowed from Namjoon sitting askew on your shoulders and remnants of sleep clinging stubbornly to your face.

Charming. Just the image you wanted to project.

Then, your gaze drifted to the mint toothpaste sitting on the counter, and a fresh wave of emotions washed over you. It hit you all at once—His lips pressed to yours, the warmth of his breath against your skin, and the look he’d given you after.

The way he looked at you…like he was searching for something. Or maybe you were imagining it. God, you hoped you were imagining it.

You gripped the edge of the sink, leaning into it as embarrassment burned its way down your spine.

But deep beneath the flurry of second-guessing and distress, you manage to find a crumb of courage while quietly going through the motions.

Taking a shaky breath, you pushed yourself upright and finished the small, familiar task of brushing your teeth. As you twisted the faucet shut, you stole one last glance at your reflection, your eyes searching for reassurance.

With resolve that felt both flimsy and monumental, you stepped back into the bedroom, bracing yourself for whatever came next.

Namjoon was still lying on the bed, a new tissue pressed against his nose. He looked up as you enter, and an unexpected flicker of self-consciousness crept in, making you hyper-aware of every step you took.

“Are you okay?” You asked, attempting a softer tone.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, lowering the napkin to inspect the bright red spot there. “Just a bit of a love tap, you know?”

“Don’t make it weird,” you shoot back, but the words only made him laugh softly, easing some of the tension in your chest.

You grab a clean tissue and lean in closer to inspect the damage. "I'm really sorry," you say, perching on the edge of the bed. You take the napkin from his hands with little resistance and replace it with your own. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"It's okay," he replies, his voice soft. "But next time, maybe warm me about the snoring.”

"I don’t snore!" you exclaimed, the defensiveness in your tone spiking and earning another heartfelt laugh from him.

“Okay, fine. You don’t,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. But just as you were about to relax, he added under his breath, “Next time, I’ll record you.”

You narrowed your eyes and considered actually pinching his nose.

“You’re impossible.”

Namjoon only grinned, dimples deepening, as you carefully pulled the tissue away to dab the remains of the nosebleed. The softness of your touch seemed to quiet him; his teasing replaced by something warmer. There was a tenderness in the way you focused on his injury, small lines of worry forming on your forehead. He wanted to laugh, seeing as you dealt with more dramatic injuries in the past, yet he didn’t want to disturb you as you carefully touched his cheek with your free hand. The warmth of your palm contrasting sharply with the chill of the morning air.

As if you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, you look up, meeting his eyes.

“You’re blushing again.”

“Shut up.” You muttered, your cheeks heating further as you refocused on his nose, cleaning the surrounding area as if he were made of porcelain. You kept your attention on the injury, desperate to ignore the proximity—and the gentle warmth of his breath against your skin and the inexplicable tightness in your chest.

“There,” you finally murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, breaking the stillness as you placed the tissue aside. “All better.” To diffuse the tension, you gave his cheek a light pinch before standing up to tidy the room.

Turning your back to him, you busied yourself with cleaning, scooping up the crumpled tissues littering the bedside table. But Namjoon’s eyes never left you. He watched the way you moved, the way your hair caught the light, and the way you scrunched your nose in irritation when you realized how much of a mess you’d made earlier.

When you bent down to retrieve a stray napkin from under the bed, you caught him staring again. This time, a soft laugh escaped him when he realized he’d been caught red-handed.

Before he could say anything, you grabbed the discarded blanket and tossed it at him.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” you asked quickly, moving toward your suitcase and fumbling with the zipper, your voice a little too casual.

“I’m taking you to a bakery,” his voice was muffled as he poked his head out from under the covers. “And my dad asked us to pick up a Christmas tree.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of a Christmas tree. Even though the holiday spirit felt far away in this moment, a surge of excitement stirred in your chest. “A Christmas tree?” You echoed, trying to mask the intrigue in your voice with an air of nonchalance.

“Yeah,” he replied, running a hand through his messy hair. “I thought we could decorate it together tonight.”

“You hate decorating the tree.”

“True,” he chuckled, “but I’d rather suffer through it with you than alone. Besides, my parents have some ornaments that I think you’ll like.”

You paused, makeup bag in hand, feeling his words settle over you. In the two years you’d lived together, Namjoon had never once shown a shred of enthusiasm when it came to decorating the apartment. He was more the type to lounge on the couch with a book or a video game while you tangled yourself in string lights and sparkling baubles, only for him to chime in at the end with a “You missed a spot”. Still, he always helped place the star on top —mostly because you couldn’t reach it, and he was taller.

“You’re volunteering for your own torture?” You glanced over your shoulder, eyebrow raised, just as he swung his legs off the bed and stretched his arms high above his head.

Your breath hitched at the sight of him leaning back, his shirt lifting just enough to reveal the muscles flexing underneath. The morning sunlight steamed through the window, contouring his skin with an irresistible golden hue.

Quickly you turned back to your makeup bag, rummaging unnecessarily for a lipstick as warmth crept up your neck and onto your cheeks

“My mom will force us either way.” He declared, the faint defeat in his tone punctuated by a dramatic sigh ash he strolled towards the bathroom.

You let out a small laugh at his resignation, but it got caught in your throat when he reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it off, tossing in onto the bed.

Your gaze betrayed you for half a second, flickering toward him before you could stop yourself. The lean lines of his back, the soft stretch of his shoulders, the way his skin gleamed faintly in the light—everything you weren’t supposed to notice left an imprint far too vivid in your mind.

Heart pounding, you forced your eyes back to your bag, gripping it as though it were a lifeline. But it was too late. You were certain he’d seen your reaction.

“See something you like?” His teasing voice reached you just as he disappeared into the bathroom.

Your face flamed, and you whipped around, glaring at the now-closed door. “You’re impossible!” You called out, loud enough for him to hear over the sound of the running water.

~~~~

The aroma of freshly brewed tea greeted you as you stepped out of the room, mingling with the faint hum of life coming from the kitchen. The soft click of the bathroom door shutting behind Namjoon grounded you, though your thoughts still spun wildly. You took a deep breath, willing yourself to regain composure, but the sound of running shower only stirred your imagination further—steam rising, droplets tracing the contours of his bare skin. Heat crept up your neck, and you shook your head sharply, chastising yourself. Get it together.

In a desperate attempt to regain control after the completely unfair sight of your sun-kissed, shirtless friend, you decided a little distance might actually do you some good. Grabbing the first cozy sweater and pair of jeans within reach, you tugged them on and practically bolted out of the room.

He’s your friend, you reminded yourself firmly, though the mantra did little to steady the pounding heart in your chest.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Kim and Minhi were seated at the dining table, morning sunlight streaming through the large windows. The golden light bathed the cozy space, catching on the delicate wisps of steam curling up from their teacups.

“Good morning, my dear,” Mrs. Kim greeted warmly, lifting her head to meet your gaze. “Did you sleep well?”

You smiled, pushing away any lingering thoughts from earlier, and took a seat at the table. “Yes, thank you,” you replied, carefully avoiding any mention of what had just transpired.

“Is Namjoon taking you out?” Minhi asked, her bright eyes sparkling with curiosity over her teacup. You could almost swear there was a hint of a smirk forming on her lips.

You confirmed with a shy nod, but a new wave of heat crept up your spine, igniting your ears as if someone had turned up the thermostat.

Mrs Kim’s face broke into a broad grin. “Do you want me to whip you up something to eat first? Coffee or tea?” she asked, already rising from her chair.

“No, no,” you quickly interjected, waving your hands “We’re leaving in a few minutes. Namjoon’s just getting ready.”

Naked in all his glory in the shower…

You forced your mind back to the present as Mrs. Kim’s kind gaze lingered on you. Smoothing down your sweater, you took a steadying breath, doing your best to appear collected. You really had to pull yourself together.

“Is he taking you to Ajumeoni’s bakery?” Mrs. Kim asked, settling back in her chair with a huff. “At this rate, he’s paying for her grandkids to go to college.”

“C’mon Mom,” Minhi piped in. “The strawberry tarts are just-” She closed her eyes and inhaled dramatically, as if savouring the scent of sweet pastries. “They’re heavenly, I swear.”

Her enthusiasm was infectious, but Mrs. Kim merely waved her off.

“Alright, alright,” she relented, her own smile softening the mock exasperation in her voice “Just be home in time for dinner.”

“Yes, of course,” you nodded dutifully, resolute in your mission to be the perfect pretend-girlfriend today —a supportive friend, and nothing more.

“Jackson’s picking them up after work, mom, don’t worry.” Minhi said, her laughter cutting through your spiralling thoughts.

“He is?” you asked, blinking in surprise but taken in by her contagious laughter.

“Did you think you’d carry the tree in the metro?” Minhi giggled, her gaze flicking to the hallway as hurried footsteps echoed from upstairs.

Moments later, Namjoon appeared, his dimpled smile lighting up the room.

“Good morning!” he called out, running a hand through his freshly styled hair, the effortless charm in his voice matching his appearance. The brown sweater he’d chosen hugged his tall frame perfectly, drawing your attention to the way it accentuated the broad lines of his chest. The golden necklace at his collarbone caught the soft morning light as he bent down to plant a sweet kiss on his mother’s cheek.

Then, his eyes found yours, playful and warm before winking your way. “Are you ready?”

You fought to suppress the blush creeping up your cheeks, admiring him for a fraction too long. The vivid memory of his shirtless body flashed in your mind, and for a moment, words seemed to escape you.

“Hey, yeah, I’m all set,” you finally managed.

Namjoon’s smile just widened, a teasing softness in his eyes as he stepped closer. The scent of his cologne, fresh and warm, mingled with the aroma of tea as he leaned down toward you.

“You look really good.” He said, his voice low and sincere.

All your mental preparations evaporated.

You glanced down at your grey sweater and jeans, disbelief flickering in your mind. Were you two looking at the same thing?

“Thanks. You don’t look bad yourself.” You replied, attempting a casual tone, despite yourself, but you’re certain your tomato red face gave you away.

Minhi and Mrs. Kim were shamelessly observing, their amusement barely concealed. Minhi raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk playing on her lips, while Mrs. Kim hid her laugh behind her teacup.

“Are you two going to stare at each other all day, or are you leaving?” Minhi nudged, leaning back in her chair with a knowing grin.

Namjoon chuckled, breaking the moment as he pulled back slightly. “We’re going, we’re going,” he assured, offering his hand to help you up.

As you stood, his palm rested briefly on the small of your back, sending a warmth through you that lingered. He shot his mother a cheeky smile as he led you toward the door.

“Don’t wait up,” he added with mock innocence, ushering you down the hall, and earning himself a pinch to the side form you.

~~~

The morning light was bright, yet it did little to chase away the frost in the air. All bundled up in your puffy winter coat, you walked through the bustling neighbourhood streets, the wind nipping at your cheeks as sunlight glinted off fresh snow. Beside you, Namjoon strolled at an easy pace, his tall frame hunched slightly against the cold.

The shop windows glittered with seasonal displays- strings of lights, shimmering ornaments and snowy landscapes. Every so often, Namjoon would break the silence with a light-hearted comment or snippets from his childhood- stories that warmed you despite the cold.

“Look at that,” he nodded towards a window filled with beautifully wrapped presents underneath a grand Christmas tree. “I used to think those were real. I’d stare at them for hours, hoping someone would let me take a peek inside.”

You giggle, picturing a younger Namjoon, starry-eyed and full of wonder. “Did you ever get to sneak a peek?”

He shook his head, the soft pink on his cheeks deepening in the cold. “No way! My mom had a sixth sense for that kind of stuff. She always caught me.” His warm laugh carried over the frosty air, lifting your spirits even as the chill settled in your bones. Without thinking, his hand found, fingers curling gently around yours as he led you down the street.

A little later, he stopped again, his gaze stolen by a snug bookstore with a charming display in the window. The small shop exuded warmth, its large front window showcasing a centrepiece of fake snow, big red bows and a collection of carefully arranged books. His eyes lit up as they landed on a particular title propped up prominently in the centre.

“Would you mind if we go in?” he asked, nodding towards the book, excitement brightening his face.

You followed his faze, your heart sinking and cheeks flooding with heat the moment you recognized the book. Panic sets in as your mind scrambles for an excuse. It was a book from a Korean author who had recently burst onto the literary scene, earning praise for their intricate storytelling and philosophical metaphors. Naturally, Namjoon had fallen in love with their work, dissecting every layer of meaning in conversations that you secretly loved, but teased him mercilessly for.

You had heard so much about the author, that when you saw the newest release weeks ago, you knew it was the perfect gift for him.

“No!” you blurted out quickly, voice sharp enough to startle him.

“What?” He turned to you, eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Why not?”

“Because…” you hesitated, heat still rising to your cheeks as you struggled to find a good enough reason. But after a few seconds, you sighed in defeat and crossed your arms. “Because I already got it for you. You can’t buy it.”

His expression softened, a big grin spreading across his face as he stepped closer to you. “You got it for me?”

“Yes,” you muttered, averting your eyes as your blush deepened. “So, you can’t ruin the surprise. Keep walking, Kim Namjoon.”

He chuckled, his dimples making a brief but devastating appearance as he gave your arm a playful squeeze, holding you in place. “Alright, I’ll let it go. But…” He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “Did you see the decorations?”

You blinked at the sudden shift in the topic and followed his gaze. He was nodding toward the shop entrance, just a little further away, adorned with twinkling fairy lights and festive greenery. Your eyes drifted upward, landing on the small spring of mistletoe dangling above the doorway. Its pale berries glinting like snow in the soft light.

His hands burrowed deeper into the pockets of his coat as he tilted his head toward it, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Better be careful with that,” he teased, his voice laced with mock seriousness.

You raised an eyebrow, watching the delicate plant sway slightly in the winter breeze. “It’s bad luck not to kiss under it,” Namjoon clarified, watching you with a hint of challenge in his expression.

“Since when are you so superstitious?” you asked, a laugh escaping you as you shook your head in disbelief.

“I’m not,” he admitted with a shrug, though the sheepish grin that tugged at his lips made his intentions clear. “I just like covering all my bases.”

Before you could answer, Namjoon leaned closer, his breath a soft warmth against your skin. His lips brushed your chilled cheek in a quick, fleeting kiss—a touch so warm and unexpected it made the cold air around you feel sharper by comparison.

You stood frozen for a moment, your cheek tingling where his lips had been.

Namjoon pulled back, his grin deepening, dimples carving into his cheeks. “There,” he said lightly, straightening his coat as if nothing had happened. “No bad luck now.”

Normally, you’d brush off his antics as harmless teasing meant to get a rise out of you. But this time, it managed to frits your brain. You stare at him, a mixture of indignation and disbelief sparking in your chest. “Kim Namjoon, you-”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, already stepping back towards the bakery door he’d been guiding you all along. “Don’t blame me, blame the mistletoe,” he quipped, holding the door open for you, the bell above it chiming softly.

Your cheeks still burned as you stepped past him, shooting him a glare that lacked any real heat.

Inside the bakery, the scent of sweet cinnamon and vanilla wrapped around you like a warm embrace. The bell above the door chimed softly again as Namjoon followed, the sound blending seamlessly with the cozy hum of conversation and the occasional clink of porcelain mugs.

The interior was just as inviting as the aroma —a rustic charm, with walls lined with wooden beams and subtle golden accents. Twinkling fairy lights cast a soft glow over the room, illuminating the rows of pastries displayed behind a pristine glass countertop.

Puffed-up croissants sat beside glistening hotteok, their caramelized centres looking absolutely delicious. Spiralled kkwabagi dusted with sugar and candied sweet potatoes. And then there were the cakes — delicate, crowned with fresh berries and swirls of vanilla cream, their perfect edges almost too beautiful to disturb.

Namjoon walked over to the counter, his tall frame leaning slightly as he studied the pastries with an almost childlike delight. The faint flush on his cheeks from the cold only added to his charm, softening his sharp featured and making him just the more endearing.

You couldn’t help but watch him, captivated the way his eyes shone with delight. There was something so disarming about his enthusiasm, so pure in its simplicity, that it made the flutter in your chest impossible to ignore.

“Will you let me order for you?” He asked, suddenly interrupting your thoughts.

“Yes, of course,” you smile, the slight flutter in your stomach making you laugh softly. As he turned to the counter, his brows furrowed in exaggerated concentration, you couldn’t help but admire him anew. Namjoon has always been thoughtful, but this moment felt particularly tender, as though he was putting in the extra effort to make it memorable.

The bakery was alive with the bustle of other patrons, their laughter interlaced with the clinking of kitchen utensils in the back. A barista was busy steaming milk for lattes, while the warmth of the oven diffused toward you, chasing away any lasting chill from outside.

Namjoon finally ordered a selection of absolutely mouth-watering cream filled croffles and piping hot coffee. The lovely old lady at the serving counter lit up when she recognised him, leaning over to pinch his cheeks playfully. She gushed about how tall he had grown and how handsome he was, even calling her husband from the back to see Namjoon after all these years. You giggle softly, enjoying the lively exchange as Namjoon laughed, clearly relishing in the attention while trying to dodge her affectionate teasing. In the end, he walked away with an extra serving of milk bread as a ‘parting gift’ which he gratefully accepted, beaming as he thanked her.

The table Namjoon chose was tucked in a quiet corner, its window overlooking the bustling streets outside. The festive neighbourhood, framed by twinkling lights and snowy sidewalks, looked like a scene pulled straight from a snow globe. And as you settled into your seat, snowflakes began to drift gently from the sky, only adding to the hallmark-movie charm that seemed to influence the day.

“Here you go,” Namjoon settled the croffle in front of you. It was golden brown, with a crispy exterior that cradled the rich cream filling inside, adorned carefully with gingerbread crumbs — arguably, it was a masterpiece on a plate. He didn’t sit down yet, instead turning to fetch the coffee from the café counter

“Kim Namjoon?” a voice called out, and you looked to see a beautiful girl with big doe eyes shining once she looked at him, her pouted lips curving into a charming smile “I’m Min Iseul, do you remember me?”

Namjoon seemed shocked for a moment, but quickly regained his composure, his smile widening as he replied, "Oh my god, yes, hi! How have you been?"

“You know,” she smiled “life in a small town tends to be quiet. But what about you-?”

You watched from the corner of the table, feeling a tightness in your chest as Iseul place a hand on Namjoon’s arm. A frown formed involuntarily on your face as a pit began to settle in your stomach. Their conversation continued, the sound of their voices becoming a distant murmur as you forced your gaze downward, glaring at the croffle on your plate.

It felt horrible to realize that the sudden pang was indeed jealousy —raw and undeniable, it seemed it had taken root in your heart without your consent.

What was happening to you? You had always viewed Namjoon as a friend. You had watched him flirt with countless girls without a second though, yet now, here you were, on the verge of snapping at the mere sight of a pretty girl touching his arm. And of course she was perfect for him. She looked up at him as if he single-handedly hung up the stars, with her perfect hair, perfect smile, and that perfect body that made even the bakery apron look like high fashion.

It wasn’t just about Iseul, though. It was about something deeper, something you couldn’t quite explain. It was about not wanting to be replaced and a fear that quietly whispered to you that perhaps, you already had been.

As they continued their chat, the world outside quietly transformed. The snow began to blanket the streets in a delicate layer, framing the moment like a quaint, picturesque postcard. Inside, however, it felt like a different story. You picked at the croffle, the rich cream suddenly feeling too sweet compared to the bitter twist in your mood.

Finally, Namjoon returned, coffee in hands, a bright smile still lighting his face. “Sorry about that! Iseul and I used to be in the same classes at school,” he said, then paused when he noticed your expression. His brows furrowing in concern.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, his voice gentle as he reached out, taking your hand in his.

You forced a smile, trying to shake off the weight of the moment. “Yeah, just… it’s nothing.” You lied, tasting the bitterness on your tongue. God, you hated lying.

He studied you for a moment longer, and for a brief second, you swore you saw something shift in his eyes.

“Alright,” he said slowly, a hint of uncertainty lingering. “Well, let’s dig in! You have to try the milk bread. I promise it’s worth it!”

As you took a bite, followed by a big gulp of coffee, you resolved to push away your insecurity, even if only for today. After all, the reality of your friendship was simple: while you may never make his heart flutter like Iseul seemingly did, you could certainly raise his blood pressure.

Namjoon started a new conversation about the last book he read, and you fell into the familiar flow of dialogue as the snowy scene outside continued to unfold. But every now and then, your gaze would drift to the window, catching a glimpse of the town dressed in white. You found yourself wondering if it was possible to be both happy for him, and fearful of losing him, all while managing to still be his friend amidst the chaos of unbidden feelings.

“Do you remember Hoseok?”

You answered Namjoon’s question with a nod, seeing as he pulled you too abruptly from your thoughts. “He’s the pretty one that stayed over for spring break?”

Namjoon laughed, his eyes gleaming with the unmistakable light that made your heart skip a beat —even as you fought against it. Usually, his laughter would unravel the tight knots in your chest, but now, it seemed to tighten them further.

You remembered the visit well — Hoseok rolled up all the carpets in your living room, turning it into an impromptu dancing studio. He was kind, like all of Namjoon’s friends, but he also ate all your snacks and took great pleasure in flirting with you every time you ran into each other, much to Namjoon’s discomfort.

“Yeah, you two broke my laptop,” you started, but he cut you off.

“And I got it fixed!” he countered, defending his clumsy actions, which only made you laugh.

Namjoon chuckled, stirring his coffee absentmindedly. “He invited us over for a Christmas party tomorrow. It’s a little get together, if you want to go,”

“Definitely,” you replied, though your enthusiasm felt forced. The prospect of a party sent a thrill through you, but underlying that was a twinge of uncertainty. Would Iseul be there? Would it be just another night of watching Namjoon flirt with someone else knowing you’re just playing the part of girlfriend?

As you took another bite of the croffle, its sweetness still felt bitter, much like the turmoil in your heart. You wanted to be happy for Namjoon, wanting to fulfil the role you signed up for, but now, beneath your smile, there was a complicated mess of fear and longing. More than ever, you felt like all your walls might come crumbling down.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Namjoon’s voice cut through your thoughts again, concern lingering beneath his words “You seem distant.”

You force a smile, but the ache in your chest screamed at you to be honest, to share your doubts instead of masking it under a façade of indifference.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” another lie. How could you possibly explain the heaviness that sat at the bottom of your stomach, the envy bubbling silently inside of you, the tightness in your throat that made it hard to breath?

Namjoon leaned back, his warm gaze unwavering, clearly unconvinced. But for the rest of the meal, he didn’t press further. You both continued to eat in comfortable silence, even as the air thickened with unspoken words.

The snowfall outside intensified, painting the windows with a blur of white by the time you were done, and you feared, once again, that the outfit you had chosen was ill-fitted for the icy weather.

Namjoon picked up a box of strawberry tarts for Minhi on the way out, and as he opened the door for you, you saw Iseul waving at him—a darling wave that ignited a firestorm of nerves deep within you.

In that moment, logic fled your mind. Without thinking, you grabbed Namjoon’s coat collar and pulled him towards you, pressing your lips to his. His eyes widened, a mixture of shock and confusion flickering across his face. The warmth of his body felt so close, yet the distance between you —created by your impulsive actions — seemed insurmountable.

You can’t believe what you were doing!

Namjoon was frozen for one second, but then he melted into the kiss. His free hand gently cupping your face, as if he were afraid, you’d run if he moved too quickly.

Namjoon’s lips were soft against yours, his warmth seeping through the layers of your clothes and spreading through you like a slow burn. The world outside seemed to blur even more, the cold, the noise of the streets, the snow rushing into the bakery, it all faded into an unimportant backdrop. All that mattered was the feeling of his lips against yours —gentle, hesitant, yet impossibly comforting.

For a moment, you almost didn’t regret it.

Then, just as quickly as it started, the kiss ended. Namjoon pulled back slightly, his hand still cupping your face, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek as if seeking reassurance. His gaze flickered between your eyes, searching for something.

You felt the rush of heat flood your face as reality hit like a ton of bricks. What did you just do? The panic set in, an overwhelming wave crashing against your chest. You tried to swallow it down, but the vulnerability felt raw, exposed.

“I-I’m,” you stammered, stepping back slightly, your hands trembling as you pushed them into your coat pockets. “Mistletoe!”

Namjoon blinked, his brows furrowing in confusion. His hand remained where it was for a moment, as if unsure whether to pull away or reach for you again. The warmth of his fingers against your skin was grounding, but the panic in your chest made it difficult to breath. You could hardly believe what you’d just done, but somehow, you still managed to squeeze out the most absurd explanation you could think of.

“Mistletoe,” you repeated, almost too quickly, the word falling past your lips like the snowflakes around you, each syllable hanging in the frigid air like a whispered secret.

His hand dropped to his side, the warmth from his touch slipping away as a flicker of something—concern, confusion, or maybe disappointment—crossed his face. It was hard to pinpoint, but whatever it was, it left an uncomfortable weight settling in your stomach.

He blinked, as if trying to make sense of the situation, then glanced at the mistletoe above the door. His expression shifted again, more uncertain now, and for a brief moment, there was a palpable silence between you, the world around you swirling in a soft flurry, but it felt like everything had stopped.

“Mistletoe?” he repeated, almost tentative. His eyes didn’t meet yours immediately; instead, they lingered on the mistletoe, as if searching for an answer in the small plant.

You nodded, fighting to keep your voice steady, but your throat felt tight, like the words were getting stuck somewhere between your chest and your mouth.

“Yeah,” he concluded, “I guess we could always put the blame on the mistletoe…” he said, his voice a little quieter now, as if he was still trying to grasp what had just happened.

You were about to argue further, to say something—anything—that would ease the tension building between you both, but just then, someone called out from inside the bakery.

“Hey! Make up your mind! Are you leaving or staying? You’re letting snow inside!” The voice was half-joking, but the discomfort in it made the moment all the more awkward.

Caught off guard, you and Namjoon exchanged a glance, and you both quickly moved toward the door, apologizing profusely to the patrons and the owners as you stepped outside.

“Sorry, sorry, we didn’t mean to make a mess,” Namjoon said, his words coming out rushed as he quickly pulled the door closed behind you, sealing off the chilly gust of wind that had followed you out.

You stood for a moment on the snowy sidewalk, the light of the bakery still visible through the frosted windows. The snowflakes seemed to have grown heavier, each flake falling in delicate patterns, as if trying to make the moment less heavy. But it didn’t. The air was cold, the street quiet, and despite the wintery beauty around you, your stomach twisted further and your heart beat erratically. Now it was just you and Namjoon in the silence of the day, both lost in thoughts you wouldn’t put into words.

Namjoon shifted slightly beside you, glancing down at the ground before speaking up. His voice hesitant, but there was an underlying softness to it that made your face heat despite the cold.

“So…” he began, trailing off as if searching for the right words. “No tongue this time?”

You blinked at him, your heart skipping over a few beats. The cold seemed to freeze in your lungs as you tried to process what he had just said. For a second, you were sure you hadn’t heard him correctly. You turned your head slightly, trying to gauge whether he was joking or not, but his expression was unreadable.

“Excuse me?” you asked, your voice coming out in a small, nervous laugh. You couldn’t tell if he was trying to lighten the mood or if he was just poking fun at you.

“I mean,” he continued, scratching the back of his neck, “if we’re going to blame it all on the mistletoe…” He trailed off, his tone playful but laced with a hint of something deeper, a flicker of curiosity behind his words.

That’s when you caught it. That familiar teasing glint in his eyes, the expression he had whenever he managed to make you fluster, and you huffed out in indignation, your breath transforming into a small cloud.

You crossed your arms, trying to gather your composure as you glared at him. The cold air biting at your skin, but the warmth of your embarrassment was far more overwhelming.

“Oh, so now it’s my fault?” you shot back, your voice teasing but with a hint of defensiveness, as if you were trying to cover up how much his words had affected you. You couldn’t help it. The playful look in his eyes had a way of making your pulse pick up, and it didn’t help that every word he said seemed to sink deeper into the awkwardness of the situation.

Namjoon raised his hands in mock surrender, the grin on his face only growing wider “No, no! I’m not saying it’s your fault,” he said quickly, trying to reassure you, though the amusement in his voice didn’t quite match his words. “Just—y’know, I thought we were sticking with the mistletoe excuse. But, uh, it’s all on you now. You started it.”

“Me? I—” You opened your mouth, searching for a retort, but your brain was still scrambling to catch up with everything. Nothing coherent came to mind, and his look wasn’t helping in the slightest. “You kissed me first!” you blurted, the words tumbling out before you could stop yourself.

Namjoon arched an eyebrow, his smile turning smug. “Yeah, on the cheek,” he countered, giving a little shrug as if that settled the matter entirely. He tilted his head slightly, an eyebrow raised as if he was waiting for your response, but when none came, the smugness in his expression only grew. For a moment, you considered whether it was worth the effort to argue with him. But then, his look softened, just enough for you to notice the shift in his expression —something that made your heart pick up again.

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words caught in your throat. The absurdity of the situation—the way it had spiralled from a jealous outburst into whatever this was—left you feeling strangely vulnerable. His presence, so close beside you in the cold, seemed to magnify everything.

“Fine.” You finally muttered, crossing your arms tighter and shifting your weight from one foot to the other, almost chasing the cold away.

Namjoon’s dimples deepened; the teasing look in his eyes returning full force. “Fine?” he repeated, his tone dripping with amusement. “Is that you admitting defeat, or are you too cold to keep arguing?”

He collected your hand in his free one, leading you down the street towards the Christmas market.

You gave him a fleeting glare, narrowing your eyes. “Neither,” you shot back, though the warmth in your cheeks betrayed the confidence you were trying to project. “I just don’t see the point in arguing with someone who twists everything to suit their narrative.”

Namjoon’s heartfelt laughter made any of the lingering tension dissipate, his expression taking on a look of sheer mock offence. “Twisting everything? Me?” He shook his head, his expression turning playfully solemn. “I’m just stating facts here. You’re the one who escalated things. I was perfectly content with a friendly mistletoe kiss. No drama. No tongue.”

Your eyes widened, and your jaw dropped at his audacity. “I did not escalate—oh my god, would you stop saying that?” you hissed, your voice low but filled with exasperation.

“Hey, you won’t see me complaining,” he replied smoothly, his voice softening just enough to send your thoughts spiralling. “But I never pegged you for the jealous type.”

“Gah! You’re insufferable!”

Namjoon’s grin grew as he watched you fume, his fingers tightening around your hand, as he led you down the snowy streets with easy confidence. The twinkling lights of the stalls cast a soft glow over the scene, the cold air whipped around you, but somehow, the heat between you kept the chill at bay, even if your cheeks were flushed from both the cold and the heated banter.

“Jealous? Who’s jealous?” you scoffed, trying to sound unaffected, but the way your beet-red face betrayed you. “I’m not jealous. I’m just…” you trailed off, realising you had absolutely no excuse lined up. The last part came out quieter than you meant, your voice showing more vulnerability than you were comfortable with, and you quickly buried your face in your scarf.

Namjoon tilted his head slightly, his smile not quite fading, but the glimmer of something more thoughtful flickering in his eyes. He slowed his pace, just enough to match yours, the quiet hum of the market and the soft crunch of snow beneath your feet filling the space between you.

"You’re just... what?" he prompted gently, his voice laced with curiosity and that familiar edge.

“Just acting like a good fake girlfriend would.” You concluded, trying to keep your tone casual, but you felt your stomach churn slightly as you lied, like you were trying to brush off something that had begun to feel a lot more real than you expected.

Namjoon’s expression shifted — just a little. His face softened as he thought it over, then he gave you a playful nudge with his shoulder, his voice light as he responded, “Ah, I see. Well, I’ll admit, you’re pretty good at it.”

His tone made your heart settle a bit, but you couldn't shake the underlying tension that had suddenly crept in. You hadn’t meant to sound so serious, and yet there was something in his eyes now that made you second-guess everything. He gave a small chuckle, the kind that felt like distance—just enough to make you realize he wasn’t leaning in any closer, but not pulling away either.

He let go of your hand for a moment, running it through his hair, then casually reached for it again, as if nothing had changed.

“Well, as long as I’m the good fake boyfriend, we’re golden.”

You nodded, still completely flustered, but grateful for the shift back to something a little more familiar. He wasn’t pressing anymore. He wasn’t trying to read your true intentions. He was just… being Namjoon, your friend, your roommate, the guy who could make you laugh and leave you absolutely wrecked emotionally.

The rest of the walk was quieter, but not in an uncomfortable type of way. He kept walking besides you, hands stuffed in his pockets, occasionally throwing out a random comment or nudging you along with him as you made your way through the busy market and to the small Christmas tree lodge.

You two picked a tree without much debate. The scent of pine and oranges filled the air as you threaded through the festive area, the twinkling lights surrounding you. Namjoon’s presence besides you was oddly comforting—like an anchor in the whirlwind of noise and flashing lights. As you both made your way to the tree lot, he casually pointed out the skinniest, most scrawny-looking trees, joking about how much he’d like to buy one just to see his mother’s reaction.

You couldn’t help but giggle at his commentary, the tension from earlier completely forgotten. The awkwardness in the air had faded, at least for the moment, and you were thankful for it, seeing as you didn’t need more things to overthink tonight.

After a bit of back-and-forth, you both finally settled on a tree—a little taller than you both had anticipated, but perfectly symmetrical, with just the right amount of fullness.

The rest of the day went by in a blur. You two stopped to grab lunch at a modest-looking food stall, the inviting scent of fishcakes winning Namjoon over. You both enjoyed the warmth of the food as the wind continued to bite at your cheeks, the steam rising from your cups offering the briefest respite from the cold.

You tried mulled wine for the first time—warmed, spiced, with a tangy sweetness, but most importantly, warm—and to your surprise, you liked it.

The two of you wandered a bit more, chatting idly and laughing at each other’s jokes, not caring much for the crowds around you.

And before you knew it, Jackson had pulled up in his car to take you both home. The drive was quick and quiet, with the warm glow from the streetlights casting soft shadows across the interior of the car. Namjoon leaned back against his seat, looking content, while you sat in the front, trying not to overthink everything that had happened in the last few hours.

Namjoon teasing you about ogling his naked chest felt like it happened an eternity ago.

And now, here you were, getting ready for bed again.

The tree got decorated under Minhi’s careful supervision, looking more like a Pinterest masterpiece than a simple holiday decoration when she was done with it, and Namjoon, to his credit, managed to break only one bauble during the whole process.

The evening wound down quietly after the tree was finished. Minhi insisted on taking a dozen photos of her work, including some with the whole group in front of the tree. Jackson wrapped an arm around her shoulder, grinning like he’d won the lottery, while Minhi tried (and failed) to strike a serious pose before dissolving into laughter in his arms.

You stood off to the side, trying to figure out what to do with your hands, but Namjoon made the decision for you. He tugged you closer, wrapping his arms around you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The flash went off, capturing the moment forever, but you couldn’t seem to focus on anything beyond the warmth of his body and the quiet weight of his laughter in your ear. It felt so unguarded, so easy, that for a fleeting moment, you could almost forget it was just pretend.

Later, Minhi pulled a mistletoe plant from her bag with an exaggerated flourish, announcing it was tradition. She delighted in the awkward reaction it drew from both you and Namjoon, who immediately avoided eye contact with each other, mumbling something about “respecting personal space.” But Minhi didn’t press too hard, instead planting a sweet kiss on Jackson’s cheek that had him grinning like a fool in love.

After that, their parents got home, dinner was served, and you finally got your turn taking care of the dishes.

You quietly tiptoed your way to the bed, shivering slightly once you felt the coldness of the room, but careful not to make a sound. Your nighttime routine had taken longer than usual, and you were doing your best to avoid waking Namjoon, who fell asleep while waiting for you. The room was dark except for the faint glow of the little reading lamp he left on for you, casting a soft shadow across the space.

Slipping under the covers, you turned off the light and shifted, trying to find a comfortable spot. But before you could settle, Namjoon stirred, and with almost no time to react, he turned around and wrapped an arm around you.

Your breath caught as he pulled you close, his chest warm against your back, his movements unhurried and natural, as if this was something he did all the time. You felt him bury his head into your hair, his voice low and groggy as he murmured, “It’s cold. Don’t stay so far away.”

The weight of his arm was grounding, but your heart was anything but steady. You lay there stiffly for a moment, your mind racing again. But his breathing slowed, steady and even, and the warmth of his presence started to seep into your bones, melting the tension little by little.

You didn’t move or speak, afraid to break whatever spell had been cast over the moment. Instead, you let yourself slowly relax into his chest, his arm tightening slightly as if he could sense your shift.

The cold, the overthinking, the lingering awkwardness—it all faded, replaced by the quiet sound of his breath and the calm rhythm of his heartbeat against your back.

You were absolutely hopeless.

#namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #bts smut #namjoon imagine #namjoon scenarios #namjoon smut #bts x fem!reader #bts x reader #bts x y/n #bts x you #the holiday pretense

105 notes · View notes

lttawnymadison · 8 months ago

Text

TGCF Revised Version Afterword by MXTX

Since I kept seeing snippets of this, I wanted to read the whole thing for myself. I'd already bought the book on JJWXC and did an MTL for this. It's so wonderful that she's back and sharing new things and that the revised is finally done! - Tawny --------------------------------------------- The author has something to say:

Seeing the small red clay stove again.

———— Afterword of "Heaven Official's Blessing" 2022

■ Finally done!

Long time no see! It's another afterword starting with "finally." Without further ado, seasoned readers would know that I make substantial revisions. For instance, scenes like the Bai Feng Mountain Hunt and the ending recognition of Sizhui in the serial version of "Mo Dao Zu Shi" were not originally there.

The revisions in "Heaven Official's Blessing" are the most extensive of all my works. It was a huge project, as it is also the longest in terms of length, serialized over eight months. Due to poor health and other reasons, the revision process was interrupted for a long time before I picked it up again, and it sporadically took about five to six months over several years.

In the era of web novels, there are endless new entertainments, and honestly, not many people re-read a story. Plus, some problems in the serialized version are structural and can't be changed, but I still tried my best to address my regrets. After all, when I was serializing it, I was almost always in a feverish and sick state, barely pushing through. Additionally, I often enjoy comparing different versions of my favorite authors' works back and forth, finding pleasure in the process. So, for readers, discovering "Wow, this part has changed!" is like starting a new journey with Easter eggs in a second round.

■ The new revised version includes about 100,000 words of new content!

These 100k words are mainly concentrated in the latter half of Volume 1 and Volume 3, but there are plenty scattered throughout the text. For example, I fulfilled a promise to A-Hua, giving him several new outfits. Seeing A-Hua dressed beautifully in a new hairstyle to meet his gege made me happy.

In terms of the intensity of revisions, personally, I feel it goes like this:

Volume 1 and Volume 2 > Volume 3 > Volume 5 > Volume 4.

Additionally, the new version cuts some redundant words and plots that weren't very meaningful. However, I tried to keep all the original interactions between Hua Lian as complete as possible. If some minor interactions are missing, they weren't deleted but moved around.

■ One day, I suddenly dug out something.

An antique from 2017, a folder called "Heaven Official's Blessing Setting Collection."

Curiously, I opened it and read with interest.

● Comparing the original setting outline and the main text, the highest fidelity is in the main storyline between Hua Cheng and Xie Lian.

A-Hua, restored at a ratio of 1:100.

Hua's character setting is the most detailed, and virtually every point made it into the main text, including details like "ghosts don't like the sun, so Hua Cheng sometimes drapes a red cloth over his head"...

Points not used, listed a few:

As a child:

· After being saved from falling off a city wall, he foolishly followed a parade over and over again, grabbing people to ask, "Who is that? Who is that person?" People told him, "That's the royal son, the future Celestial God, the most outstanding Crown Prince of Xianle Nation ever!"

(This point couldn't be used because in the text A-Hua was held in the Crown Prince's arms after being saved)

· At home, he was often punished to stand or kneel, not given food, and wore old clothes, accused of stealing money. Whenever he argued with his family, he would stubbornly sleep in the Prince's temple overnight.

· Went to Mount Tai Cang to volunteer sweeping red leaves at Huangji Observatory, just to sneak peeks at his future wife happily swinging.

After becoming the ghost king:

· One of his hobbies is buying and building houses everywhere.

· Very protective of his leather boots, would (badly) polish them until they shone.

· To other devout followers of Xie Lian, he said: "You have good taste."

· Secretly prepared many betrothal gifts for his beloved god, wanting to marry him!

The character setting of Xie Lian as a teacher in the serialized version compared to the initial draft, the serialized text subtly differs. The initial draft was more... exquisite and elegant, very serious. The serialized text is more... humorous. I think perhaps because some plot points were tragic, Xie Lian thought he should be happier to make the readers more relaxed, so he drove me to adjust his mental state! But due to the spiritual oppression at that time, the character's depth was not enough, while in the new revised version, I hope he can show a more self-content state on the same core basis.

Excerpts from the unused original setting:

· Super easy-going. Easy-going means: if given fifty bucks, he would happily dress in drag and dance. Accepts haggling. Thirty bucks works. Twenty bucks too!

· The observatory is small, the house is broken, wants to grow flowers. Leaks during rain, so he uses a bucket to catch rainwater.

· Because he can't afford a caretaker, he cleans himself, and also feeds chickens. Chickens eat flowers. Keeps a cat.

· Completely engrossed in discussing serious matters, he unknowingly finished all the broken sweet dumplings!

● Water, Earth, Wind original setting:

The highest fidelity is the main line between Hua Cheng and Xie Lian, followed by the Water, Earth, Wind subplot.

The main conflict hasn't changed. Just... how could the original setting of Water, Earth, Wind be so dark and terrifying!

The character morals in the main text improved a lot, otherwise, the original Black Water would be sheer scheming + murderous! The ending for the Wind Master would have been more tragic.

The Venerable of Empty Words suddenly became an improvised character. It seemed like an ancient fable-like monster, making the main text more interesting than the original setting.

Overall, the formal version is a bit better written than the original draft.

● The unfortunate life of Lang Ying:

Lang Ying? Is there such a character? I don't remember!

Ah? It seems there was such a person, but I don't remember any of his plotlines.

This is most people's feeling towards the character of Lang Ying. It's not a delusion because he barely had any significant plot. In fact, any valuable scenes could have been replaced equivalently, so in the new revised version, I deleted this character.

But, in the 2017 setting collection, I suddenly found that I had actually opened a separate document for Lang Ying, and his role was defined as a "growing-type BOSS!"

I was silent.

And immediately opened the document, curious about my initial setting. A "growing-type BOSS," how did he become someone whose deletion went unnoticed...? (I even don't know how to address him!)

Who knows, perhaps out of excitement, I accidentally pressed the wrong shortcut, and somehow it became irreversible, leaving only an empty document for me to stare in disbelief. The once "growing-type BOSS" has now forever become a mystery!

This is the unfortunate life of the deleted Lang Ying.

· There was another document in the setting collection called "Swordsmith." I opened the document and read it with interest.

I was shocked. Because I completely forgot I had conceived this story. Why didn't I write it?!

Darn.

I know why I didn't write it. This story... it had no ending!

——————— Thus, the magical glimpse into the "Heaven Official's Blessing Setting Collection" concludes!

■ I like men with stories!

Maybe because I watched an outstanding work as a child. It was a memoir, the protagonist in the biography was gentle and affable, and the protagonist in the memories was cold and ruthless. The story was scattered with the poignant fragrance of white plum blossoms amidst bloody and stormy circumstances.

This almost perfect work deeply influenced my aesthetics, leading me to be most interested in the memory parts of characters in various works. Although many viewers prefer the present scenes, often asking when the memories will end, I actually find these intense and painful memories to be the most fascinating!

A story is the history of a character, as well as the key to their personality. A person with a story stands before me like a puzzle. The way to solve this puzzle is to understand their story. Because the biography makes one curious to know more about a character they like, loving them more now because of their past. When serializing "Heaven Official," my greatest pain initially was telling myself, "This time I don't want to write a memory slaughter," deliberately trying to avoid a structure similar to previous works, yet I still hadn't found a better way to express it, resulting in my deep dissatisfaction with the later part of Volume 1. I was also hesitant to fully commit to the memory scenes in Volume 2, and with the heavy mental burden, this part was very painful to write. When revising, looking at Volume 2 was almost unbearable, because I'm the type of person who, as a child, would immediately switch channels when a TV show's protagonist was about to be wrongfully accused or embarrassed. I couldn't help but knock on a friend's door and ask:

Me: Was the author suffering some kind of mental trauma at the time? This negative energy is too horrifying, the protagonist is so pitiful, I really admire anyone who could read through Volume 2 completely.

Friend: Do you even have the right to say that?

But the memory slaughter in Volume 4 was much freer, written in one breath, so the revisions for this volume were also the least.

So, will you still write large segments of memory slaughter?

Um, well, we'll see, haha, hehe...

■ Closing Remarks:

Lastly, I'll address the question some asked me, "Will the new revised 'Heaven Official's Blessing' be more torturous?"

Me: You're talking nonsense. 'Heaven Official's Blessing' is a sweet pampering story, thank you!

Acknowledgments:

Shi Nai'an wrote in the preface to "Water Margin": "On snowy nights, about five or six people listen to my storytelling; on rainy days, about seven or eight; on bright and sunny days, about ten. I read, everyone listens, and we are all happy, with no other thoughts." When I read this as a young person, I was delighted. What divine days! Writing first to entertain oneself, then to entertain others. Self-expression and self-acceptance are certainly primary, but the affection of others is also a significant positive feedback. Thus, first, I thank the steadfast readers who have accompanied me all this time. I've thought about just walking away amidst the noisy disputes; abandoning the account amidst the tumultuous world! It seems not bad. But looking back, I can't bear to leave some truly sincere readers.

I've had authors I liked disappear from the internet, and I always feel like a part of my youth has vanished, a feeling quite distressing, reminiscent of overly grand and harsh things like the tears of the era or the torrent of history. So, I want to accompany my readers as long as possible, hoping that the day of parting comes later. Perhaps I'm not good enough now, but I will strive to be better in the future. Or perhaps you've never truly understood what kind of person I am, or even completely misunderstood me, but as long as you genuinely like my stories, we can sit down and chat.

And, I must mention my friends, who can be described as having the courage of a hero. Long time no see, Teacher Changyang's illustrations are still as beautiful as those of a celestial being, I hope Teacher CAS can go to bed earlier and worry less, and Teacher Kuohao, who despite a heavy workload, still fully honored our agreement. The "Heaven Official's Blessing" radio drama is really fantastic! It reminded me of the original intention of writing this story, and I was very moved. If it weren't for the silent companionship and efforts of these old friends, Mo Xiang Tong Xiu might have stopped writing back in 2016, disappearing from the world of martial arts, and thus, "Heaven Official's Blessing" would not have been born. I look forward to retracing the paths we once walked together when gathering ideas. And many friends who reached out to help and encourage me, thank you for accompanying me through the snowy nights.

#tgcf #tian guan ci fu #hob #heaven official's blessing #mxtx #mo xiang tong xiu #天官赐福 #tgcf revised version #The Tawny Vault

239 notes · View notes

rensblade · 1 year ago

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐈𝐆 𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅.

⟢ warnings/notes: wriothesley x fem! reader. suggestive, minors & ageless blogs do not interact. briefly proofread.. this is my first post, so i'd really appreciate any type of feedback! enjoy, and happy (very) late halloween to everyone celebrating ✩

“my.. what big ears you have,” you exhaled with a soft sigh, your hands raking through his two-toned locks as he continued nipping at your your chest. pretty shades of purple love-bites scatter across the canvas laid out to him, and wriothesley places a final kiss onto the last spot, before pulling away to fixate his darkened gaze onto yours.

by now, perhaps you should've been prepared to expect the array of hickeys that would follow; after all, you chose to don a dress with a pretty low neckline, and hence, your tits sat prettily all there for him to just devour.

still, since you asked so nicely, your boyfriend had been more than careful so as to not to rip the fabric of this specific red dress; you wore today in order to match with his costume— you, the red riding hood, as he was supposed to be the big bad wolf tonight.

“all the more to listen to you scream, sweetheart.” wriothesley chuckles against your collarbone as he lets his hold from your waist trail down; cold fingertips trailing ghostly kisses on your skin as his hands slowly make their way under your red dress.

it makes you shudder— how easily he tears apart the lace of your stockings, before he spreads your thighs using one large hand.

the mere action sends your body into a slight arch, as you tighten your claw onto his biceps in anticipation. you struggled to steady yourself on his lap; it didn't help the fact you could feel his length poke at your ass at the very moment. you weren't complaining.

archons, not to mention the mischievous glint of his eye. well. since he was already very much in character, you tug into his fur coat, letting it drop to the floor, agonizingly slow.

pale cerulean eyes remain trained on your face in order to memorize all your reactions into memory. wriothesley wordlessly admires the frustrated pout you give him, upon noticing another layer of clothing clinging onto his muscular chest. the man only laughs, the sound reverberating through both your flushed chests; making you send a small smile his way in defeat.

he was prettiest like this— while you were both mutually worshiping your bodies. although, you admit, he had always remained insistent on doing the most for you, kissing your palms in reassurance whenever he would was done with drawing out countless lewd sounds from you.

arrays of less-than-holy thoughts invade your senses, you couldn't help it. you were desperate to show him how badly you wanted him. how good you could be for him. without much thought, your hands fondle with his upper body as if to urge him on to undress himself.. and you.

“and what big hands you have..”

it's no doubt he catches onto your little game. either ways, wriothesley is more than happy to play right into your hands.

“oh, these?” his mock-interested tone fills the air, the lopsided smile you loved so much making you want to melt into him. “all the more to touch you. like this,” his focus goes back to the hold he had on your thighs, squeezing them softly.

the action makes you bite back a sound, while unsatisfied grunt from him follows, before his grip tightens onto the exposed flesh; his shrewd hands exploring their way down from where you're seated atop him. “and all the more to help undress you.. of course.”

it didn't help how kept whispering all that into your neck, his tone dropping in octave as he too, breathes a bit heavier. your lover's voice was all gruff and delicious from the intense making out you did prior so of course he used it to his advantage. he knew of the effect his voice had on you, sly wolf.

so you only bat your lashes up at him, starry eyes and all, in your little now-bunched-up dress, as you feign innocence in order to ask him the third and final question— your thighs clenching in growing anticipation. his large palm stays slotted in place between them, where they rightfully belong.

you finally ask, in a more dazed manner than you intended to. “my.. and what a big mouth you have, surely not only for all that bragging, i assume?”

wrong move. this time, he doesn't laugh. instead, the man steadies your disheveled form up by the arms, until you feel yourself being dropped onto the soft mattress of his sofa.

it was then, you swear you could've seen wriothesley lick his lips, as he positions himself in between where his hands had been mere seconds ago— as he mumbles under his breath.

"all the more to eat you, my love."

rensblade, 2023. please do not steal my writings or headers, i put a lot of effort into this. reblogs & comments are appreciated! also, my drafts are pretty nonexistent rn so i'd appreciate asks. i will be accepting requests for genshin, hsr, & jjk as of now.

833 notes · View notes

soulsisterif · 8 months ago

Text

Soul Sister IF

Tired of dating show games where you feel like you don't actually get to know your fellow contestants? Sick of wlw routes being treated as an afterthought? Done with interchangable characters that share ultimately the same storyline? Do you think it's ridiculous that your choices don't get acknowledged? Do you cringe at motherf*cking adults behaving like 12-year-olds?

Then this self-indulgent game may be just what you were looking for!

Welcome to Soul Sister, the IF game where you'll participate in the first ever exclusively sapphic dating show!

DEMO: TBA

You can't say you've ever been all that lucky in love but after your best friend's insistence that you give this a try maybe the time has come for that to change. Whether your intention is to just be a good wingwoman for her or get yourself a new partner you'll have to make the most of it.

Day after day and week after week, you'll spend your time with other women actively trying to find a partner while facing the surprises the show will throw your way. First seasons always keep contestants on their toes!

This light-hearted but romance heavy story focuses on the relationships you can stablish with your fellow contestants. Have fun trying the different choices that allow you to shape your own journey through the ups and downs of human interaction.

Features:

•Customize your MC, including name, appearance, interests and age.

•Bond with your potential matches over shared interests or experience the joy of learning new things.

•Enjoy the different approaches to dating. Commit to one person or keep your options open.

•Deal with all the curveballs, courtesy of the showrunners. What did you expect? This is show biz!

♥ Abbie ♥

Monolid blue eyes. Long straight black hair, the top strands often clipped back while she leaves it hang freely on the sides. Square jaw. Pale skin with a few moles scattered here and there. As tall as you.

She's in love with you but you don't know that (you moron). She's been your best friend for years. She's known you for such a long time that she can read you like an open book. Bookstore owner.

Not particularly athletic, she enjoys reading. Novels, essays, comic books, poems. You name it. She's goofy and has a blast bantering with you, though she always keeps an eye out as not to overwhelm you and promptly backtracks when she thinks she's making you uncomfortable. She's (not really) subtly touchy with you, always resting a hand on your back or patting your leg. The other contestants see through her from the start.

*What she wants in a partner: familiarity, trust, everyday romance. *Goods you get: feels like home, understanding, warm-hearted, protective. *Bads you get: a bit possessive, scared of change.

Route: friends to lovers, everyone can see it but you.

Says: "I've wanted a relationship for a long time. This might be the only way to push myself out there." But means: "I already love someone who doesn't seem to love me back so I'd rather push both of us to date other people so that I can move on."

♥ Irene ♥

Round green eyes. Shoulder-length, wavy blonde hair left as is, pointy ears peeking through the strands. Tallest of the bunch. Wears more than a few rings, and fiddles with them a lot. Fair, rosy skin that gets easily sunburnt. Smells of sunscreen more often than not when she's outside.

Sweet and shy, her tall and strong frame doesn't look like it suits her. She seems to be eager to make conversation, but ignores how to keep it going. Very into sports and nature. Botanist.

She gets crushes easily, and just as easily she forgets one to focus on the next if her attention isn't instantly reciprocated. Can be stiff in a conversation with someone she's not familiar with, and is often much more relaxed when she can move while she talks, which is why dinner like first dates are certainly not for her.

*What she wants in a partner: kindness, support, life companion. *Goods you get: gentleness, non-judgemental, good listener. *Bads you get: clingy, needs reassurance, naive.

Route: puppy love to actual love.

Says: "I just want to find someone who loves me." But means: "I'm insecure and finding someone who wants to be with me may change the way I see myself."

♥ Joanna ♥

Upturned brown eyes. Curly apparent shoulder-length brown hair that's actually much longer when wet. Golden brown skin with more than a few tan lines. High cheekbones. Average height, wide hips and small waist, epitome of classic femininity.

Energetic, language lover. Flirty and confident, it takes a while to know whether she has a genuine romantic interest on someone or is just being her coquettish self. Translator.

Most well-travelled of the bunch, Joanna is in love with language and shows love through it. She can smooth-talk you and flirt with you relentlessly, and she's the one out of all the contestants who will want to try it out with all of the others. When she feels like things are getting serious for her, though, she'll won't keep it to herself.

*What she wants in a partner: open-minded, curious, willing to learn. *Goods you get: fun facts galore, passionate, straightforward. *Bads you get: dismissive, a little self-centred, commitment issues.

Route: no strings attached (…but she'll get jealous).

Says: "I'm looking for love, not a shackle." But means: "I like the feeling and closeness of a romantic relationship but I'm terrified of how vulnerable that leaves me."

♥ Vega ♥

Hooded black eyes. Short, black hair, long enough at the top so that she can style it a little with wax. Could easily become an afro if given time. Dark skin, tats on her arms highlighted in white ink. Average height, a little on the slim side, but has a toned build.

Laidback and calm. Really enjoys movies and series, has a thing for animation and dubbing. Very good at drawing and impersonations. Voice actress / Music producer

Always humming or whistling, she's content to spend her time looking for shapes in the clouds. She's more sentimental than she cares to admit and often struggles with her feelings when she knows that they don't respond to a logical behaviour, which often leads her to close off and avoid important conversations.

*What she wants in a partner: chill, no over-the-top romance, no pretence. *Goods you get: honest, creative, independent, loyal. *Bads you get: trust issues, reluctant to talk, ignores problems.

Route: let's wing it.

Says: "No need to dress up or hold back a guffaw. I want to truly see you for who you are from the start." But means: "I think every little change in other's behaviour conceals a lie or intent to cheat me. Please don't lie to me."

♥ Margot ♥

Almond-shaped hazel eyes. Long, strawberry blond hair always up in a tight French twist, or a low ponytail if she's going to bed. It's uncommon to see her with her hair down. Tan, freckled skin and hazel eyes. Curvy, doesn't look that short, but reality hits when she allows herself to climb down her high heels.

Gruffiness born out of social anxiety. Surprisingly family oriented. High salary at an important firm. Stiff but compassionate, she's a bitter realist. Lawyer.

A little rough and forceful, she'll make you feel as if you're applying for a girlfriend position instead of organically getting to know her. She's so concentrated in discovering if she's compatible with the other contestants that she overlooks the fact that she has to open up and allow them to get to know her, too.

*What she wants in a partner: family oriented, mature, understanding. *Goods you get: family oriented, devoted, nurturing, tough love. *Bads you get: impatient, approaches dating as an interview, not willing to compromise. …Tough love.

Route: romance bureaucrat turned softie

Says: "I want a wife but the girlfriend stage is such a hassle" But means: "I don't want to waste my time in shallow relationships when all I want is someone to share my whole self and life with."

♥Dawn♥

Deep set brown eyes, dyed blond hair in a wavy pixie cut, but it's naturally a soft chestnut brown in colour. Sharp features, thin nose and lips. Dimpled cheeks.

Confident, master of the innuendo. Loves good (and bad) wordplays and puns. She'd be the intersection in a Venn diagram between Witticism and Self Awareness. Her ability to both fill silences and end discussions in an entertaining manner make her an invaluable asset for any TV show.

Her bold nature lead many to mistake her openness for invitations to go further, which can end badly if anyone dares put a hand on her without her explicit permission.

Openly queer, Dawn is a big fish in the little pond of reality dating shows. Her newcomer label didn't stop her from making a splash from her very first episode. Now a coveted host in the reality world, she turned now the chance to renew her contract with the show that saw her become famous in favour of the upcoming Soul Sister.

*What she wants in a partner: respect, communication, commitment. *Goods you get: intelligent, dependable, romantic, sensible. *Bads you get: paranoid, obdurate, overly perfectionist. …Married.

Route: trying to stay in love while falling for someone else

Says:

"People would be better off if they listened to their brain more often than their hearts. Or loins." But means:

"I consider my actions so thoroughly that them proving to be a mistake makes me feel like a worthless idiot."

#interactive fiction #if #romance game #sapphic #soul sister #lgbt #lesbian #ROs #romance #abbie #irene #joanna #vega #margot #dawn

146 notes · View notes

soupthatistohot · 5 months ago

Text

A rant about why BSD is hard to enjoy right now (in my opinion)

Originally posted this on twitter but I think tumblr folks will sympathize, as well. So, here goes!

The stakes are simultaneously so ridiculously high and also nonexistent. I can't shake the feeling that everything is going to return to normal after this arc is over (everyone we care about will be alive, the world will have been saved), so why should I care about anything that's happening?

To that point -- no one (I care about) stays dead!! So what if Kunikida "died" in the chapter today? I'm sure he'll be back. Dazai also didn't die in Meursault, neither did Fyodor (who actually literally CAN'T die!!). Akutagawa is now alive and well, too! As much as I hate excessive MCD (like in JJK), you need to actually kill off characters sometimes if you're gonna threaten it so often, because then every death lacks emotional impact. I've been, like, numbed to it atp.

There are so many characters I do not know enough about to care about. Who even are the hunting dogs? Bram? Sigma? Asagiri hasn't put as much time and care into characterizing them as the main cast, so when things happen to them I kinda don't give a shit long-term. They were introduced in the middle of a convoluted plot that has taken such precedence over the characters who are supposed to be driving the story.

BSD originated as a character-driven story, and that's what drew myself and so many others to it in the first place. It was bizarre in a charming sort of way. It was about the characters growing and developing as people as much/more as it was about the external conflicts going on. It almost feels like Asagiri has been trying to be too clever about this that he's lost the core of BSD: it's heart.

Similarly, there's a reason this is such a ship-heavy fandom, we live for the character dynamics! But our beloveds have been scattered to the winds for literal years in our time that we've lost most of that interaction we love so much. Give us back our found family dynamics!!

Kind of back to the point about the convoluted plot -- it eels like the characters' intelligence has outgrown us and Asagiri, to the point of seeming impossibly ridiculous. Like what do you mean Chuuya was faking it the whole time and then stopped a bullet from entering dazai's skull and got away from it because of the security camera angle?? what do you mean Fyodor dying by a vampire's hand actually means that he subsumes bram and then he sets off a tripolar singularity to create god and this was his plan all along????

Obviously I don't speak for the whole fandom and these are just my opinions. I'm not saying you have to agree with me or even that BSD is horrible. I just feel like it's kinda lost its way the past few years and I miss the animanga I fell in love with :(

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd analysis #bsd manga #bsd anime #bsd meta

77 notes · View notes

the-guppy-fish · 1 month ago

Text

So, I tried something new. It's not really tied to a fandom, but i thought of a Simon Riley AU.

It sure is steamy. It's written so you can insert any (preferably British) male character.

Minors do not interact

This is a story for adults, about adults. Also it's literal porn🤭

Content warnings: angst, fluff, smut, p in v, overstimulation, protected sex (wrap it up!), established relationship - but not a regular bf/gf relationship, safewords, use of safeword, comfort, adults being adults, aftercare, no use of y/n, use of pet names, bdsm, use of Sir - no name male.

(4,6k words)

Also, it's super long. It has been corrected for grammar mistakes...but you know.

Please enjoy🔥

Swaying slowly to the music, you moved your body over the dancefloor in the club.

Sir brought you to one of his friends' parties once again, and you wanted to have fun.

The bass thumped as you moved to the beat. Your clothes hugged your figure and showed all your beautiful features. Strangers danced with you, around you, and through the many moving bodies you spotted Sir up in the couch cubicles on a plateau.

He was already looking at you. Shamelessly staring at your body and taking you in. He swallowed and looked away nonchalantly. As if he wasn't interested. Bored even. It was a game he liked to play when you were out like this.

'I'll show you boring', you thought.

A new song blared through the speakers. The rhythm was perfect for slow seductive moves.

Some guy came up in front of you, and you took the chance. You danced with him, ghosting your body against his. Stroking your hands over his fairly fit chest, turning your back to him and rolling your hips against his. You could feel the slowly growing length in his pants as his clammy hands gripped your hips and ground you into him.

All while Sir just sat on that damned couch, looking like a god in his black dresspants and matching black button-up, drink in his hand as he talked to some other woman. She sat down next to Sir, puffing her chest out and twirling her hair in between her long, slender fingers. She acted just a bit too flirty and touchy for you liking.

Annoyance and jealousy coursed through your veins. That woman moved way too close to him. Sir smiled at her and laughed at something she said. He glanced over the moving ocean of bodies, looking for you.

Your handsome stranger had turned his back to Sir. He spun you around to look down at you. He held your hips and moved closer, trying to kiss you.

'Oh fuck' you thought. One of Sirs rules said, you could flirt all you wanted but anything past a friendly hug with a stranger was a no go.

Gracefully, you led the sweet, drunk guys' lips to your cheek and looked over his shoulder, your heels helping you look right in Sirs direction. You caught his eyes as the woman laid her hands on his thigh, trying to win his attention again. Smirking at Sir, you rolled your eyes backwards and moaned into your strangers ear. Although it was probably silenced by the music. Which wasn't really important. What was important was that Sir saw it.

And he did.

His face became a dangerous shade of red. His hands clenching down on the leather fabric of the couch and nostrils flaring.

Your mission was accomplished. Sir was MAD.

He rose from the couch, abandoning the annoying but actually very attractive woman, and moved in your direction.

Like a slender feline, you pulled away from your guy, leading him to another woman and slid through the mass of people and up towards the bar.

Up there, it was fairly quiet. Glasses and bottles littered the counter and scattered chips decorared the it like confetti.

You asked for a glass of water, feeling the need to clear your head before Sir found you. It wouldn’t be long now.

You felt his angry footsteps before you saw him. The floor vibrated more forcefully than what the bass of the music could procure.

Quickly, you slid away from the counter, abandoning your glass of water for Sir to find, and escaped out through the mass of people and into the entrance.

Some people stood and laughed, smoking just on the outside of the double doors into the club.

The air was not warm nor cold. It was neutral, and stars twinkled in the sky. The moon lit up the alley as you tried to find your next hiding spot.

While contemplating, you heard the people smoking, raising their voices, complaining about someone who pushed through their chatters.

You managed to slip into the shaddows, just in time for Sir to appear from the small group, looking furiously around for the slightest hint of where you hid from him.

As you watched him from the shaddows, he went over to a couple, who seemed to have a very private conversation, and asked them if they had seen a cute girl in a black dress. He kept on describing you, and seemingly unbeknownst to him, you walked back through the double doors and quickly made your way through the hallway and upstairs into the restrooms at the end of the hall.

Sir had caught a glimpse of you slipping through the door, while the drunk smokers pointed out the obvious fact that you just went through the door.

Almost running, he went inside again and looked for you like a wild man. His patience was wearing out, and you knew it. It bothered him that you knew how to push his buttons. And you did it well. It put his dominance in question, and he wanted you to submit. Although he loved the chase.

It kept your relationship fresh and fun. And you loved to tease him. You almost lived for it.

He figured you wouldn't stay downstairs and moved up to the top floor and stormed down the hallway. Opening doors to unlocked private rooms and apologising to the couples already occupying them. Not really caring about anything other than finding his girl. He reached the last door, which led to the ladies' restrooms, and knocked. No answer.

You had balanced yourself on one of the toilet lids behind a closed door of a stall. Your feet were invisible if anyone dared to look under the walls of your stall.

Sir opened the door slowly and looked inside. "Princess?"

You held your breath as he moved into the room. "Are you in here, little one?" You swore you could hear the playfulness in his voice as he walked by all the stalls.

Sir swiftly walked back outside, closing the door behind him. You were slightly annoyed at how quickly he gave up looking for you in the restrooms, so you stayed in the stall and pulled your phone from its hiding place in your bra, hoping for Sir to come back for another look. You and Sir had agreed on not texting or calling while playing hide and seek, but you did want to scroll a little through your feed, look for any pictured your friends might have posted during the evening.

You needed a little break.

You had been in the stall for some time now. People came and left the restroom. Some had a very good time (you felt happy for them, knowing you'd have a good night yourself), and others were just visiting the restroom for regular purposes.

Sir had stormed through the club and the alley outside, even the neighbouring alleys. He was getting worried now. Never had he needed this much time to find you.

Usually, at some point, you got bored and revealed your hiding spot, or he found you.

No one realised he was almost panicking, breathing heavy and sweating profusely. Shivers ran down his spine as he thought someone might have found you before he did. He needed to find you.

Sir pulled his phone out as he walked down the alley, back to the club. He tried to call you, but the ringing went on and on without you ever picking up.

‘Fuck’ he though, his breathing now shallow and almost heaving. Anxiety kicking in as he went in through the front doors and up the stairs. He felt dizzy and his balance was fucked, alcohol and anxiety was not a good combination.

He stumbled down the hallway towards the restrooms at the end. He remembered them being there and thought he could calm down in there.

He tried calling you again and again. Nothing. Frustrated tears began prickling behind his eyes, and the door seemed so far away, even though he kept walking. As he got closer and closer, his head began spinning more and more.

A door to his left opened, and a couple came out, red-faced and puffy lips. They looked at him, and the guy asked if he was alright. Ignoring them, he reached the restrooms, not seeing that he had entered the ladies' restroom by mistake. Not bothering to see if he was alone, he leaned on the counter with sinks, looking at himself in the large mirror. The dim light hid the few stray tears that had left his eyes. He looked at himself, trying to find steady ground while contemplating where you would be hiding.

‘Where was his princess?’

Slightly annoyed, you waited till Sir gave up calling. He was breaking your rules, and it wasn’t fair. He was the one proposing the rules in the first place, and he did not text you the safeword. So you stayed in the stall, phone in your bra, annoyed and slightly bored.

You wanted Sir to find you, waiting like this was boring. You thought about finding a new hiding spot, but decided against it, as you didn't want to confuse Sir more than necessary.

You felt him call two more times, as your phone vibrated against your tit. Giggling to yourself at the feeling and the thought of you getting to scold Sir for breaking the rules, you completely missed the door opening and someone crashing into the restroom.

Just before opening your stall door to see what had happened, you listened closely to their movements.

As no particular sounds reached your ears, you slowly pushed the door open, taking a peak outside.

Your eyes were met with Sirs broad back towards you. His hands gripped the counter, and his head hung low. His breathing was hard, and you could tell he was trying to control the rhythm.

‘Oh no.’ Was all you thought.

Quickly, you stepped out of the stall and onto the tiled floor.

“Sir? Are you okay? I'm so sorry” His eyes snapped to yours through the mirror, and he let out a deep sigh.

He turned around and reached his arms out for you, pulling you into his embrace. You held him tightly, feeling his ragged breathing and slightly trembling hands.

“Sir what’s wrong?” Your worried voice filled his ears.

He only held you tighter, and you grew more worried than you already were. “Sir? Hey, look at me. Tell me what’s wrong.” He clung to you as you tried to peel him off.

“Sir, please. I'm red. Talk to me.” His uneven breath had slowly returned to a somewhat normal rhythm, and he mumbled something into your neck.

“What did you say?” You nudged his head with your shoulder, trying to get him to look at you. He took a deep breath and rested his cheek against the top of your head, “I couldn’t find you.”

His words hit you; Sir had been worried about you. You think of how frustrated he must have been, looking for you, and felt bad for not saying anything the first time he came in here and ignoring his calls.

“Oh Sir, I'm sorry, I’m right here.”

He nodded against your hair and pulled away to turn your back against the counter.

Sir lifted you to sit on the counter and held you close by your waist, faces now at the same level. You wrapped your fingers around his neck, nails pressing into the warm skin under his silky shirt.

He took some deep breaths, nodded, and looked you into your worried eyes. He smiled and pressed his lips onto yours in a soft, light kiss that you happily reciprocated.

“I was so worried, princess. I thought someone might have hurt you, or you had gotten yourself hurt.” You kissed him one more time and smiled at him, “I was right here, love. Actually, you were here while I was hiding in the stall.”

Now, tears began to pool in your eyes, guilt seeping into your veins.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. I should have said something. I didn’t want to scare you. I’m sorry I ignored your calls. I thought we were still playing, and you were just being lazy. I’m sorry, Sir. I’m so sorry.” He stopped your rambling with another featherlight kiss and kept his lips on you.

"It’s alright, princess, it’s okay. I found you, or you found me. I’m not sure.”

Smiling somberly, you gently kissed and held each other close, gingerly nursing each other back to your usual level of comfort.

Sir pulled away slightly, looking into your eyes.

“Do you want to go home, princess?”

His eyes trained on yours, with a concerned look on his face. “No Sir.” You smiled softly, your eyes flickered to his lips, and you moved your hands from their tight grip on his neck to his chest.

“If it's alright with you, I'd like to stay. Make this night end happily, instead of it ending with me in tears and you so worried.” A smile spread on your face as he lifted you from the counter. “Alright baby, let’s find a room then. Although you might end up in tears no matter what we do.”

You clung to Sirs hand while he looked for a free room. You and Sir came to the club so often that he didn't have to sign up for renting a room. You could just pick whatever was free. He approached another door, checked the sign on it, and opened it swiftly.

Sir locked the door behind you and pulled you towards the faux-leather couch to the side of the room. He sat down and pulled you to straddle his hips. You happily sat in his lap and bent down to nip at his neck.

You could smell the disinfectant on the fabric of the couch, happy that the room had been cleaned before you, so acutely, occupied it.

While you kissed and bit at his neck, you reached back to find the zipper of your dress. You struggled a little, and Sirs large hand came up to claps around yours.

“Here let me help you, princess.” His hand let go of your, and you brought it back to hold onto his chest.

Sirs fingers pulled down the zipper, and his other hand ran over your soft skin as the dress opened up. He pulled the fabric from your shoulders and down your arms and chest. The dress pooled at your hips as you pulled back to reach for the buttons of his shirt, slowly revealing his muscular chest.

Sirs hands moved to open your bra and gently pulled it off. Your phone fell out of the lacy fabric as he revealed your tits. A quick huff escaped his nostrils, and he placed your phone on the cushion next to his thigh while he shook his head.

His eyes found yours as he quietly shared his thoughts, “So beautiful, my love.”

You looked at his stunning face and moved your hands to his belt to open the buckle.

“Not yet, princess. I wanna taste you first. Okay?” You nodded and let him lift you up to lay you in the pillow-less bed in the middle of the room.

Your naked back hit the cold, leather-like fabric, just like the one covering the couch. You shuddered, and goosebumps trailed along your skin.

Sir tapped your hips, hinting at you to lift them and let him pull the dress all the way off, slipping your lace panties off in the process. He put a hand on your stomach as he spread your legs with the other.

“So perfect.” His fingers danced lightly over your slick lips and gathered the wetness that had pooled between them. He sucked his fingers clean and hummed in satisfaction, making you moan faintly.

He kept brushing his fingers over your sensitive skin, not applying any pressure, just softly touching you.

You quickly became a mess. Mewling and moaning for Sir to really touch you. Plunge something into you.

“Sir please.” He chuckled at your impatience. “What princess? Use your words.” Groaning at his request, you rolled your eyes. Sir knew what you wanted. He just wanted to taunt you, which annoyed you immensely.

"Sir please touch me.”

Another chuckle escaped the man currently kneeling between your legs. “I am touching you, princess.” He leaned down and placed a kiss just above your heat. ‘Fucking tease’.

“Sir please!” You were starting to get annoyed at his antics. “Si-OOohh fuck!” Your words faltered as Sir thrust two thick fingers into you and wrapped his lips around your clit. Feverishly working you up, he kept a fast pace, thrusting his fingers in and out of your soaking pussy as his tongue flicked and sucked at your clit. You moaned and laced your fingers into his hair.

He hummed against you, the vibrations sending shivers through your body.

Your moans only grew louder and more frequent as Sir worked his magic on you. Fingers finding that spongey spot inside of you, curling his finger into it, while sucking your clit in a perfect rhythm.

It didn’t take much to make you come when he touched you lime this. Your orgasm rippling through you and making stars dance before your eyes.

Sir kept fingering you through your orgasm and kissed your thighs while you came back down to earth.

His sultry voice made its way to your ears, “Alright, love?” Breathlessly, you nodded and smiled at him. “Good, cause I need you wet and ready for me. I need to feel you around me.”

Smiling even wider, you moved to a sitting position, leaning down to capture Sirs lips with your own. His tongue glided over your lips and into your mouth. The taste of your arousal on his tongue was like petrol poured onto the fore that was your lust for hum.

You pulled on Sirs shirt, tugging it off his broad shoulders. He helped you tear off the silken fabric, not leaving your lips once.

Once the fabric hit the floor, he pulled away, and his eyes grew dark with desire. His voice deep and full of dominance, it echoed inside your skull

"Hands and knees. Arse facing me.” Not wasting a second you obeyed, feeling the wetness grow and slowly dribble down your thighs again. Sir watched you, eager to get fucked by his big cock. You heard him loosen the belt, he pulled it through the belt loops of his pants. “Hands above your head.” Again you obeyed, putting your hands up, nails digging into the smooth leather in anticipation of his next moves.

You felt the smooth leather on the soft skin of the backside of your thighs, tickling you before discarding the belt next to his shirt.

You heard him shuffle around till he moved in front of you, kneeling on the mattress. So handsome, only wearing his black pants. You could've come all over again, just by looking at him.

He sneaked his fingers under your cheek and raised your head up to look at him.

"So pretty and all for me. Listen, princess, you won’t be able to use your safeword. So if you need to, use your non-verbal sign, alright?” Your eyes widened, and you nodded at him.

He pulled some fabric from his pocket and revealed your lace thong. He balled it up and stuffed it in your mouth.

“You alright love?” You nodded again, and he smiled wickedly at you. “Good girl.”

He moved out of your sight again, and you dropped your head to rest on the mattress. You heard him zip down his pants and slide them off his legs. Dropping them next to the other discarded items. You felt the mattress dip as he knelt behind you.

Silence fell over the room, and only your muffled breathing filled your ears. Sir had slid on a condom and lined up his cock with your weeping hole, and waited for you to become restless so he could plunge his cock inside.

You could feel your wetness dripping down your thighs, waiting for Sir to fuck you. ‘What was taking him so long?’

You and Sir usually used condoms, although you had made sure to use another form of contraception besides condoms. ‘Double safety’ as Sir used to say. But you weren’t sure if he brought a condom.

Growing restless, you wiggled your hips and whimpered into the thin fabric balled up in your mouth.

Sir stayed silent but placed one of his hands on your hips. He gripped the fat of your hips tightly and stroked his thumb over your supple skin in a soothing way. Not that that helped your almost aching cunt. You wanted him. Now.

You began whining and moaning. Wiggling your hips at hip, wondering if he had fallen asleep.

But Sir gripped you hip even harder and shot his own hips forward, burying his girthy cock in deep in your wetness. He groaned loudly and you moaned into the soaked fabric in your mouth.

The feeling of him stretching your walls was almost too overwhelming.

Although he prepared you earlier, you still needed time to adjust to his impressive size. But Sid kept plunging his cock into you at a feverish pace.

The sound of his hips slamming into yours, drowning the moans you let out. You felt his balls smack against your sensitive clit, which only made you even wetter, making it easier for him to slide in and out of your tight heat.

Sirs fingers bore into your hips. He controlled your movement, pulling you closer when his hips slammed into your cheeks.

He snaked a hand around your stomack and between your legs, pinching your clit and beginning to draw lazy circles around it. A drastic contrast to his erratic thrusts. You felt the pressure grow in your belly again, your walls clamped around his cock, restrained moans leaving his lips.

“You feel that love? Do you? Do you feel my big cock deep in your cunt?”

The lace in your mouth muffled every word you tried to say. Every sound you made was reduced to moans and whispers.

Sirs hand loosened around your hip and came down hard on the fat of your arse, as the other kept a steady pace on your clit and his cock pounded into you. While your cheek stung, Sir pulled the lace from your mouth

"I couldn’t hear that, love. Say it again.” Moaning louder and digging your nails impossibly deeper into the mattress, you weakly said:” Yes, Sir. I feel you. So deep.” He sped up the circling around your clit, a “good girl” escaping his lips.

The tight knot reformed in your abdomen and grew unbearably tight in your belly. You erupted in moans and yelps, while your second orgasm sucked Sirs cock deeper into you. “Oh fuck love. Just like that. I’m so proud of you. Squeeze my cock princess.” His deep voice laced with lust crept into your skull.

He kept the ‘fast as fuck’ pace while fucking you through your orgasm and the movement made fluid seep from your hole. What your blissed out brain couldn’t comprehend was, that you were squirting all over Sirs thighs.

"Oh fuck princess. Fuck, you’re such a good girl. Good fucking girl.”

Your breath hitched, as his cock began twitching feverishly inside you. He pulled his hand from your clit to grasp your throat and pulled your back to his chest, all while slowing the blood flow to your brain, making your surroundings seem fuzzy and unimportant. His hips stilled their movement, keeping you both on the edge (even though you had fallen over more than once).

“You're so beautiful when you come for me. Do you know that love?" You tried nodding, but his grip on your neck kept you from moving your head.

All you could respond with were whimpers, which only made a satisfied smile spread on Sirs lips.

His free hand had slid between your legs. His thick fingers pinched your clit, resulting in you clamping down down on his cock which was already dangerously close to filling you up.

The combination of daddy stimulating your clit, his cock twitching and buried deep inside of you, his other hand making your head feel fuzzy, his hot sweaty chest against your back and his ragged breath and moans in your ear made you clench around his cock and your legs shake violently, trying to hold you up.

“One more princess, give me one more. Be a good girl and give me another.” You mewled and moaned, feeling the familiar knot form again.

"It's the last one, i promise love."

Sir began moving in and out of you again, but this time at a much slower pace than before.

The sensory overload made white light wash over you, any sounds were deafened, and black spots splattered your vision. Your eyes rolled deep into the back of your skull as your pussy milked Sirs throbbing cock. His cum spurting out, filling the condom.

His groans broke through the silence and brought you back to reality. You felt your body go limp in his arms, and the mixture of both your highs flowed down your thighs, staining the leather beneath you.

“Fuck love. You're amazing.”

No answer came from your lips as Sir gently released you from his grip and laid you down. He put a silky, thin blanket over your now shivering body. You were exhausted, and tears slowly filled your eyes.

All the emotions from earlier that evening and the mind-blowing scene with Sir just now had you overwhelmed.

In the background, you heard Sir shift with his clothing and mumble something along the lines of ‘wait here’ ‘I’ll be right back love’. You heard the door unlock, open, and close again. Then, you heard voices on the other side of the door. Your man's voice.

You thought about what he said before leaving, and tought 'Yea as if I'd go somewhere now, leaking our combined pleasure and hardly, if even able to walk.'

You weakly wiped the tears away and slowed your breathing.

A moment later Sir opened the door and approached you with a pack of wet-wipes and a bottle of water.

Gently, he cleaned both of you and helped you back into your dress, drenched underwear hidden in his pocket.

He sat you in his lap, holding you close and helping you take sips of the deliciously cold water. Once you were done drinking, he sat the bottle down, wrapped his arms around you, and looked at you with serious but gentle eyes.

“What a night. Huh love?” You slowly nodded and leaned against him.

“Should we head home now? Put you to bed?” Again you nodded, since you couldn’t find the strength to talk.

His hand came up to cradle your jaw. He raised your head to look you into your glossy and tired eyes.

His voice was steady and serious, "Are you alright, love? Was i too hard on you?"

You nodded and willed your voice to come out as more than a weak whisper, "I am alright, just tired. And a little overwhelmed, but I'm okay. Are you alright, Sir?"

He nodded and whispered a low "I am, love." He pulled you into a sweet kiss before picking you up bridal style and carrying you through the hallway, and out the backdoor.

He slid you into the car, where his driver had waited patiently.

Once you were buckled up and covered by a coat he had left on the seats, his voice sounded low and polite.

"Take us home please."

Sirs driver nodded, and the car rolled down the dim alley.

#reader x character #smut #established relationship #bdsmrelationship #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley

41 notes · View notes