#He's very humble almost too humble one thing i noticed was that there were a lot of stories about other people in history

[freebooter4ever]

You know what the best part about yesterday's adventure was? Even though it absolutely was an exclusive thing not available to the public - and a bunch of people on my insta are coming out of the woodwork like 'how did YOU get a tour with the LEGEND? (disbelief heavily implied)' - the vibe of the entire day was a group of friends chatting and joking and remarking on the history of the place we were visiting. And it wasnt a one time thing, we all volunteer together, im going to see them again on monday. And its just FUN! ^_^ i love it!

[autistichalsin]

Some of my favorite, understated moments with heartbreaking implications for Halsin

1. Halsin threatening to turn into a mouse in the epilogue if the player brags about his achievements- he's so shy and humble that just being acknowledged for LITERALLY BUILDING A COMMUNE HIMSELF makes him want to hide. A mouse is a very symbolic choice here: not only easy to hide, but also easily overlooked and forgotten. The idea of his accomplishments being acknowledged is so terrifying for him that he wants to turn into an animal no one will notice, instead of his usual strong, large, noticeable bear.

2. "Sometimes, I think people look at me and imagine my feelings can't be hurt." This isn't the kind of thing that happens after one or two people act like jerks. This is years and years of cruel treatment, of his emotions being demeaned and mocked because of his size. Of people judging him before even meeting him- and forming an entirely wrong view of him. Halsin is a bighearted, tender, sentimental man, yet because he's big... Well, big people don't have feelings, surely. /s

3. "You and I may struggle to go unnoticed in such environs, Karlach[...] Folk of our stature can be a lure for drunkards seeking a brawl, I have found," combined with, "There is a particular discomfort to besting one you know to be weaker than yourself - even when needs must," from a different scene. People have sought him out and fought him because of his size (which had to have been terrifying, especially the first time), and he feels guilty when he takes out someone he knows is weaker, even if they STARTED it. How many times has the poor guy been traveling and then had to defend himself against someone 1/2 his size, making HIM look like the asshole to onlookers, and reinforcing that whole "people think I can't be hurt" thing?

4. "It was always destined to be so, if we prevailed. But the foreknowledge makes it no less bittersweet..." (About the players' paths diverging post brain battle), combined with "I see... After all my years of living, I know all too well that nothing lasts forever. Yet a parting can sting, nonetheless," if the player breaks up with him in the ending. This poor guy was having the time of his life adventuring with the group (and possibly falling in love there) yet never believed it would truly last (because of his abandonment issues). And then to have it confirmed.... he must have felt so awful in that moment, even if he was being dignified about it.

5. "You came for me... thank you. I feared Orin's accursed smile would be the very last sight I beheld," when Halsin is freed from Orin, combined with, "Orin's blades. I hoped my friends would save me..." If he is killed by Orin instead and Speak With the Dead is used on his corpse. The tone of his voice in the first line, especially added to that bit in the second... he never thought the player was coming to save him. He HOPED they would. Not "believed". Hoped. He thought he was going to die there- just like how he was in the Underdark for THREE YEARS and no one came to save him. And if it's confirmed... Yeah. That. (Sidenote: if you ask his corpse if he has any regrets, he says not telling Thaniel and Oliver goodbye, and not getting to see their land flourish. :( My heart. :( )

6. "I... have not had true confidantes for some time. The Shadow Curse robbed me of almost all my peers, and replaced them with the weight of responsibility. Perhaps that caused me to gild undeserving memories of my youth." Halsin was so miserable and stressed being Archdruid that he romanticized his past as a sex slave, viewing it as a safer, even happier alternative. There were actually times when Halsin thought he might rather be a sex slave than continue to be Archdruid. In a sense, for the 100 years the Shadow Curse was around, Halsin was just as much a prisoner as Thaniel was in the Shadowfell, but Halsin's prison had invisible bars. The Shadow Curse took away his entire support system, and being Archdruid forced him to be the strong one, always, never allowed to be weak or scared, forced him to take control of situations when he hated it, forced him to spend his time sorting out people instead of being in nature. And he was MISERABLE. For 100 years.

7. "You understand me almost perfectly. Only my late mother may have bested you." (Said if you get one question wrong at the love dryad test). He misses his mama. :( Especially when you consider that if you steal Balthazar's "Mother Dearest" and taunt him about it, Halsin disapproves (and is the only one to do so), while returning her gets you approval (which only Halsin approves of). And then the line when you look into a mirror while controlling him, "more like my father, with each passing day..." He really misses them. :(

8. "I am loathe to see anyone behind bars. It reminds me of my time as a guest of the goblins." He is, secretly, still quite traumatized from his time in the goblin pens, but he brushes it off. Just like every OTHER time he is hurt.

9. "I am aware [of having a habit of getting captured]. Perhaps I put too much faith in my skills of negotiation, or want to see good where there is none. It would be easy to resort to nature's fury whenever something stood in my way, yet I cannot help but feel I would be sullying the Oak Father's gifts. Naive perhaps... but I still draw breath." Halsin is aware he gets hurt often because of his desire to see good in people until he has no other choice, but refuses to give up anyway (which is backed up by that letter Gut had on her where she reveals Halsin TRIED to help the goblins, saying he could cure them of their tadpoles, only to be thrown in the cage, with Gut threatening to have his stomach cut open and maggots placed inside it.) Further, even though he is an Archdruid, and one of the most devoted, and explicitly has Silvanus's favor (Halsin says that gaining his favor was the only way he was able to open the portal to the Shadowfell), he still constantly worries about using Silvanus's powers, to the point of wondering if an actual threat to his safety actually merits using his powers. Which... combined with some other stuff, reads like one hell of a problem with self-worth.

10. "At least you were not present. Grim as [the ruined battlefield] is now, it was worse on the day of the battle. A vivid wound upon my memory[...] I was lucky - I lived, when so many did not. It would take me a day and a night to recite the names of all the friends I lost" combined with, "I was [present when the Shadow Curse was unleashed]. Part of my spirit was shorn away from me here, and never left," and, if Last Light falls, "All gone... devoured by the shadows. Oak Father preserve us, it's just like a hundred years ago[...] We are [still standing]. Yet there is a burden to being the survivor... the witness to others' tragedies. It only grows heavier with time." He has so much PTSD and survivor guilt from the Shadow Curse. :( No wonder it's all he can think about- to the point that some of the other companions even get annoyed at him for his obsession.

11. "I never quite realised how burdened I was, until I met you. The threat of the shadow curse, the politics of the grove... I was forgetting who I was, but you lifted the fog. Thank you." Not only does this tie in with the above, with his PTSD from the curse and his utter misery at being Archdruid, but this HEAVILY implies Halsin had depression. Like... that "fog" line hits HARD if you have or have had depression, because that's exactly what it feels like. And the "forgetting who I was" bit too. Not just losing his sense of self to the depression, but to the neverending responsibilities of being Archdruid. I keep repeating myself, but damn, this guy has really and truly spent an entire century being absolutely MISERABLE. :(

12. "Forgive me. I... lost the run of myself. Sometimes, if blood runs hot enough, it's difficult to tame the beast." With that little disgusted groan/sigh, the fury and disgust at himself visible on his face, and the way he rushes to get out the rest of it- he thinks he fucked up so badly that you're about to leave him, maybe forever. And then if you reject him after this? "Ah... I see. Well, of course. Back to camp then." He has the most heartbroken look on his face here, and the way he says "of course" like he just... knew this was coming the instant he accidentally wildshaped. He felt that the first time he let ANY of his imperfections show, the player would leave him. :(

13. "Death is nature's final slumber - it awaits us all. Do not punish yourself over those lost, or give in to despair - not while there are still folk in need of your help." (Said to a Dark Urge if they tell him they're not much of a hero and most people needing them end up dead) Not only is Halsin speaking from experience here, but it's very clear he is STILL doing exactly what he tells Durge not to do, to himself- punishing himself over those who were lost, struggling with devastating survivor guilt.

14. "The grove has cut itself off from the world, to jealously guard its own little pocket of nature. No one shall ever enter or leave again. And I have been evicted from the very place I was charged to safeguard. A telling summary of my time as Archdruid, perhaps..." If the Grove is sealed and you ask him about it later, this is what he says. Interesting that he views being evicted from the place he was in charge of protecting to be a "telling summary." He was forced to take the leadership role there, and yet it was clear he wasn't wanted or respected by a great number of the Druids (exempting Nettie, Rath, and Apikusis). He got a truly thankless job that took damn near EVERYTHING from him emotionally/mentally, causing him to develop depression and causing him to backslide in his previous healing from his trauma from his time as a sex slave, he still gave EVERYTHING to the Grove, and in return...... almost none of his Druids appreciated or even liked him. (I could seriously write at least five metas about how obviously miserable Halsin was at the Grove, despite caring for it deeply).

15. "You could have done anything, gone with anyone... yet you chose me." Said at the epilogue to a solo romanced player who went to the commune with him. There's so many layers of heartbreak here. He is still surprised, six months later, that the player chose him. He even thinks the player will regret it, and will decide they want an adventurer's life after all after seeing everyone else. He doesn't think he is good enough- doesn't think he deserves the player, and yet at the same time he loves them so much that he is heartbroken over the possibility they might agree with him. He thinks that given a chance, there is little chance they would actually choose him again. (He is put at ease quickly when the player promises they picked him for a reason, but even the explanation he gives for why he was so worrie is heartbreaking- that he's so used to a tumultuous life that he thinks something must go wrong. He has been so traumatized so many times over the years that he just has almost no ability to think that true happiness is possible [or deserved] for him.) Something about that is just heartbreaking, even though his ending is one of the happiest of any of the companions.

Someone give this sweet bear man a hug, please :(

[solxamber]

Helloooo!! I want to request Leona's bodyguard reader x Malleus draconia

The reader has been Leona's bodyguard since they was a child.

They are calm and serious people. They look strong and intimidating on the outside, but in reality they are gentle, humble, kind, and have always been by Leona's side, both in good and bad times.

And I thought it would be funny if Leona found out that his bodyguard was dating Malleus Draconia.

Malleus Draconia x Leona’s Bodyguard! Reader

thank you for waiting, i hope you like it <3

You’ve been Leona’s bodyguard since you were both kids—a quiet, steady shadow to his sharp glare and princely airs. Through tantrums and triumphs, through wild hunts and royal galas, you’re the one constant in his life.

Calm, grounded, intimidating on the outside but with a deep well of patience and kindness on the inside, you’ve been there for him through thick and thin. Even if he rarely says it, you’re pretty sure Leona trusts you more than anyone.

But recently, your attention has been caught by someone else. Malleus Draconia. You’re not sure how it even started—a mutual nod at some formal event, a brief, stolen conversation under the stars—but somehow, you’re drawn to him in ways you hadn’t expected.

His reputation as a brooding, powerful mage is well known, but when he’s with you, he seems... softer. Gentler.

You’re surprised to find yourself laughing with him over small things, finding moments of peace in his quiet company, and even catching yourself looking forward to seeing him.

One night, after a particularly stressful royal banquet, Malleus pulls you aside into a secluded part of the garden. The air is thick with the scent of night-blooming flowers, and the soft glow of the moon gives everything a silver hue.

Malleus looks at you with a tenderness that leaves you breathless, a look so deep and genuine that it shatters your carefully maintained composure.

“Is it... strange that I feel so at peace with you?” he asks, his voice barely a murmur.

You shake your head, feeling your heart hammering as he takes a step closer, his fingers brushing yours. “I don’t think so. I feel it too.”

With a gentle hand, Malleus lifts your chin and leans down, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s soft, almost reverent. For a moment, the world falls away, and you’re just two people, finding something precious in the most unexpected of places.

From that moment on, a quiet romance blossoms between you. It’s filled with stolen glances, secret late-night walks, and a warmth you never thought you’d find in the life of a royal bodyguard.

Of course, it doesn’t take long for someone to notice. After returning from one of those quiet rendezvous with Malleus, you find Leona sprawled on a couch, eyes narrowed with a smirk that tells you he knows far too much.

“So,” he drawls, “when were you planning to tell me about your little... lizard liaison?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Lizard liaison?”

Leona’s grin widens. “Yeah. You’re sneaking around with that overgrown gecko, right?”

You sigh, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “First of all, he’s a dragon, not a lizard. And second, I don’t see how it’s any of your business.”

Leona just cackles, clearly entertained by the way you’re trying to stay calm. “Of course it’s my business. You’re my bodyguard, not his. You do realize the guy’s got enough power to raze a kingdom?”

You cross your arms, trying not to let him get to you. “Malleus is nothing like that. He’s... actually very kind.”

Leona stares at you, somewhere between exasperation and disbelief. “Yeah, kind. Right. Next thing you know, you’ll be telling me he’s got a soft spot for kittens and flowers.”

You sigh, more out of resignation than anything. “Leona, it’s not like that. He’s... he’s different from what people think.”

He raises an eyebrow, then shrugs, stretching lazily. “Fine, whatever. Go ahead and play damsel to the dragon. Just don’t get eaten.” He smirks again, like he’s thought of something funny. “But hey, if things get too weird, I’ll send a rescue party.”

Rolling your eyes, you mutter, “I’ll keep that in mind.” But as you walk away, you can’t help but feel oddly reassured by Leona’s grumbling.

Days turn into weeks, and your relationship with Malleus deepens. You’re careful to keep things quiet, but when he’s by your side, everything feels lighter, even as the duties of court life weigh on you.

Finally, after a long day of meetings, you and Malleus find a moment to yourselves in the garden. He reaches for your hand, a rare look of uncertainty crossing his face.

“You know,” he murmurs, “I never thought... I would find someone who sees me, not as a prince, but as simply... Malleus.”

You smile, threading your fingers through his. “I’ve always seen you as Malleus. And I always will.”

Just then, a familiar, exasperated voice cuts through the moment. “Seriously?” Leona drawls, standing there with his arms crossed and looking at you both with a mix of exasperation and vague amusement. “I leave you alone for five minutes, and you’re off canoodling with him?”

You half-expect Malleus to take offense, but he only smirks, and you—well, you’re too used to Leona’s antics to be embarrassed. You just shrug, as if to say, Yep, you caught me.

Leona gives an exaggerated sigh and rubs his temple. “Just don’t start spouting nonsense about gargoyles or some weird fae magic nonsense. Last thing I need is you turning into a bat or whatever.”

Before turning to leave, he adds, almost too casually, “And, hey, Lizard—make sure you don’t screw this up. I’d hate to have to break in another bodyguard.” He waves a dismissive hand, like he couldn’t care less, but there’s something in his tone, a reluctant warmth, that lets you know he does.

With a laugh, you thank him, and Leona just shakes his head, muttering something about “lizard-brained idiots.” But as you walk off with Malleus by your side, you know that no amount of Leona’s teasing can dampen the feeling you have—the feeling that somehow, against all odds, you’ve found someone who truly makes you feel whole.

Masterlist

[xerotiny]

2 AM Call // Our Precious #1

2 AM Call (Our Precious series #1)

M.list ┃Next Part

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x Reader

Warning: dom!yunho, sub!reader, suggestive, sexting, phone sex, a lot of dirty talk (seriously, really filthy), masturbating, etc...

Note: if any of the above-mentioned topics trigger you then you can click off. :) also, do not proceed if you're below 18.

An Extra Note: this is a mini - or - a long series, and I'm too lazy to make a different book for it. Hence, I'll be adding all the planned/written chapters of this series in this book. It'll be in second person pov, but instead of writing [y/n] — cause I'm too lazy, really — I'll be writing Angel. So, the reader's name is Angel for this series. This series revolves around polygamy, which means the reader will be involved with ot8; the chapters will unfold slowly from the beginning and follow a storyline.

Gist: being in your sophomore year of college, you meet a very cute and handsome bookstore clerk. You happen to exchange numbers and on the same night, he's all you can think about. When you decide to ring him up, it's 2 AM and both of you have different things on your minds.

Word Count: 5,471

Lehninger.

Lehninger.

Albert Lehninger.

Principles of Biochemistry.

         You grumble under your breath, shifting your eyes chaotically around the shelves of hardcover books aligned in alphabetical order. The wooden shelves feature biochemistry books, and out of all these, you needed only one, which apparently was too hard for your eyes to search. Scorching sun outside is far less preferable than the air conditioning of the second-hand bookstore you were in, so you decide to stay in and pass a few more minutes looking through the books.

Maybe, you could find something worthwhile in store, perhaps something other than textbooks and thesis unrelated to your university work. Sighing, you bend over slightly to grasp the titles inscribed on the spines of several other books.

"It could be here, maybe." you thought to yourself.

"Hi, how can I help you?" a cheery yet raspy voice cuts through your thoughts, "are you looking for a specific book?"

Your attention turns towards the humbly speaking man, and once your gaze falls onto him, and his smile, you hold your breath. He was...ethereal; clad in a beige coloured cardigan and a white turtleneck under it, the man's demeanour was stoic and poised yet friendly and warm. Towering over and looking down at your petite stature, he smiles widely, politely waiting for you to reply. You take a minute longer to stare and notice all finer details on his face; his porcelain skin, pretty pink lips, a straight nose—almost sculpted, and his innocently shaped doe eyes just boring into yours.

There it goes without saying, you were drooling over him. He was attractive, no doubt, but the way he offered you a benign smile made your heart lurch a bit was far more beguiling than his looks. In all seriousness, it had been more than a minute or two since you had been silently checking him out; you had failed to notice the heap of books he was holding in his arms before, but now that you do, you mentally groan at his bulging arms with prominent veins on the back of his hands.

"Hello—"

"—yeah, no. I mean, I was actually looking for...Lehninger—um, biochemistry?" you stutter and ramble, lastly stringing your words into a question.

"Oh, wait. Give me a minute, I'll check it in our database." Carrying the books in his hands, he nudges you to follow him with a nod.

You do cluelessly follow him but enjoy the view of his rear; you really needed to snap out of it! He guides you to the front desk where the cash register was situated, and a computer was stowed away on the other side of it. Thump the books go, having been put down on the desk by him before he leans over the computer to type. Standing on the other side of the desk, you watch him do the work, with your arms folded over your chest.

In the heat of the moment, you're reeling back to checking him out; silverbluish hair styled in a mullet, the puffy strands kissing the collar of his turtleneck, his eyelashes batting every two seconds at the blaring computer screen—you bite down on your lip when libidinous thoughts swarm your mind. His hands, those sleek fingers pressing down the keys on keyboard...how good would those feel as they're pumping in and out of your cunt.

"Oh, okay. Got it!" he squeals softly, turning to you, "looks like we've got one copy of the sixth edition. Would that be alright?"

You flinch, snapping from your thoughts and realising you really needed to get laid, at least to get your mind straight.

"Ah," you take some time to comprehend his words, "sure. I don't mind, to be honest. Only need it as a reference for my assignment."

"You could've issued this book at the university library, why didn't you?" he asks, stepping out from the counter and guiding you back to the wooden shelves.

You look at your feet, stumbling behind him, unsure of what to say. "I believe it's better to have a personal copy instead of issuing it from the library since I'm going to need till my senior year. Couldn't afford a new one, so I thought why not invest in a second-hand."

He heaves out a gentle chuckle, halting his steps in front of a shelf. "That's fair. So, Horizon University?"

"Yeah," you mumble. "Got a scholarship and everything...how did you..."

"It's the only university close by, and I'm in my senior year there, well, at the end of it—only one more month left till I graduate." he starts rummaging through the racks in the shelf to find your book. "Dance major."

"Sophomore year here, zoology major." he hums, looking at you and pulls out a thick book from the shelf. You continue in a hushed voice, "I've still got two years left in that hellhole."

"You don't like the university?" he questions, as a matter of factly.

"No. Not really. Not that I know I can't make friends for fucks sake," you state.

"You haven't met the right kind of people yet, it's fine. You will soon." he flashes you a toothy grin. "Do you need anything else?"

"No, I'm good." you whisper, "I'll hopefully vibe with someone soon, can't be alone all the time."

"Like I said, you will. Hang in there," he reassures you with his smile going deep in his cheeks, "I'll ring this up for you, come on."

By the cash register, you pay the respective amount while he puts the book in a paper bag having the store's name printed on top of it.

As he hands you the bag, he chimes, "there you go."

You take the bag in your hands, but don't leave just yet; you didn't want to leave him. Drawn to his charismatic presence, you stay behind for a long second. You're staring into each other's eyes, intently lingering onto the disguised inklings in either of your minds. The space around you seems so suffocating, heavy and laden with thick air. In the pit of your stomach, there's an urge you want to act on, you want to tear your gaze away from him and continue on with the rest of your day.

But you can't.

And your heart doesn't want to, thinking there's a possibility of you engaging with him on a romantic level.

From the corner of your eye, you watch his lips twitch into a tiny smile; he scurries his hand on the desk and pulls out one of the store's business cards. He has a sharpie ready on him, and scribbles something on the back of the card.

"Just in case, here's my number. Give me a call, or a text. Would like to hang out with you some time," he slides the cards across the desk to you, "I'm Yunho, by the way."

You take the card and slip it in the pocket of your dress; yes, you wore a clingy summer dress with pockets because pockets are a lifesaver.

"My name's Angel."

"I look forward to hearing from you, Angel."

And you did find something better in there, other than books.

The day rolls by as smoothly as it should, after leaving the bookstore you make your way back to your dorm room in the university to keep the book in your room and grab your laptop as you decide to spend the rest of your morning in the campus cafe. Musty notes of coffee linger in the air while you save Yunho's contact into your phone and work a little on your assignment. All your lectures, you whiled the time thinking about Yunho—his face, his voice, his fingers, his body—you were starting to realise how reprehensibly had this man taken up every fraction of your mind.

You weren't complaining, though. But it was proving to be very distracting amidst your lectures. Coming back to your dorm room, lethargic from the humdrum day of lectures and practical work, you lay in your bed. Mindlessly, you pick your phone and go through your socials, especially Yunho's. He has to have an Instagram page at least. And to your surprise, he does. You come across a public account with few of his photos. You didn't get to see much of him however, as the photos were mostly of him either looking away from the camera or hiding his face behind his hands. Heaving an exasperated sigh, you lock your phone and go on about the rest of your day.

As night dawns in, you're back in your bed after eating dinner. You've done all of your nightly routine and are freshly showered. You wear a dark brown cardigan over your black lingerie; really not in the mood to change into sleepwear because of the buzzing heat of summer. Again, mindless thoughts pop in your head and you grab your phone to check any texts from your nonexistent friends. It's not like you didn't have any friends, you didn't prefer to make friends—regardless, you did have one friend in the entirety of your university. He was a bunny-eyed man with deep brown hair, and a baby yet stoic face; Choi Jongho. But you spoke to him occasionally and only interacted when needed to.

Opening the messaging app on your phone, you almost make sure to have a double take when you see Yunho's name at the top with very recent messages from him. Yep. It was him. You checked it twice only to be sure and it was his contact number. Stifling a squeal, you open your chats.

Yunho: Hey! Just wanted to make sure you got to your dorm room safely. And how's that book working out for you?

[Sent 22:39 pm Read 1:06 am]

So, he needed an excuse to text you. How adorable.

You: Hi Aren't you quick to text me? ^^ It's alright. And... The book makes me want to hit my head against a wall.

[Sent 1:07 am Read 1:07 am]

Yunho: Ouch :( I have no idea what works in biochemistry. Sadly. But hang in there! And ofc Thought I'd keep you company since you're a loner.

[Sent 1:09 am Read 1:10 am]

You: I have friends, mister!

[Sent 1:10 am Read 1:12 am]

Yunho: Yeah You do Imaginary friends don't count.

[Sent 1:12 am Read 1:13 am]

You: I do have a friend! Don't underestimate me.

[Sent 1:14 am Read 1:15 am]

Yunho: "a" friend I'm not tbh But who's this friend?

[Sent 1:16 am Read 1:17 am]

You: He's in my department We've got couple of classes together

[Sent 1:17 am Read 1:18 am]

Yunho: well then I'll let you talk to him

[Sent 1:19 am Read 1:19 am]

You felt a pang of pain bubble in your chest, but your mind couldn't figure out why you were hurting over his response.

You: Why do you sound mad?

[Sent 1:19 am Read 1:35 am]

Yunho: I'm not :)

[Sent 1:35 am Read 1:36 am]

You: k.

You roll your eyes and blink away the weirdness. Now, your silly anguish had been replaced with anger and frustration. In fact, you wondered why you felt so silly about this ordeal when he was the one to initiate texting you. They say men have a golden rule of texting, that is, they'd wait three days until texting. But it turns out Yunho was little too eager to talk to you. Shaking your head, you sit up straight in your bed and puff your cheeks. Your eyes glaze over your reflection in the full-length mirror in front of your closet.

An idea sparks your curiosity, and you smirk to yourself. Bringing your phone back in your hand, you angle it at a specific point to get your entire body in the frame. You take a mirror selfie, perched by the edge of the bed, your cardigan loosely hanging over your shoulder to expose your lingerie and a good amount of your cleavage, your hair flowing down on one side of your shoulder, and your eyes remain emotionless. Having no perceivable clue of your behaviour, you slump yourself back in bed and purposely send the picture to Yunho. You wait for a minute to pass when you text him back.

You: *sent attachment*

You: Oh god! Didn't meant to send it to you. Can you delete it, please?

[Sent 1:45 Read 1:45]

Yunho: Oh ... Well I saw it. And it's only fair if you... *sent attachment*

[Sent 1:46 Read 1:47]

You feel the buzz in your head, upon checking out the attachment he sent you. Thinking it'd be a normal photo, you didn't pay too much attention to it, but maybe you should have, and you did exactly at your second take of the photo. It was him, obviously; he was sitting in a gaming chair, legs widespread, wearing his loose sweatpants under a haze of dim lights of his room. One of his hands held his phone as he clicked the picture, while the other palmed his crotch. And then you saw it, his boner, protruding from the sweatpants. You mentally tried to gauge his size by the pronounced outline on his pants. And you were impressed.

The heaviness in your head grows when you notice his sly smirk in the photo, and the bulging veins on both of his hands; he wanted to rile you up, just the way you did. Though, if there could be a difference, you did it out of spite and he was doing it to get back to you. Squeezing your thighs together, you tried to control your urges, the same stupefying urges you got when you saw him in the bookstore this morning. The suppression of your desire leads to you heaving out a deep breath, wanting to get back at him for ruining your peace with that photo.

You: someone's all worked up. what were you thinking about?

[Sent 1:50 am Read 1:51 am]

Yunho: Just something Or someone

[Sent 1:51 am Read 1:52 am]

You: I wouldn't mind taking a peek in your head ;)

[Sent 1:53 Read 1:53]

Yunho: Do you really want to know what I'm thinking about?

[Sent 1:54 Read 1:55]

You: Yes Unless you don't want to.

[Sent 1:56 Read 1:57]

Yunho: I'd be the one to ask you that Are you sure you want to know?

[Sent 1:57 Read 1:58]

For some reason you could picture him with a conceited smile on his face, still sitting on the chair and his legs wide apart while he rubs his cock through his sweats.

You: You like teasing don't you?

Yunho: Oh I love it

You: I'll tell you what. I've been thinking about you since the morning

Yunho: Hmm Likewise I've been thinking about all the things I'd do to you if you were here with me

You: and what would you do?

You draw in a sharp breath, chest heaving up and down when your mind fogs with the thoughts of him doing filthy things to you.

Yunho: For the starters... I'd gently kiss your lips While ripping the buttons off your sweater Taking it off Letting my hands roam your body

Reading his texts, you pull at the buttons on your sweater, one by one and eventually shrugging it off from your body. You tremble slightly as you proceed to text him with one hand.

You: Go on...

Yunho: I'd pin you to the bed Make sure your hands are above your head Kiss you so hungrily. use my hands to feel all of you. And take off whatever that's remaining on your body Id tease you a hell a lot Fukc Ferl your bdy shuddre under mine when I drg my fingerss down to yor wet pussy Pusj my fingers deep in you knuckles feep Make you mewl as my fingers pumped in and out ... Fuck I want you so bad

That was the point of no return for you, you were deeply invested in this game, in this stupid act of desperation where all you could think about was his texts. It brings your colourful imagination to mind, visualising his texts as you rub your fingers on your now-aroused cunt through your dripping wet panties. you noticed the typos in his texts, probably from him typing with his one hand while his other remained busy. 

Taking a deep breath, you rest against the headboard of your bed, your legs spread a little to make it easier for your hands to rub you. You bite your lip, thinking more of him, thinking of his sleek fingers sawing you out while he's knuckles deep in your cunt.

You: I want you too So so bad I want your fingers in me I want you to loosen me up nice for your cock to pound into me

You finally decide to push your panties to the side, while ghosting your fingers over your clit before you let them submerge in your heat. Your arousal coats your fingers as they slick back and forth, at a steady pace, in your cunt. Your mind is already long gone to the end where you were only yearning for him to make you feel good. Noticing how your phone hadn't buzzed for a long time, you shift your attention to it and instead of his texts, you see him calling you. Hesitation knocks at your door, but you're too far gone from rationality to think about it. As you answer his call and press your phone to your ear, you hear his ragged breathing. It brushes your ear and tickles you, springing up goosebumps on your skin, as though he was right next to you in your bed.

"You really know how to make a man all worked up, don't you?" he hisses, "don't worry, princess. I'll make you feel good."

You take in another deep breath through your mouth, bringing your fingers out of your cunt. Hovering them over your chest, you push the cups of your bra down and grope your breasts; you pinch your nipples, fondle and knead your tits to get yourself in the mood. He doesn't know about it, but your fantasies run wild—with him as he fills his hands with your tits, groping and fondling them, maybe even more.

"What is my Angel doing right now? Are you touching yourself at the thought of me pinning you down to the bed and fucking you relentlessly?" he asks, and your mind pictures it word to word.

"Yes. I want you to—I want you to fuck me foolish—make me—make me see stars—while—while your cock rams into me..." you stutter, struggling to strip yourself out of your lingerie.

"Pretty filthy thoughts for a beautiful face like yours, Angel." His tone is teasing as he continues, "wanting a stranger you just met to do all these vile things to you...you're a cum-slut aren't you?"

Dirty talk was never your cup of tea, it made you cringe internally but there was something about Yunho's deep and sultry voice that made you wet, insanely wet. You bite your lip, conscience half gone to the sound of his trembling breathing, and rub your clit—the sensation only brings butterflies in your stomach, because in your mind those were his fingers and not yours. In your mind everything you did to yourself was replaced with him, and it was enough to get you started.

Biting back on a moan, you reply, "yeah...I want you to—I want you to do all the vile stuff to me."

You hear certain shuffling in the background alongside a long pause and then, your ears catch up on his soft little grunts. Nothing prepared your imagination for what you were thinking; him in his bed or just in his gaming chair, with his cock out, stroking himself at the thought of you.

"Your—your wish is my command," he growls, his deep voice resonating in your ear, "would love to finger your tight little cunt, drawing out these pretty moans from your mouth..."

You slide one finger down your slit, and eventually ease it in your hole; it brought discomfort at first, a little, but when you started moving it deep within you, you felt your walls clench slightly around it.

"Fuck...yes, I want you to spread—spread me open with your fingers."

He did not need to know that you were fingering yourself, your voiceless grunts and whispers were enough for him to imagine it. Picturing you plunge your fingers into your cunt, he increases the pace of his hand stroking his cock; though, he keeps himself steady. He couldn't really help himself and gradually increases the rhythm of his movements.

"Add another finger, baby." he mumbles, closing his eyes and leaning back against his chair.

You oblige, adding another finger in your hole.

"How does it feel?"

"Good—feels good, Yunho." You mewl his name, scissoring your fingers inside of you.

"You're doing great, princess. Now, curl your fingers..." he manages to squeak out in a whisper, pumping his cock with busy motions.

His chest rises and falls rhythmically to your moans, and you do as he says; curling your fingers inside you, you feel a certain warmth lingering in your stomach. You were getting close to your climax, without even having to anything more—the knot strikes a jolt of tightness in the pit of your stomach, and you moan out loud. Really loud.

"I want you to feel me, Yunho." you breathe out, aroused. "I want to feel you too—feel your cock sliding in and out of me—fucking me good with it."

"Oh baby," he goes silent for a second, focused on stroking himself, "I'll fuck you good—I'll fuck you till you're begging for me to stop..."

"Ah fuck," you arch your back off the mattress, trying to chase your high.

Your fingers plunge in and out, increasing tension in your stomach and gut; your tightness was gradually easing up, and so you decide to insert another finger in. The stretch stung, however, pleasurable, making you whimper his name out loud.

"Yunho...!"

"Yes, baby, I know." he winces in diversion. "Hold on a little longer, I'm close—I'm close too."

He breathes out, increasing the pace of his hand; his cock slick with his precum and it spreads along the shaft as he continues to pump himself. You could hear the strain in his voice, indicating you, he indeed was close to his own climax; you were too, knowing your fingers were hitting your sweet spot every time they thrusted in you. Keeping your phone on loudspeaker, you set it on the nightstand and use your other hand to rub your clit. You increase the pace of your fingers, flesh squelching, your juices lightly lapping against your fingers—the knot tightens delicately in your stomach as your tempo remains constant.

Yunho bucks his hips into hands, composing himself as he thrusts his cock into his hand, thinking about your tight cunt. He has a colourful mind too, picturing himself rocking his hips so that his cock hits all of your deepest parts. His lungs convulse, fighting the urge to moan but it breaks out of his lips anyway. He moans your name, shaking and struggling to hold his phone next to his ear—he does the same as you, sets his phone aside while keeping it on speaker.

"Such a dirty little slut, fingering herself to the thought of my cock thrusting into her," his voice gives you a push, fuels your soul with the fire it lacked. In retrospect, he needed something too, to tip him off his edge as he fucked his hand. "Fuck...needs my cock to make her happy..."

"Yes, please," you cry, tears rolling down the side of your face as your fingers do their work.

Your high was approaching you, so close, almost there. The limit to hold it in was past the point, he could say something and you would be riding down your orgasm—you needed him, his voice, his words. On the other hand, Yunho's patience was running thin, he wanted to finish it off—feeling the warmth of his hand pushing him to his edge, he smirks to himself and throws his head back.

"Are you close, princess? Cause I am..." he grunts.

You nod your head, pursing your lips together to make a gentle sound of humming. You didn't realise it yet, but you were bucking your hips to your fingers, letting them curl and slip in deep inside you; grinding your hips against your fingers, you let out a satisfied groan—the tightness in the pit of your stomach comes undone. Rummaging your hand to hold the headboard behind you, you brace yourself as your high washes over you with a vehement intensity. You let our shaky breaths, well beyond being breathless, as your fingers slowly make their way out of your heat. Your chest rises and falls, tremors spread under your skin with your juices dripping down your inner thighs.

"Fuck, princess..."

His groan is a little static, coming from your phone as it leaves your imagination to run wild. You picture him slumped in his chair with his load spurting out to stain his lower abdomen and clothes. In reality, Yunho breathes through his mouth, letting it fall agape when his high comes crashing down onto him. He had never felt such rush of satisfaction by only indulging himself with you on call; he had never felt himself cumming so hard for anyone with any real action, but here he was, panting and shaking, stroking off his climax as he grimaced at his hand full of his cum.

There's a long moment of silence between you two, and in that silence, the post-orgasm clarity sinks deep within you. The thought of you being so indecent with a man you met in the morning, not even knowing him for more than a day, brought some coherence to your mind. Though, the best is to let it go and keep it in your bounds of inadvertent thrills of late night.

Your body feels languid, and tired; wondering the same for him.

"That was..."

"It happened in the moment," Yunho breathlessly pronounces, "we're just two strangers who have nothing to do with each other, right?"

"Well..."

You sit straighter in your bed, staring at your phone as you bite your lip; you were waiting for him to speak.

"Well what?" he mumbles, a sly smile stretching his lips.

"I thought...never mind. I'm way over in my head." You shrug it off, pulling the sheets over your body as the embarrassment drowned you out. "It's fine, we'll pretend this never happened."

"What? Are you crazy?" his voice is much clear now, with the obvious tone of bewilderment. "Gosh, Angel. You don't know how hard I came for you. I can't pretend this never happened; instead, I wouldn't mind giving us..."

He trails, dragging his words in a whisper with hopes of you completing him. "...giving us a try, like just keeping our relationship exclusive to sex?"

"If you're down for it." he mumbles, "I don't want to do anything that you're uncomfortable with."

"I'll think about it."

You smiled to yourself, thinking about that possibility. When the sun rose to a new day, you found yourself pondering. Not exactly in the 'deep venture' of it, but you just kept your mind busy with Yunho's proposal and thought of the consequences if you were to ever agree to it. Friends with benefits with a soon-to-graduate hot senior? That sounds tempting, a lot, it also fuels your infatuation with him. But on the other hand, you didn't want to go down that road with him. There were second thoughts in your mind, of course there'd be—you maybe, sort of, liked this man, after all, he does give off the vibes that he'd be a great boyfriend. You didn't want to ruin that possibility with him.

The rest of your day goes as scheduled, you attend a few of your lectures in the morning. Currently, it's afternoon and you have last of your classes to attend. Amidst all the excitement and stress, your friend, Jongho texts you, asking you to get him your lab-coat for his practical class. You find him standing in front the chemistry department, smiling and engaged in a chatter with someone else. And upon noticing it from afar, the person who he was talking to was Yunho. It was such a contrast, both were happy-go-lucky kind of guys, but Jongho seemed more innocent than Yunho (after the night you had spent with him, it was hard to picture him being anything but innocent). You could make it out from his tall built, and silver-bluish hair styled in a mullet, regardless with his back facing you. Hesitation stricken, you somehow manage to make your way to him; because Jongho had already noticed you even before you turn around and run away.

"There she is!" Jongho glees, and Yunho turns around, meeting your eyes. "Thank you so much for bringing it, I really despise prof. Yuen when he gets all judgmental about 'forgetting' to bring a lab-coat to his practical class."

"Hey, no worries," you smile at him, handing him your lab-coat. "I have his practical class day after tomorrow, till then the coat is yours." You laugh it off, awkwardly glancing at Yunho.

Jongho notices the out-of-ordinary ogles you made at Yunho, chiming in, "oh right, Angel, this is Yunho. I live with him and six other guys. But that's not important and ummm.." he looks at Yunho, scratching the back of his neck, "she's Angel, my only friend in this university."

Yunho smiles warmly at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he does. "Oh so, it's her you can't stop chattering about?" he chuckles lightly, "and what do you mean 'your only friend' aren't we your friends too?"

Jongho rolls his eyes, "you guys are nothing but a pain in the ass. Just today, in the morning Wooyoung and San drank all the milk and kept empty containers back in the refrigerator. I had to crunch on cereals before heading out for my morning classes."

"So, are you tainting all others because of those two individuals?" Yunho retorts.

You purse your lips together, ineptly crossing your eyes between them; you were aware of Jongho's living condition, but you could have never expected Yunho to be one of his flatmates. It was true, Jongho lived with seven other guys from the university, some of them having a full time job, and at times he would complain about them to you. Though you never really focused too much on what he had to say, or even catch their names.

"Uhhh..." you trail, offering them a tight lipped smile.

"Angel, come on, back me up." Jongho grumbles.

"I can't say anything about your flatmates, Jongho." The chestnut-haired man rolls his eyes, and you continue, "but I've always listened to your rants."

"I bet you're a good listener, Angel." Yunho taunts you, "and an even better friend to him."

"She is," Jongho breaks out in a smile. "Hey, you should totally come over on Thursday. We've got a game night planned."

"Uh, Jongho, I don't think I'd want to play board games with eight guys." You mutter under your breath.

"Who said we play board games?" Yunho says, drawing his brows together. "Though, it'll be fun for a while, having a girl over."

"Yes, Angel. You should consider it. Just—just think about it okay?" the enthusiasm in Jongho's voice isn't hard to ignore. "Now, I've got a class, so I'll see you in a bit."

With that he disappears, leaving you and Yunho stranded alone with nothing to talk about or a lot to talk about.

"What a lovely coincidence," Yunho begins, smiling at you, "the girl he talked about was you all along; well, he painted a pretty picture of you in our heads."

"I see Jongho as anything but more than a friend." you pout, "and this game night, should I even consider coming?"

"Well, it depends on you, princess," he smirks, "it depends on whether or not you could keep your hands to yourself. Because I'll be there."

"Oh, don't put yourself on a high pedestal, mister." You roll your eyes, "I'll think about it."

"Don't you have a lot to think about already?" he steps closer to you, towering over you as he leans close to your ear, "I don't think I can go on without touching you for the entire time you'd be there, so really do think about it."

He straightens up and mumbles one last time before leaving you completely high and dry.

"And if you do come, I will really fuck you senseless."

Next Part ┃ M.list

[fictionalslvr]

Part two part three

SYNOPSIS:Ghost is your new neighbor in your apartment complex, everyone is afraid of him, but not you. You're the only one to be kind with him.

PAIRING: (Based of comic but that's not 100% canon) Simon Riley neighbor x F¡Reader

WORD COUNT:3.500k

WARNINGS: Fluffy, angst, mentions of blood, war, s.a (not directly) etc.

NOTES:Ghost past is based on his comics, i'll prob make this one a mini serie (if you guys like), a lot different then what i usually write for, but i hope you guys enjoy without being what you guys are used on this blog, i'm planning to write both, angst and smut, even mix them sometimes. So, i hope you guys enjoy :(

(And again, tell me if there's something wrong, english is not my first language.)

It’s been a long while since you lived alone, and it’s been a very comfortable life since then. At first, it made you feel uneasy, after a long while, you were getting used to it, and having a place to call yours it’s everything you wanted before. Your apartment is cozy, organized with things you like, and you always try your best to keep it clean. The neighborhood is quite calm as well, you were living peacefully in this apartment complex.

That was until a new neighbor came in. He was a tall guy, he had a mysterious aura around him, it’s the quiet type and you don’t hear him speaking so often, actually, you never heard. To be honest, he doesn’t stay in his apartment too much, it’s the one above you, and hearing him it’s unusual. Maybe it is his work that keeps him so far for too long, you can’t say exactly what he works with, since you don’t know him properly. The only thing you know is that he keeps his face a mystery, always walking with a black balaclava that shows only his eyes, and this is a mystery you were dying to get to know. One day, while walking back to your humble home, you took the same elevator as the new neighbor, the silence that creeps out is weird, and you keep your eyes everywhere, but not on him. The silence was bizarre, and it seemed like it was going to take forever! When the elevator door opens in your floor, you can only rushes out of that tiny place with that man, that almost make you hyperventilate.

He looked calm during it, laying his back in the walls while his arms were crossed and he was looking distracted. With a quick but gentle movement, you just nod your head to him when leaves, he looks surprised by it, and nods back after some seconds staring at you. The metal door closes slowly, showing no more his figure.

But your encounters with him were always like this. Some head nods and sometimes a smile from your part, But the mystery this man is, no one knows him well enough for a talk, and this was making you insane, All days, you caught yourself thinking about him, how his voice sounded like, how his face is behind that mask, what he works with, what is his name, his age..things like that kept haunting your thoughts. Until one day, you decided to make a slight move, asking for some ingredient would be a great way to hear his voice, and maybe later baking him something to give it to him.

You sigh, you heard some footsteps, he must be home today. You knock on the door, gently with your hands shaking. It doesn’t take too much until your ears peak with the sound of him getting close to the door. His figure appears when he opens just half of the door.

—”May I help you?” —His voice is raspy, calm and relaxed at the same time. You notice how he has a strong British accent. From this distance, you can smell his scent, it’s strong and smells like whiskey and cigarettes, it’s oddly…comforting.

—”Sorry for bothering, I'm the neighbor below, I just want to know…if you have some sugar to give, by any chance.” —With a cute smile, you show him a little bowl in your hands that he can put the sugar in, the man narrows his eyes at you and nods.

—”Yes, I do. wait a minute.” — His fingers brush against yours when he takes the bowl in your hands and goes inside for a while. He leaves the door slightly open, and you just wait outside hearing his heavy footsteps around the house. When he’s back, your little bowl is filled with sugar, and he gives it back to you, his fingers brushing yours again.

—”Thanks, this will help a lot. I’m making cookies…would you like some?” — Your gentle voice was hard to ignore, he slowly nodded, and you can hear a little chuckle escaping his lips. It’s very good to hear, you felt your heart skipping a beat, he’s leaning against the door frame, looking at you.

—”Thanks for the sugar, I'm [name] by the way." —He keeps silent for a while, like he’s listening to your voice attentively.

—”It was nothing. I’m glad to help you, [name].”—You were expecting that he would say his name, but he just tries your name on his tongue. The tense ambient between you two is noticeable when the silence is back. You can only hum softly and look away.

—’What is…your name?”

—Simon. Call me Simon.”

—”Oh…okay Simon, thanks again and pleasure to meet you. Goodbye!”—Was a short talk, but it was enough to make your heart flutter with the warmth of his voice. You wave at him and he waves back, then all you can see is his back turning, his figure fading inside his house.

Quickly, you made your way back, still shivering a little, scared that he might think you’re weird. With a loud sigh, you close the door behind you, feeling safe inside your home. You know his name now…Simon. His voice is raspy and deep, and yet, makes you feel like you want to hear this voice every morning, the warmth of his body so close, his dark eyes staring at you making your legs weak. Everything about him didn't sound cold as they describe him.

He wasn’t that cold, deep and dark, no. He sounded so sweet and endearing to you, you just wish you could meet him better, talk to him more, listen to his voice, feel his presence towering at you, his expressions that you can only understand by his eyes, and you find this very beautiful, understand his feeling through his eyes, hear his warm chuckle filling the hall and not leaving your ears. It was memorable, even if it looked silly or too short. You felt really happy for doing that ‘move’.

Your kitchen is filled by a sweet smell, it’s the cookies you baked, with cute gloves around your hands, you take the plate with cookies and blow the steam off softly, Okay…you should give this to Simon now. You left a cute note too, that says ‘Enjoy the cookies, i hope its good :D’

After one hour of your visit, Simon doesn't stop thinking about his neighbor. You're sweet, you're the only one in this complex that had the courage to talk to him, the other ones just look at him from afar and give him some judgmental glances. But you...you came to talk, and was smiling too! That definitely means you're not afraid of him, that you're willing to talk to him even when he's using that balaclava all the time. His thoughts are interrupted by some knock on his door, and weirdly…he hopes it's you again. He walks to the door and opens, with some kind of rush, but he doesn't see your cute smiling figure, no…he looks everywhere and there's no sight of you, but looking down, he finds a little plate painted with flowers, there's some cookies on it and a note too. He bends his body down a little and smiles through the balaclava. Picking up the plate, he can sense the smell of the warm cookies, it's still a bit hot, the steam in the air, blowing a delightful scent. He enters his apartament again, closing the door with his feet as he looks at the cookies in his hands, they look delicious. Simon starts to read the post-it in the plate, it has a message for him

"Enjoy the cookies, i hope it's good :D"

-[Name]

That's cute, he thought. It takes a chuckle out of him. His stomach starts to snore in hunger, that smell filling his brain and all he can think about is…why is she being so nice? No one in this complex was ever this nice with him, somehow, they seem to be scared of him, disgusted, or even feel pity for him. But being kind? She's the first one and all he can think about is the reasons she's doing this. He's a stoic soldier, who works a lot, doesn't stay at home too much, smells of whiskey and cigarettes, he doesn't show his face, he's tall, looks scary…why is she not afraid of Simon? He sighs and shakes his head. Sitting on his couch with a loud sigh, he rests his head back while eating her cookies, it's indeed delicious as the smell, it's house made and tastes like love. He can't help but leave a joyful hum at the taste.

—"Why is this so good?" —He talks to himself, that seems a little crazy, but he's his only company for a long while, so he's used to this. She could have poisoned him with these cookies, but no, her intentions were good. He's a cautious man, always thinking of his work, and his work only. But now? He can only taste these good cookies and wish for more, he wishes he could taste a lot of things that she made, seeing her cooking would be adorable, and the taste and smell of it only fills his heart with love, the love he never experienced before. Simon caught himself thinking of being with her, on her apartment, seeing her cook while she mumbles a song to herself, moving her body along the kitchen so cutely, he can't help but think that he wants this for his life, this peaceful mind for once, being at easy, without all the fear his work provides. And for once, rest his mind.

But she's only a kind neighbor, he shouldn't be thinking of this. He shouldn't be thinking of coming back after a long mission, and seeing her lips curling into a smile, feeling her little arms hugging him because she missed him too much, he doesn't have this. And he thinks he didn't even deserve this peace. All the people he killed with his hands, the blood he dropped, the fear in people's gaze when he's around, he's not the one who should be at a comfort in home, happy and living good, no. He thinks he doesn't deserve this at all. She's probably just being kind, why would she enjoy his company after all? He doesn't have anything good in him, he's only a stoic man, with scars, a bad past and a hard work to do that makes his hands dirty. He's sure a man like him doesn't have this.

As for you, you didn't want to bother him with your presence again, so you just left the cookies on his door, rushing back to the elevator when you knocked on the door. You wish you could see his reaction, but you don't want to disturb his peace once more, talking a lot while he just listens. You really wish he liked it. While you're on your couch, your legs are moving up and down quickly, in a nervous movement, you can't help but bite your nails, your other fingers fidgeting on your lap, as your mind is full of thoughts about his reaction. Will he like it? What if he finds you annoying? What if he finds you weird and doesn't want you around? Gosh, your mind is tricking yourself. You sigh loudly and decide to try some sleep, this will maybe put your mind at ease once, meeting new people wasn't that easy for you.

By the morning, you woke up, not from the sunlight on your body, flashing on your eyes, not from the discomfort in your back from your sleeping positions, not from your cat resting in your tummy, none of this. But, you woke up by the sound of a knock in your door, a single one, who could be this early? You get up, leaving your little cat resting now in the bed, the sunlight keeping her warm. Your vision is still a little blurry, you rub your eyes with your fingers and walk to the door, opening without thinking too much about it, and the sight of who’s here messes your mind, making your vision immediately fix alone and your mind races, the sleep left your body.

—”Sorry for appearing so early. I am…going to work. And just wanted to say thanks for the cookies last night, they were delicious.” —Simon spoke softly, he seems not sleepy at all now, but his baggy eyes show that maybe he didn’t sleep, that’s why he’s so energetic now. You blush softly, his voice is even more deep in the morning, that British accent never leaving his tongue as he speaks.

—”Oh, that’s okay, I'm glad you liked it, Simon.” —Your voice sounded dragged by the remaining sleep, but you managed to give him a little smile. You want to know what he works with to leave this early.

—”I can see you were sleeping, sorry.” —Simon looks away, scratching the back of his neck even with the balaclava, scratching the silk of it. You look at your body and notice you're with your pajamas, it’s an old one, that is now short for you, and you can’t help but blush for Simon seeing you like this.

—”Don’t worry about it. Would you…like some coffee?” —You try to change the subject, hoping he won’t talk about your pajamas. A silence stays for a long while, Simon looks into your eyes, he’s surprised about your offer and it's visible. He can only nod and mumbles under his breath. He knows that he shouldn't be accepting this, he doesn’t deserve to have a calm breakfast, with someone who doesn't look at him disgusted by his acts, someone that is too innocent, that doesn't know what those hands did, what his ears listened to, what his eyes saw. For a brief second, he had a flashback of his past, everything he did. You're kind because you don’t know this man, don’t know the danger he could be to someone so innocent like you, who could literally break you with those blood painted hands.

You invite him inside, he’s now on your table, tapping his fingers on your table, as your figure is with you back turned to him, making coffee. This house is so cozy, warm and…a bit feminine, he could say. Simon looks in every detail, noticing how there's a lot of photos of you with what seems to be your family. You have someone that cares about you, everything he had vanished like dust, you’re so lucky for having a family. He wonders, if your family would take care of him too, if they would accept him like a son, and yet…he doesn’t have nothing with you, just some small talk. Maybe he is only overthinking. Your voice snaps him out of a trance, while he looks at your photos around the house.

—”How do you like your coffee? With sugar?”—He drives his attention to you again, who’s looking at him from your shoulder. He likes sugar, it’s something that can distract him from his bitter life.

—”With sugar, please.” —And after a while, in a good and comforting silence, you pour the coffee in two cups, putting one in front of the man on her table. He looks so much bigger than her chair, it’s a little funny, in a good way. The steam flows from their cups as Simon looks down to it, his face is hard to read, after all, only his eyes appear. Then, you caught yourself wondering, how he would drink the coffee with that balaclava.

—”I won’t look, i promise.”—You looks away, while blowing the steam and taking a sip of your coffee to disguise your nervous manner, bad idea, it was hot as hell, it burn your tongue, and you hiss in pain, dropping the cup back into the table quickly, happily, it didn’t break, You make a pout with your lips, your tongue hurts a lot now.

—”Oh, are you…okay?” —Simon left everything he was thinking behind and walked in front of you. He kneels down to level his height, since you’re sitting in the chair. His figure bends down to yours, his hands are shaking when he touches your arm slightly, like he’s afraid to make you uncomfortable.

—”Is’h okay…”—Your voice sounds weird, since your tongue hurts, you can’t speak properly. Simon takes a cup from your sink and pour the sink water on it, it’s not cold, neither hot. He kneels back, looking up to your eyes and giving you the cup with water.

—”Here, warm water will help.” —You do as he advises and drink the water without hesitation. The burden sensation easen a little, he seems to know what to do in this kind of situation.

—”How did you knew…thanks.”—Deciding to interrupt your question, you just say thanks to him. He looks right into your eyes, his expression seems softer a little, seeing you’re a little better.

—”My job…makes me learn how to prepare yourself for all kinds of situations.” —He talks a little about his job, not revealing what exactly it is. You look down at him, keeling down on his knees while looking worried about you, his hands still shaking, wandering on his knees, not touching you to make you uncomfortable. After all he passed through, he wouldn’t want someone like you to feel the same.

—”Thanks, it helped somehow. You’re really prepared for this.”

—”It’s my job to protect people. We have our ways to do so.” —Simon gets up from the ground and walks back to his chair, in front of you, slightly he lifts up his balaclava, revealing only his mouth and drinks a sip. The coffee it's not as hot as it was before. In a sign of respect, you look away, not wanting to invade his privacy, and he appreciates this a lot. After the burden sensation ends, you drink your now cold coffee, both in silence as you look away all the time, even with the curiosity to see his lips, you won’t do it. And by his words, you can guess what he works with…maybe he’s a doctor, a firefighter…a military?

—”The coffee is delicious, thanks for this.”—He feels himself going back to when his mom was alive, she was the only one who would really care about him, making him coffee…and this moment reminds him about her. It still hurts. A lot. He sighs softly, and you can say he’s thinking about something, but you won’t ask.

—”You often stay a lot of days out for work, no? Seems like a hard job.”

—”A very hard one, everything I do, changes a life. Big choices, big responsibilities…”

—”I understand…at least, I hope you can rest when you’re at home.”

—”It depends. I don’t really have any time to rest.” —You can hear Simon sigh, he’s really tired of this job. You still look away, not seeing his lips exposed a little. This moment, it’s the first one he could rest, even for a bit, not rest his body, but rest his mind.

—”And…will you stay out for days this time?”

—”Who knows.”

It’s not a question, it’s a statement. What a bad life he has, staying out for days, and when he’s back, he can’t even rest his mind. This moment, he wishes he could live like this forever, hearing your soft voice as you look around to respect his privacy, he didn’t even need to ask for, you knew somehow. Your cozy and warm apartment, it’s a lot different from his, his is almost empty, boring, sad. But yours? Had memories, life, and happiness. He wishes he could stay there forever. And he knows his duty, saving the world, saving citizens, or he could say…killing lives on exchange to save others. Making his hands dirty, so no one would need to do, only to see people like you, who has a family, a happy life, a rested mind, that’s why he does his job, so people like you can live without worries. In exchange, he sees things horrific, he hears screams in his ears that live on his mind, his body ends up tired and sore from all of this, just to see your smile on your face. He had a terrible childhood, he fought for his life, lost everything that was dear to him, in order to keep the peace in the world. In order to meet you, to see your brilliant smile. At least, he likes to think that way, this makes his life less insignificant, it’s like he’s a hero, when he knows he’s not. It’s just better to see this way, and hope it’s the truth, hope it’s not his imagination, trying to make him less guilty for everything he did all his life.

[powerfultenderness]

I am so, so thirsty for neighbor!Konig and I humbly beg you for the following request; reader has secretly been hard core cramming online German lessons, and Konig says some stuff (lewd or otherwise) that she ends up understanding. Maybe she teases him by saying something back to catch him off guard and make him flustered? Idk but I just spent an hour reading all of the series and im heart needs more to survive

I'm so happy that you're enjoying the series! I liked this idea so much! But I ended up changing it a little bit, I hope you don't mind!

Nothing really happens, but König does say something a little horny, so I guess this will be [rated Mature 18+]

“What, are you going back to school?” 

You jolted from your studies and looked up just in time to see a friend join you at the table in the break room. You laughed as you greeted her. She was almost right, it certainly felt like you were in school again! Your lunch was pushed to the side, nibbled on, while you were hunched over a notebook and your phone. 

She leaned over the table a bit and took a glance at your notes. “Why German?” You sighed, you needed a break anyways, and started to pick at your food. “Just trying to impress the hot neighbor.” 

“Ooh, is he German? And how hot are we talking?” 

“Austrian,” you answered with another laugh. “And very.” Sort of? Well, even if you had never seen him without some sort of hood or mask on his face, he was still a fine specimen of a man. 

“Want me to help you?”

“You know German?”

“I studied German for years in school and spent some time abroad in Berlin.” 

You narrowed your eyes and hummed as you tried to translate her words. “You said: I something, German, something something, Berlin.” 

Now it was her turn to laugh. “Oh! I know just what to teach you!” 

-

Bzzt! 

You picked up your phone and rolled your eyes before sending a quick text.

König didn’t like it. All night you were half paying attention to him and half paying attention to your phone. “Who keeps texting you?” He finally slipped, unable to hold back the slightly envious (ok maybe a lot) question anymore.

“Sorry,” you winced at how rude you were being. “Just a friend from work. She started to help me with a project and thinks she’s sending helpful tips.” 

Just a friend from work! It didn’t sound like someone he had to worry about (though he wasn’t sure if you were also attracted to women, and so didn’t completely write off this friend just yet). “But her advice is not helpful?” 

You scoffed and shook your head. “Not really. She’s jumping the gun. She’s thinking way too far ahead.” 

"Hm. Well, perhaps I can help you?" Anything to get you to pay more attention to him. 

"Oh, König," you were about to tell him that it was unnecessary, after all you wanted to surprise him, but your phone buzzed again. "You know what, that would be great." You tucked your phone between the couch cushions as if that would stop your friend from texting you.

"Yea? What can I do?" 

You hummed before smiling at him, an idea coming to you. “Can you say something in German?” 

“What? How will that help?”

“Well, it wouldn’t really help so much as distract from-” your phone buzzed, a little quieter now between the couch cushions, just on time. You smiled and gestured to your phone, “from that.” 

He chuckled and nodded, “alright. But, what do you want me to say?” 

“I dunno, something…nice?” 

König glanced away from you to the television, whatever was on was long forgotten by both of you, as he thought about what to say. Something nice? He could write a whole book of nice things to say about you. In whatever language you wanted: German, English, maybe even a bit of Korean that he picked up from Horangi. But what to say? That you were one of, if not the, kindest people he’s ever met? That he noticed how you were frightened of him at your first meeting but you pushed that fear aside because of that kindness? Or that he noticed you liked puns, and would seek out the corniest puns just to hear you laugh? No. Maybe he should tell you that you are the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on? Yea, that was nice, right? 

“Hey,” you interrupted his thoughts in a soft voice before you settled a hand on his knee, which he hadn’t even noticed that he was bouncing his knee a mile a minute until you stopped him. “I was just being silly. If you don’t want to-” 

“What! No!” He shook his head, “it’s not that.” He paused and looked down at the hand you were still resting gently on his knee, then looked back up at you, eyes shining underneath his hood, and took a deep breath before words began to quickly tumble out of his mouth. 

“There is simply too much for me to say, I could not decide! Everything about you is perfect! Even the not perfect things! Ever since you moved here, I have not been able to stop thinking about you! You are on my mind all of the time and I don’t know what I would do without you!” “Whoa! Whoa!” You jerked back at his sudden outburst. “Slow down!” 

He shut his mouth so quickly and hard that the snap of his teeth was nearly as loud as the tv. 

It was quiet for a moment, the two of you just staring wide eyed at each other, before he started again. “I am sorry! I-” “No! No, I’m sorry. Like I said, I was just being silly and wanted to see if I could understand anything. You know, after hanging out with you so much…” 

“Oh…” 

Another beat of awkward silence.

“Did you? Understand anything?” 

You laughed a little sheepishly. “Uhm. I’m pretty sure I can guess what “perfekt” means, soo,” you looked around, trying to spot something perfect and snapped before looking back at him with a grin. No you hadn’t understood much, but you could lighten the mood with an overly ridiculous answer. “So you must have been talking about…dinner? My stroganoff is great, I mean I wouldn’t say perfect, but-” 

He started laughing, dragging you into fits of giggles too, and leaned in a little closer to you, elated that this time you did not pull back.

“So, was all of that actually nice?” You asked once your laughter faded out, though you still smiled up at him.

“Yes. I can only think of nice things to say about you.” 

Oh! Nothing could stop the goofy smile that crossed your face, not the butterflies in your stomach, or the way your heart sped up, not even the blush that heated your face. Still you decided to cover up your sudden over acting nerves with a touch of humor. You played up your reaction, one hand over your heart as the other tapped his arm playfully. “Aww, König, you’re so sweet!” 

He gently caught your hand, running his thumb softly across your knuckles. “Should I try again?” 

“Hm?” “This time I won’t speak so quickly.” 

Him holding your hand like that was not going to return your heart rate to normal! Still you smiled at him, a bit shyly, and gave his hand an encouraging squeeze. “Sure.” 

“You are very beautiful.” He started, but your soft smile turned into a grin and he paused.

“Aww, you think I’m pretty?” You tried to downplay just how intimate this was starting to feel.

“Beautiful,” he corrected as he took his hand from yours and gently held your chin so that you were looking directly into his eyes. “Stunning, actually.” You were especially cute when you looked so flustered like that. He gently traced the bottom of your lip and leaned in even closer, his voice dropping to barely above a husky whisper. “And I want to see these pretty lips wrapped around my cock.” 

You squeaked out a tiny little gasp and pulled back from just enough for his hand to drop. 

König froze. “Did. Did you understand. That?” 

“No!” You quickly shook your head, eyes darting all over the place before settling back on him, though you could no longer hold eye contact. “What, uhm. What did you say?” 

Oh. You were a bad liar. Good to know. He wished he hadn’t said that. He wished he hadn’t said anything! Maybe he should have never come over in the first place! Why was it so hard to say no to you? 

“Nothing!” He abruptly stood up. “I have to go.” He rushed to the door and nearly ran out, but at least stopped himself long enough to wish you a good night before fleeing.

“Ah, König!” 

But he was already gone. For a guy that big, he was certainly fast.

“Oh, shit.” You muttered to yourself, heart still loudly pounding in your chest as you dug your phone out from the cushions.

You pulled up your texts and scrolled through the many, many, English to German (or vice versa) raunchy translations your friend had been sending you. Sure enough, between her translations and König’s words fresh in your mind…

“AHHH!!! I THINK HE JUST ASKED ME TO BLOW HIM!!!!” You sent off a text to her and finally remembered to breathe.

Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.

“Lol! Are you sure? What did he say? I’m calling you.” 

It’s a whole week before you see König again. And you both awkwardly pretend like your last encounter never happened. And you both desperately wish that it hadn't ended. 

[Neighbor König Masterlist]

Tagging: (let me know if you want to be removed or added)

@warrior-of-justice  @cumikering @ihateuguys 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 51

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: 50 chapters?!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You cross your arms, trying to comfort yourself as you wait. The front door opens and the only harbinger of your visitors are their footsteps. The grim pall of the house swallows them up as they shuffle over the doormat.

You don’t look over as their figures appear as shadowy blurs in the edge of your vision. You’re too humiliated to face your guests. Not truly yours, but Loki’s. Like everything else; this house, the very couch you sit on, the clothes you wear. Isn’t that what he’d only just berated you for? Taking it all so ungratefully.

“Darling,” Frigga’s the first to speak as she approaches, almost sheepishly, “my, I’d say it’s lovely to see you both but you look dreadful.”

You wince as she nears and shrink down, bending your legs as you long to curl into a ball. You hug your knees and curl your shoulders. She hovers over you, turning to speak to the others.

“You must open the curtains, it’s awfully gloomy in here,” she demands.

Loki mutters but at a grunt from his father, he acquisces. You stare at the black pants as he tears open the drapes, the rod ringing with his efforts. Another figure looms close. Odin shifts and places his hand on the armrest behind your shoulders.

“I see all is in a state of fine order,” Odin proclaims dryly, “you have this poor thing hanging from the troughs–”

“Father,” Loki sneers as he faces the room again. He steps forward, trying to tidy his wild curls, made even more defiant by his neglect. You notice his attire; his shirt is untucked and clashes with his tan trousers. “I will not be lectured.”

“Oh, dear, look at her face,” Frigga lowers herself to sit on the edge of the sofa and touches your arm kindly, “her dressings need changing.”

You avert your eyes and bite down on your cheek. You’d almost forgotten your nose and the peeling bandages. All that wasn’t as dire as the walls.

“Mm, and that isn’t my fault, mother. It isn’t I who would injure her thus. Rather your golden child,” Loki spits. “If you’ve come to argue the point further, I haven’t the time to hear it.”

“Son,” Odin girds, “do not rile yourself with presumptions. We’ve come to make sure you are well, as any decent parents might.”

“Hm, because you’ve always been so eager to visit, father,” he scoffs.

“Eh, Loki,” Frigga squeezes your arm before she stands again, “we thought to share some news to you. In person as it were. You wouldn’t answer the phone but we do believe you deserve to have it straight from us.”

“Oh, what is it now? Are we celebrating the solstice?” Loki folds his arms and lifts his chin, “you can check us off as not attending, thank you.”

“Now, don’t be an ass,” Odin growls, “if you would hear us, you might not have the urge.”

“Why should I listen to you, eh? Did you listen to me? Did you hear me when I walked in bruised to the gills? Did you hear me over that lout’s lies?” Loki snarls, “you made no move to stop me going but here you are, pouting and begging forgiveness. 

“Well, let me make it clear, you and that cretin you call your eldest son, will not entangle yourselves in another of my marriages. It will not happen. I told you that morning and I meant it. He is no brother of mine and if you continue to pander to his misdeeds, then you will count yourself two children, not three.”

You tweak a brow and tilt your head as his rant swirls over you. Marriage? Surely, he only misspoke.

“Would you listen?” Odin’s voice booms, echoing around the room as he steps around the couch and punches his palm. “We do count only two children; you and Hela.”

“Right,” Loki says unconvinced, “certainly, you will do your best not to let me share a table with him again. We can pretend nothing happened. That he did not accost my wife. Just as before, it is under the carpet as we stomp it into submission.”

“Wife?” Frigga murmurs in confusion and glances at you. You feel her gaze but don’t meet it. You’re just as confused.

“I mean it,” Odin insists and turns to look at you, “I am ashamed that my son would hurt you, dear. Brute as he is, I cast him out. He is banned from the house and wiped from my ledgers. Should you wish it, I would gladly testify to his guilt.”

You don’t reply. Which son does he mean? The one who chased you through the night or the one locking you in the dark?

“Thor is not welcome in this family anymore. If you hadn’t run away…” Odin faces Loki again.

“Oh, forgive me for my skepticism, father,” Loki grimaces, “you’ve not exactly earned a lot of trust from me–”

“Nor you me,” Odin counters.

“You never gave me a chance,” Loki hisses, “very well then, thank you, oh, great father, for practising an ounce of good judgment.”

“Boy,” Odin wags his finger at his son as he steps closer.

“Boy?” Loki exclaims, “get out. Now.”

“Loki,” Frigga screeches, “enough. We’ve come all the way here to apologise to you and… her, and you are being insensible. Would you hear us?”

Loki rolls his eyes. He keeps one arm across his chest and bends the other to flutter his fingers dismissively, “you kept him in my life. You begged me to look past his slights for years and refused to see them until someone got hurt.”

“Yes, we were neglectful. Willfully blind,” Frigga says sadly, peeking back at you, “seeing you that morning, and now, the bruises, and her… we… we are very sorry and we can understand that it might be too late for all this but we only want to be heard.”

Loki is quiet, roiling as he breathes loudly. He swallows and sniffs, “yes, you should look at her and see what he did to her.” His lip twitches, “and if I had not been there, imagine what he would have done–”

You close your eyes as you feel a weight over you, feel the suffocating heat, hear Thor’s sinister tone, ‘little maid’.

“Stop!” You throw your hands up as your eyes snap open, “please stop, I don’t want to think about it.”

“Oh, dear,” Frigga spins and once more rests herself on the couch’s edge, “you don’t have to. Please, you’re safe. He won’t bother you again. I’ll be sure of it.”

You knot your fingers together and twist until your knuckles hurt. You can’t look at her, at any of them. You shake your head and shrug.

“As you can see, she is not ready for company,” Loki asserts.

“What I see is she’s being shrouded away in this crypt,” Frigga rebuffs, “she requires sunshine. She needs healing, not paranoia.”

“You don’t know what we’ve been through,” Loki accuses, “how can you know what she needs?”

“I have eyes,” Frigga snips, “darling,” she speaks to you, “would you like some tea in the garden? Just you, I wouldn’t want to infringe.”

You gulp and rub your neck. You nod, “yes.”

“See?” Frigga pets your knee kindly before she stands again, “I won’t tread upon your toes, son, you get her the tea and see her to the garden.” She sidles aside to stand with her husband, “and then you will explain to me this whole marriage business.”

You glance over at Loki, the same question nipping at your ears. Was he confused? Why did he say all that? Marriage, wife? No, prisoner and warden, that’s what it truly is.

✨

Slowly the doom recedes. The warmth of the sun beams down as you keep your finger hooked in the handle of the tea cup. You let the steaming brew go cold as your eyes devour the scenery. The greens, the violets, the indigos, and pinks. Colours all around.

You suck in deep breaths of the spring air, tasting the last dregs of dew and the floating pollen. You hear the council of sparrows hiding in the bushes and watch the pair of doves bobbing across the grass. Bees buzz between the blooming stems and insects flit back and forth through the air. The seasonal renewal is underway as a whole new world awakens.

Beneath the serenity, there is fear. This won’t last. This is just a brief respite from your desolation. A flicker of light in the dark.

So you bask in it as much as you can, for as long as you can. You can’t help but peek over at the french doors and wonder about what’s happening behind them. What is being said? Are Frigga and Odin still there? Is Loki still angry?

You cup your chin and take a sip. This is all you ever wanted. You only wish he would have listened to you. Why must someone else talk sense into him? Why can’t he just hear you?

Your vision hazes as you drift into the peaceful hue. The spring swallows you up and mutes your worries. You cling to that moment, knowing the end will come sooner than later.

The doors open and pierce the spring soliloquy. You look over as Loki steps out. His shirt is tucked in and he’s tried to comb his hair. Still, he looks out of sorts. His eyes are circled darkly and his cheek tics as his jaw clenches.

He watches you as he nears the table, standing across from you as he extends his long fingers to the iron surface. He takes a breath and looks around. He retracts his hand to rest on the back of the chair.

“May I?” He asks.

His request surprises you. That he would even want permission. After all, this is his home, all of this is allotted to you at his whim.

“Sure,” you sit back and let go of the teacup.

He drags the chair out and lowers himself. He bends his arms over the table and his head swivels again, as if searching for something. He clears his throat and turns straight. He stares at you as you peer down at the table.

“It’s beautiful out,” he comments, “the tulips are coming in.”

You nod, “yeah, they’re pretty.”

He exhales and shifts in the chair. He taps his fingertips then weaves his fingers through each other. He stills his fidgeting.

“How is your tea?”

You look down at the cup, mostly untouched. You raise your eyes to meet him and purse your lips.

“It’s fine,” you answer, “what’s going on?”

He circles his thumbs around each other and pushes his shoulders up before forcing the tension out, “I thought I would… come enjoy the garden with you, pet.”

“Oh,” you utter.

“Oh,” he echoes staunchly. “Unless, I am disturbing you?”

You shake your head, “I thought you wanted me to go inside…”

He frowns and lowers his chin, “I…” he begins then unclasps his hands and sits straight. He rests his elbows on the armrests and his cheek strains, “I want you to be safe.”

You nod and look at your lap as you think, “your parents said Thor is gone.”

“Yes, so he has been cast out. For how long, I can’t be certain,” he sighs, “but he is not my only worry.”

“What else—”

“If I’d not discovered your escape, you would’ve fallen and hurt yourself worse.”

“Loki, I… I’m sorry but I couldn’t–”

“And you do not eat when I bring you food. You hardly sleep.”

“What about you?” You toss back as you raise your head.

His lips thin, “yes, what about me. I am just as guilty in all this, I see that now.”

You’re quiet as you consider his admission. It’s a rare moment. Not exactly victory, but a consolation. As much as you can hope for.

“I appreciate all you have done but I… don’t want to be a burden anymore,” you say, “if that’s how you feel about me, I think we’d both be better off if I left.”

He goes rigid and his throat tightens, “pet…”

“Or maybe I could just be the maid again. We could go back to that. That would be okay.”

He huffs and hangs his head. He brings his fingertips together as he seems to argue with himself. Slowly, he lifts his head, “no, that simply won’t do.”

Your face falls, “please don’t lock me up again.”

Your eyes gloss as you pout, begging him wordlessly. He winces as his mouth slants, one way then the other. He mulls on your plea.

He tilts his head one way then the other, stretching out his neck. He slips his elbows off the armrest and grips the chair, pushing himself to his feet. He rolls his shoulders straight and rounds the table. He stops beside you and lowers himself down to a knee. You watch him, confused.

He takes your hand and draws it over the side of the chair. He holds it in his, stroking it as he peers up at you.

“You cannot be a burden or the maid, and you certainly may not leave,” he says, “you are going to be my wife.”

You blink. You’re not sure you heard him right. He squeezes your hand and you look down at his grip.

“Loki?” You babble.

“I haven’t picked a ring, I’m sorry,” he pulls your hand to him, leaning in to kiss it, petting it, “but perhaps you might help in that.” He puts his other knee down and moves even closer, “we will have a lot of planning to do, won’t we, darling?”

He angles to lean his head against your arm, keeping his hand on yours. You’re paralysed. He’s proposing to you but there isn’t any room for your rejection. Like all other things, it’s a command. You have to keep yourself from answering, ‘yes, Mr. Laufeyson.’

You look down at his dark tresses and let out the breath racked beneath your ribs, “I’ve never been to a wedding.” The statement is hollow and numb. You don’t know what else to say.

He chuckles and lifts his head to grin up at you, “well, how exciting that you’re first will be your own.”

[shirefantasies]

First off, congratulations on 300 followers 🎉 I’m a big fan of your work! I was wondering if you could write about the different elf characters and how they would react to realizing they have feelings for a hobbit! reader?

Thank you & my apologies for the late response on this one 😅 but this is a fun one so let's see!

The Elves Realizing Their Feelings for Hobbit!Reader

Thranduil

Denial penetrates every corner of the woodland king's mind- such a humble creature, known not in the slightest for their ways of allure, and yet you permeate his thoughts so! Surely it was your reaction to the sight of him, the simplicity of your manner that was ever so refreshing. Thranduil knows little more than reverence to a fault, cowing and great shows and yet…you see him. You treat him as anyone else. No fanfare, but no expectations either. No doubts. Thus he works to doubt you less, to make less assumptions about your ability and even jokes about your stature. He finds as you talk that you share a love of nature, all your reverence dedicated almost solely to the earth’s growing things, the way roots seek what they need. Thranduil does the same, you point out, and ever does he endure in his place of nourishment, but sometimes any plant needs a good repotting. Astute, very astute, and yet your words strike his heart like an arrow. You, he wishes to say, are his repotting. But perhaps he should put that more romantically… all the greatest shows of elvenkind for a mere hobbit. Who would have thought? Thranduil reflects with a fond, amazed smile.

Feren

From the moment he grabbed hold of you, knife pressed to the back of your neck, Feren puzzled at the way his heartbeat sped, not yours. You were no threat to him, you were nothing in fact save an intruder in his lord Thranduil's realm, one of many his patrol took into custody. You were the smallest, he noticed, and certainly the least deadly if the startled, pleading look in your eyes was anything to go off of. Why did you keep... No, he could hardly relent, not when he had orders to- "You are afraid?" He found himself whispering to you, hiding his gaze upon you by hovering it over you and the other hobbit. You nod and he begins to whisper words of comfort to you, explaining that while stubborn, his king was nothing if not benevolent and would likely simply detain you. No harm would come your way. When indeed Thranduil sentenced your odd company to imprisonment, he found himself strolling to your cell time and time again, offering you food and drink and answering your rapid fire of questions ranging from what would happen to you to soon what customs were practiced in the Woodland Realm. "I think this place is beautiful," you told him, "I think if I were to rot anywhere, I am glad that it is to be here." "I think so, too," Feren agreed, and why he spoke the next part he still did not know, "And I do not think that shall be your fate." It was not until he walked away from you, considering what things he might bring to show you, that he realized how attracted to you he truly had become.

Legolas

Finds himself studying you, gaze unable to fall from you for too long, searching your every movement. Suddenly his interest in hobbits has increased tenfold; in fact, Legolas begins speaking more to Frodo and Sam about their customs, favorite things back in the Shire. His heart swells further for it just as you, taking in with bright eyes every spray of harebell and piping hot cup of lavender tea with scones and little gift of courtship presented to the hobbit of one's dreams. Pastoral, joyful, many delights absent from the prince's own upbringing- what a breath of fresh air you are! But what does he say to you? If possible, the elven prince finds himself even quieter than normal, simply captivated by your every motion. As a result he leans upon conveyance through action, rushing to your defense in battle and being there to catch you when you fall, enjoying in the briefest moments the feeling of his hands about your waist.

Haldir

Years have worn him. Battles have hardened him. Customs have dictated he be free of emotion as much as possible, or else suppress display of them for decorum. You, by contrast, are so innocent, almost painfully so and every sight of your wide, shining eyes has Haldir swearing to protect you. The world cannot take away your wonder, your sweetness, the good you see in all people. Oh, he cannot even wish immortal life upon you for all its horrors, and does he even wish it for himself? The small being remaining within him cries out for your life, to be swept off to your Shire and work hard at cultivating joy above all else. While that future may not lie ahead of him, he seeks it in every question he asks, every story he requests. Often does he marvel at your hidden strengths and wonders, especially in such a deceptively small package.

Galadriel

Oh, the way you charm and flatter her! Someone so small yet without any fear in the world as you spill the sweetest words before her. Galadriel cannot help smiling, especially when you gently take her hand and she sees just how small yours looks in hers. She begins to dream of ways she could hold you, how she can reach down to cup your cheeks… And then without warning she is lost in reverie. Her space is yours and you all but have free rein of her home. All from these unexpected, wildly blossoming feelings. Secretly she wishes you would still seek her out, but Galadriel knows above all that that choice is yours. She will simply have to wait and see and hope each dream she shares of simple joys like a riverside walk or even drawing closer to you in greater, deeper ways from the recesses of her mind, are shared by you…

Lindir

These unfamiliar sensations he experiences in your presence can only be one thing. The desire to run his fingers through your curls, surely soft as they appear. The way you have become his muse, inspiring more than a single song. You have a greater appreciation for arts than Lindir must admit he would have expected of the Shire-folk, and your wonder has him wishing to experience it all again for the first time. Is he to speak these things aloud? Does he dare? Whatever might Lord Elrond think if his servant were to do such a thing? Not, of course, that he has not wished Lindir great happiness. Happiness. Your smile, so genuine, sincere as your bright words. Yes, you are happiness, and such cannot go unspoken, or perhaps unsung…

Elrond

Many words have been spoken of the quiet strength of hobbits, quite a few of them by the Lord of Imladris himself. You are no exception to this, appearing before him as a little blaze of fire unafraid to make demands at council. He cannot even fight, just chuckle and hear your terms, and he wonders if you take notice of the way the others look at his soft response. Why, he wonders, is he being so giving- simple appreciation for the pastoral little folk and all they symbolize for the joy and hope of the world? Perhaps, but a part of him is forced to admit… He is attracted to you. Much time has passed since Elrond has been met with such a force, and quite simply put it stirs something in him. Much as he has endured in this world, your desire to fight for every joy you've ever known rings true to Elrond's own creation of a house of comfort...in your own special way. He cannot help but smile as he listens to you.

Arwen

Developing a little habit for teasing you, Arwen always manages to slink behind you and offer to help you reach something off a high shelf, voice low and lips curved upward. She is older than her visage suggests, wiser, thus you are not the first hobbit to cross her path and she looks upon you with no great shock. She does, however, seek to show a greater level of respect than the so-called 'little folk' tend to be shown. During discussions with her father and the other elves, Arwen smiles and waves you forward, especially if you happen to be shy, then her affection only grows, a hand falling over your shoulder and her smile widening. The more time you spend together, the more this happens, Arwen taking your hand to wish you well, sliding a hand over your waist to move past you, even playfully nudging you when you run together and always keeping pace with you. She is comfortable with you, she realizes, happiest at your side, and that is when it sinks in: she loves you.

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[angelicsjn]

LATEN REED.

Laten didn't believe in love at first sight. He never felt much for anyone at all, really.

He would hop from one person to another, hoping to feel something. Even if it only lasted a few minutes.

This caused himself quite the reputation, a good-looking guy, talented and popular but also a player.

Some people saw him as a challenge, as a trophy to say, 'I fucked him too.' While others decided to stay as far as possible.

Deep down, all he truly cared for was his family and rugby. That was it.

The third month into university and his reputation became a well-known thing. You were one of the few people who avoided him at all costs. If he walked one way, you'd walk the other. If he went to a party, you'd make sure you'd be far away.

Seeing the campus beauties hanging around him, grabbing his big and muscular arms, playing with the soft curls of his hair, complimenting his beautiful green eyes, he'd smile back, act shy, and shrug. So humble!!

All in all, Laten Reed wasn't a very likeable person, and you most definitely did not like him.

You could see right through that little act of his, and with time, it made your blood boil.

Fifth month into university, a party on a Sunday. Who decided a Sunday party would be wise? You went anyway, after an hour of begging from your flatmates.

One of your friends, Maddie, recently became friends with Laten's close knit group, and she couldn't wait for you to meet them all! You wanted to scream and cry and hide..

A game of spin the bottle, you won a once in a lifetime opportunity! Fifteen minutes locked in the bedroom with Laten Reed. THE Laten Reed. How lucky!!

Laten didn't even know who you were before that night. You were some insignificant person that blended in the crowd, so why would he know you? Obviously, you weren't worthy of his acknowledgement.

That's what you'd assume anyway. You expected his mindset to he exactly that when, in reality, it was quite the opposite.

Did he know you before that party? No. He didn't. But once he locked eyes on your form an hour before the game of spin the bottle, he couldn't look away.

Laten couldn't really understand why, you ghosted yourself around the people, you didn't speak to anyone outside your little bubble and it was almost like you did everything in your power to not gain attention and yet at the same time you had his full attention.

He realised you were friends with Maddie. It took him a while to register that fact because he was so invested in you and the mystery of you.

How had he never seen you before?

That's when he wormed his way in using the mutual friend to force interaction between you two. But that didn't work. You avoided even looking his way.

Why didn't you like him? He wanted to see you properly, but you hid yourself behind shy hands and hair.

Skipping to the fated game, you filled with dread when the bottle landed on you both. He noticed it. He had been watching you all night. He saw every emotion that flickersd across your masked features, and it annoyed him that he couldn't see more.

Unlike yourself, he felt lucky to be able to be stuck in a room for fifteen minutes with you.

You begrudgingly followed behind. He locked the door as told and watched as you sat on the bed awkwardly. Looking at your lap and it was like he could hear you mentally chanting, "I want to go, I want to go, I want to go."

You expected him to move onto you, sit beside you with a hand on your thigh, whispering against your ear and you shudder at the thought, but instead, he sat on the floor in front of you, crossing his legs with green eyes looking up at you.

If your distaste towards him wasn't so big, you'd have found him sweet. Cute. Innocent. Three things he most definitely wasn't. You immediately shook those thoughts out of your mind.

Yet he watched you, he could see your features better and God, you were mesmerising. He had never felt that way before, not about anything or anyone.

For once, Laten didn't want to prove his reputation to be true. He didn't want to sexualise the moment. He just wanted to watch. To look. Admire.

How you played with your fingers. Looked at the floor, avoiding contact. How you awkwardly shifted on the bed attempting to appear comfortable.

"I'm Laten." He said, simple. He knew you'd know. Everyone knew Laten. He just wanted to speak. To hear you speak to him. "Y/N." You replied, quiet, yet blunt, and he smiles. You noticed his smile, sweet. Cute. Innocent.

You could almost understand why girls easily got so used by him. He was beautiful. His sparkly eyes watched you, the smile lingered on his pretty lips, and you almost felt your heart beat faster than usual.

Nothing compared to him, though. He was enchanted by you.

From then on, you noticed him look at you a lot on campus, each party you both attended. He began to show up in places you hadn't seen him in before, and he'd smile that smile, and each time, you'd momentarily forget his reputation.

Little did you know, he didn't go to these places by chance, oh no. He followed. Since the day he saw you, he'd watch you. Forever. Watching. Admiring. Observing.

[cinnamonest]

how do you think goro would feel about a childhood friend!darling?

Goro Akechi has a lot of hate in that heart of his, but other than the man he hates more than anything, there are two other things he hates the most: lack of control, and vulnerability.

He needs control over situations, over people, and when he can manage it, over the course of fate itself. The Metaverse and years of hard effort into a public persona he wears so flawlessly have granted him the sort of control he desires, for the most part.

He hates to be vulnerable, hates his own weaknesses, hates them being perceived by others.

You present both.

It’s been a long time since you’ve seen him. Really, up until the point you saw his name on screen one day, you admittedly remembered him as ‘that sad boy at school I was nice to when we were little,’ and your memories of him had all but faded into the background of your life, never thinking of him much after that until he pops back into your life.

At first, you think it can’t be the same person, surely. At least until the familiar — albeit aged a bit older than in your memories — face comes on the screen. It feels quite surreal. A drastic shift from the little boy you remember angrily sulking on the playground all by himself away from the other kids, whom you admittedly talked to mostly out of pity. Still, you felt like you bonded in the end, before he got whisked away when the relatives fostering him decided to dump him off onto someone else, thus forcing him to transfer schools.

You’re happy for him. He looks very happy now, you think, his situation must have improved. He’s even living in the city now apparently, just like you.

The positive coincidences stack atop each other when you actually get to see him.

Completely by chance, not seeking him out or anything, you just so happen to be walking home on an uncrowded street, and he just so happened to be coming back from a hit, now as normalized and mundane to him as any other work-related task — and you just so happen to meet right as you each turn a corner, perfectly scenic, as if ordained by fate.

And while Goro Akechi has spent a very long time by now perfecting the art of composure, what he sees takes him so far aback that even he lets the mask momentarily slip — completely freezing up, slack-jawed and stiff with shock and disbelief. There’s a moment where only silence passes, he looks at you like he’s seeing a ghost, an expression almost like horror managing to escape his automatic efforts to keep a straight face.

You don’t notice that part. You’re too caught up in the surprise and elation, gasping and smiling and rambling on about what a coincidence it is, and—

Do you remember me…?

The shock only lasts a split second. The composure is back, the mask pushed back into place, and with practiced mastery of charm, he bounces back near instantly.

Even in spite of the sudden onslaught of emotions and memories that feels like his very soul is being stabbed at, he manages to keep up the usual Prince-Charming act of his. Says the lines expected of him, so standard you could probably guess them before they come out of his mouth — wow, long time no see, what a coincidence, it’s good to see you, how have you been, all the generic phrases and lines one should say, just like the ones you provide in return. A back-and-forth dialogue predetermined by conventions and standards of normalcy and expectation as composed by a given social framework in which all humans live. You do mention that you’ve seen him on TV — for some reason, it makes his stomach feel like its twisting, but he gives you a humble-sounding reply all the same.

All as his heart pounds so heavily it feels like it’s going to burst though is chest. Adrenaline surges thought his veins and every nerve on his body feels like it’s frozen over, an ice-cold chill that runs through his blood, a ringing in his ears, even a lightheadedness that begins to take hold, his entire body reacting in shock and panic.

You fetch a piece of paper from your bag, scribble something down, hand it over to him — his own hand moves reflexively, as if out of his control, to take it. A series of numbers — oh. Your contact. You’re smiling now, saying something about how you would love to catch up sometime. Your voice sounds far away, his head feels like it’s spinning, but he still manages his signature soft smile and voice as he gives you yet another generic reply.

Sure, that would be wonderful.

A few more lines back-and-forth that he doesn’t even remember by the end of the day, his brain essentially giving replies on an auto-pilot means of conversation. He manages to make some excuse about work, churns out a farewell, briskly walks off with a noticeably deliberate fast pace.

You feel a little embarrassed, as you walk home. He seemed in a hurry to end the conversation. Perhaps it was presumptuous to give him a contact. He probably couldn’t care less. He’s a big, important person now, someone like that has no time for someone like yourself.

…

Your suspicions are more or less validated. He doesn’t contact you.

In fact, from the moment he gets home that day, he tries to forget the interaction entirely.

There’s multiple reasons why. For one, you present a potential obstacle, a burden, a risk. He can’t afford to have you complicating things, getting in his way. It takes some time for his heart to stop racing, and that alone irritates him — why do you get to have such a reaction from him, beyond his control?

Moreover, the emotions that hit him when he saw you were too much. Dangerously intense, something he can’t allow to weigh on him, doesn’t have the time to focus on.

To be frank, those emotions were largely negative anyway. The mere sight of your face stirs up all sorts of memories from that era of his life, most of which were deeply unpleasant. There’s a deep-rooted bitterness that rises up in his stomach, old emotions he’s worked so long to suppress, and you came and dug them up in just a few brief minutes. In truth, he thought about you very often back then — he never really got to say goodbye to you (even if, he often bitterly thought, you never cared that much about him anyway), and he had to force himself to forget you over time, and yet you’ve come and undone his efforts.

And finally — the thought of you makes him feel a new emotion, one he does not like. Something like anxiousness, fear, and in turn, anger at himself and you alike for inducing such a feeling. You stand as a sort of weakness, a single unstable factor in a world where he feels like he has some degree of a grasp of control on nearly everything — you feel uncertain, unsteady, out of his reach… no, it’s not just that. You feel unsafe. You have knowledge and memories of him that no one else does, you have seen him at his weakest, and that makes him feel far more vulnerable then he can stand.

And yet, he saves your number to his phone all the same. Lets it sit there.

Most of the time, it’s easy to ignore. He is a busy person, he can keep himself distracted. Sometimes, though, in the odd hours of the night when his emotions are at their peak, he types a message, two, a dozen, he loses count — only to shake his head and come to his senses, huffing in frustration and holding the backspace down until it’s all deleted, cursing himself internally for even coming close to doing something so foolish.

You keep coming up in his thoughts, an emotion he can’t pretend is anything but yearning feels like a knot in his chest, yet the very thought of you makes him feel sick to his stomach. The conflict between the emotions is unbearable, makes him lose sleep, makes him lose focus.

You who knew him when he was this quiet, sullen, embittered child — you were nice to him, one of the only people who showed him genuine kindness back then — you who certainly knows that the charming act in front of the cameras is merely that, an act, a mask, a lie. It feels as if playing a game with one’s own cards facing outwards towards the opponent, completely exposed, laid bare. The act can’t work on you when you know what he’s really like, know his pains and vulnerabilities, have the potential to strike at the weakest parts of him.

Nor do you fall under his realm of control. The means he has for control relies on his ability to enforce it — means to kill and ruin lives. What he wants from you, though — at least, what he wanted from you back then, he won’t let himself even consider the matter now — falls entirely out of the realm of how he likes to control people, the usual purpose for which he desires the manipulation of others — power, advancement in his goals, to snake his way inside to strike.

It's all confusing. Irritating. It's outside the realm of what he has an easy way to manipulate, and that means he's at a disadvantage, that you have an upper hand, and he can't stand for that.

Still, he wonders about you. Every time a camera faces his way, he wonders if you’ll see the filming. When he makes posts to the little page he runs that the fans eat up, he wonders if you visit it too, if you’re one of those thousands of faceless followers. He wonders how often you think about him. He wonders about the day the two of you ran into each other for the first time in so long — did you go home, and look him up online? How long did you spend doing so? What did you read? Did your view of him change, positively, negatively?

And of course, he thinks about you and your life. What have you been up to, since then? Where has your path in life taken you? You probably have friends. You probably have a partner too. You’re someone who always seemed to be loved by others — he still recalls perfectly the burning bitterness in his stomach when he saw your happiness, your family, your friends, the things you had that he did not. How he resented you for it — he still does, even if he tries to tell himself such emotions are childish. Sometimes he almost thinks he hates you, even if in the end he always finds that he can’t.

And worst of all, he finds that the mere thought of you changes how he behaves.

When he’s at a lower-end news outlet interview, he doesn’t put quite as much energy in… until it occurs to him that there’s always a chance you’ll see it, and he finds himself sitting up straighter, putting in more effort into being charming and witty for the camera.

He almost says something in another interview, but it occurs to him that he doesn’t know how you feel on the matter, and he finds himself taking what was originally a strongly-worded response in his head and neutralizing it as much as possible, to avoid upsetting you should you see it and disagree with him. He doesn't even realize it until the words are out of his mouth.

You do that to him. He who has come to think of himself as so far above others, and yet you — some child from long ago who just so happened to find him again and speak to him for no more than a few minutes — influence his actions, you consume his thoughts. You control him, and you don’t even know it, nor did you have any intention to. And even though he recognizes it, even though he tries to put it to rest and forget you entirely, he can’t bring himself to do it, can’t tap the screen to delete the contact.

It’s infuriating. He can’t stand it. The fact that you do what you do to him so effortlessly leaves him seething and stewing in a rage you probably don’t even realize he’s capable of. And that much he’s acutely aware of as well. You know more of the “real” him than anyone else, you saw him in a phase when he was always pouty and melancholic — yet even then, you don’t know the half of it, don’t realize just how much malice and fury rests beneath the calm outward surface, nor how deep it runs.

He’s not a delusional sort, he’s very self-aware, and he knows how ridiculous the thoughts he’s having are — yet he has them anyway. It’s what, three in the morning, and here he is sitting on the edge of is bed, hunched over in the dark with his face in his hands, stewing in bitterness because he just can’t stop thinking about you. Yes, he knows the thought is absurd, yet he allows it anyway — allows himself to blame you, to resent you for it as if it were an intentional act on your end, to think of you as audacious, having committed some grand transgression against him.

He’s a celebrity, a genius, he has powers unfathomable to the average person — and here you are, you’re nobody, making him think about you. The more he gives in and allows himself to slip into that way of thinking, regardless of how nonsensical he knows it is, the angrier and angrier he gets, the greater the malice that swells in his chest—

—and the darker his thoughts become on what to do with you.

If he forces himself to think it through reasonably, of course, he realizes that you’ve done nothing wrong, that you’ve been nothing but kind to him, and maybe, just maybe, a part of him even feels guilty for any unwholesome, sinister thoughts run through his head — you don’t deserve anything bad to happen to you, and he’s being embarrassingly childish for such boorish, overly-simplistic thoughts like keeping you and taking you away and hurting you and making you pay. Particularly the last — you’ve done nothing wrong, nothing to deserve any harm, and in the rational part of his mind, he knows this.

But if he were to allow those petulant feelings to take over…

If he let the irrational resentment and yearning and attachment and bitterness take over, if he stopped being rational about it, if he just acted on impulses and feelings alone, then he would have something to make you pay for. To make you the object of all the negative emotions that plague him, make you an outlet for his crippling desperation and rage and affection and covet and pain and misery and yearning — yes, he could put all those emotions into you, unload that burden and force you to take it off his shoulders, force you to be something for him to have to himself and use for his own desires and ease of his pain like he always wanted back then.

Maybe he never stopped wanting that, even if he forced every thought of you to the back of his mind for so many years. It was easier to deny the yearning when he could tell himself he would never see you again. He doesn't have that to hold him back anymore — he stares at the screen of his phone that burns his eyes in the darkness, knowing contact with you is a few mere taps away.

But even back then, he wasn’t so stupid as to not realize you interacted with him because he was pitiful and pathetic and obviously troubled and you were the sort of sweet person that went out of your way to be nice to such other children. He was acutely aware of that fact, it irritated him then, it irritates him now. Yet he latched on like a leech anyway, a fact that makes his face feel hot with embarrassment when he recalls how his child self clung to you so strongly, so pathetically. He couldn’t help it. He was so weak, back then.

But here he is, spending hours of his time thinking about you — can he really say he’s less weak to you now?

It’s not as if it’s the first time he had dark thoughts regarding you. Of course, he envied your life back then, but far more than that, he envied you. To have you to himself, as if an object from which he derived happiness that should be just for him. How upset he was when you were kind to people who weren’t him, spent time with others. Even back then, as a child, you have no idea the sort of things he crafted in his head, elaborate fantasies where everyone important to you died off somehow so he could have you all to himself. Fantasies that soothed both his bitterness for you and his desire for you — let you feel pain like he had felt, make sure you couldn’t think yourself better than him, while still ending up something all for him alone to have and enjoy for himself, ensure your kindness was just for him.

Only back then, he had no power to act on such fantasies.

Now…

…

…

...And one night, his resistance finally breaks.

You know what? Maybe he does deserve that. After all the effort he’s put in, after all the things he’s endured, maybe he does deserve to have something all for himself, something he truly wants, something he can secure and know with certainty won’t ever leave his side — you can’t if you don’t have the option.

Maybe you’ll hate him for it. Maybe he’d deserve it if so. But if you do, well, he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

His fingers move without having to really think much about it. Generic, typical lines, just like when he spoke with you. Apologizing for the delay, but surely you understand he’s busy and all, so on and so on. He only pays attention to the very last line, as his fingers slow down in their typing with nerves and anticipation.

>Would you still be up for getting together sometime?

[yesihaveaobsession]

Deer Demon and The Hunter

Alastor x female reader x Dean Winchester (Sam and others mentioned)

Summary: Alastor flirts with you well by being himself and Dean isn't having it.

A/N- I'll do another part if y'all want and if this does well. Let me know Dean and Alastor are both mu husbands so I would LOVE to write more of the two of them together.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the dilapidated streets of Pentagram City, you followed alongside Dean, with Sam shortly behind. Surprisingly, there was a lot of crime in this hell. It was a different hell that none of you had ever come across before, nor had the Trickster even talked about it as part of his fantasies. The relationship between you and Dean was complicated; you both felt strongly for each other, but due to the life that both of you put your heart and soul into, it just would never work.

After trying to avoid all the killings and other crimes on the streets of the new Hell, you came across a very large hotel. It was so big that you could probably see it from miles away. In fact, almost like a beacon of twisted hope amidst the chaos. Deciding that it was late and you needed to find some vacancy, the three of you walked into the doors of the Hazbin Hotel. As you stepped in, you didn't notice Dean was standing much closer to you than before, as you all took in the very... red... scenery. Putting down your duffel bags, which you had no idea how they got there with you, but they did.

You couldn't help but feel a shiver of apprehension run down your spine. Suddenly, in the shadows, a figure stood. He was much taller than both brothers, surprisingly, because in your world, no one was taller than the two brothers. Standing proud in the center of all the red chaos stood Alastor, formerly known as The Radio Demon.

"Ah, a trio of hunters coming into our LOVELY humbled establishment, which we call a hotel," Alastor said with animated hand gestures as he apporched you all. you noticed the deer features instantly, as did the two brothers. You also noticed the Joker Ish smile that graced his face. In fact, it never seemed to fall. His claws rested on what seemed like a cane, which had a microphone and an eyeball on it.

Dean, the protective one out of the group, shot him a distrustful glare, and he stepped closer to you, grabbing your arm and pulling you back gently to shield you from this thing. He knew you could handle your own, that's how you two met, but he couldn't shake the fact that if anything were to happen to you, he would never forgive himself for it. "We're just passing through," he grumbled, his voice dripping with skepticism. Throughout this interaction, you realized that the deer demon's red eyes were on you the whole time, not even paying attention to Dean's glares. Your heart sank, and you got a bad feeling. Alastor pushed passed Dean and over to you.

"Ah, but a lady such as yourself deserves a warm welcome," he crooned, offering you, his arm. "Allow me to show you around, my dear." You hesitated for a minute, holding out your hand towards the tall man, although accepting his gesture. He then kissed the back of your hand, making you blush. Sam placed a hand on Dean's shoulder. As Alastor led you through the corridors of the hotel, his charm and wit were impossible to resist. He regaled you with stories of the underworld, his words weaving a seductive spell around you.

Dean's jealousy simmered beneath the surface, his jaw clenched as he watched Alastor's blatant flirtation with growing irritation. Sam attempted to diffuse the tension, but it was too late—the hunter and the Radio Demon were on a collision course. Dean saw Alastor place his claw on your lower back, which sent him over the edge. The hunter confronted the Radio Demon, his lips snarled, and Alastor seemed to enjoy it. "Back off, Radio Freak," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "She's not interested in your games."

Hoping Alastor would take the hint, he didn't. His smile only grew bigger, a hint of challenge in his eyes as his neck twisted, then his body faced Dean head-on. "Ah, seems you're the one playing the game," Alastor said, and you winced, as did Sam. You both knew that this wasn't going to end well. The tension between the two men crackled in the air, the atmosphere charged with primal energy as they squared off. It was clear that neither would back down, their rivalry fueled by pride and desire. Dean's nostrils flared, and Alastor just continued to smile down at him.

You sadly found yourself in the middle of the two tall men. After the Princess of Hell broke the two apart, Dean didn't think twice and pulled you away to calm down. Dean grumbled something under his breath as he rummaged through his duffle bag.

"Dean?" You began but soon were stopped.

"That demon, or whatever the hell he is... he's getting under both of our skins."

"Well, I—" You shut up after the glare Dean had sent you. There was a knock on the door.

"It's fine, Dean, he's just being sweet," you shrugged and opened your hotel room door. The Radio Demon stood there proudly.

"Evening, my dear," he said, looking over at Dean who was fuming, then back at you. "I was hoping you'd join me for some tea."

[nolita-fairytale]

burn your life down | chef luca x fem! reader | part seven

summary: you and luca go to a club opening and take an opportunity to learn more about each other.

warnings: fluff, smut (18+ only), eventual angst not use of y/n, conversations about divorce, slow burn, baby, second person pov, swearing, danish inaccuracies, very little connection to the world of the bear.

word count: 5.3k

listen to: the official 'burn your life down' playlist

a/n: hi cuties. here is a long chapter with a whole lot of juicy content considering i've been gone all week. i'm also hard launching what luca's last name could be in this series -- something i've brainstormed with @arctvrvs and @superhoeva. there IS smut so please be respectful of it being 18+ only content.

also: mild implication on reader/mc having some kind of asian heritage, but you can super not take it that way, which is why i wrote joe's family as japanese-english. let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist!

part six | masterlist | part eight

“Cool shoes,” you say, your eyes fixed to Luca’s choice of Nikes for the night, instantly chuckling to yourself as you realize how silly the words coming out of your mouth sound. It’s like you’re a kid again, sitting on the back of the bus with her crush, trying to come up with something– anything – to say.

Luca chuckles, stealing a glance your way as he replies, “Yeah I've got a bit of a thing for them – trainers.”

“I… noticed,” you say, exchanging a look with him, your eyes meeting his as the two of you sit side by side on the train.

“Oh yeah?” he asks, with a raised eyebrow. 

“Well, there’s the coffee table book – that and you wore some to the ballet,” you explain, a blush running across your cheeks. 

“You noticed that?” he questions with a hint of amusement in his voice, only a little surprised that you’ve picked up on the little things before he’s shared them with you. 

“I notice you,” you answer, your voice quieter, yet genuine in your admission.”

He smirks. 

“And?”

“And… so far, I like what I see,” you flirt, boldly, this time. 

The right side of his mouth turns up into a small smile, and while you’re too busy reading his facial expressions, Luca’s busy finding your hand with his. You can feel it: the lightest touch that sets off butterflies in your belly, his fingers tangling with yours as you ride the train with him to Vesterbro, the humble beginnings of something good. 

As Luca continues glancing over at you, he shakes his head incredulously, letting out a small laugh in the opposite direction. 

“Hmm?” you hum, inquisitively, stealing a glance his way this time. 

“You just ehm…” he trails off, almost as if he’s not sure how to say what he wants to say next. “... you look… really beautiful tonight.” 

“Uh-, I-, Thank you,” you stumble through, deciding you’ll just accept his compliment. 

It’s not like you don’t know it – didn’t know what you were doing when you put on the barely-there lace bodysuit meant to be a lingerie teddy, that lays perfectly layered underneath your high rise pair of denim. The plunge neckline is cut deep, showcasing quite a bit of inner boob, so much of your cleavage, that you put pasties on just in case. You can tell Luca’s having trouble not ogling you as you smirk, giving his hand a confident squeeze. 

As you get off the train and back up to street level, you discover that it’s not a long walk to where the newly-opened club is located. Luca hasn’t let go of your hand and you savor the feeling of new love as the two of you walk hand in hand. 

“So explain to me again what all the drama’s about again,” Luca requests, recalling something you previously mentioned. 

“Oh it’s a whole thing,” you sigh, as you begin trying to explain yesterday’s gossip. “The guy Jesper is dating is one of the guys opening the club. I don’t think it’s serious, perhaps just a… fling of sorts, but Jesper’s ex-girlfriend who he dated for two years is a… well, she’s a bit of an influencer and it’s a whole thing because she’ll be there too.”

“Ooof,” Luca sounds, giving you a grateful hand squeeze. 

“Yeah. Any ex girlfriends we might run into tonight?” you ask, only half-joking. 

Luca shakes his head, “I doubt it. I don’t get out much.” He pauses. “Think my last serious ex-girlfriend moved to Spain a year ago or so.”

You hum in response, momentarily relieved that the likelihood of running into any of Luca’s exes tonight is low, considering it wasn’t something you’d worried about until the words were coming out of your mouth. You’re ready to wait in the line that’s formed outside of the club until you hear the sharp sound of Jesper calling your name, waving you into the club. You watch as he exchanges words with the bartender, while Luca mutters something to you about how fancy he feels about skipping the line. 

You and Luca follow Jesper down the long, dark hallway, the feeling of pulsating music and a heavy bassline undulating underneath your feet with each step. It feels more like a grungy club in Berlin than Copenhagen, but it seems like it’s what they’re going for, and you thank your past-self for choosing to wear something this sexy. While you feel out of place, at least you look like you knew what you were getting yourself into. 

“I’m glad you made it!” Jesper shouts over the loud music as he leads you and Luca to a table in the VIP area. 

“What? Thought I’d skip?” you shout back with a raised eyebrow. 

This time, Jesper leans in closer, “Thought you and Prince Charming would have a hard time leaving the bedroom now that you two are-.”

“Jesper!”

“What?” he asks with a shrug, looking from you to Luca, who sends you a quizzical look of his own. 

You send him an ‘I’m so sorry’ look before ignoring Jesper’s comment. 

“I don’t think I’m drunk enough for this yet,” you say, and you’re only half-joking. 

“Can I get you a drink?” Luca asks, overhearing your comment. 

“Yes,” you nod, before telling him your drink order. 

“Great. I’ll go,” he offers, though it’s more like a confirmation than anything else. He leaves the sweetest peck on your lips, earning a look from Jesper as you watch Luca disappear into the crowd. 

“Please don’t tell me you haven’t-,” Jesper groans. 

“We haven’t,” you interject, firmly. 

“You’ve got more self control than I would,” Jesper sighs, disappointedly as he shakes his head your way. 

Before you can reply, a pair of arms are wrapping around you as Mathilde’s voice follows with:

“Jesus Christ! Who said you could be hotter than me at my brother’s fling’s club opening?” Mathilde teases you, giving you a big hug. 

“It’s not just a fling!” Jesper protests at the same time as you, replying with: “It’s good to see you too, Mathilde.”

It really had only been a few hours since you closed down the restaurant for the night, but seeing the Mikkelson twins off the clock was a whole other animal. You can imagine a time, when they were both single, that the two of them could have ruled the Copenhagen social scene – two fiery forces to be reckoned with. 

“So have we run into the ex-girlfriend yet?” you ask, desperate to get the spotlight off of whether you and Luca had slept together yet. 

“Ahhhh,” Mathilde smirks. “No sign yet, but my money is on a fashionably late arrival.”

“What’s the drama? Claudio knows you’re bi. You and Sofia ended on good terms. I don’t get it,” you ask, curiously. 

“Because it’s Claudio’s big night. And I don’t want anything to fuck with it,” Jesper begins. 

“And because Jesper’s a big drama queen,” Mathilde adds, as her brother glares at her in response. 

“Who cares about how the night goes,” you chime in, from the perspective of an optimist.

“So you and Luca…” Mathilde solicits, raising her eyebrows a few times cheekily. 

“It’s good,” you guys, a broad smile spreading across your lips. “I mean… it’s really, really good.”

It’s good morning texts. And funny cartoons he sends you from the paper. And using him as a soundboard for new dish ideas.

“I’m proud of you, babe,” Mathilde smiles proudly. “For taking the leap.”

“I-,” you begin, before pausing. “Me too. I’m proud of me too.”

It’s then that you see Luca appear, just at the opening of the VIP area, headed in your direction with Emil following closely behind. 

“Hey!” you greet the both of them as they approach. While Luca has your drinks, Emil carries a tray filled with shots that you're not entirely sure you’re ready for. Your eyes widen. “Shots?”

Emil only shrugs, as Jesper corrals you, Luca, and Mathilde for a round of shots. You all pick up the soon-to-be-yours shot glasses, as Luca scoots over so that he stands closely, next to you. 

He leans in, the feeling of his lips ghosting over your ear sends a chill down your spine as he murmurs, “How much do you want to bet we’ll regret this tomorrow?”

“Oh, so much,” you answer, turning ever so slightly towards him, your lips inchest away from his. 

“To a night of letting loose,” Jesper shouts over the loud music as he begins his toast. “To old friends.” He pauses, toasting his glass towards Luca this time. “And new.” 

“Skal!”

“Skal!” you all echo as you cheers. 

“Eye contact!” Jesper orders, earning a laugh from you and another questioning look from Luca. 

Over the electronic music and flashing laser lights, you take in the sound of shot glasses hitting the table, the faces made in response to the bitter liquid, the whoops and cheers of a triumphant first shot of the night. 

You set your shot glass down on the tray along with the other empty ones as Luca asks you:

“Eye contact?”

“Yeah,” you shrug in response, taking a more flirtatious approach as you continue your explanation. “You’ve gotta make eye contact while you cheers or it’s seven years of bad sex.”

“Huh,” Luca smirks in response as you take his hand. 

“I think I’m ready for a proper drink now,” you coo, a seductive tone in your voice that Luca hasn’t heard yet. 

He likes it. Not just because it’s for him, but because he likes discovering these new parts of you, unraveling you as he goes, finding something different every time. 

And the more he learns, the more he likes you. 

He really likes you.

Luca is quick to locate where he put your drinks down right before you started taking shots. He hands you yours, then goes for his this time, raising his glass towards you. 

“Cheers,” you say with a raise of an eyebrow. 

“Cheers,” he replies, clinking his glass with yours with immovable eye contact. 

You raise your glass to your lips, taking your first sip, as Luca does the same, holding your gaze the entire time as if it’s a damn promise. Before anything can get too heated (because you swear the way he’s looking at you could start a forest fire) you hear the sound of Mathilde’s voice as she saunters over to the two of you. 

“Luca!” you hear her call out. “Come. Have a sit. I want to know everything about you.” 

You giggle, watching her usher Luca away so that she can bombard him with questions, and your heart fills with warmth. He’s here – meeting your friends, meeting your people – and you don’t even feel like running in the opposite direction. 

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

In tandem with the loud, pulsating dance music, you move your hips in a swaying motion, against the feel of Luca’s tall, broad body. You’ve got your arms wrapped around his neck and at this point, you’re quite sure you’ve lost count of the drinks you’ve had. 

That anyone’s had, really. 

“Have I told you how absolutely ravishing you look tonight?” Luca rasps, leaning down so that the sound he makes vibrates right against your ear. 

You let out a gasp, the feel of his body pressed up against yours and the sound of his voice all feel too good. 

“I think last time you said ‘beautiful,’” you tease him, playfully. 

“Why can’t it be both, darling?” he asks you, grinning down at you. 

Instead of answering, you pull him towards you, pressing your mouth to his in a passionate attempt, yet very sloppy, drunk kiss. 

Do you want to get out of here? is what you think he’s going to say, but instead, Luca pulls back from the kiss, only to lean in once more as he whispers in your ear:

“Are you hungry?”

You laugh at the unexpected question, and suddenly, it becomes apparent to you that you’re starving. 

“Yes. You wanna get out of here?” you ask back. 

“Lead the way.”

Knowing it’ll take longer than you’d like for it too, you bypass the idea of trying to find everyone to say goodbye, and skip right to the Irish Goodbye, leading Luca out of the noisy club and back out to the bustling streets that are the red light district. The two of you are blissfully drunk and giggly as you sit on the train, on the way back to your place.

You’re more than grateful that you live so close to the train station, since it’s only a quick walk back to your apartment.

“I can’t believe those girls from the train were only just starting their night’s. Can you believe it?” you ask with a giggle, as Luca follows you up the stairs of your walk up. You fidget with your keys, unlocking the door as you continue on about how you’re not twenty five anymore and tonight’s reminded you that you can barely keep up now.

But Luca doesn’t answer your question. 

Instead, as soon as you close the door behind you, he’s pressing you up against it and kissing you like he’s going off to war tomorrow. You sigh his name against his lips as you kiss him back, completely turned on by the brute force of a man as tall as him. Your head spins as you realize that he’s only just started kissing you and he’s already got you this hot and bothered. You can’t tell whether it’s the alcohol, the way his lips move expertly against yours, or the way his hands snake up your torso, inching dangerously close to the exposed skin of your plunging lace teddy. 

“Touch me,” you gasp as an encouragement, impatient with the way your nerves seem to be screaming for more of his touch.

“Oh fuck,” he groans, his large hands moving to cover your breasts, only confirming his suspicions that you’ve been braless this whole time. 

This new discovery leads to another moan from his mouth as his hands wrap around you, pulling you closer to him. Luca presses his forehead against yours, abruptly breaking the kiss, his breath heavier, more uneven now. 

“Fuck, I think I might be too pissed for this,” Luca murmurs, as you try to catch your breath, knowing that he means drunk. 

You giggle, as you admit, “That’s-. Yes. I… too am very drunk.” 

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he starts up again, leaving a small kiss on your lips. “But I’m not sure that’s quite the impression I want to leave on you either.” 

“That’s… so respectable,” you say on an exhale, in pure disbelief of how perfect this man is. 

“Plus,” he continues, in between kisses as his lips begin to place gentle kisses along your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. “When we do finally sleep together. I want you to remember. Every. Single. Thing. I do to you.”

You’re not sure whether you feel completely sexually frustrated or entirely turned on by how responsible of a decision Luca’s making for the both of you, considering the circumstances. Luca leaves a trail of kisses up your neck once more earning a moan from you as manage to get out:

“Fuck, okay. Just let me cook you something.” 

You both laugh as he agrees to the terms of your agreement. You playfully shove Luca off of you, knowing that you won’t be able to function much longer if he stays pressed up against you like this. 

“Wait here,” you order, holding up your index finger as if to say, ‘give me a moment,’ before disappearing into your bedroom. 

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

By the time you emerge from your bedroom, you’ve changed into one of your favorite t-shirts to sleep in – an old, mildly tattered Rolling Stones tee that you once bought at the thrift shop back in college. Luca’s kicked off his shoes and has found a few of your cookbooks that he’s started flipping through as you pull an amalgam of half-full frozen dumpling bags out of your freezer. With your pan on the stovetop preheating, you silently offer Luca a glass of water, before leaving a soft kiss on his lips once more. 

You put a little music on, just something soft for the background as you add oil to the increasingly hot pan. Luca hums along with the song that’s playing, cookbook in one hand, glass of water in the other, as he approaches you, making his way to the kitchen island that sits directly across from your gas stove. He settles in, placing both objects down on the counter top as he sits down on the barstool you have tucked underneath the kitchen island. 

There’s a quiet intimacy about the way you move around each other, so comfortable, so familiar, even if you’ve only just met within the last few months. The sound of sizzling hot oil as you place the first frozen dumpling down into the pan adds texture to the symphony of your evening: your choice of music, Luca’s soft humming, the way the pan slides against the coils of your gas stove as you shake it. 

“Did you grow up cooking like this?” Luca asks, breaking the comfortable silence between you. 

“Uh… yes. And also no,” you reply, cryptically, ready to explain more. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Luca says with a chuckle. “You know… when I met you. When I first came to the restaurant… I was pleasantly surprised.” He takes a beat, taking a quick sip of water as he explains himself. “It’s just that the whole fusion thing got a little tired, a little too played out, but you seem to have given it new breath… new life.” Luca flips the page of the book he’s been examining. 

“And I recall you saying something about an Italian restaurant… so the Asian inspired flavors….”

“Yeah, no, it’s a great question,” you reply, turning to look at him as you let the bottoms of the dumplings crisp up. “So my mom was a single parent – raised me solo. Growing up we ate a lot of easy things… you know, like frozen dumplings… and lots of Stouffer’s lasagnas which… you could say that that combination alone is perhaps the foundation of discovering my culinary voice.” 

You chuckle, recalling your childhood memories as you share more.

“So no, I didn’t grow up cooking with her often. We didn’t do the whole… sit around a table and make dumplings for hours kind of thing, but Mom always has a bag of ‘em in the freezer and chili oil on hand. But yes, I grew up cooking like this, more so than anything I do now.”

Luca nods as he listens, his half smile growing as you so openly share about yourself. The way he responds to you – to learning about you – only makes you want to share more. It’s all true… but it’s not the whole story. 

“Do you have siblings?” he asks, curiously. 

“Nope, just me,” you answer, before deciding that you really do want to answer Luca’s initial question. 

“I actually learned a lot of this stuff – about miso, how to make a proper dashi, how to pleat dumplings – from Joe. From his mom,” you hesitate, before pausing. 

You want to check in with Luca, searching his face for any kind of reaction, before you proceed to talk about your ex husband considering you were so close to getting naked with him just minutes ago. 

“Is it okay… if I talk about him?” 

“Yeah,” Luca answers with a shrug, as if it were the simplest answer in the world. “He was a big part of your life – of you. And I like learning about you.” 

You accept his answer, trying your best to be cool about the fact that the level of emotional maturity it takes to respond that way really impresses the hell out of you. Realizing that it’s time to add water to your fry pan you turn your back to Luca momentarily once more. You add the smallest bit of water from your drinking glass, a white hot sound filling your ears as the cooking process goes from pan-frying to pan-steaming. You cover the pan tightly with its lid before turning back to Luca. 

“Joe’s family… they’re Japanese-English, which is really where I learned to start blending my own stories into food,” you explain, with an honesty that makes you feel incredibly naked right now. “His mom would teach me very traditional Japanese recipes when we first started dating – I think it’s how she knew how to connect with me, how we got to know each other, and I was more than eager to learn. we got to know each other. I… sort of always had a thing for food, for cooking, and learning things I didn’t necessarily learn in my immediate family unit… it was cool, you know? I just, I didn’t think it could really be a career, wasn’t my priority at the time to be an artist as the full-time gig.”

“But the more I learned from her, the more I realized that it wasn’t dissimilar from what I’d learned growing up inside of my best friend’s family’s Italian restaurant. And it all just kind of… grew from there. After Joe and I got divorced, I figured it was now or never, take the leap, do the thing I always wanted to do.”

“Opening a restaurant. That was your dream?” he asks, searching for confirmation. You nod as he smiles proudly. 

“And look at you now.”

“Yes,” you chuckle, taking a breath. “Yeah, somehow I now have a whole new life and restaurant in Copenhagen.”

“You do,” Luca nods, admiration evident in his eyes. 

You take a beat because the way he looks at you sends another rush through you, and this time, you know it’s not the alcohol. 

“While we’re on the subject… What about you? What are your parents like?” you ask, shifting the spotlight over to him this time. 

“Well, like you, I grew up mostly with a single mom,” Luca replies, as a flash of recognition flashes through your eyes. 

“Mostly?” you question. 

“Yeah um..” he trails off.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t-,” you interject.

“No, I-, I want you to know,” he reassures you, a soft look in his eyes that makes you want to trust his word, as if he wants you to know him too. 

“Okay,” you say, softly. 

You’re not sure a man’s ever let you in like this before and it feels terrifying and electric all at once. 

“My full name is Luca Davies-Bernardi,” he starts. “...but I dropped the last part when I turned eighteen.” Luca flips another page over, glancing down quickly before he returns his gaze to yours. 

“My mum had me when she was pretty young. Got a bit of the short end of the stick when my dad left her and me. I was… three or four maybe? A real tosser, if you ask me.”

“Woah,” you sound on an exhale, as you listen. 

“Yeah,” he scoffs, before continuing. 

“He got another woman pregnant. Moved back to Italy instead of staying here with us. Apparently I’ve got a sister, out there… somewhere.”

You wait a beat before asking:

“And he never tried to keep in touch?”

“He tried,” Luca admits, a hint of bitterness in the way the words come out. “But I was a really angry kid. And as I grew older, I just didn’t see the point.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, empathetically. 

“No it’s-, I dunno,” Luca shrugs. “I much rather put my energy into my relationship with my mum. We’re actually quite close.” 

“Yeah?” you ask with a smile, because it really is the most darling thing you’ve ever heard. 

“Yeah,” he answers, leaning in to show you the larger forearm piece he has on his left arm. “I got this tattoo for her. She was a nurse… for most of my childhood. It’s what she had to do, so she worked a lot. I had a lot of time on my hands, perhaps why I got into so much trouble as a kid. Really put her through it till I started working in the kitchen.”

“You little rebel, you,” you tease him, with a giggle. Turning your attention back to your stovetop, you remove the lid and the pan for its heat source, before turning off the stove entirely. Giggling again you add, “You know, I’m just trying to picture it. 

“Oh, I’m sure I have a few old photos around my flat somewhere,” Luca laughs, as if it’s a promise that he’ll show you someday.

“Your mom sounds like a badass,” you sigh, making your way around your small kitchen island so that you’re standing right in front of him. 

“So does yours,” he replies, reaching for your hands. 

As your eyes take in the ink that adorns his hands and his arms, you drag your fingertips across the little designs: the A, the scotch bonnet, the nurse tattoo he got for his mother. 

“And I like them… your tattoos,” you finally say, breaking the momentary silence between the two of you. 

“Oh yeah?” he smirks, his eyes catching yours as you look up at him. 

“Yesssss. They are… very sexy,” you smirk in return, biting down on your lower lip as you run your fingertips along his inked forearms. 

“Glad you like ‘em. They’re permanent,” he preens, showing off cheekily

“Oh shut up,” you tease him as you place the gentlest peck against his full lips. 

He chuckles, pulling you in for another kiss, this time deepening it. 

As Luca kisses you, your mind wanders to his choice of words. 

Permanent. 

Of course it’s too freaking soon to think anything else of it other than this: 

If it were up to him, Luca’s not planning on going anywhere anytime soon. 

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

As the morning light trickles in through your bedroom window, it dawns on you that you are not alone. You blink your eyes open, taking in the image of the gorgeous man that lays beside you. 

The one who you ate dumplings with on your couch in the early hours of the morning. The one that fell asleep with you in your bed last night, because there was no way in hell you were letting him walk home at 4 am. The one who's making your heart race and your head spin and who reminds you that there is romance in this world. 

Yep, that one. 

You slip out of bed, careful not to wake him as you get up to pee, the massive headache a result of far too many drinks consumed last night. You tiptoe into your kitchen, filling up your glasses from last night with fresh water before heading back to the bedroom. 

“Good idea,” Luca says, as he notices the glasses of water you return with. 

“Sorry, did I wake you?” you ask. 

He shakes his head, “It’s alright.”

“Figured they’d be helpful considering neither of us are 21 any more,” you joke in reference to the water, as Luca sits up in your bed. 

Handing him his glass, he happily takes it before taking a few greedy sips of water. It’s a silent exchange: he hands you the water glass and you place it back on your bedside table before crawling back into bed with him. 

The way you fit curled up against his side feels better than you imagined as he wraps an arm around your shoulders, whispering a soft ‘good morning.’ 

“Morning,” you reply softly. 

You’re not sure how long you lay there, or how long it takes, or who makes the first move, but one minute you’re peacefully snuggled up to Luca’s side, and the next, he’s all over you, rolling you over onto your back as he presses hot kisses to your mouth, to your neck, his hands snaking underneath your favorite Rolling Stones t-shirt as you sigh out his name. 

“Luca.”

“Yes, love?”

You repeat your plea from last night – now that neither of you are intoxicated. 

“Touch me.” 

No longer hesitant, Luca grabs at your breasts, his face buried in your neck as he sucks, kisses, leaves love bites all over you as you arch your chest up into his hands. Large hands cover each breast and you moan as you feel his thumbs graze your nipples, your breathing becoming heavier with each touch. 

“God, you’re incredible,” he murmurs into your skin, one hand making its way down your body at a smooth, slow pace. His fingers play with the waistband of your panties, and he knows that he’s got you in the palm of his hand as you’re more than impatient for him to continue his exploration. 

“May I?” he asks cooly.

You let out a frustrated moan, anticipating his touch like your life depends on it. 

“Please,” you beg, a desperateness in your voice that you’re unfamiliar with. 

“Well when you ask so nicely,” Luca smirks, cockily. 

You wish you had it in you to roll your eyes, to shake your head, to tell him to shut it, but as soon as his fingers slip into your panties, your mind goes blank. He sighs softly at the feel of you, then puts all of his energy into sliding your panties down your legs, the wet heat of you already slick with desire for him. 

“My god,” he groans, as soon as his fingers find the wetness that’s pooled between your legs. “This all for me?” 

And you don’t even have it in you to reply, letting out a loud, keening moan as his fingers slide through your folds, parting them as he explores new territory. They move up a few inches, dragging your wetness up and down your core, expertly finding your clit as you hiss in pleasure. 

“What do you think?” you bite back, letting out another moan. 

Luca smirks, watching as you writhe underneath him, enjoying the way you look at his mercy. 

“I think,” he begins, his fingers rubbing circles around your clit, earning a gasp from your mouth. “I know. That this is all for me.”

“Fuck!” you cry out as Luca pushes his index finger into you. 

The way you feel stretching around his finger elicits a moan from him too this time. 

“You’re so tight, love,” he groans, as if he’s getting off to the idea of you. 

You fall into a haze as Luca begins to fuck you with his finger. One. Then two. And before you know it, he’s moving at a rapid pace, his fingers buried deep inside of you, hitting that spongy spot inside of you that has you calling out his name while his thumb comes up to pay close attention to your clit once again. You’re on the edge, ready to come undone, the coil that’s building in your belly ready to burst. 

It’s all Luca, and fuck, and I’m so close, and yes right there, are met with groans of your name, eyes that look at you like you’re a work of art, and hands that are intent on bringing you to your climax. 

“I want to see you fall apart, love,” Luca commands, his voice low and raspy. 

And that’s all it takes for you to cum around his fingers while they work you through your climax so beautifully. You cry out his name, your eyes snapped shut as you experience one of the best orgasms you’ve had in a long time. 

“Holy shit,” you pant, trying your best to catch your breath as you come down. 

You whimper at the loss of him as he slides his fingers out of you, both hands come up to your torso as he kisses you passionately, deeply, breathlessly. 

“C’mon,” he says as he pulls away from the searing kiss, knowing that he is fully in control here. 

“Let’s get you some breakfast.”

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

a/n: IS EVERYONE DOING OK BC WOW THE SEXUAL TENSION

[yandere-loveer]

⋎﹒🃏﹒✾，Yandere shadow milk cookie scenario

✶﹒┊Warnings: Obsession, kidnapping, forced companionship, yandere, rape, kisses without consent, mental and physical abuse towards reader, shadow milk a little OOC, reader!fem.

✶﹒┊Summary: Shadow Milk Cookie met you when he was not corrupted by the power given to him by his creators. The jester cookie that you wanted so much changed a lot and here comes hell...

✶﹒┊If you are a sensitive person, I recommend not reading this or if you have a bad experience with some of the topics mentioned above, I also recommend not reading this for your mental health! ♡

﹒𓇼﹒﹒Shadow Milk Cookie with her friends were created with the sole purpose of taking care of their world and the other defenseless cookies.

﹒𓇼 ﹒﹒The jester appreciated cookies and always put on shows for everyone, so they could feel safe. His personality was calm and he maintained a joking side to the cookies he swore to protect with his friends.

﹒𓇼 ﹒﹒You met him there when you were a simple town girl, I simply made you curious that so many cookies spoke of the happiness and confidence that the jester called shadow milk cookie brought.

﹒𓇼 ﹒﹒You couldn't deny that you were delighted with what he did and he could make a lot of cookies happy, especially that you loved that he also did small shows for children. He always brought a smile to everyone and you too...

﹒𓇼 ﹒﹒ You caught his attention and you didn't know how, but it was the best. All the time that you were luckily able to talk to him, you could only praise and thank him for his efforts to keep everyone well. Which he couldn't help but feel very excited about.

﹒𓇼 ﹒﹒ Aww... Now always when he did shows he brought you so you could shine on stage along with him for everyone. In those small moments they both felt like they were the only ones who existed and no one else.

﹒𓇼 ﹒﹒ He visited you a lot in your humble house and he surprised you by entering your window, you were always surprised by his unexpected views, but he embarrassed you with your way of living. He never cared about that. You loved the moments you spent with him and even shadow milk expressed to his friends how great it was to spend time with you.

"Reader cookie, she's wonderful. I just hope I can do shows with her forever..." He was so lost in his thoughts about you that his friends just laughed and some rolled their eyes at it.

﹒𓇼 ﹒﹒ But all good things can end without realizing it, the only thing you could say was that you had noticed Shadow Milk very strange and sometimes he had a smile that scared everyone. One that was very sinister and dark...

﹒𓇼 ﹒﹒ You noticed that everything he said sometimes were pure lies and created conflicts between the cookies, which scared them all and they never smiled because of the anguish they felt at that time.

﹒𓇼﹒﹒The way he clung to you was very sticky and suffocating, he made very possessive comments and how he was going to keep you with him always.

"I'm going to keep you in a cage so you don't leave, HA HA HA! I'm kidding... or maybe not" he could only whisper the last thing, but you could hear it. You just turned a blind eye to it, he always told the truth and made you feel safe. But why isn't it like that now...?

﹒𓇼﹒﹒Before you could realize everything was chaos, many cookies were dying due to the cruel actions of the heroes who were now beasts... Now you were in a cage next to shadow milk cookie who said romantic things to you. way and you wore almost their shades of clothing to match. They were a real couple, cheer up!

﹒𓇼 ﹒﹒ The witches, with nothing else to do, put an end to the evil actions of their creations. You felt like you were going to be free until you saw how your lover grabbed your little legs so you could stay with him...

"Y-You can't leave me!" He sounded desperate as he watched him being locked up along with his friends who were upset by what was happening.

﹒𓇼 ﹒﹒ You saw how you were locked up along with shadow milk cookie and the witches couldn't do anything about the cruel fate you were facing. Living next to a beast. He was really happy that at least he was able to take you and stay with you.

﹒𓇼 ﹒﹒ You were just asking for help from any cookie or creator, anyone! But no one could hear you, only your loved one who looked confused at your reaction to the confinement. You closed your eyes and felt tears coming out, but your eyes widened when you felt Shadow Milk Cookie's disgusting hands that were behind you. It seems like it would take forever to force you to do things you didn't want to do. During that time, only your cries and prayers were heard...

﹒𓇼 ﹒﹒ At that moment you were now with shadow milk sitting on the dark floor that surrounded them in that dark prison. He was hugging you from behind and you alone couldn't even make the effort to think or react to what had happened before. You couldn't hear what shadow milk was saying, everything was blurry, you were in a state of shock. You could only squeeze one of your hands that was close to your private area, at that moment you felt dirty and the sinister smile of that beast was getting bigger...

[anantaru]

Hello luv,

I reeeeally loved the first kiss oneshot with Wanderer (I'm a sucker for flus xD)

Is there any chance you can do a first kiss version with Kazuha? Pretty please? I will send u a viral hug <3

cw. first kiss with kazuha, early relationship, gn! reader

tenuous touches, faint nuances of getting closer, but nothing too uncontrolled. kazuha was perfectly patient with you and wouldn't want to make you feel uncomfortable while being in his company.

he waits, in fact, he could wait his entire life for you and you alone, until he pumps the very last breath out of his lungs. by virtue, you're utterly worth it in his marvellous eyes, and it's almost absurd by how hard he had fallen in love with you.

face first, in an instant, cherishing every second of it.

at this moment in time, you take his hand and place it on top of your thigh before inching a little closer, just right so you can admire him within range. there it was when you catch his eye and he squares his shoulders a little, they're trembling you figure, distantly but enough for you to easily discern it, like he's trying to inhale and exhale normally, feigning composure when he was losing his mind inwardly.

"kazuha.." you speak slowly, and there's a good chance that he noticed your simmering excitement as well, while in your own humble opinion wasn't a hard thing to do. because directly, you were probably as nervous, if not more than he was.

thus far, he decides to answer your call, trailing off to your lips, "i'm right here." and he notes that you had already made your decision.

what was there to say next? how does one even approach a situation like that?

in addition, kazuha clears his throat, cheeks puckered up in a rosy void, pursing his lips before you smile at him with a little nod, joyfully accentuating your point and reassuring him that it was okay and that you were ready to walk towards the next step in your relationship.

no movements were rushed, it's static, fluid and as if a somewhat celestial power, an other worldly faculty was moving your bodies.

in under a second, kazuha wraps his digits around your own and for a moment he simply looks at you, admiring the view, purely a few inches away and you could've sworn that you had already brushed over his soft lips.

the man exhales deeply from his nose and relaxes a little before closing off the tiny space between your lips, placing them against your own.

in the thick of pending, humid air, you perpetually held hands as he playfully nibbled on your lower lip before pulling away, with a cheeky grin that said more than a thousand words could ever achieve, while your own had been faintly covered in saliva and glowing.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[back2bluesidex]

Forbidden - KNJ (18+)

Pairing: Professor!Namjoon X Student!Fem reader

Theme: SMUT, PWP, Forbidden relationship au.

Summary: You know it's forbidden but you don't care, not when your professor is more than ready to ruin you.

Word count: 1813

Warnings: professor fucking a student, cumming on her ass, strong language, spanking, slut shaming, Joon hits it from behind, unprotected sex (it's a no no), domish Namjoon.

Minors are NOT welcomed in this blog!!

✨✨✨✨

Forbidden - “Not permitted or allowed” 

There is not a single part of the definition that you don’t understand -- Yet you can't help it.

All of your life you have been an exemplary kid. Be it academics, be it code of conduct, be it discipline, you have always excelled in everything. But you were never nosy about it. You kept yourself humble but quite reserved at the same time. You know well which lines cannot be crossed and which ones can, that too, when you should cross them. 

With a pair of big doe eyes and a heart full of enthusiasm, you stepped into this university. All set to achieve your dream degree. 

However, some of it changed when this one particular person walked into your life. 

“I clearly remember asking everyone to do their own parts even if it’s a group project. Didn’t I?” Kim Namjoon, your physics professor, says with his baritone voice. Hints of anger evident in his expression. 

“Yes, professor.” You and your project partners chant in unison. 

“But I got this feeling that two of you haven’t even written a single word.” Namjoon crosses his hands on his chest as he supports his weight on the table. Your eyes follow his every movement. The way his chest flexes against his tight turtleneck, it's illegal. You inhale sharply trying to shoo away the intrusive thoughts that are starting to cloud your mind. 

“No professor! We did as we were told” one of your partners almost shouts in her defense. You resist the urge of rolling your eyes. You know Namjoon is right, because you were the one to do the entire project. Park Sun Mi was way too busy with her baseball captain boyfriend and Lee Jae Min was way too high to come down and use that one left brain cell to do the project. You had no choice but to do the entire thing alone. You can’t afford to lose points because of your unworthy partners, even if that means giving them the scores they clearly don’t deserve. 

“Is that so? Then you should have no problem in appearing for a test based on the project in my office after your class hours.” their mouths fall open at Namjoon’s suggestion. 

“But professor-” Jaemin starts but Namjoon cuts him off,

“No ifs and buts. Report directly to me after your classes are over. Is that clear?” Namjoon says in a very authoritative tone. There is no room for any objection any more. Neither that you would ever object, you would rather spend an hour or two taking an unnecessary test in his presence than going home and resting. 

“Yes professor.” again you three answer in unison. 

“Leave” your professor orders. You are about to turn your heels when he orders again, “Y/N, I need to talk to you. You two leave.” You catch Sunmi rolling her eyes at you.

Your heart reacts faster than your mind. It starts to beat menacingly in an instant and you don't know how to act normal. You can’t really wrap your head around the fact that you are getting a piece of time to spend alone with the man of your dreams, your guilty pleasure, your forbidden desire, Kim Namjoon. You are so lost in your head that you didn’t even notice that Namjoon has been ogling your exposed legs. However, he soon composes himself and clears his voice to claim your attention.  

“Y/N… I didn’t expect that from you.” His voice is mixed with disappointment and anger, maybe? 

First of all, this is the first time in two semesters’ time, he has called you by your first name only, no suffix or prefix to burden the weight. Secondly, you don’t know why but, him being angry with you sends tingles down your spine. It definitely should not be like this. Had it been any other time, you would have probably sulked or cried your eyes out because you disappointed your mentors but…. This time it’s different. This time it's Namjoon. 

You don’t say anything in your defense. You know Namjoon understood that you did the entire project alone the very moment he read it, when it was supposed to be a “group” project. You are no better than your partners. You were on your way to give them free points for your own selfish needs. So, you hang your head low, avoiding his eyes. 

He marches towards where you are standing and comes to stand right in front of you. 

You curse at the proximity he has chosen to tease you with. 

“sorry, professor” you apologize with your small voice. 

“I think you are intelligent enough to know that your apology will not be enough, Y/N” he breathes out. The anger and disappointment in his voice are now gone, now those are replaced by something akin to darkness. 

“Professor, I-” You are immediately interrupted as Namjoon puts his index finger below your chin and tilts your face up to make you meet his eyes. Another round of shivers run down your spine as you perceive his siren eyes and the looming mischief in them. 

“Don’t you think you deserve some punishment?” Namjoon takes a step towards you as you take a step back. 

“You have been acting like a bad girl lately-” another step.

“-bad girls deserve punishment and I knows how to treat brats like you.” your ass comes into contact with the first row of desks. With blown out pupils you stare at your professor and try to comprehend the meaning behind his words. He, on the other hand, seems to be enjoying the way you are already submitting yourself to him. 

“Profe–” he cuts you off again, 

“Shhh– turn around” he orders and you comply without sparing a second thought. Your morals and rationality have feld through the open window long ago. 

You turn around and stand back-facing him. He places one of his giant hands on your shoulder and lowers your upper body down enough to perk your ass up. Your heart thumps as if it would burst out of your chest any given moment. Anticipation of what might happen in the very next moment, makes you leak. For a moment you think that you are dreaming. There is no way your daydreams are taking the shape of reality, you ain’t that lucky. But the next moment, you are proved wrong, when you feel Namjoon’s rough hands brushing right below your skirt’s hem. He bunches your skirt up and reveals the supple flesh of your perked ass. One of his palms creases down your butt through the thin material of your panty. He hooks two of his fingers on the hem of your underwear and pulls that down in an instant. 

And before you could accept the fact that you are now butt-naked in front of your hot professor, thinking of whom you hit your high every other night, a tight slap lands on your right ass. You yelp, eyes start stinging with tears right away. 

“For working on the entire project alone.” Namjoon groans.  

“Fuck” you curse out loud. 

Another slap lands at the same spot. “For concentrating more on my arms and thighs than the white board.” You gasp for air. 

Another slap. “For wearing these short skirts and driving me crazy.” 

Fuck, did you really drive him crazy? 

The last slap lands on the same spot. “For making me do something so forbidden.” 

You are drooling, both by mouth and cunt, by the end of the spanking session. Namjoon massages the fat of your ass as his other hand travels towards your cunt. He drags his slender fingers through your slit once and then parts your folds to gain access to your clit. You start to breathe heavily but stay still and let him do whatever he pleases. 

“Tell me to stop before I do something wrong, Y/N” his thick voice causes you to leak more. 

“No. don’t stop. I- I have wanted you, professor, for a long time now.” 

“You nasty little slut, do you think it’s okay to fancy your professor like this?” Namjoon says through his gritted teeth. All the while, his fingers probe into your cunt bringing a delicious friction and stretch with them.

“Fuck! So tight!” Namjoon exclaims. The more he discovers your tightness, the more his nails dig into your ass. 

You moan some incoherent curses and those arouse Namjoon even more. 

“You like it, don’t you? You like being corrupted? By the professor you desire? Hmm? A model student like you but so nasty inside?” He says with his husky voice. 

“Yes, professor. For you, only for yo-ah fuck” Your head starts to spin when he scissors his digits and stretch your walls even more. 

“For me? Yeah? Then do you want my cock?” he presses his thumb on your clit. 

“Yes. please.” you choke out, and that’s the confirmation Namjoon needed. He removes his hands from your body once for unbuckling his belt and setting his cock free. Once the deed is done, he slaps his thick meat on your ass. And fuck, you never knew you had so much of juice left inside of you cause you are leaking again. 

“Spread your legs.” he orders and you comply. 

He enters you bit by bit. At first it's just the tip and then he is half inside and then he is balls deep into you. The stretch is dreamy, far better than what you imagined and you want it all. 

“Should I move now?” His considerate voice makes your heart flutter and that’s a territory you don’t want to cross. You nod and he slams his hip into you. 

You arch your back. Namjoon wraps his hand on your waist to keep you in place as he starts thrusting into you mercilessly. 

The desk starts shaking violently but he doesn’t stop, neither do you want him to. You don’t even care if anyone is hearing you two doing things you definitely should not. With a vice-like thrust he hits your g-spot and your cream his cock without any warning. 

“Fuckfuckfuck” namjoon curses as he struggles to keep the pace. You know he is close as well. He pulls out his cock and cums all over your ass. His cum drips down the globe of your ass down your thighs and the scene alone makes him wanna fuck you again. However, he is a man of control. 

He let the beast out once and that should be enough. He knows you are a forbidden fruit and he should not touch you ever again. But the question is, can he contain himself? Especially when you turn around and seal your soft, sweet lips into a tempting kiss while both of you are still naked enough to start fucking again? Especially when you are so willing to be ruined by him and the bad boy in him roars to life. 

✨✨✨✨

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

title: starstruck

pairing: jameson hawthorne x reader

synopsis: you’re an actress and you’ve got through a few auditions got your dream roll, the next thing that comes up is a chemistry test that doesn’t quite go as you had planned

warnings: mentions of alcohol and drinking, mild swearing, really intense make out session, mention of sexual tension

a/n: this is the jameson equivalent to paparazzi for grayson, thanks for reading 🤍🤍

tag list: @tornqdowarnings @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @peterlcsingwendy @lxvebelle @xoxo-vee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77

You sit alone at the bar, drinking a margarita. Your friend had bailed on you last minute but seen as you were already dressed up you decided to go anyway. Why waste all that effort? Besides you deserved this. Tomorrow is a big day, you needed some time to sit back, relax, enjoy some drinks and breathe. Mid sip of your margarita, you catch the eye of someone across the room. He has tousled dark hair, unruly yet it suited him quite well and striking green eyes. Those green eyes sent something through you, the ghost of a shiver down your spine that sent warmth into your body. There was something about those eyes… You quickly look away, not letting your gaze linger for too long, you need to stay focussed. You stare at your drink, your fingers subconsciously playing with the glass as you think about the future that may come if tomorrow plays out the way you would like it to.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

His voice is low and alluring and reels you in from deep thought. It might’ve made you jump, if you weren’t so fixated on where your mind was running off to. You look up to see it’s the man you’d made eye contact with previously. Close up, he looks even more attractive. Steady jawline, wicked smile, bold eyebrows, striking features. He is quite tall, even when he sits beside you it’s noticeable. He’s really very gorgeous and at any other point in your life, meeting a guy like him would’ve been perfect. But now wasn’t the time for guys, now was the time to focus on getting your career back on track.

“No thank you,” you say, a certain sharpness in your tone. You wanted to make it very clear you were saying no.

“Are you sure?” he asks, one of his dashing eyebrows raised a little.

Oh… so he was the stubborn type, this should be entertaining.

“I’ve got one,” you say, holding up your half-empty margarita.

His mouth forms an ‘o’ shape and he nods, ordering himself something. His drink arrives in a matter of minutes, that’s when he turns and says, “I couldn’t help but notice you from over there.”

His head jerks to where he had previously been standing. You decide you fancy playing with him a little, seeing how easy it’d be to break his cool, flirty facade. Some men needed to be humbled and he seems like one of them.

“Oh yeah, and why’s that,” you ask, expecting a delayed answer or not one at all.

“Because you’re breathtaking,” he answers almost immediately, staring into my eyes.

You’d expected him to fumble but he’d turned the tables. He’s bold and unafraid, vulnerability didn’t scare him. You searched for a witty, uninterested reply but your brain is still hooked in the compliment from this handsome stranger, “I’m not interested,” you blurt out. The words fall from your mouth without you even thinking.

“Straight to the point,” he coughs, his ego probably a little bruised, “that’s cute.”

“Don’t call me cute,” you scowl at him. No better way to deter a man than scowling, but he didn’t seem to be too deterred.

“I could make you interested you know,” he shrugs, “if you gave me a chance?”

“The smell of male desperation is so…” you take a moment to find the right set of words, “pathetically pungent.”

“Who says I’m desperate?” he asks, cocking his head to one side, a graceful yet annoying smirk plastered on his lips.

“I told you I’m not interested and yet you’re still here,” you reply cooly.

“I like challenges, call me a player of sorts,” he explains, “riddles, mind games, secrets, I love the lot.”

“Well here’s a riddle for you then… what has two eyes, a margarita in her hand and isn’t interested in you at all?” you force a sickly sweet smile.

“My great aunt,” he replies, smiling right back.

“I don’t think you’re as good at these riddles as you thought,” you criticise, taking another swig of alcohol.

“And I don’t think you’re uninterested,” he tells me, “body language speaks volumes sweetheart-“

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” you snap suddenly, raising your voice a little louder than you’d intended.

“You’re facing completely toward me, your posture is open, you’re looking directly at me and you occasionally scan over the rest of my body,” he says, “if you were uninterested that wouldn’t be happening. Not to mention our eyes kept meeting from across the room.”

You smile slightly and then swivel around on your chair so your back is completely towards him. You hunch over wishing you had some sunglasses to reinforce the no eye contact thing.

“How’s this for body language,” you call, not even looking over your shoulder to see his reaction.

“I much prefer looking at your face but the back of you is a perfectly nice view as well,” he says smoothly. Well, wasn’t that annoying.

Your cheeks heat up and you spin back around, “please leave me alone.”

“Alone…” he ponders, “not with anyone?”

“My friend is in the bathroom,” you lie quickly.

“She’s been there for a while,” he raises an eyebrow.

“And how would you know that?” you question, folding your arms tightly across your chest.

“Because I’ve watched you for a while,” he shrugs in response.

“You do realise that just makes you sound like a massive stalker-ish creep right?” you ask, trying not to laugh a little.

“Let me reword then…” he pauses, “I’ve observed you.”

“I think that’s worse,” you tell him, finishing the last of your drink, before getting up to leave.

As you begin to walk away, the man begins to follow you. Like a bad smell, you think, mentally rolling your eyes.

“Where are you going?” he asks, eyes wide.

“I’m leaving,” you reply, ice cutting through your tone.

“Bit early to be leaving,” he says, checking his watch. You sneak a glance, it’s expensive.

“I have work tomorrow,” you shrug, picking up your walking pace.

“What do you do?” he attempts.

“I’m leaving,” you repeat, firmer and flatter this time.

“Without my number?” he asks.

“Of course,” you say bluntly, as if he’d asked you whether the sky was blue.

“What about your friend? In the bathroom?” he taunts, a pathetic attempt of a joke.

“Oh shut up,” you roll your eyes and debate slapping him across the face. You decide not to, just this once and make your way down the outdoor staircase. Cabs awaited at the bottom and you intend to catch one. Unfortunately Mr a-bit-too-obsessed seems to intend to catch up with you.

“Let me pay for your cab,” he offers suddenly, when you’re nearly at the bottom.

“Absolutely not,” you scoff, laughing a little at his sheer boldness.

“Please?” he asks, as you reach the bottom of the staircase.

“No, piss off, I’m uninterested, remember?” you shout, opening the cab door, shooting a smile at the driver before turning back to the man.

He’s caught up now and was stood all but a meter away, “uninterested, yet your eyes keep grazing over my lips.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you almost laugh, “as if you can see what my eyes are doing in the dark.”

“I see everything,” he smirks, the upturned corners of his mouth annoyingly attractive.

“Goodbye,” you deadpan, slamming the door.

“Bye sweetheart,” he calls, “and the name’s Jameson by the way.”

***

The next morning, you arrive at the studio a few minutes early and wait outside. The nervous excitement was roaring around inside of you as you stared at the sky. This was your dream job, what you’d worked to get to for as long as you could remember. You wanted this more than anything. If you landed this role it made all the turned down auditions, all the tears, all the times you almost quit, all those minuscule commercial jobs, it made it all worth it. Last year, when you’d landed a job on TV show and gotten a little taste of fame you’d felt on top of the world. Working on a big piece like that was an entirely new experience and one that you wanted to experience again, especially as this character was a character that you personally connected to.

Going to that first audition had probably been the scariest moment of your life and you’d come out convinced you’d messed the whole thing. But to your utter shock and surprise you had gotten a callback… and then a second. You’d made it this far. You didn’t want to blow it now.

But you’d be lying if you told yourself the audition was the only thing on your mind today. A certain man from a bar also seemed to be encircling your thoughts paths, aggravatingly frequently. You don’t know why he’s such a prominent thought but you try to avoid it. He’s a little too distracting for a day as important at this.

Soon enough, the casting director walks out and spots you, beckoning you in. With a small smile you walk in and find a set with cameras being ect up in front of it. The set looks to be a standard bedroom, with a single bed, shelves, a wardrobe, beside table and lots of other little nicknacks scattered around.

“Hello, thanks for coming,” he says, as he shakes your hand firmly.

“Thank you for the callback,” you smile, with a little laugh on the end.

“You’re doing a chemistry test today,” he explains.

The sentence takes you off guard a little. Of course you’d done chemistry tests before but suddenly you felt a little unprepared. Today you’d expected to act alone, but now you were relying on someone else to bring out your performance as well.

You look around, “Where’s the other person?”

“Apparently he’s running late,” the director replies, checking his watch.

“Oh,” you murmur, your heart sinking just a little.

“But don’t he should be here soon,” he nods, “there’s a few seats over there, if you want to sit down and get yourself ready.”

“Isn’t there a script?” you ask, curiously.

“You won’t need one,” the director replies.

“Oh,” your brow furrow, “is it like improv?”

“Something like that,” he shrugs.

“Okay,” you reply sceptically, your mind running through ideas about what it could be that you were doing

You sit yourself down the chairs and begin to do something to distract your mind. Reciting song lyrics usually did the trick. It killed time and made you think. Half way through one of the songs you’d been listening to at the moment the doors burst open from across the room. Your eyes snap up to see a man at the door. Must be the person who was running late.

As your eyes skim over him, you get a funny feeling wash over you. You immediately recognise that mess of dark hair and bold green eyes. You wrack your brain as to where it is that you remember them from. And then it hits you, like a punch to the stomach. The man from the bar last night, Jameson, you recall him shouting after your taxi.

This just can’t be happening.

Of course the only person you had a chemistry test with today was the one person you had zero chemistry with whatsoever. But it didn’t matter, you thought, you were still going to perform at your best and show these directors that you deserved this.

So you make a plan. To do what you think is the smartest thing to do in this situation. You decide to play dumb. He was probably drunk and wouldn’t remember your face, like you’d remembered his. You convince yourself you don’t know him and he doesn’t know you. You’re just two strangers, two actors, who have to do a scene. The director waves you over and suddenly your legs ae just moving towards him. Your heart thuds in your chest as you approach.

It was definitely him. Those green eyes couldn’t belong to anybody else. Without the darkness of the night, he looked even better. He was bolder and brighter like this. His facial features were even more beautiful than you’d originally thought, no wonder he was in the running for a role. The fan girls would go crazy over this guy.

“Jameson, meet y/n,” the director says, gesturing to you, “I’ll let you two get to know each other a little whilst we finish setting up.”

You look at him, wondering if you should start the conversation to manipulate it how you wanted or whether you should let him. Though you don’t get much of a chance to analyse it as he already begins.

“I know you,” he says.

Well shit. You didn’t actually expect him to remember you. This put your plan in a bit of a fragile situation. But nevertheless, you stuck with it. Fake to ‘til you make it.

“I don’t think you do,” you say, adding a hint of confusion into your voice

“I know your face,” he insists.

Stubborn. You observe. He’s stubborn, just like last night. Well, you were stubborn too, so you continued with your little act.

“No you don’t,” you reply, with a little laugh on the end.

“I hit on you,” he says calmly, too calmly for your liking.

You almost choke on your own spittle. He really remembers last night then.

“I’m sorry!” you ask.

“Last night at the bar,” he continues cooly.

“I don’t drink,” you say simply, attempting to shut down the conversation.

“I saw you have two margaritas, don’t lie,” he says, that got awful handsome devilish smirk dancing on his face.

The smirk that makes your stomach flutter.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, trying to stay as stubborn as he.

“You know you look so much better in this lighting, sweeheart,” he grins.

“Don’t call me sweetheart.”

The reaction was immediate and sudden, you have no control over it whatsoever. It’s like a deadly instinct.

“Oh so you do remember me?” he says, the smile now laced within his voice.

“Maybe I do,” you grit through your teeth, “but I declined you the first time, you’re a little brave to try again,”

“I am brave,” he tells me, “it’s one of my many green flags.”

“Such a shameless flirt,” you tusk, with an eye roll.

“Is that your type?” he wonder coyly.

“No,” you reply, blunt and sharp.

“What a pity,” he pouts with his pretty lips.

You choose not the say anything else. The conversation has run its course and ended. It’s better that way, when the two of you were not talking. That way he couldn’t make you feel anything. No flutters, no warmth. That’s the way it should be.

“I never knew you were an actress,” he says suddenly.

“And I never knew you were an actor,” you counter, mirroring the way he said it as well as his words.

“It’s really more of a hobby than a career path,” he replies nonchalantly.

“Well some people are serious about this stuff,” you say, a certain fierceness brought out in your voice.

“Are you some people?” he asks, smiling from ear to ear.

“Why does that matter?” you snap, not meaning to be so defensive all of a sudden. He didn’t need to know that you cared.

“Because it matters,” he says simply.

“Look I really want this part and I swear to god if you mess it up for me I will…. rip your head off or something,” you explain.

“I think you’ll get it,” he replies.

“What?”

“The part,” he clarifies.

“Why?”

“We’re about to do a chemistry test,” he shrugs, hands in his pockets.

“I’m aware,” you reply, your tone a little dead.

“So let’s show them what we’re best at,” Jameson shoots you a grin.

“Arguing?” you ask.

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes, “having chemistry.”

“You must be out of your mind if you think we have chemistry,” you say.

“I’m out of my mind in love with you,” he replies.

Your cheeks immediately radiate heat and you can hear your heart drumming loudly in your ears. How dare he make you feel this way with just his stupid words.

“Oh shut up, that’s such a bad line,” you roll your eyes, pretending you were unbothered.

“I think you secretly liked it,” he whispers in your ear, a tingle going down your spine.

“You’re thinking wrong again,” you murmur.

“You’re definitely writing it in a pink fluffy diary and drawing love hearts around it,” he mocks, amusement in his tone.

“Have you been watching teenage girl movies or something?” you ask, slight notes of disgust and concern in your voice.

He doesn’t get a chance to bite back as the director walks towards us both and begins to explain what we’re doing today.

“So today we’re just testing out for good kissing chemistry,” the director explains.

“Kissing?” you repeat, jaw slack.

“We just want to film a few shots of you guys kissing to see if it’s a good match or not,” he explains further.

“I have to kiss him?” you clarify, trying not to portray your mortification on your face.

“Yes that is the general idea,” he deadpans at you.

“Oh,” you murmur.

“Will that be a problem?” he asks, judgmental eyebrows raised high into his forehead.

“Not at all,” Jameson almost sings, bearing his teeth for a witty smile.

“No,” you grit through your teeth.

“Brilliant, should we get started then?” the director asks.

You both nod, annoyingly in sync and then make your way to the bedroom set.

“Did you plan this?” you hiss, as you get set up, so no one else could hear.

You can’t help yourself. The curiosity was gnawing at you. Could he really have wanted a kiss that badly to plan all of this?

“Yes I came in here and told the director to change his whole schedule so we could kiss,” he rolls his eyes sarcastically.

You opt for silence.

“Obviously not!” he exclaims, “look I know you thought I was a creep but that’s a whole new level-“

“Sorry,” you blurt out, “I was only curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat, did it not?” Jameson says, his mouth twisting into a familiar smile.

“Maybe it was a stupid cat,” you murmur.

“Or maybe it was a smart cat that was a little too curious,” he replies.

“I guess we’ll never know,” you say, your voice low and slow.

“I guess we won’t,” he murmurs back, a level of seduction in his tone, that causes heat to rise in your face.

You are directed to be positioned with your back on the make-shift set wall with Jameson standing over you. The cameras were twisted and turned around you, capturing all angles needed. You brace yourself ignoring how hard you are breathing and how much your heart is thumping in your chest.

“ACTION.”

He makes the first move and presses his lips onto yours, his hands cupping your face. The motion is very gentle, delicate almost, making you feel fragile. His lips so soft and smooth and you find myself not only kissing back, but wanting to. He tastes indescribably addictive and after that first gentle kiss you don’t think you can get enough. You want to taste this every day of my life. You close your eyes, discarding any previous hesitation you’d had about this experience and start to enjoy it.

Slowly his hands slip around your waist, his soft touch surprising you a little. Your arms meet around his neck. You don’t break for breath. You and him have come to the silent agreement that breathing doesn’t seem to matter anymore. You’ve never felt so positively sure of something that you want until this very moment moment. He pushes his lips harder against yours and you follow suit. The kiss deepens as he hums in pleasure. A low hum right from the back of his throat. It takes you off guard slightly but you move past it and keep kissing his pretty little lips. It’s like a dance, driven off of feeling for music and movement of the body.

You want to know every crevice, every morsel and every surface of his lips. You want to know what they desire and how to give it to him. You could feel his heartbeat thumping due to the closeness of your chests. He’s intense but you like it. You like the intensity of this moment and how your mind was so wrapping up in it you couldn’t think of anything else. You loved the adrenaline pumping through your veins. You kiss again, deepening it further and then…

Desperation takes over and suddenly you’re both ravenous for one another. Feverishly kissing rough and passionate kisses. His arms tighten around your waist, pulling you closer to him, so you’re pressed right up against his body. Your hands now find themselves deep within his hair, clinging to chunks of it. You feel so violent that you fear you might pull some out. The kiss is now savage in a delightful kind of way that you never would have imagined. You wanted him to bite your lip so hard it drew blood, you wanted the heat, you wanted the frenzied feelings.

But then the movement slows again, he lets you know he wants a gentler approach. He slows down the kiss and really feels your lips, almost tickling them. It’s like he’s teasing you in the best way possible. His lips of velvety soft, brushing against your own. You let your kisses fall into a more soothing, delicate rhythm, tenderising each one’s, tailoring it to be even softer than the last and-

“CUT.”

You’d forgotten this was just a scene, just a chemistry test. You’d forgotten where you were or why you were there. Your mind had been paralysed by his lips. So lost within emotion and lust and love. Love? Suddenly you’re angry, angry at him for doing this to you, making you forget who you were for a moment, for having that kind of power. And yet, when the director yells cut, your lips still linger.

You finally break away, breathing heavily. You stare into his green eyes, your lips still tingling, your tongue still craving another taste. You look away, you can’t bear to meet his eyes for fear you might attempt something stupid. The devil is in his eyes and he’s reaching out to your heart. That isn’t a position you were prepared to be in

“Well if I’m not mistaken,” he grins, chest moving up and down as he too is out of breath, “that’s felt like chemistry to me.”

“Maybe you’re mistaken then,” you lie.

“I could feel your heart beating sweetheart-“

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” you almost yell.

“It was beating real hard,” he finishes, still not quite caught his breath back.

You finally look up and he is already there to meet your gaze. You don’t even bother to answer him. You just continue to get lost into the deep forests and the stories they told.

“Thank you guys, that was brilliant, absolutely spectacular, I could just feel the sexual tension through the screen, which is exactly what we’re looking for,” the director says.

You can feel Jameson smirking from behind and it’s bugging you. You don’t want there to be sexual tension between you and him, you don’t want there to be anything between you and him other than a brick wall right now. You hate the way your cheeks are ruby red and how your heart rate can’t seem to slow because you know he’s there, behind you.

“Would you mind both coming back in tomorrow so we can test out an actual scene rather than just a kiss?” the director asks.

You ponder it for a moment, you could decline, never come back, lose this job and never see Jameson again. But lose your dream role for a guy who’s pissing you off? Absolutely not. You didn’t get this far for someone like him to get in the way.

Jameson hasn’t replied yet. You assume he is waiting for you to answer first to make his decision .

“I’ll be there,” you say firmly.

“And so will I,” Jameson winks.

“Perfect, thanks you two!” The director smiles, walking back off.

Once he’s completely out of the way you let out a long breath and close your eyes. You’d gotten through yet another day of auditions and you would be back tomorrow. If this goes well then you get all that you want. That’s all that matters.

“See you tomorrow,” he grins at you, flashing his brilliant emerald eyes, “sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes ignoring the butterflies in your stomach. You didn’t protest to the nickname this time. Lord help you tomorrow.

a/n: I can’t lie, I don’t really like what I’ve written here but thought I’d post it anyways. Something about it is just… bleh. I might do a rewrite at some point???

thank you to whoever requested this, sorry I took me a little while and also sorry it wasn’t that good… thanks for your patience 🤍🤍

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